Dream On (Open to DLA)

[Dutch]

”DLA! DLA! DLA!” Chanted the tiny holographic freedom fighters projected from a portable holotable. A group of protesters having picked up the rebellion’s chant at the Baroness’ gates. An extravagant manse once belonging to Dantooine’s governor, the famous Cloudcrest now housed a cruel dictator. True to her reputation, the next scene projected was clearly her response. A single Sith; All black robes and prideful stride, the hooded monster leaped the wrought iron gate in a single bound. Too riled up to run, the protesters began throwing stones and debris. The responded lightning killed the entire crowd in minutes, their tiny shrieks dying quickly. Dutch never took his eyes from slaughter, only watched in silence as calloused fingers scratched idy at a fresh beard. His other hand, secretly balled into a tight fist was tucked into a pocket of the heavy overcoat donned by the DLA leader.

Dim blue light cast from the holotable was the sole illuminator within the stone antechamber, various shadows created by the surrounding rebels ghostly in their hazy flickering. A steady drip from the surrounding tangle of pipes a natural beat to the steady scratching of Dutch’s beard. Lost in thought, he didn’t notice that several moments had passed since the holoclip ended. A few of those moments which he didn’t realize several of the other DLA rebels had been staring at him. Dutch looked back at those nearest to him defensively and shrugged.

“What? It itches, man.” He said before lowering the offending hand sheepishly. Dutch cleared his throat and gestured to the holotable with his now free hand, the blue lighting glinting slightly on his ring.

“She’s not even capturing protesters anymore. One small raid and this is her first response.” Dutch sighed, turning to regard Al as his brother lit a cigarette. One the older brother flicked from Al’s lips not a second after the cherry flared in the gloom.

“You got enough trying to kill you.” He grunted under his breath to his brother.

[Meira]

She hated it down here. She wasn't made to be underground, at least not like this. Homestead was different. It didn't feel like being buried alive to be down there. There were lights and space, and she knew that when she walked outside she'd be greeted by the open sky and fresh air. She certainly didn't envy her DLA brothers and sisters here in the city. Their dealings were carried out in the sewers, in the dark and in the dirty places. Looking across the group, there was no wonder that the ones who risked their necks here held a different kind of fire in their eyes. They would have to. Mo felt a bit of shame poking needles in her heart. She thought she knew the oppression of the Sith occupation. She thought she knew all the pain. Looking at Freckled Mary, then at Dutch, and the rest... Mo realized that there was still more that could be taken away from her. They could peel it all away, layer by layer, and leave her a pile of bones. And even then, she thought, it still wouldn't be enough for them.

Mo had to turn away when the image showed the bodies falling as the Sith felled them. Disgust, despair. How could they fight that? She didn't know much about the force, but everyone knew the stories. Whenever monsters like that showed up, normal people always suffered, even around the good ones.

Dutch's voice broke the silence and Mo's eyes glanced up to him, then rolled. In a situation where people weren't looking to him as their leader, she might have punched him in the arm for being such a goon. But she couldn't do that now, not with the gaunt faced Smog City DLA members watching him expectantly, blood in their eyes. And in any case, his comment served to lighten the mood, just a fraction. But that fraction was necessary. The tension was high here in Smog City, and the whole of the DLA felt it.

They'd been hiding too long, and now the Baroness was growing bolder. If they shrank away any more, they'd be done. Her reactions were harsher than many of them had expected, but there was a grim truth on display for all of them now. The risk was great, and the cost of life could never be acceptable. And yet they had to carry on. Someday, in the future, whoever survived... when they were old and safe and warm, then they could mourn and atone for the sin of failing all the innocent people that died in the struggle. Until then, however, they would have to bury that pain and that guilt or they would never see a free Dantooine again.

"We have to do something." she finally said. "No matter what it is, she's going to find new ways to sink lower. People are going to cower and give in. We need something big."

"We need her head." came Freckled Mary's voice from the gloom across the table. A few chuckles and murmured agreements followed.

[Rugs]

Al’s soul burned.

How long had it been since he’d last taken to the battlefield against the Sith monsters? Weeks? Months? The days ran together — one long blur since the DLA went underground. Went silent, as the Sith occupiers bled their homeworld dry.

His jaw muscles stood out on the side of his face as he watched the lighting cut through the crowd. His fists clenched in his pockets. His soul burned with anger at the Baroness, at the black-robed Sith warrior that ruthlessly murdered a crowd of people with as much second thought as he might have given to pulling up a patch of weeds before the war turned their lives upside down.

