As the Dancing Bantha drops out of hyperspace Dateen gleams ahead of her like a blue-green gem set against a backdrop of black velvet, strewn with a billion points of light.

The freighter veers slightly and starts to swing around towards the night side of the planet, and city lights come into view as the ship draws closer.

---

Sixteen hours earlier...

"It's a simple mission." Colonel Lias Kourene explains, standing in the almost-empty briefing room of Defiance Base on Mothessh.  The only other people currently in the room are Jihon Mogg, Mark Jacobs, Neary Narf (and her everpresent mouse droid, Wheely), Reldan Jalt, Rhijans Thanus, Shard, and Shisskurr.  Reldan Jalt's astromech droid, R2-O0, is not present.  "We've been having problems with some of the Z-95s lately, and it seems to be getting worse.  It looks like we got a bad batch of power converters, and the only replacements we have here are from that same batch."

A holographic star map springs to life behind him, one of the systems highlighted, "We do, however, have more power converters in a supply cache on Dateen, so we're sending this group to fetch them."

"We need Captain Jalt to take the Dancing Bantha to Dateen and land at Ker Aldas space port.  A Rebel operative will be waiting there, and will show the way to the cache.  Captain Jalt's astromech droid is currently being programmed to identify the operative."

"The rest of you will go along to help collect the power converters, our records indicate that there should be forty of them in four containers, and bring them back here."

He smiles, "It's a real blue milk run."

---

In fairness to the Colonel, it's very likely that he didn't know about the star destroyer and two light cruisers in low orbit above Dateen...

A voice comes in over the Dancing Bantha's comms system as the freighter comes within range of the Imperial ships, "Attention incoming freighter, please state your identification and business at Dateen, and prepare to be boarded."  Though they don't actually say, "Or else we'll blast you into dust.", anybody who has ever heard anything about Imperial inspections knows that is implied.

Jihon Mogg leans forward for a better view of the destroyer and cruisers. "Hmm. Bad feeling about this."^*

He didn't know much about space vehicles, but he assumed he was right in guessing they weren't going to outrun or out-gun the Imperial vessels, which meant they were probably going to comply. He hoped they had a good cover story in place and wondered if he should be looking for a place to hide.

"We have a plan?"

^*Just getting that line out of the way....

"Blast! What kind of laserbrained nerfherder did the recon for this one??"

The expletives coming from the mouth of the co-pilot indicates little love for the Imperials. Neary begins to flip switches and looks over at Reldan to take her cue from him.

"It's your call, skipper."

Under her breath she continues to prove that she possesses an impressive vocabulary of bad words for such a young lady.

An easy trip through hyperspace.  A beautiful world beckoning them onward.  A shining city below.

A Star Destroyer.

Rot-cursed intelligence and luck!

"'A real milk run'," Shard scoffs, belting herself in.  This part is all up to the pilots and their people - she's of little use, given her 'skill' with ship-to-ship weapons.  Or lack thereof.  Her head cocks as the orders blast over the intercom, and for a moment her lips thin as her gaze flicks about the ship, landing on whatever Rebels happen to be in sight.  A muscle jumps in her cheek, and her fingers go white in their grip on her armrest.

Kids.  Buncha kids, and now we're in the hot seat.  Can't outrun them, can't outshoot them....

Talking seems the only option.  Unless....

Her hands fumble about in her cloak, searching for the inside pocket.  Fingers find smooth, silvery metal, cold despite the heat the item contains.  Slowly she draws it out, thumb finding the stud on the side...

Click.

The flask snaps open and Shard downs a mouthful of the spiced, Baravian brandy.  Cheap stuff - it gnaws at her mouth, coats her throat, clenches the muscles of her jaw - but it does the trick, hitting the stomach and sending threads of warmth through her cold, cold limbs.  Jihon Moog shoots a question into the ship's air; wincing, she raises her voice in answer.  "Any of you kids up to talking our way out of this mess?  Or do we have illegals stuffed in one of the holds?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:30, Mon 05 July 2010.

"Take it easy.  I'm sure I can handle this." Reldan says, only looking slightly worried.  "For one thing, we arent actually carrying anything illegal, except for ourselves.  If we stay calm, we should be fine."

He reaches for the comms, "Trust me.  I know what I'm doing." and then he hits the stud.

"Hello there.  This is the 'Voracious Rancor', out of Dor-Tennia.  We're here to drop off some passengers at a medical facility near Ker Aldas.  Will this take long, because they're really sick, and I think it's infectious.  I have these yellow blotches all over me."

OOC: Spent a Character Point to make this really convincing.

Reldan Jalt rolled 13 using 3 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 2,4,{Wild}6(+1). Con roll.
Reldan Jalt rolled 10 using 1 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of {Wild}6(+4). Character point spent.

So a total of 23.  (-:  I'm a smooth talker.

Neary blinks in disbelief as she hears Reldan lay it on thick, real thick. Slowly sucking in air between her teeth she hopes that whoever is listening buys into this out of sheer boredom and fear of yellow blotches and that they decides boarding would be a really bad idea.

She waits for the answer and hopes for the best, no, the near impossible.

"Oh, that's good," Shard mutters as the pilot takes his best shot.  "Anyone happen to have some nice yellow blotches handy?"  She takes another pull on the flask, grimacing, then - as there doesn't seem to be any blaster-fire in the future - unbelts herself and heads for the nearest supply closet.

Maybe - just maybe - there'll be something in here she can splash on herself when the imperials board.  Paint.  Dye.

Muriatic acid.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:42, Mon 05 July 2010.

Rhijans had decided, after seeing a string of people proceeding to the cockpit, that he'd forego the pleasure.  Instead, he lurked just outside the hatch, satisfied to listen to the commentary.

These people were surprised to find Imperials on patrol here? he thought to himself.  Judging from the responses he was able to pick up...not-muttered and muttered expletives, grumbled irritation, and...was that a whiff of brandy?...they apparently were.

Then he heard Jalt's response, and shook his head.  It was a good story...Imperial inspectors weren't likely to want to spend much time inspecting anyone with a potential mystery illness...but there was no need to invent details that didn't exist.  "Seriously?" he called from the hallway.  "You've got a man on board with gray skin, and the best you could come up with is 'yellow splotches?'"  He shook his head, and checked the safety setting on his blaster.  He didn't intend to use it...but he wanted to make sure it was ready to go, if he had to.

Shisskurr waited, leaning back against a bulkhead a bit aways from the cockpit, and the remainder of the crew. He closed his eyes, feeling the hum of the ship's sublight engines vibrate through the hull. The familiar sounds of Imperial demand bore over the speakers. Shiss exhaled in agitation.

"Rrm. Never as easy as it seems."

He opened his eyes, checked the charge on his blaster as he moved away from the bulkhead; noticed Shard rummaging through a supply closet with some intent. Shiss turned, glancing behind him, saw Rhijans checking his weapons as well. Things seemed tense. Nothing he wasn't used to.

So he waited, making note of everything that was going on at the moment. Eventually, he moved to the back of the ship, by the engine room, to wait out the results.

"I'm going to need a bigger gun." Mark Jacobs said to nobody in particular as he saw the Star Destroyer. He hand touched the familiar Blastech DL-44 at his side as if to reassure himself that it was still with him.



Mark pulled out his medpac and checked the contents. He wondered if there was anything inside that would actually create such a condition if they were boarded. "Reldan, I hope you have a strong stomach. I might actually have something to back up your story."

Just hope it doesn't kill him. Mark stared at the Star Destroyer as it seemed to grow larger out the window.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:06, Tue 06 July 2010.

Pausing in her digging, Shard glances back over her shoulder.  Apparently Jacobs may have a solution that requires neither painting nor skin burns.  Shoving everything back in the closet - a mop falls back on her head, and she irritably kicks it to the rear of the storage space - the older woman pushes herself up.  "We don't all need to to take...whatever it is," she mutters, ambling over to Jacobs.

Slipping the flask back into her heavy, stained cloak, the woman grips a convenient handhold and cocks an eyebrow at the medpack.  "So what d'you have in there for me?"  Better that than another one of the kids hurting through it.

Besides, I've lots of experience with chem-induced pain.

From his position just outside the cockpit, Rhijans overheard Shard's question.  "Well, whatever you take, we've got to give to 'Smooth Talker' in the cockpit, since he's just told them all he's the one with yellow splotches."  He shook his head.

"If it was anyone but the Empire, I'd say we tell 'em Shiss was the sick one...who would know enough Trandoshan physiology to tell any better?"  Again, he shook his head.  "Imperials, though, would probably insist on taking him 'for quarantine holding'...and then space him to save themselves any further trouble."  The last was spoken in a lower voice, more for his own benefit than anyone else...but voices carry in the metallic interior of a space transport, and he wasn't accustomed to travelling as part of a group. He'd never really learned just how low he had to keep his voice if he didn't want to be overheard.