His soul burned for the lost — to see them rise up, to see their courage as they yelled in vain against the slaughterer’s overwhelming strength.

He swallowed, fingers feeling for the pack of cigarras he kept in one of his pockets. He fumbled one from the worn cardboard box and grabbed his lighter in his other hand. His eyes flitted from face to ragged face of his fellow freedom fighters. The projector’s ghostly lighting in the otherwise dim gathering perhaps made them all look more haggard than they actually were. Still, he missed Kyla’s open plains, and the Homestead’s warm familiarity.

Smog city felt more like living in the midst of a disease. But even it too deserved freedom from the Sith occupation.

A finger of flame lit his sun-tanned face. He touched it to the cigarra, which he held gently between his lips. A moment of contact, a few puffs aaaand…

His brother knocked it away.

Shoulda known, he complained to himself as he shot Dutch an annoyed look. Al couldn’t be too mad at Dutch; he knew his brother only did it because he cared.

That didn’t make it less annoying though. “So what’s one more?” he grumbled under his breath.

"We have to do something," Mo said. Al agreed with this, but then again, they all did. Knowing something had to be done and actually doing the thing, well… Sometimes those two things weren’t as easily connected as they’d like.

Al folded his arms and leaned back, fingers fiddling with the loose end of his crimson armband’s knot in place of his discarded cigarra. Something big. Yeah, that’d be nice. But his brother was right—the Baroness had buckled down after a simple raid. Who knew what the schuta would do if the DLA hit back with a vengeance?

“Something that blows up pretty,” he said. “That’d get their attention.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite touch his deep brown eyes. Those eyes had gotten a bit colder, a bit harder since the invasion. He never really noticed it.

“Would be nice to just take out her big stupid house, but that’d be suicide. But we need somethin’ that says ‘We’re still here,’” now the smile grew in earnest as the faintest bud of an idea started to blossom in his head, “’an’ to hell with ya if you think we’re goin’ away.’”

[Blue]

It had been a strange week. Or had it been longer? It was difficult to tell at this point. After his rather... unorthodox introduction to the Dantooine Liberation Army, he had been spirited away to their base of operations, or at least one of them. The first few days had been a blank while he had caught up on some much needed sleep; he had spent the previous four weeks or so on the road, only getting small periods of shut-eye and never resting easy when he did. When he had recuperated, Mo (the woman who had introduced him to the movement) had shown him around a little before she got word of a meet up in the city and decided to drag Klem along.

It had been the first time in his life that he had been inside of a city. The closest he had been was a small town and the two did not compare. He had spent most of his time in the streets gawking up at the tall buildings like a simpleton, stopping only when it occurred to him that it might draw attention. The noises, the smells, even the taste of the air was different. The young hunter could barely make heads or tails of things; he wondered how people could possibly track each other in such an environment. He knew that you could, his uncle Luddy had done it for decades when he was a bounty hunter in his younger years. He would have to ask Mo if she had any clue how to do so. Urban tracking seemed like it would be a useful skill to have.

Eventually, Mo had dragged him down into the sewers, introducing the new recruit to a whole new plethora of scents. He had wrinkled his nose, but said nothing. They had met up with some more people who seemed to know the huntress and had let them in, although they spared some wary looks at his unfamiliar face. He did not hold it against them. He knew the dangers that they faced, or at least as much as one could glean from the serious conversation Mo had given him when explaining what the D.L.A did. Klem tucked a loose strand of his pale blond hair into the rim of his dark green wool beret and pulled his camo-cloak tighter around himself.

Standing close to the only person he knew in the room, a silence had descended on the crowd as the bearded man played a holo-recording for them. Klem's face was studiously blank as he watched the protesting civilians get wiped out to a man. Several thoughts flashed through his mind, none betrayed by his empty expression. People spoke, issuing statements of disgust and anger while words bounced around inside of his skull. His dull grey eyes staring blankly at the spot where the dying holograms had been and some of the words escaped him in a low tone, as if he was talking to himself.

"In a sick sort of way, it's kind of... librating. I mean, if this is the type of extreme reaction they'd give no matter what we do, we might as well go big." Klem paused in his muttering, his sunken eyes almost perceptively growing darker. "Stars know, we can't pack it in and go home. They've taken our home. They've made it theirs. And they're having... fun."

The last word was fairly spat out. Mental images of little graves rose unbidden in his mind, pulling his lip up into a small snarl of fury that cracked his carefully maintained blank features.

[Dutch]

-waves hand- This did not take five months to get to

---

When Mo turned back to face the table, Dutch caught her eye to give the slightest nod and faintest wink. None but her would be able to perceive these things in the gloom, not enough to comfort her he felt; but in the face of leading the DLA they had both agreed to keep things professional in front of the others. No matter how badly Dutch wanted to walk over, hug the mirialan close, pet her silken hair and tell her everything was going to be fine.

He listened in silence as the others chimed in. Mostly calling for more blood and destruction. His attention turned to one of the younger members; One of Mo’s newest recruits if Dutch’s memory served. He didn’t know the boy’s story yet, but saw in him the same fires that had started in himself, his brother and his Mo years ago. Unquenchable and easily fanned into bad decisions. Decisions the DLA couldn’t afford anymore this far into their struggle. Dutch leaned forward to rest both hands on the portable holotable, its blue light revealing his recent gaunter features further.

“Loud and messy hasn’t helped. We failed at taking out the Baroness during her rally, and in turn lost several of our best to the Sith.” Dutch began, but paused with a resigned sigh at the several returned glares. He lifted a finger to point towards Mary who he knew stared at him with the sharpest dagger.

“It sounds good and dandy, and feels, well, pretty fantastic blowing up Sith crap I’ll admit; but it isn’t working. The people are suffering more than ever because of our actions.” He paused again, his eyes turned to watch the vid he cued to play once more.

“... Because of my actions.” Their leader near whispered wearily. He shifted to stand once more to cross his arms, both hands gripped to the opposite elbow. A quick clear of his throat lead to Dutch continuing.

“The DLA has been too focused on militant responses. The bombings, firefights and whatever was fine out in the country where it was only us versus the Sith. This isn’t the country though, and it’s time we started acting like it. The people are only seeing rebels and outlaws in us. We need to show them that they are why the Army was founded.” He would pause and turn his head to look everyone around the table eye to eye.

“It’s time we stopped attacking the Empire; It’s time we started protecting the people.” Dutch stated in a tone which left little room for argumentative replies. Before any could rise, he turned his gray eyes to Mary and lifted both eyebrows.

“The old man always said to let your advisors advise. You know this city better than any of us. So advise it up, Freckles. Who could use us the most help, right now?”

[Meira]

Mo couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from twitching upward at Al's comment. Blowing something up was always one of the more fun things they did... when it worked. The little shuffles around the table told her there were quite a few of their urban counterparts in agreement on that subject. A lot of what the Smog City DLA members did involved spying and the covert acquisition and movement of supplies. They didn't get to join in on the big flashy antics the rural gang carried out. Their assassination attempt against the Baroness was their biggest in city maneuver to date. But that was a resounding fiasco and they were all lucky to have made it out alive.

"Your new kid has the right of it." Mary said, jutting her chin toward Klem after he'd spoken. "If they ain't playin' by the rules, why should we?"

Mo could feel herself wincing at Mary's words. She remembered what the Sith had done to Callum, who had been Mary's long time boyfriend and co-leader of the Smog City DLA members. His body had hung on display outside the Baroness' manse. A warning, they had called it, to all those who sought to subvert the "rightful" rule of the Sith Empire on Dantooine. Mo could feel her stomach churn at the memory, and could only guess at the vitriol it inspired in Mary. She knew this was a dangerous path. Mary had a talent for reminding people why their blood should be boiling, and she herself didn't seem to have an upper limit to her tolerance for containing the fires of rage. Mary was rocket fuel and in her eyes these days... everything was a match.

Mo was about to say something to help calm the nerves of those assembled but, to her surprise, Dutch beat her to it. She blinked a few times as she listened to him. At first, she worried at what she thought might be defeat in his voice. There was blame there. She could read that on him easily. Dutch had always felt the weight of the losses they incurred, in the struggle for freedom. And he shouldered that weight, almost selfishly, alone. There was no turning his mind against the idea; in his eyes, every soul on Dantooine was in his charge... and he was failing them.

Later, she would have to talk to him about that and how utterly stupid it was.