"Thank you, Voracious Rancor.  As you are declaring a medical emergency, the inspection has been waived." the voice doesn't sound particularly concerned about the sick passengers, or a Captain with yellow splotches.  It definitely sounds more like a case of somebody not wanting to catch a mysterious rash.

"However Ker Aldas has currently been placed under security lockdown.  All traffic is being diverted to other destinations.  Proceed to Ker Zaineer instead.  We have information that there are extensive medical facilities there which should be able to provide treatment for yourself and your passengers."

"Well, I'll be a two-headed Worrt!"

Neary nearly laughs and slaps the shoulder of the captain. It is followed by a smile that sits askew as she looks him over.

"You'll have to show me those yellow blotches at some point, skipper. Mmhmm."

Next comes a sigh of relief as she returns to prepare for the descent and the landing.

"Drink to that," Shard mutters, no longer concerned about mixing medicine and alcohol.  Click.  She takes another pull at the flask, grinning down at Jacobs.  "Thanks, 'doc', but it looks like we're home free.  Still...might want to keep whatever you've got handy.  The impies might call ahead and have a med-team waiting."

At the thought, her black mood returns and the weathered woman moves to stare into the cockpit, past the crewmembers and out into space - at the view before the ship, a gleaming world of light and the darkness above it.  That's just a taste, Shard, she thinks.  This isn't going to be as easy as you were told.  Spinning on her heel, she gives the yin-yang of planet and void her back, marching back into the rec-compartment to strap herself in.  She should relax.  Meditate.  Try to center herself, to gain some kind of distance and appropriate detachement.

But she can't get Neary's laughter out of her head, nor Reldan's brash bluff.  Nor, if it came to it, Jacobs' muttered concerns about the size of his weaponry - potential puns never cross her mind.  The flask pops open again.  Kids.  Just...kids, these days.

Gotta get them home in one piece.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:45, Tue 06 July 2010.

"Ker Zaineer," Mogg says. "We should be able to take a transport from there. Get closer to Ker Aldas. Get through security. Watch out for tails. Fortuitous."

He stands up straight and stretches. One hand rubs his chin, another scratches idly at his head-ridges, and the other two plant firmly on his hips.

"Be in the back," he says and turns to make his way out of the cockpit. He's seen the planet. Beautiful gem. And the big ships. Always impressive and a little disconcerting. Not much left to do but rest a few minutes before things got interesting.

He lumbers into the compartment with Shard and Jacobs. Strange. Soft-skinned. The lack of middle appendages always made him a little queasy. Entire races. Disfigured by design. The universe was full of wonders.

"Reflection is noble," he says, as if to himself. "Mimicry is easy; Experience is difficult ... often bitter. All three grant wisdom."

He smiles, leans back, closes his eyes, and grows still.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:58, Tue 06 July 2010.

Rhijans watched as Mogg came out of the cockpit, walking past him back to the passenger area.  Soon, it'd be time to strap in for the landing cycle...but for now, he was content to stay on his feet.

He turned his thoughts to the potential change in plans.  Yes, they could be stupid and try and run for Ker Aldas...and run right into security.  Security lockdown, he thought, musing over the implications of that.  Knowing they had a contact in the middle of that...without any idea of who, or how they were connected...left him a little leery.

Just like usual, the best option was going to be to wait, until they were on the ground and had up-to-date information on the situation, and then make a plan.  At least there was no immediate threat.  He reached down to his hip and flipped his blaster to 'safe', and scowled at the long nick in the barrel.  He'd have to replace that, sometime...

Shiss returned to the crew compartment a few minutes later. A large pack was hanging from one hand. With his other he reached a finger under a storage unit, pulled out an extending table, placed his pack upon it and opened it.

He made inventory, removed an extra set of clothes and a bunch of other goods, including a number of extra packs for his blaster - and perhaps for others, should they need them. His eyes narrowed when he saw he only had one smoke grenade. The typical Imperial stormtrooper had enough trouble seeing out of those awkwardly-shaped helmets, so small and confined. No peripheral vision at all, it seemed, from previous experience.

Finally, from the bottom of the pack, he removed a battered handle half as long as his arm, with a blade extension at the far end - a very clean looking blade, though the flat of it was notched here and there - and a recessed switch to avoid accidental activation. The opposite end of the handle held a mean looking spike, as well as a twist-knob to telescope the handle in case he needed a longer reach.

He gave the axe a good once-over with a greased cloth, then slid it up and behind him into some sort of locking sheath, hidden between the back of his vest and his armor. That finished, he re-packed everything and slid the pack beneath a seat with his foot.

Shiss glanced over at Rhijans, then at the nick in his blaster's barrel.

"Should check that," he said, unholstering his own blaster and beginning to clean it carefully. "A gouge like that might mean your lenses are out of alignment." He blinked once, twice. A considering gesture from his kind. "End up shooting like a stormtrooper."

Rhijans heard the comment, and gave a tight-lipped smile.  "Oh, it still shoots straight," he answered.  "That was the first thing I checked after it happened.  And while I've been assured by those who know better than I that the barrel's integrity hasn't been compromised, I still don't like it.  Melee weapons are supposed to have scars like that, not blasters."  He shrugged, and walked over to where Shisskur had just tucked his pack away.

"Glad to see someone packing for eventualities," he observed, in a lower tone of voice.  "Looks like there's at least one being in this pack who really believes in preparation."  Rhijans' tone indicated some degree of envy...he'd have liked to have been so well prepared, but the limited gear available at the Rebel base hadn't really inspired any degree of confidence...his equipment was limited, but he knew it well and had a pretty solid idea of just what he could and couldn't manage with it.  So, he'd opted to travel light.

Mark returned his medpac. "Glad that I didn't have to try to make someone sick."

"Never done it before, and I'm not a doctor. So who knows what could have happened."

The man turned to those inside the cockpit, "You think you can check their network for any information on where they are having us land? Anything might be helpful if you don't think it'll trigger some sort of Imperial alarm."

Mark turned from the pilot to the co-pilot hoping for some assurance. "If you find schematics or anything useful. Let me know, I've a datapad."

"Glad I didn't have to find out." With Jacobs heading off to discuss matters in the cockpit, Shard leans her head back, closing her eyes.  Philosophy flows from Mogg - a decent philosophy, better than the crap she was force-fed earlier in her life.  Force fed.  The inadvertant pun makes her snicker, but a moment later water wells in her closed eyes.  One thumb finds the cap of the flask, snaps it closed - bad enough to be standing in the doorway of maudlin without actually entering that gloomy home.

Movement, motion.  One eye, now dry, cracks open to scan the Shishkurr's axe, then closes again.  The weapon, the man - straightforward and effective.  People she used to know would call it 'crude', but Shard feels there's a difference between 'simple' and 'clumsy'.  Or even 'simple' and 'easy'.  Vibro-axe'll kill you just as dead as anything else, and twice as fast if you stand in its way, she considers.

People laugh about the clumsiness of Shishkurr's race, but Shard knows slow isn't awkward and that timing has nothing to do with speed.

Shishkurr and Thanus discuss weaponry.  Funny how that always went in these things - nervousness before the mission sublimated into talk over what will hopefully pull its people out if everything goes south.  They seem to know their blaster-business, better than Shard to be sure.  She pats her cloak to make sure the little pistol is still in its pocket - she doesn't even know the thing's model number.

Thanus mutters something in a lower voice; Shard's quick ears catch 'preparation', but that's all.  She can guess, given the packing going on.  The older woman tried that, at one point in her glorious rebel career.  She ended up carrying everything but the kitchen sink, and still not having the gadget she needed.  Some people  - Shishkurr likely one of them - are good planners; she isn't.

Seat of my pants.  If I were wearing any.

I'll make do with what I find.

"What kind of experience do you fellows have?" she asks the compartment at large, her eyes still closed.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:29, Wed 07 July 2010.

"Mostly bitter," Mogg says, the meditative smile still lingering. "We are in the rebellion; what other kind of experience would lead us here?"

He leans forward. Two hands brace on his knees. Another gestures at Shard.

"You mean violent experience, yes? I have been in some fights. Fist fights, you might say."

He raises four fists.

"Not many. Most beings are disinclined, one way or another, to fight me when the opportunity arises. Very persuasive sometimes. Sometimes must know the force of words to know the force of people."

He leans back against the bulkhead again.

"Between talking and fighting. I prefer talk."

He smiles. "Pleasant talking."

"Preparation is a key to survival," Shisskurr responded to Rhijans. He holstered his blaster, folding his long arms before his equally large chest. Shiss' eyes remained open for a horribly long time now, not blinking, not moving. Shiss found that other beings found such a thing disconcerting. He was really just thinking to himself.

Shard made an inquiry. Shiss blinked again.

"Various jobs protecting particular individuals. Been doing it for about fifteen standard cycles, now. Imps, Rebels and by private request." His lip curled slightly, then settled. "I don't work Imperial anymore."

One eye looked at Mogg. Shiss resisted a sneer; considered what it might be like to face the Besalisk in unarmed combat. Grappling would be out of the question.