"You don't get ta claim the sacrifices we all make." Mary said, taking her own turn to beat Mo to the punch. And far less delicately that Mo would have liked. "We all knew what we signed up for. What we lay down is ours. Don't go tryin' ta pick it up like it's yours."

What effect that might have had on Dutch, Mo couldn't say. But he continued on, making the point he needed to make and Mo was glad that Mary didn't see the need to press the point. What they absolutely did not need right now was for this meeting to devolve into some competition to see who'd been hurt the most. As much as Mo admired Mary... she would not win that contest.

“It’s time we stopped attacking the Empire; It’s time we started protecting the people.”

Mo looked at Dutch, a mixture of confusion and then understanding washing through her eyes. He wasn't defeated, he was changing tactics. It wasn't a position she would have expected him to make. Growing up, Dutch had always seemed like more of an offensive thinker, when he thought at all. So to see him switch to this approach was a new experience. The corner of her mouth twitched again; they'd shared so many new experiences lately...

Mary was also thrown for a loop, momentarily, when Dutch turned the focus back to her. She did not expect this angle, nor would she say she wanted it. She wanted fire and blood and ash. She wanted it so badly she could hardly think of anything else. Their failure at the arena had only spurred her need further, and to be asked to turn away from anything but a screaming assault felt like a slap in the face. She stood, thoughts and ideas suddenly gone from her mind, until someone tugged at her sleeve.

"Mary... the clinic." It was Peet. Of course it was. His wife Ruth worked at the clinic. Mary's nostrils flared as she swallowed the lava that had been rising in her throat, and then nodded.

"Jonah House." Mary said, voice raised slightly so everyone could hear. "It's a free clinic in the West Side slums. The Sith stopped the supply trains to the area on account'a all the civil unrest. They ain't even got clean water anymore." She locked eyes with Dutch. "It's kids an' old folks mostly. Some of 'em ain't even got a bed; they just bleed on the floor." She paused a moment, then nodded her head. "You wanna help the people, ain't no one needs more help than them. I say we start there."

[Rugs]

Protect the people. Now that was a thought. But hasn’t that been what we’ve done… what we’ve tried to do all along? Al wondered, looking to his compatriots gathered around the table. They’d fought and fought and fought for years to push the Sith off of Dantooine and reclaim their home. Even when the going was tough, or when the challenge seemed too stiff to ever hope to overcome, they’d persevered…

For our friends, or families, Al thought, looking down at the holotable, for the people we don’t even know. For our home.

To protect them. Protect it.

And yet… perhaps Dutch was right.

To this point, they’d fought an offensive war. For all their recent struggles, they’d had successes, here and there. Nothing had tipped the scale significantly against the occupiers though, and their current predicament showed the Sith were just as intent on solidifying their grip on Dantooine as the resistance was on liberation.

So, change the game. Stop trying to meet them strength on strength. Al looked up, realization flashing in his eyes as he briefly met his brother’s gaze.

Dantooine — or anywhere, really — was like an engine; lots of little parts had to work in harmony for society to function smoothly. Lose a few of those pieces, or let them go uncared for long enough… “Things will start to lock up,” Al muttered under his breath.

The Sith hadn’t ignored the people’s needs entirely, but any fool with an eye could see that the Empire was more concerned about taking care of its own needs first. The resistance was just a convenient excuse to cut services or redirect civilian supplies to Imperial hands when the Sith felt it necessary.

Find the broken, forgotten pieces. Take care of them before the Sith could and–

"Jonah House," Mary said suddenly, voice cutting across the quiet gathering.

A clinic, out in the slums. Official Imperial word was that the Sith cut off supplies due to rebel activity. Al didn’t buy the excuse. He didn’t know much about the clinic, but he’d heard stories. He’d heard rumors that were enough to send chills rolling down his back.

Patients left to die in their own blood on the floor. Doctors struggling to care for sick infants as blackouts from a failing power grid the Sith didn’t care enough to fix crippled the clinic.

It was deplorable.

“Civil unrest sure hasn’t stopped the Sith from takin’ care of their own,” he grumbled, loud enough for all to hear. “But you’re right. But do we try to keep ‘em there and make everything better, or move ‘em somewhere else? There’s gotta be other clinics somewhere right? Or we could make one…”

Both options had challenges. Staying in one place meant trying to fix some awful conditions, but moving the sick and the weak to a new location wouldn’t be easy either—especially if the Sith caught wind of their plans.