"Some races don't have the gift of fine speech." His mouth suddenly opened a bit, showing rows of sharp teeth. His voice was gravel over synthcrete. "Not much use in talking when a blaster's in your face."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:54, Wed 07 July 2010.

"Is it so?" Mogg asks. His head tilts to one side in curiosity. "Haven't found that to be true. Depends on what you say, I guess. Perhaps soon there will be a blaster in my face, and I will have the opportunity to show."

One eye-crest arches a bit.

"Unless you feel up to trying sometime, that is."

Rhijans rolled his eyes.  There was posturing...and then there was taking things to ridiculous levels.  "Let's save the talking around blaster bolts for some time when we're not all penned up in the same ship, shall we?" he asked, a tired edge in his voice.  He glanced over at Shard.

"My experience consists mainly of retrieving very reluctant individuals who are trying to run out on the demands of justice.  Occasionally, justice has nothing to do with it and it's just someone wants to talk to someone who doesn't want to talk to them.  Either way, it usually means I have to find my way in and back out of trouble again."  He shrugged.  "It's a living...of sorts."

Bad feelings already, of sorts, between two of the men.  Shard wonders if it has to do with them both being reptilian, decides it doesn't; for starters, she isn't certain Mogg is of that persuasion.  And stuff a couple of mammals in the same room, you might get the same issue, she blearily considers.

Thanus steps in as adjudicator of sorts - thank the spirits, the gods, whathaveyou - then prounounces himself a bounty-hunter.  At least, that's what Shard gets from his bureaucratese.  Bodyguard, bounty-hunter, and philosophical pugelist.  Pursing her lips, she slowly nods her head.  Got it.  There's a small pain starting behind her left eye - half from the alcohol, half from the stress; she rubs it, struggling to work it away.

"We're gonna have to work together," she says, opening her eyes and leaning forward.  "Better figure out the pecking order before we get down there, 'cause if we're arguing about things we're not keeping an eye on what's creeping up our tails.  I've never been a bounty-hunter or bodyguard," she admits.  Tried the philosopher thing.  Didn't work out. "Been doing this rebellion thing for over a decade.  I guess that's my experience.  Bit of a jack of all trades, certainly master of none." 

She waves one hand absently at the others.  "No cursed good with those guns you're toting...I'll leave that sort of thing to you."

The Dancing Bantha drops into the atmosphere and descends rapidly, swooping low over ancient forested mountains interspersed with broad lakes.  Ahead, and a little to port, the gas giant which Dateen orbits sits on the horizon.  Dateen orbits far enough out that the giant doesn't dominate the sky.  That sky is a clear turquoise.

Very picturesque.  A beautiful day for a stroll in the woods.  Don't forget your respirator though.

Spores in Dateen's atmosphere, exuded by most of the plants, can take root in the moist environment of the lungs, producing a slow, painful death which can take weeks...

The ship climbs over a muntain range, and there is a city on the other side.  All enclosed domes and sealed towers.  The space port stands a little way off, covered by a low intensity force field, intended to keep the local atmospheric contaminants out.

For the ship, passing through that barrier causes no more than a minute reduction in speed.  And then Dancing Bantha is settling onto a landing pad.  Safe and sound.

And a little over a thousand kilometres from where it should be.

Regrettable. Mogg leans back again as the ship enters Dateen's atmosphere. It seems the others have mistaken his invitation as antagonism. There was certainly no reason to assume any blasters would actually be fired in the demonstration, but these seemed to be individuals who assumed hostility and violence as a matter of course. Very Regrettable.

Then again, they didn't know Mogg. They didn't know what he was capable of, so assuming a confrontation as described would end violently might seem reasonable to them, not knowing ... or not caring, perhaps. Not interested?

"I am happy following," Mogg says. "Someone else can do the pecking?"

His eyes close and the slow, meditative smile returns to his features. Who knew his companions would prove to be interesting as the mission?

Things seem to have calmed a little by the time they land - well, Mogg has, assuming he was ever irate.  It's hard to tell, Shard reflects.  She has other ways she could check, but...why?  It takes two to tango, and Mogg certainly doesn't seem interested.

Finally the ship fully settles on the pad, and Shard unbuckles herself from the safety harness, standing and stretching to the unmelodic accompaniment of pops and cracks - her left ankle, her left shoulder, her right wrist.  They don't hurt, not quite, but still come in the same places it hurts when it rains.  There is no doubt a connection; she really needs to remember to do her daily stretches.

Probably recollect better if I weren't drinking...

Thrusting that unpleasant thought aside, she does a brief check both on and in her cloak.  Sundry items...check.  Small blaster...check.  Flask...flask...where's the accursed fla-...check.  "All present and accounted for," the woman mutters to herself, then raises her voice as she paces toward the hatch.  "Anything waiting for us outside, Captain Jalt?"  With her luck....

So, better me than them.

Shiss was more amused than bristled by the minor disagreement with the Besalisk, though he kept that entirely to himself, maintaining a presence of simple alien uncaringness in response to the remainder of his team. It was good to test the waters that this group represented. He wouldn't do well working with weak-minded fools, especially if they were all to work a part. Better to see that they could stand even the smallest things if things ever got hairy.

For his own sake, Shiss hoped he'd be relegated to the few standard practices he was already used to. Keeping an eye on things and making sure people survived. Beating the crap out of the individuals he was working beside wasn't in his job description. Unless, of course, those individuals decided to find it more profitable to space him or his responsibilities and be done with it. That was a different story.

He erred on the side of the positive, for now. Generally speaking, if things went a certain way, good or bad, Shiss tended to accept it and move on. It was in the preparation for either outcome that he mostly stressed over.

Shisskurr reached behind him and down, picking up his pack and throwing it over his shoulder, awaiting the Captain's answer.

"Landing pad looks clear." Reldan calls out over his shoulder.  Then, to his first mate, "Neary, make sure everything's locked down.  If we're going to be away from the 'Bantha' for a while, I don't want anybody fooling around with her."

He gets up from his station and walks through to where the "passengers" are waiting to disembark, "If we're going to travel to Ker Aldas, does anybody else think it might be a good idea to find out what's happening there first?"

"Absolutely vital, in fact," Rhijans responded.  "Also be a good idea to find out what kinds of travel arrangements are available.  If the only way to get there--and back--is an Imperial-monitored transit system, this is going to get tricky...and if the only way is a chartered speeder flight, it's going to get expensive."

He looked around.  Still didn't have a very complete picture of the team...for all that they'd been posted together, they hadn't been there long enough to know each other by more than names and faces, really.  But it was starting to look like they might actually have come up with a talent pool that overlapped nicely.  So far, he was feeling good about the team...even though the situation was spiralling downward.

Shard pondered the bounty-hunter’s ideas.  “Good plan.  I’d also like to know why there’s an accursed Impy Star Destroyer in orbit.”  It’s one thing to see patrol ships, or even cruisers.  But the big boys?  The Empire tends to keep them ready for use or send them to hot spots, not have them sitting around planets in the armpit of wherever on patrol duty.

“There’s a purpose to it being here,” Shard muttered.  “And I don’t believe in coincidence.”  One thing on which she and her old masters could agree.

Weighed against their disagreements, it came up woefully short of balance.

"Sure thing, Rel."

Neary began the procedure immediately. Not that it would take long but no point holding it off either.

"Hey, folks, at least we're in the clear for now thanks to Mr. Smooth Talker here. We could always board that thing up there and I'll happily blow it up."

She joins the others as they are about to leave the ship. Behind her Wheel comes whizzing along while making it own little noises.

Mark replied to Shard, "The short story is that I've some militia training."

"Save the long story for another time.

The man followed the captain and the co-pilot from the cockpit. He was a bit disappointed that they were unable to pull up any useful data. But you got to go with the deck that was dealt. Mark put his datapad away.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Let's figure out our next step."

There are a number of options available to the crew and passengers of the Dancing Bantha.

They are at a space port, on the edge of a large city.  Naturally there is going to be a transport system to ferry goods and personnel between the port and that city, Ker Zaineer.  Doubtless there will be some sort of transport hub in the city, giving access to other cities on the planet.

It may even be possible to rent a vehicle of some sort, either at the port, or in Ker Zaineer itself.

For those wanting information about the situation in Ker Aldas, there is a directory alongside the landing pad, showing the locations of several businesses on the perimeter of the port: hotels and hostels, diners, freight agencies, cantinas...

Rhijans looked around.  He was of two minds...going to a freight shipper would give them a potential chance to arrange for someone to ship their goods from Ker Aldas here to the starport.  Unfortunately, there was a chance that the someone involved might be reporting suspicious activity to the Empire, which would put an end to their mission real quick.

Sometimes, the fastest way forward is to slip sideways for a little bit, he reminded himself.  The tricky thing about cantina-hopping for information was finding one disreputable enough to have the kind of contacts they'd need, but not so seedy that they'd end up having to shoot their way out.  Gunplay involved the authorities coming to investigate, and Rhijans didn't imagine there were too many other groups roaming the starport with a gray-skinned human and a Trandoshan in their midst.

So, he started looking for the second-seediest looking place...

"I'll have to remember to ask about the long story," Shard manages to say, more or less clearly.  She scrunches her eyes closed for a moment, the stares out the hatchway with some bleariness.  "Does anyone actually know this planet?  Cause if not, the best idea might be to chat some people up."

With a shrug, she settles her heavy cloak about her, almost vanishing into its folds. "I figure a bar or a cantina is a nice starting point."  Would be a good place to fill up, as well, she quietly admits to herself.

Guess I'll get back on that exercise regime tomorrow.  And the better diet - year by year, she wastes away a little more.  Quit drinking, eat better, exercises....  Her eyes snap to the directory, skimming it over in search of the nearest watering ho - information sink.

Yeah.  Tomorrow.

"Don't know this planet," Mogg admits. "But I like chatting. Solve many problems that way."

He begins to wander off, letting instincts and a cunning eye guide him rather than a directory. The kind of place he seeks probably won't be in the directory anyway.

Over his shoulder he says, "Place of drink always best place to start."

"Yeah." Mark replied to Shard when she mentioned the long story. "If you buy me enough drinks after this milk run, I'll tell ya about me and my buddies."

Mark Jacobs decided it was time to get some fresh air. "If the captain don't mind. I'm going to open the hatch." He stood next to the boarding ramp and pressed a few buttons.

Nothing happened.

Mark looked over his shoulder and pressed a few more buttons, "Damn rust bucket didn't like the access code the first time."

When the ramp was deployed, Mark was first to walk down and find the terminal. "I'll pull up a list of cantinas in the area."

After removing a couple of things from his pack (a pair of spare charges and his comlink), Shiss shoved the bag back under the seat. With nary a word, he slid past everyone else and followed Mark down the gangway.

He stood a bit away from Mark as he accessed the local network, keeping an eye out, making mental notes of what he could surmise about the environment itself. Options regarding the locals would have to wait until he saw more of them. It was mostly a force of habit. As far as the current plan was concerned, he'd choose to go where someone of his talent was most necessary.

Then again, sometimes the situations you end up in are the ones you're supposed to encounter. So he stood, and waited.

NEary throws a grin Johin's way.

"CHatting sure beats shooting any day.  Less chance of dying from words than blasters or blades."

After making sure that Wheely manages to navigate the ramp she looks around for a suitable person not too far away and then calls out.

"Hey, excuse me!  Can you tell me where the nearest cantina is?"

She figures they might as well start there as anywhere else.

"Buy you drinks."  Shui thoughtfully considers this idea.  Purchasing someone else drinks.  Will it be worth the story?  It isn't as if she's made of credits...

"Deal."  The older woman waits while the hatch cycles; the moment it opens, there's a positive traffic jam of people swarming forth, all apparently in a search for cantinas.  She huffs a laugh; space travel and meeting up with a Star Destroyer will do that.

...not necessarily the cantina part, just the 'get off the ship'.

Deciding to wait for both their pilot and the crowd to thin, she leans against the bulkhead; the ache behind her eyes has grown a touch worse, but there's nothing she can do about that.  Well, there are things, but she's not in the mood for peace, serenity, and empty killing.

"Yo, Captain.  Are you coming, or what?"

It's not like it will be difficult to catch up to someone in the group before they vanish into the cantinas of the spaceport.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:38, Thu 15 July 2010.

Rhijans and Mark study the data terminal, noting the locations of several likely establishments, eventually selecting one that looks like it might suit their needs.

Neary, meanwhile tries a simpler approach, shouting at the nearest people.  A woman accompanied by a decrepit looking R2 droid, retrofitted with the head of an R4, turns to look at her, "Feeling thirsty, eh?  No worries.  If you duck into that alley between those two buildings, there's a bar there."  She waves a hand in the direction of the buildings in question, about three hundred metres away, and adds, "It's not the nicest place around, but at least none of you should have trouble getting served there."


The group starts moving towards the buildings, leaving R2-O0 aboard the locked ship.

Closer up, the buildings turn out to be a starship component vendor and a freight warehouse.  The alley is dimly lit, as they usually are, and the strains of lively music drift out of it as the Rebel enter it.

The bar is impossible to miss - brightly animated holograms dance, eat and drink above the door, and the music is definitely coming from that particular door.

Inside, it's actually fairly clean, and better lit than the alley.  It is also populated with members of at least twenty different species, and very crowded.  A glass, fortunately made of tough plastic, bounces off the wall only a metre from Shard's head.

It looks like they have walked into the middle a full-fledged brawl.  The bartender, a rhodian, screams, "No blasters!" in heavily-accented Basic, and then ducks out of sight as an enraged wookiee hurls a human over the counter.

Upon entering the cantina, Shiss made a growling/hissing nose deep in his throat, sounding like a combination threat and warning. His eyes opened even wider, which seemed impossible, but actually gave him a better judge of the heat signatures in the room.

Instantly, he started picking targets and assessing the rest of his own group. He surmised that Mogg and himself could probably wade into the mess and turn it into something a bit more positive, though that Wookie might be a pain. That, however, was the most obvious initial assessment. There were other factors to take in, such as the talents of the rest of his team, their gear, and the current duration of this particular brawl. A prolonged fight might mean more exhausted targets, equalling easy pickings. Right now, he was more focused on keeping the 'softer' targets in his team safe.

He flexed his fingers, but neither drew his blaster, as per the bartender's request, nor his axe. He took up a position near the front of his group, where the long reach of his arms could hopefully give him the initiative in case the brawl headed their way.

"We should find another cantina," Shiss growled.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:14, Thu 15 July 2010.

"You're kidding right? Feels like home already. Just don't step on anyone and bump into them and we'll be fine."

Neary slaps the back of Shisskurr and wriggled her way past, heading towards a part of the bar free of thrown humans and upset Wookies. Keeping an eye out for trouble is of course a good idea at all times but this place seems to be just what they need.

"Yo, barkeep! I hope you got some strong Accarrgm^* behind there!"

She calls out even before she reaches the bar, giving the Rhodian time to crawl to safety and reappear where she needs him to be.



^{* A really strong alcoholic Wookie beverage.}

Rhijans shrugged.  It was hardly the worst place he'd been in...

He glanced around the establishment.  It appeared most of the clientele was spacers...but there had to be a few others in here.  If there were other hunters, he might be able to ask them about the blockade on Ker Aldas, as a professional courtesy.

And if there weren't, maybe he'd recognize some other disreputable type that would know the answer...and could be encouraged to share it, one way or another.

"Wonderful."  Shard finds a spot on the wall near the door and presses her back to it.  One of their people has chosen to dive right in, so she can't just leave.  On the other hand, she's not as limber as she used to be, her hand to hand skills have atrophied, and her bones are a little more brittle.

Hopping into a brawl is no longer her idea of fun, if it ever was.

"I think we're stuck, Shisskurr," she shouts over the cries, the crashes, the cacaphony.  "Figure I'll just hunker down here and wait for the storm to pass."  But her eyes remain on the people, the room; they hunt, they seek, on the lookout for aggression turned toward Narf, for Imperials, for blasters or blades being drawn.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:51, Sat 17 July 2010.

Shiss spit-hiss-snarled something in Shard's general direction. It felt like he was swearing. Nevertheless, he moved with her. His eyes and head were subtly adjusting to the room, keeping a gauge on the conflict at-hand.

To him it was frustrating, but not overwhelming. It was one thing to wade into a crowd on his own. Quite another when surrounded by individuals he was tasked with keeping an eye on. He reminded himself that this was not a typical guard mission and that the rest of his team could take care of themselves.

He backed Shard up anyway. She smelled uncomfortable. Then again, Shard always seemed to smell uncomfortable.

He rolled his eyes as Neary made her way deeper into the cantina. Mark Jacobs followed. "Give me a Yelsain Ale."

Once he got his drink, he turned his back to the bar with drink in hand. He gave a nod to Shisskurr and Shard. They had taken a place near the entrance.

"Let me know if you need a hand with anything." Mark said in a low voice to Neary.

Mark glanced around to check for other exits.

Reldan moves closer to Shard and Shiss as he enters the bar, grinning.  "This place isn't as bad as some." he says, raising his voice above the ambient noise, "There was this one place I was in on Vonin a year or two back.  If you got in there two minutes after it opened in the morning, then you'd have missed a half-dozen fights."

"I'm going to grab me a drink.  Can I fetch you two anything while I'm about it?"

Fortunately the brawl ends quickly, with minimal injuries (at least on the part of the wookiee, who seems to have obtained a little more elbow room in which to enjoy his drink).  Several other patrons are a little less fortunate, and it should, perhaps, be noted that the human who was thrown over the bar counter doesn't get up as quickly as most of the others.

The bartender raises his head, and starts serving again, as conversations resume around the crowded room...