Either way, even if Al perhaps leaned toward Mary’s fire-and-brimstone approach more than Dutch or Mo, he found himself agreeing with the new approach.

“Whatever we do, we have to do it right,” he said, looking at them. “We have to show everyone that resistance or not, we’re all in this. We all have to pick up the weight.” He paused, giving a meaningful look and a half-smile to his older brother. “Together.”

[lion]

When there had been mention of going to Smog City, it was a given there would be a limited amount of space to move; the city conjured images of congestion and tight spaces at the best of times, after all. The wide-open Homestead was hardly a fair comparison to 'New Usine', after all, being out as it was in the distant farmlands there was little in the way to compress things down; the busiest port in the Kylah district naturally wasn't going to be untouched fields.

But the sheer extent of claustrophobia that the sub-surface hideout had offered had certainly been a surprise, Mirajan found himself coming to realise, and certainly not a welcome one. Loose, dripping pipes tinged the air with a near mouldy, 'green' smell that permeated like a fog to his sensitive nose, and after a few inadvertent introductions to said water pipes with his forehead, it was enough to bring the boy to a near constant hunch.

Built with Togorians in mind, the hideout was not.

Rather than complain, though, the large felinoid had instead kept quiet; looking to keep his head down in all senses of the word, rather than intervene. It was by bare luck and a little whining that Bosco, the gruff Toydarian Quartermaster, had even opted to allow Jan to come along on this trip; there was no room to make any of the officers regret the decision. They wouldn't send him back to the Homestead on his own, of course, but certainly the idea of being stuck in a cramped, stuffy base was motivator enough to behave.

It was the same thought that had kept the boy's mouth shut, too, as the older troops gathered around the holotable; discussing....well, something? It was hard to make out from across the room even without the language barrier taken into consideration, and with only the faint blue of the holotable's projectors to indicate that something was being displayed, Jan could only find himself guessing at shadows.

The words 'sith' and 'blow up', however, painted at least a semblance of a picture.

Now, explosives? There was an idea the Togorian could get through his head, instantly running through his mind with a slight concentrated wince the contents of the Toydarian's ported armoury. Hadn't there been some explosives brought along? Something Bosco had been, in his way, quite blatant about careful handling at least hinted at something volatile, but for all the Togorian knew, it might very well have been some spiced food the leathery-winged old man so loved rather than something to level a building with. Then again, given how the old man handled his hot food, perhaps the resultant gas would be explosive enough to wipe the Sith from the planet completely?

The thought brought forth a rumbled little chuckle from the bulky felinoid that he stifled to keep behind sealed lips; interrupting the proceedings would be enough, but laughing? That was far worse. Still, there was a job to do and he'd stood by in the background long enough; a courageous breath later and the large Mirajan made his presence known, timidly leaning into the dim light of the holotable.

"Uhm, hello sirs. The Bosco asked me to tell make sure the amm-uni-tions are all safe-locked, and for everyone all turn in before leave again for issue-ment." The Togorian offered, the baritone rumble of the cat's voice twinged with doubt, uncertainty and nervousness, a grin crossing the young man's furred face that bared the sharp fangs beneath. "Especial you, Co-mission-er sir, for in-ven-tor-y list, he said."

[Blue]

The young hunter had not realised that his words had been overheard; as the anger had risen in his chest, his voice must have also grown as well, at least loud enough for others to have heard his words. As a few eyes flickered towards him, Klem's pale features flushed slightly at the minor attention, turning even more red as a woman agreed with his statement. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he mentally chided himself. He had not been in this organisation for more than a handful of days and did not feel he had earned the right to speak out to so many so freely, yet.

Pulling his camo-cloak even tighter around his frame, as if hoping to melt into Mo's shadow, Klem listened in silence as the bearded person that he assumed was the leader of the organisation set out his new vision for the Liberation Army. The young man bit down the words he had almost spoken out loud again. They would have died anyway. If it was not the D.L.A, it would have been for some other reason. Maybe the Sith would have even made one up to justify stomping out any thought of resistance. Hearing the words in his own head, he shifted his weight a little to hide the shame he felt at his own thoughts, but even as the feeling grew in him he knew, deep down, that it was true. If it was not them, it would have been something else.