"Stupid Impies, always messing things up."
"I was supposed to deliver a cargo to Ker Aldas this morning."
"And then Jan punched that weequay, right in the... " (laughter)
"How many stormtroopers does it take to change a power cell?"
"The Hutt isn't going to be happy with me."
"Huuuurrrr wroarhah rhurr!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:45, Mon 19 July 2010.

Neary smiles at Marc and leans in to whisper.

"Thanks, didn't know you care. Right now all I need is this drink, but if you want to watch my back I'd appreciate it."

Then she makes her way towards the patron who mentioned Imperials and lifts her glass in greeting.

"Imperials, messing up is all they can do. And even that they do badly, ha! Say, is this seat taken?"

An alluring smile and then a sip from the drink while she waits.

Jacobs moves off to watch over the exuberant Narf; Shard offers him a wry nod in return for his own.  She settles herself more fully against the wall when the violence grinds to a halt, letting her senses expand so she can better hear who is saying what.  When their pilot joins them, she shoots him a twisted grin.  "I've passed out in worse places," the aging rebel admits.  "But I'm getting too fragile for fights.  Sounds like you've gotten around, Jalt."

Lifting her head, she sniffs the air.  "Something strong, if you're buying.  Doesn't have to be expensive." Closing her eyes for a moment, she breathes out slowly, relaxing her tension.  Keep it calmer, Shard.  You'll muck everything up if you don't calm down.

Mindless placidity was offensive, but patience and relaxation went a long way toward controlling oneself.

"You can learn a lot by listening," she mutters.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:26, Wed 21 July 2010.

Rhijans homed in on the voice that mentioned making a delivery to Ker Aldas, walking up to the table and putting on his most charming manner (which made him something vaguely resembling personable).  "Funny, I was supposed to pick something up in Ker Aldas today...any word on what happened?"  As one of the harried looking wait-staff walked past, he grabbed an arm.

"Can I get a Corellian Ale?" he asked, and then turned his attention back to the table.

"I'd hate to find out this was a wasted trip...could definitely have put the fuel to better use, if it was."  While he'd never been a free-trader, he'd overheard enough ship captain's talking to have some idea of what their priorities would be.

Painfully aware of how thin his credits are these days, Jihon Mogg eases up to the bar, pushing in between others to make room for himself, and orders a cheap drink, beginning to nurse it slowly. He keeps to himself for a few minutes, then turns to the alien on his left. "What's this I hear about Ker Aldas? I had a friend there a while back."

Mark Jacobs didn't change his position. He stood at the bar and kept a watchful eye around him. He glanced at the Wookiee and the other alien as he sipped his drink.

Neary makes her way over to one of the tables, drink in hand, and finds a seat, joining a couple of rough-looking humans.  One of them promptly shifts position, so that he can get a little closer to her, and sits there leering.  The other starts talking quietly, and Neary can barely hear him above the noise in the cantina.

Rhijans, meanwhile, finds his own conversation to butt into.  The participants, a squat human woman, who looks like she could pick up any Hutt that gave her trouble, and a tall, slender alien, study him briefly, before the woman replies, loudly, "They say that they need the port for their own ships.  They don't care if they damage business, laser-brained shower of nerf-herders!"  The alien speaks then, much more softly...

Mark stays at the bar, watching the room for signs of further trouble. 

The creature at Jihon's left doesn't seem to hear him, at first, but eventually turns a bleary-eyed gaze in his direction.  It makes an expression which is, presumably, a smile and jabbers something in its own tongue. 

Reldan gets drink orders, and starts to make his way across the crowded room, leaving Shisskurr and Shard propping up the wall behind him.

It takes a bit of work to filter out what she hears, not helped in the least by Shard's throbbing head.  The multitude of conflicting stories doesn't make things easier.  Most of the rumormongering seems to back up what Narf gets from the salaciously-grinning man's tablemate.  But others consider the possibility of the Empire going hardcore on smuggling, or shutting down the port on a permanent basis.

She disregards the theory of a wild Rancor in the city - they don't hide very well, and it's not something requiring a Star Destroyer in any case.

"Sounds like we might be dealing with an important visitor," she mutters to Shisskur.  "Someone big enough for the Empire to send one big cursed escort and close the port to better keep track of everything - namely, themselves."

Great.  We're in, but we can't get back out until the high muckity-muck vacates.  And maybe not for a while afterward, depending on what he's here for.  Her eyes snap to Reldan, gauging his progress - suddenly Shard needs that drink.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:43, Thu 22 July 2010.

Neary gives the leering guy just enough of a smile as to not put him of but hopefully not cause any further advances. She listens to the other and nods while sipping her drink again.

She leans in to be able to whisper back.

A small sigh and another sip.

Jihon nods and grunts his thanks to the alien. He spends a few more minutes sipping lightly at his drink and appearing to keep to his own thoughts. The alien's story confirmed trouble at Ker Aldas, but the reason didn't really hold up to reason. He couldn't see them calling in star destroyers for a few weapon smugglers. Finally, he leans back over to the alien and speaks, using whatever he can of the alien's own words as quiet as he can over the ruckus.

Inwardly, Rhijans quirked one eyebrow in the air...closing down the entire starport for a major city required a LOT of ships...Or just one or two really important ones, he observed to himself.  He leaned in closer, and while his face was pointed at the drunk woman, his eyes flitted often to the alien.  Given her unsubtle outburst, the bounty hunter was certain that she'd react poorly to being cut out of the conversation...but he felt pretty certain that the alien would be more likely to have some clear answers.


His words were low, but his expression showed a sincere degree of desperation--there was a timetable for this excursion, and if things wandered too far from it, the opportunity could be lost.  Might already be, in fact...

Shiss crossed his long arms before his chest, doing his best to look as intimidating as possible. Not a hard thing for one of his species. At Shard's comment, Shiss grunted.

"Rr. The Empire enjoys making a show of things, though I would not leave out the idea that all of this is merely a cover for something more sinister." He hissed inwardly. "I have seen similar actions on other worlds. It feels like a distraction, though I may simply be jumping to conclusions."

He caught the eye of a passing Twi'lek waitress, looking harried and haggard. He grabbed the first thing off of the tray she was carrying - an ale of Corellian designation - and handed it to Shard. He concentrated on not spilling it everywhere, damning his hands. "Hrn. For your nerves. Places like this can strain." Though he hesitated to make the woman worse off than she was, he felt it better to at least have her in a better frame of mind. She actually seemed worse after having entered the Cantina. He felt the alcohol was probably the lesser of two evils.

"I wouldn't say you're doing any jumping," Shard mutters a little distractedly, still focused on listening.  "Curse it, lost the thread." Frustrated, she gives up on the effort - Narf will get as much or more than she has so far, as will others.  Better to just keep an eye on the place, preferably near the entrance.  If real trouble comes, likely it will come from that direction.

"You mean I'm getting the shakes.  And you'd be right."  She eyes the offered drink with distaste.  Ale.  It sits like lead and weakens her body, rather than burning like molten metal and jumping straight to her head.  "I think I'll..."  The polite demur goes the way of the Old Republic, and Shard takes the tankard, raising it to her benefactor before taking a large gulp.

Well, it would be rude to refuse, wouldn't it, especially after all the work he put into being careful?
This message was last edited by the player at 12:15, Mon 26 July 2010.

In the furthest corner of the cantina, a drink gets spilled, and a punch thrown.  Most of the clientele don't even notice (except for the man laying on the floor with his nose extensively remodelled, obviously).  They just go on drinking and talking.  It looks as if it is one of those places.

The wookiee tilts back his head and bellows, and the group of humans and aliens around him cheer.  Then he proceeds to empty his large glass without drawing breath as his friends egg him on.

Neary's leering friend moves a little closer and offers to pour her a drink from the bottle he has in front of him. 

Meanwhile, Jihon seems to be deep in conversation with his alien companion at the bar. 

The large woman talking to Rhijans slams her fist down on the table, loud enough to draw more attention than the recent punching incident, "Too long!  That's how long." 

Shard and Shisskurr appear to be lost in their own conversation, over near the entrance.

The wookiee finishes his drink, and bangs the empty glass down hard enough to crack it, amid the cheers of his companions.  Then he starts to look around the bar, sniffing.  He rumbles something very quietly, and the group with him also start looking around.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:06, Mon 26 July 2010.

Rhijans considered the alien's message to him as he did his best to help the creature calm the woman.  "Your friend in correct...there's certainly little of value to be gained by complaining about the Empire..."  His calming gesture was sincere enough...he didn't want any Imperial agents present in the bar paying any attention to him.

That thought sparked an ember of suspicion, and he glanced surreptitiously at other bar patrons, looking to see if any single individual seemed to be paying inordinate attention to them...or, more disturbingly, if several different people were watching his current table-partners.  He suspected, in a place like this, even the best of Imperial agents would be hard-pressed to keep their true identity a secret for very long.

Mark Jacobs made a mental note on the drunk wookiee. Any fight with a drunk wookiee would be poor odds at best. "I got a bad feeling about this." He muttered under his breath as he set down his drink at the bar.

He glanced at his other companions. Many of them were busy with other conversations.

Jihon Mogg smiles, as best as his species does. The effect is more noticeably by their own kind than aliens. He nods his appreciation of the other's subtle hint while pondering the bottom of his glass. Barely enough greenish liquid barely skims the bottom that he knows he'll have to order a new one soon enough, a reminder of how scant his credits are.

He leans conspiratoriously close to the other again and speaks, making a small gesture in the alien's general direction during the speech.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:21, Thu 29 July 2010.

From her place near the door, Shard tips her glass toward their captain when he looks to her and her reptilian companion.  A good sort, that one.  Does she owe him a drink?  In exchange for his story, right.  Better remember that.

It's good to know the people with whom one works.

It seems like everyone is doing quite well garnering information except her and Shisskurr, the two of them concentrating on holding up the wall.  Taking another mouthful of the ale, Shard squints around the room for a moment.  "We're lookout," she mumurs.  "Keep your eyes peeled for someone moving in our ours - either for listening, or trouble."  Taking her own advice, she breathes out a long, slightly ale-scented sigh, and relaxes, struggling to find a harmonic flow between tension and peace.

Middle ground - something she has been forgetting of late.

Shiss merely hiss-growled an acknowlegement to Shard, his ochre eyes scanning the cantina for any sort of threat.

Despite the position of his current partner, Shiss himself believed that an image was just as powerful as an act in certain situations. Those who had been paying attention when his group walked in would have certainly noted himself and Shard setting themselves apart from the group. That simple fact would cause a twofold reaction if anything untoward happened to their companions.

First, he and Shard might become primary targets. In Shiss' experience, that wasn't necessarilly a bad thing. A bodyguard is called such for a reason. He had learned to identify priority targets more by who wasn't shooting at him than who was.

Secondly, the two of them might actually be postponing something from happening simply by acting aloof. He and Shard were an unknown quantity in the problem of a potential conflict. Shiss enjoyed having an advantage, even if it was simply a psychological one. He hoped that Shard would be reinforced by it, even if she wasn't necessarilly paying attention to that as a factor.

He would define himself as a bedrock of control and calm, in the waiting thrumm of potential conflict.

When things go to pieces in this place, it seems to happen fast...

The wookiee gives an enraged howl, and points directly at Shisskurr, then starts towards him, shoving people out of the way.  The man that Neary is talking to, and his leering companion, are among the first to be pushed aside.

Mark Jacobs darts forward to intercept the wookiee...

The bartender screams, and ducks out of sight again.  From the other side of the counter, Jihon can clearly hear him promising not to allow wookiees in the place again.

Reldan has the drinks, and is turning back towards Shard and Shis when the wookiee explodes and goes on a rampage.  Correction, judging by the comments of some of the other patrons in the cantina, that should be another rampage.

"Oh, Sith spit!"

He places the drinks carefully on the bar, and loosens his blaster in its holster.  Not to shoot the wookiee, but just in case he needs to use it to encourage the wookiee's friends to consider their plan of action carefully.

There are many options, but one question needs to be answered immediately.  Outside, or in?  Neither seems particularly paletable to Shard; inside, it could erupt into a full-out war, outside would bring the attention of Imperials.  Crunch time - her mind works furiously, despite the haze of alcohol, calculating the percentages of each.

In the end, there's no contest.  Stick to the mission.  Don't get the Impies looking our way.

They have seconds, no more.  Her eyes snap open, only just having closed, and she glances at her tall, powerfully built companion.  "Can you take him?" Shard hisses.  "Without blades or blasters?"  He might be capable at that, and there's nothing wrong with hitting a walking, furry wall with a table.  It might establish Shisskurr as a presence to reckon with in the doing.  If he can't...well, then it's on to option B.  Whatever that is, she grimly considers.

That headache is coming back already.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:20, Thu 29 July 2010.

Rhijans huddled closer to the table, trying to avoid becoming collateral damage in the Wookiee rampage.  He'd been about to look around to see what had set the creature off when the alien commented on the regularity of these outbursts...since it was a regular occurrence, the bounty hunter didn't bother with checking on the target.  Someone else's problem, and he was getting some helpful information right now.

Using the chaos as an excuse, he slid around the table, closer to the alien (figuring this would allow him to keep the quiet exchange going, without looking suspicious or upsetting the woman who was muttering what was either a shopping list of repair parts or a considerable stream of invective--Rhijans couldn't tell which, for sure.)

Ducking back when the slightly annoyed Wookie blazes a trail through the cantina Neary can not help but pity whoever is the target of its wrath.

She focuses on helping her tablemates back on their feet or at least back on the behinds.

"You okay fellows?"

Not that she really cares about them but she has no wish to see them hurt either. She throws a glance after the Wookie to see if she can discern its target or whatever upset it this time around.

Taking in the entirety of the situation in an instant, Shiss blinked once at Shard's question, then did the one thing he felt was the best idea, to limit the threat posed to his comrades.

He left.

He'd had a feeling that Wookie was going to be trouble. Hopefully, he would not only defuse the situation in the cantina, but maybe even get rid of the Wookie problem as a whole. He slid out of the doorway, his eyes on the Wookie the entire time.

Shiss personally had nothing against Wookies, and he didn't put a whole lot of stock in his race's infinite hatred for them, but he'd had to deal with the consequences of it numerous times. You couldn't help how you were born.

He slid into the alley by the cantina, crouched there in the shadows, and waited to see what the results would be. He felt the comforting weight of his vibroaxe sitting behind him, and wondered what it would be like to have a knock-down drag-out fight with that Wookie. It had been a long time since his last one.

Jihon does his best to mask his irritation at the Wookie. He plants a pleasant smile on his face and half-turns to watch the spectacle along with the alien near him. He doesn't want to push the issue and make the alien irritable and less willing to negotiate.

Mark had moved the moment he saw the wookiee head towards Neary. However, the wookiee passed by the table and continued towards... Shisskurr, who had ducked out the cantina.

He found himself dangerously close to a wookiee that may have been gearing for a fight.

One eyebrow shoots up as Shisskurr bolts out the door.  "Not exactly the answer I expected," Shard mutters.  Nor the one for which she hoped.  The thin, aging woman turned back to face the onrushing Wookie, not moving from her place on the floor.  One hand reaches inside her cloak, fingers closing over a very familiar piece of metal, thumb finding the button as she relaxes.

If he chooses to run past her, well and good.  If not, she can't show weakness, even in the face of such a mighty beast.  Might as well put up a neon sign in this sort of place, one stating 'Pick On Me and My Friends'.

Releasing a breath, she struggles to relax; not an easy thing with a giant, fanged, furry wall barrelling down on her.

Everybody moves to get away from the wookiee, except Mark Jacobs.  He moves closer, and speaks to it, though his voice doesn't carry far over the noise.  Shard readies herself for action as the large, furry alien pauses and glances at Mark, and leans forward to howl straight in his face.  Then it straightens up and turns towards its target again, only to find that the trandoshan object of its rage has disappeared.  The wookiee looks about, puzzled for a moment.

The bellow which follows sounds less angry, and fades away into a definite snicker, as the wookiee's companion's cheer.  Then the wookiee slaps Mark on the back, almost knocking him over, and smiles at him.  "Woooaaargh raarrrrr huurrff rhuuur." 

As things quieten down a little, Neary helps her two new acquaintances up, and Mr. Leery takes the opportunity to get a little too familiar, and put his hand somewhere he really shouldn't.

Rhijans shifts around the table slightly and focuses his attention on the alien, not the human woman. 

Sitting next to Jihon Mogg, the alien he is talking to seems momentarily disappointed as the wookiee calms down.  Then it cheers up again, "Will not be long before the wookiee will start again.  No no."

Rhijans gave a tight, thin-lipped grin at the alien's response, and nodded.  The background noise of the angry Wookiee faded, and he shot a glance over his shoulder to see it walking back to its friends...and Mark Jacobs standing in its wake.  He quirked an eyebrow at that, but filed it away for future reference.  He turned back to his table-mates.

Mark Jacobs tried to not wince too hard as the wookiee slapped his back. He got the bartender's attention and pointed to the table. Mark held up a few fingers counting all those seated at the table and ordered a round of drinks.

He walked to the table where the wookiee's sat. "Why don't I buy us all a round of drinks as well."

"Guess our wookiee friend here can even scare off folks without the use of fists." Mark said as he pointed toward the exit.

Behind him was a roar, and then another, softer this time. Shisskurr narrowed his eyes in thought, but felt better for having left the Cantina. Sometimes, when you had to accomplish a particular goal, removing obstacles was the best thing to do - even if the obstacle was yourself.

So he remained quiescent in the dark outside the Cantina, leaning against a wall shadowed by the bar's overhanging roof lining. He would not enter the Cantina again unless the Wookie left first. It wasn't the first time he'd had to leave a party unannounced.

Shisskurr had to remind himself that, for the duration of this particular job, he wasn't a bodyguard. The group he'd been assigned to could certainly take care of themselves. So he waited, once more keeping an eye out for anything interesting.