Klem was not certain if that was him thinking those thoughts, or his anger. He was beginning to feel more and more angry as the days went by. Maybe he should speak to someone about it; perhaps Mo? She was the only person he really knew here. Another thought struck him, and he felt like he had missed a step going down a flight of stairs. No. She's the only person you know at all now. Another surge of anger prickled through him. He tried to swallow it down, but it burned there, lingering like that mystery alcoholic drink he had sneaked a sip of when his uncle had been away when he was a teen. Just listen to the meeting. Concentrate on the right now. Put it in the box, stow it away, take it out later when it's a better time.

Taking a deep breath, Klem focused on the words being spoken. It seemed that they had found something to aim their new approach at; something called Jonah House. From what the woman called Mary (or Freckles, but he guessed that was most likely a nickname) had said, it sounded like a hospice of some kind. From what was being said, it sounded like the entire area it was situated in had been cut of from help on account of the resistance movement. The young hunter's palms began to itch when he heard this. When a large felinoid alien began to speak in strained Basic, Klem sidled a little closer to Mo.

"Might that be the entire point of what the Sith are doing?" Klem whispered to her, hoping this time his voice would go unnoticed by the others to avoid another embarrassing moment like the last. "Cut an area off from supplies, then wait to see if the resistan- if we show up to help? We start shipping them supplies, they'd notice if the clinic suddenly started improving. We try to move them, they'd notice people slowly vanishing. Then they swoop in and kill everyone, civilian and D.L.A. Again. Or if we succeed and they don't catch us, they kill a few more random people and say it's because we went against their wishes. The people that we're trying to protect die in both cases..."

As if suddenly realising that he was adding nothing to the conversation, Klem's whispered words trailed off. "If we help move the clinic elsewhere, at least a few people might survive," he added lamely, trying to inject something more constructive into his pessimistic assessment.

[Dutch]

“Right… Jonah House… in that residential district turned factory worker slum.” Dutch said mostly to himself as a hand resumed to idly rubbing his beard. He turned his gaze to Mary, his expression pensive for a moment.

“Our last reports out of there confirm Imperial patrols, but little else being done by the Sith. Hunger and fear alone keeps the west side compliant. Good call Peet, Freckles.” He nodded to both of them. It would be a boon in general, to assist those most downtrodden by the Empire. If even a small amount of hope could be given, it could revive the rebel spark in Smog City. Dutch could only imagine what a victory could do. He looked over to Al as his brother spoke, an smirk of approval matching his sibling’s.

“Right, together.” Dutch said as his hand reached to grip Al by the shoulder. Before he could say anything else, Bosco’s newest member peered his large feline head in to do only as he was probably told; forgivable for his poor timing. He eyeballed the alien, a quick glance to Mo reminding him to not prejudge any non-humans.

“Yeah sure, tell the old man not to sweat we just nabbed a hefty payload from our last heist.” The one responsible for the slaughter outside the manse. It then dawned on Dutch, his expression dumbfounded for a moment over how long it took for him to realize. He turned to Mary, a smirk returning to his lips.

“... Including a fat stock of kolto, with Jonah House written all over it.” Dutch huffed a single laugh, his head slowly shook as he brought up a new window above the holotable. The inventory from their newest acquisitions filled it, and Dutch began to select several lines from the list.

“Don’t need to relocate, we keep relocating and it only shows we can be pushed around. We need to make a stand, we need to show the people that even under all this crap; we can stand together” He finished his highlights, and keyed for them to be displayed. Crates of kolto, a field comm suite and a small cache of munitions displayed.

“More importantly; we need to do it below the Sith radar. No big displays, no risks.” Dutch began, emphasizing his point for discretion.

“Mo, get a scout group to monitor the west side Imperial patrols. Find our windows to get in Jonah House and out after they’re set. Cat-dude, go tell Bosco to get these supplies ready for transport.” He quickly downloaded the list to a small datapad that was then tossed to the togorian.

“Al, go steal something we can use to transport everything and everyone. Something discreet, something that wouldn’t be looked at twice. And make sure it’s taken from someone worth stealing from.” Dutch said with a light punch to Al’s arm. He turned his attention to Mary, a small fire in his eyes meeting the inferno in hers.

“Freckles, gather as many local volunteers to assist the clinic as you can. We’ll need every extra hand offered. Fighters too; we want to avoid it, but if the Sith come knocking we’ll also want to be prepared to fight back.” Their leader paused for a quick moment before turning his gaze to meet with everyone once more.

“We’ve all got jobs to do. We move on Green’s word. Let’s get busy people; the DLA is back.”