Well.  That worked out better than she expected.  Almost, she had jumped in when Jacobs made his brave - foolhardy? - attempt at an interception, figuring she would have to pick him up off the floor.  In several bags.  And with a mop.  But the man had carried it off with aplomb, suffering only a minor bruising from a friendly wookie-pat.  Breathing out a sigh of relief, Shard pulls out the metal object and pressed the catch.  The flask pops open and she took a long pull of the foul drink.

It would have been wasted anyway, thrown into the Wookie's sensitive eyes and nose.

A pity about Shisskurr, though.  Even so, her companions have certainly made the point of their capacity to take care of themselves, and likely it is better to have a lookout on the outside as well as the inside.  So she raises the flask to Jacobs in salute, taking another drink before capping it and replacing it in her cloak.

"Okay, now I'm really curious," she mutters to herself.  "Enough to pay for his damn drinks."

Jihon nods, his eyes darting at the Wookie. He wished the alien would calm down and stop distracting his 'friend.' He leans in again and says, "Perhaps, yes. We shall see. Now, we were talking about Ker Aldas...."

Sensing she has outstayed her welcome with roughly half of her tablemates she headbutts the owner of the errant hand square on the nose and strokes back her hair with one hand as she looks at the other fellow.

"It was a pleasure to talk to you. Thank you for the information."

Then she turns to walk over to the bar and looks up at the wookie. Leaning in she whispers something and points to the man with the now slightly less protruding nose.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:21, Thu 05 Aug 2010.

Things seem to be settling down again, apart from a brief scuffle which sees one of Neary's tablemates sitting on the floor again, as Neary herself makes her way over to the wookiee.  The other man helps his fallen companion up again, and this time he makes it back to his chair without incident.

Around them, other patrons in the crowded cantina point and smile, or even laugh out loud.

Mark's decision to buy drinks for the wookiee's companions too, as well as his joke at the expense of the vanished trandoshan makes him very popular with his new friends.  All are happy to accept another drink, even though most of them appear to have had quite enough already.

Then Neary joins them, and says something to the wookiee.

The wookie howls, and its companions cheer and finish their drinks in record time, starting immediately on the ones mark just bought them.

Still at the bar, Jihon Mogg and his companion return to their conversation...

Rhijans Thanus is still talking to the alien, while the woman appears to have dozed off.  At least Rhijans hopes that the odd sounds coming from her general vicinity are snores...   

Reldan Jalt picks up the drinks again and makes his way over where Shard waits.  He hands her her cosen beverage.

After a brief lull in the excitement in the room, an argument flares up between two of the more human-looking patrons at the bar, but quickly quietens down as their companions intervene.  There certainly does seem to be a lot of tension in the air.

Rhijans glanced over at the hopefully-snoring woman, finally free of the need to seem to include her in the conversation to prevent an angry outburst.  He nodded at something the alien said to him, and muttered a brief comment to the alien.


He nodded briefly to the dozing woman, and looked back at the alien, expectantly.

Mark cheers along with the others at the table. He sips his drink. The human intended to nurse his drink as long as possible.

After the Wookiee left the table for the promised drink, Mark turned to the others at the table. "You guys seem to be celebrating. I can use some of that."

"The Imperials always seems to find a way to make things difficult these days. Don't you think?"

The older woman accepts the drink - fermented and distilled cactus juice - and takes a sip, wincing slightly at the taste.  It certainly hadn't been aged any more than necessary, carrying both bite and oily slickness, but then...one doesn't expect any better in a place like this.  And I'm not exactly drinking for the flavour.

"Thanks." She tips the glass toward Jalt, then takes another sip.  "What d'you make of that little dustup?"  It would be interesting to get a second opinion.  She does keep an eye on Jacobs, though - he's done a wonderful job calming the problem down, but now he's skating on thin ice.  The wookie and his buddies are a bellicose lot, and they've had more than enough juice to turn on a friendly stranger if he says the wrong thing.

Thing is, she doesn't figure Jacobs will.

At the bar, Jihon Mogg seems to be deep in discussion with his new alien friend...

Rhijans continues his own conversation with the other alien, while the human woman suddenly tilts forward and hits the table with her face.  She doesn't wake up any more than it takes her to get a little more comfortable. 

The wookiee's companions are nearly as loud as he is.  "Oh, yeah, they mess everythin' up for us, all the time.  But there's no point mopin' 'bout it, though."

"Nah, mopin' don't make time go no faster."

"We ain't celebratin', exac'ly.  We came in 'ere to try an' forget our troubles.  So we drink until we forget."

"Then we drink some more, just in case we might try to remember again!"  The laughter which follows is probably the loudest since the Rebel group entered the cantina.  Neary joins in, laughing as loud as anybody.

And near the door, Shard and Reldan Jalt observe, in case of trouble.

Rhijans gave a knowing nod to some comment that the alien made, and muttered a response.


He got up, walked to the bar, exchanged a few words and credits with the bartender, and then turned to exit the bar.  As he passed Shard, he gave a barely noticeable nod and just a hint of a smile, trying to convey having good news but not wanting to give away her status in case anyone moved to follow him.  Having an unsuspected pair of eyes watching his back could prove very helpful.

Jihon concludes his business with the alien and pushes himself away from the bar. He approaches Shard and the others, speaking in a lowered voice (but still loud enough to be heard here.)

"Rumors say the Imperials landed at ker Aldas only last night with lots of officers and troopers. They closed the port, but only the port. No word as to why, but they say the port will be open tomorrow. Only rumors, though. That is the best I could do, my friends."

One of their people is up and out of the bar, joining Shisskurr in a far more dignified fashion.  Recognizing his desire to keep their collusion a secret, Shard meets Rhijans' eyes, no more.  Another one out.  With info.  Another sip of her drink follows.  It's getting harder to focus - she can't stay in here much longer.

Dammit, I'll quit tomorrow.  This is getting bad, putting everyone at risk.

Then the six-limbed alien joins both her and Jalt, with information imparted directly on the spot.  Shard nods thoughtfully, with the deliberate solemness of the mildly tipsy.  "Lotsa rumors," she confirms with some disgust.  "So they've not been here for long, and they're not staying.  My favourite."

Then lines appear between her brows.  "Only...what if they're leaving 'cause they found what they were after?"

Mark cheered and smiled along with the others at the table. The man waited for the group at the table to get a chance to get beyond their drunken revelry. While he waited, he smiled and joined in without drinking too much.

Finally, Mark asked in a slightly slurred voice. "Damn it. I heard the Imperials were going ta lock down the starport. And even start doing transport by transport search. What do you folks make of that?"

"Just wish there was a way to get beyond the reach of the Imperials." Mark paused to taken another small sip of his drink. He slammed the cup down and sloshed the contains on to the table. "I would crawl under a rock, but I'm sure that someone would turn it over and say that I need pay another tariff."

Rhijans exits the cantina, and finds Shisskurr outside in the alley. 

Mark and Neary continue their carousing with the wookiee and his associates.  Their conversation is growing louder.  "No sense crawlin' under a rock, mate.  Where d'yer think Impies come from?"  More laughter, and a loud, "Hrrroaah-hrrroaah-hrrroaah!" from the wookiee, which sounds like it's probably laughter too.

"Well, they's already locked down Ker Aldas, an' we ain't there, so they won't be searchin' us.  An' even if they did, they wouldn't find nothin'." one of the men explains, and another, the youngest looking one in the group, calls out, "Yeah, we got it too well hid- Ow!" (the sentence ending in a cry of pain, as the wookiee cuffs him around the head).  One of the other men grabs the youngest, pulls him close, and speaks to him. 

Jihon joins Shard and Reldan near the door, and reports what he found out in his conversation at the bar.

Out of habit, as he exited the establishment, Rhijans scanned the street.  It wouldn't have been his first time walking out of a place and into an ambush.  Noticing nothing to untoward, he nodded to Shisskurr.

"My guess," Jihon says. "They never intended to stay along."

A big shrug of his massive shoulders follows.

"A guess only, of course. Got to wonder, what could be so important to bring such an escort? The emperor, maybe? Whether they're seeking something, or escorting something, got to be someone or something important. Wish I knew, but it is not my lot today. Tomorrow, maybe."

Mark glanced around the cantina for Reldan. He wasn't able to find him without being too obvious.

He looked at the Wookiee and then at the young man. It was a mild cuff, but it could have been worse. Mark considered his options carefully before he spoke in a low whisper.

"You guys wouldn't know where I might be able to get some power converters?" Mark almost held his breath as he paused waiting for a reaction.

Reldan looks around the room, looking to see if anybody is watching them with more than casual curiosity.  "I don't know about you two, but unless we have more business here, I think we should go outside and see what Rijans managed to find out.  With some more information, we might be able to plan what to do a little better.  Could check up on Shisskurr too."