[Meira]

Jonah House... Mo had heard some of the details from a Smog City DLA member just the night before. She had never been there, but she knew that it was in operation before the Sith invasion. How it managed to survive this long after, she didn't know. The clinic had run on charity in good times, and it sounded like it was staying afloat on the sheer determination of the doctors and volunteers that kept it going. But to hear the stories, afloat might not exactly be the right word. The staff was doing all they could, but they didn't have the space or the supplies to treat all of the patients that were coming in. For many, the best they could do was give them a place under the roof so that they could die a little more comfortably. Mo caught herself grinding her teeth at the thought when she noticed Klem had moved a little closer.

She tilted her head slightly toward him to listen to his whispered words as Dutch considered Mary's proposal and Jan's message from Bosco. "It's possible." she whispered back. "We've had to deal with Sith traps before. They worked in the beginning, but we're getting better at spotting them."

Dutch then seemed to latch onto an idea and Mo's attention was brought back to the holotable as he pulled up the score they'd gained recently. Yes indeed, those items could be put to good use at Jonah House, she was sure. From there, the plan unraveled easily enough. Mo knew her job before Dutch gave it, but she knew how much he liked giving orders, so she didn't roll her eyes when he did. After all was said, she turned and gave Klem a pat on the shoulder.

"C'mon scout." she said, moving eagerly toward an exit. "Let's see how well we can blend in with the city folk."

Across the table, Mary was already turning to confer and dole out her own orders to some of the Smog City DLA members. They'd run the word through the proper channels and get the right people in place to assist wherever the big three might need them.

"Mo." she said, causing the Mirialan to stop and turn back before making it through a door. "Take Peet here with ya. He knows that area well." Peet stepped forward. He was a tall, thin man with the stubble and black rings under his eyes of fretful nights. But the clarity in his eyes spoke of determination and an eagerness to get to work.

"Alright then." Mo said. "Peet, this is Klem. Now come on. You can fill us in once we're topside."

[Blue]

It would seem that having the clinic stay put was the option that those in charge were going to go with. Klem had difficulty seeing how that would work, but he knew that he was probably overlooking some factor that had not occurred to him. The bearded leader proceeded to give his reason: to show that they were not going anywhere, that they were not going to be pushed around. That did not sit quite right with the young hunter, but then he did not understand the complexities of the hit-and-run warfare the much smaller DLA had to be employing to fight the Sith.

Of course, it suddenly struck him that it might also have something to do with the Liberation Army's image, the morale of the people, or some other thing that he had no clue about. There were a lot of things that he did not know about or understand. Hunting was his only real skill. He hoped that it would be useful enough for them. Klem scratched his chin, noting absently the first feelings of faint stubble growing there. He should have shaved before they left. He could not grow a proper beard, it always came out looking patchy. He spared an envious glace at Dutch's own facial hair before Mo's whispering brought him back to the matter at hand.

Her words put him a little more at ease. He should have known that the DLA had experience of the military mentality of the Sith at this point, and had started to adapt. They most likely would not have lasted very long if they had not. His thoughts were interrupted as Mo patted him on the shoulder and indicated that he should follow her. He gave a solemn nod.

"Yes, ma'am," he acknowledged, pulling at the folds of his camo-cloak to check that it was sitting right on his shoulders. It was printed for the plains, greens and browns, and would stick out like a sore thumb in an urban environment. But he felt somehow safer with it wrapped around him, like he was still hidden from view. His hand hesitated, however, when what Mo had said filtered into his head. Let's see how well we can blend in with the city folk. Certainly not as he was now.

With some reluctance, the young hunter pulled at the loops that tied the material across his shoulders. It came loose easy enough and he folded it up, revealing the modest and simple garments he wore beneath. He slipped his beloved cloak into the backpack he had almost forgot he was wearing, pulling his beret off after a moment's pause, just to be on the safe side. Shrugging the pack back into position, he reached up to ruffle his long, pale blond back into position, hanging loosely from his head and dangling in front of his face.

It had been a while since he had last cut it.

Blowing it out of the way of his eyes with short upwards blast of his breath, he went to follow Mo out of the room, a little more sure that he would blend in with the main populace. He flashed a friendly smile and a nod at the man called Peet as he  joined them and muttered a greeting before returning his attention the departing Mo's back.

"Lead the way," Klem said quietly, all too aware that he had no clue of the layout of the city.