"Probably right," Shard agrees, eyeing Mogg appreciatvely.  "Smart thinkin'.  In and out, they come and go.  Maybe they wanted something.  Maybe they're scouting.  Either way, if they're leaving soon, they have what they're looking for - information or a thing."  Her lips twitch in a grim smile. "Or a person."

Something I ought to maybe look into?

She gives a nod to Jalt's thoughts. "Why don't..."  Shard closes her eyes for a moment.  When they open, they're a touch more clear. "Why don't the two of you head out and see what's what?  I have to stick it out here and watch for our wayward sons and daughters." 

There are still two crewmembers engaged in 'discussion', and she won't leave them alone.

"Power converters, is it?" the main spokesman says, and wipes the back of his hand (the one not holding a drink) across his mouth, "Well now... I hears there's this place over the other side of the port that sells all kinds of junk from scrap vehicles.  It's run by an old gran, and... "

"Quarren." the youngest interrupts.

"What?"

"He's a quarren."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I was over there last time we came here.  Needed to buy a... a wotsit... a charge rectififier, 'member?  Was a quarren I spoke with.  All them tentacles and stuff." comes the reply, "Seemed alright, even if they  do look a bit creepy."

"Well... right... This quarren might be able to get his hands on what your after, dependin' on the type."  he pauses, then adds, "It'll mos' likely cost you though.  Them quarrens can drive a hard deal."

"No.  That's grans."

"You said he was a quarren!"

"Yeah, but it's grans that make tough deals."

From that point the conversation degenerates into a series of insults and arguments which seem to be building up to the cantina's next fight.

It was a reach. Mark Jacobs decided to make an exit before he got caught up in another fight. "Let me get another round."

Mark got up and went to the bartender. "Give those guys another round." The human smiled and paid the tab and left the cantina.

"Sure would like to know what that thing is though," Mogg adds wistfully. He glances around to see if their being watched, painfully aware they could be drawing attention to themselves by congregating. Someone might even be eavesdropping. "Curiosity. That's all. Pleasant conversation, lady."

He meanders off, knowing he will be able to meet up with them later. Spending time together is to be expected, since they arrived together. Their ship has no illegal cargo that he's aware of, so as long as they aren't too curious, they're safe. Besides, the Empire has all of its attention focused on Ker Aldas right now.

Then again, none of them are acting especially sick.

Such a clever fellow is the four-armed alien.  Shard closes her eyes for a moment, leaning against the wall, then snaps them open.  No.  Control.  On a mission, she can't afford to...can't afford to...

Oh, hang it all.  She's past tipsy now, something that could get them all killed.  Frustrated for an instant, Shard hunts for balance between intoxication and cold, icy sobriety.  Not for her sake, but for the rebellion.  Specifically, these members of said rebellion, the ones counting on her to be professional.

Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Relax the spine, lengthening it.  Raise the head slightly without jutting the chin.  Drop the shoulders, let the shoulderblades come together a touch.  And relax.  For an instant she tastes the alcohol on her own breath, bitter and rancid.

Done.

One by one the group leave the cantina, with its volatile mix of alcohol and frustration.

Gathering outside in the alley, it becomes apparent that it might not be the best place to compare notes, as there is a constant flow of people heading in and out of the cantina.

The obvious location for discussion would be the ship, so they move away in that direction.

Aboard the Dancing Bantha R2-O0, currently engaged in preventative maintenance of some sort, whistles cheerfully as the enter.

This message was deleted by the player at 03:07, Sat 21 Aug 2010.

Her head pounds, but it's clear.  Her eyes are bloodshot, but at least they aren't blurred.  Her hands tremble, but move with their customary strength and speed.  Shard accepts the hangover - part and parcel of the territory, and it's far better than being slow, stupid, and half-blind on a mission where others might depend on her.

If the headache makes her cranky, so much the better.  She'll be wary, rather than comfortable.

"Shisskurr," she greets the heaviset lizard, waiting for them outside the bar.  "Nice, quick getaway."  Limping along the road back toward the ship, she glances around at the other faces, trying to judge.  Bored?  Annoyed?  Jubilent?  Better just to ask - it's fairly safe outside, so long as they keep moving.  Any eavesdroppers would stand out like sore thumbs.

"Anyone get anything useful?"

"Yes," Mogg says. "Only what I said before. Nothing more. The drink was useful, perhaps, but not useful enough. More later. Business now."

He trundled along with the others, generally pleased with the experience, especially the most excellent show put on by the wookie. They made fine wrestling partners. Too bad he didn't have more time.

Silent on the walk back to the ship, Rhijans paused at the base of the ramp and took a look around, to make sure they weren't followed.  No immediate threats perceived, he proceeded up the ramp.

"Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I was at least mildly encouraged.  Ker Aldas, itself, isn't locked down...just the starport.  We should be able to rent a transport and get in and out with no trouble...might even be easier to do it right now, with everyone fixated on the Imperial activity at the port.  Got a name of someone who should be able to get us there...Rodian, but I think the challenge of bypassing Imperial lockdown will appeal to his cultural inclinations enough to make him a decent security risk for us."  He looked around, expecting the others to weigh in with what they learned.  With any luck, they didn't all have different news, and a course of action would become clear.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:09, Sat 21 Aug 2010.

"While I was getting the drinks, I overheard some talk which confirms what Rhijans got.  The port is closed for something big, but the city itself is fine."

Reldan swats O0 on top of the head, bringing indignant sounds from the droid, "We'll have to take him with us when we go to Ker Aldas.  He knows who our contact there is.  At least they told me he does.  Wonder why they didn't just give one of us the information?"

The droid generates a string of whistles and chirps, followed by a sound which is definitely uncomplimentary.

"Well, that told me."

Rhijans looked over at Jalt.  His tone was coldly appraising and matter-of-fact, somehow managing that without sounding condescending.

"They probably figured none of us can be programmed to do a memory wipe of that specific information if we're captured."  His glance shifted down to the droid.  "There are certain tactical advantages to using mechanical, rather than biological messengers."

Shiss crossed his arms over his chest as the group laid out the new information, something he hadn't been privy to previously. The fact that all of them were accounted for left Shisskurr with a good sense of the way this group played out. They weren't cohesive - nowhere near, yet - but it was a good start.

His attention was on Rhijans for a moment, and something about the alien had impressed itself upon him. Shisskurr was never good at making friends. His employment left little room for it. But he sensed Rhijans would make for an interesting companion. His straight-to-the-point attitude was on par with Shisskurr's own.

Shard greeted him and Shiss grunted an acknowledgment. The human female was another that had impressed herself upon him, though for different reasons. Reasons that were resonating a little too close to home. Something about her state of frame was tickling an old defensive posture in the back of his mind. Shisskurr stuffed it.

He grunted at Rhijan's droid comment.

"Droids can be sabotaged." He blinked once, glanced at the droid in question, then back at Rhijans, though his eyes barely registered the movement. "Do you have any idea where we can find this Rodian?"

Rhijans shook his head and shrugged.  "All I got was a name...the being I was talking with seemed to be pretty much like what we were playing at being--spacers who got re-routed due to the closure.  If his partner hadn't been preoccupied with drowning her frustrations, they probably would have looked him up, themselves.  From the sound of things, however, he shouldn't be too hard to find...a few inquiries ought to do the job, if we can't find him in the public listings on the city network."

His tone was non-committal...he wasn't pushing for that course of action, necessarily, but he obviously did want to be doing something.  Unplanned inaction always made him antsy...it was one thing to pause because it was the right thing to do for a plan to work out.  It was another thing, altogether, to stand back and do nothing simply because you didn't know what to do.

Droids.  At least they were honest, unless programmed otherwise.  Shard prefers them to other, quasi-robotic types who pretend to be more than they are.  Don't go there, girl.  "Looks like we're stuck with him." She eyes the R2 unit.  "Could be worse.  A lot worse."

She blows an errant lock of hair from her forehead.  "Okay, so Rhijans has this Rhodian for us.  I guess that's our first stop.  Back to the ship, load up, and get moving - better we not waste much time."  They hadn't been told to rush in so many words, but loitering around just gave more opportunities for people - the wrong kind of people - to notice them.

Her hand creeps back into her cloak unconciously; with deliberate slowness, Shard pulls it out again, empty.  Leave it, imbecile.  "I didn't get much more than anyone else," she admits. "Most of the rumors focused on an official in port.  That was the big one - some of the others were remarkably stupid." She cocks an eyebrow as she walks.  "Which doesn't automatically mean they're wrong...there could be a rancor loose, I suppose."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:44, Tue 24 Aug 2010.

"All I got was that this high imperial dignitary, officer or something is visiting our port of call.  Possibly a woman, but then, that part may not be true."

Neary sighs and shrugs.  Not much to show so it was a failure, at least on her part and in her book.

"Getting there is the easy part, getting out of there with the stuff, well, that's the trick."

Mark didn't have much to add to the conversation. He was glad that none of his companions got into trouble. There was an incident with the wookiee, but that got cleared up without too much trouble.

"Let's get some information from that droid. Better we know the informatoin now, than later."