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Ghostie
SMELL LIKE POWA'
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Guardian
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May 6, 2012 18:18:21 GMT -5
Post by Ghostie on May 6, 2012 18:18:21 GMT -5
“What’s the job?”
“What does it matter, as long as the pay is good?”
The twi’lek grimaced. Usually when someone tried to hire you on Nal Hutta but didn’t tell you what the job was, it was something your employer didn’t expect you to come back from. And that meant they had no real intention of actually paying you. Ethan could understand why the twi’lek was hesitant.
The bounty hunter held his gaze on the twi’lek as the green being rolled his eyes and went back to his drink. Either he was was getting older, or the new blood was getting younger. The twi’lek couldn’t have been older than mid-twenties. Ethan was almost double his age, his twenties felt like a lifetime ago. He almost felt sad that someone this young was out working for crimelords and Hutts, and not pursuing a higher education or an honest job. But sometimes life dealt you a rough hand.
Ethan had a feeling the mercenary wasn’t going to accept his offer. Not telling anyone what the job was would do that. But he didn’t really want to be open about the fact that he was planning on raiding Sith supplies and convoys. But the night was still young, maybe someone crazy, dumb, or desperate enough would happen by.
Some, perhaps everyone, would call Ethan crazy for planning raids against the Sith Empire. And perhaps he was. But he figured with the war on, who would deal with a couple of pirates? He was guessing the majority of the Sith fleets would be patrolling the border of the Sith Empire protecting it from attack. If you could get to the inner parts of Sith Space, hit small targets, and live to tell about it there should be good money in it. Money gained people's attention. The Sith Empire didn't.
“I think I’ll pass. I like to know what I’m up against. But thanks for the drink.”
“Understood, have a good night then.”
The twi’lek took his drink and wandered off, away from the bar. Ethan looked over his shoulder, following the twi’lek with his eyes as the alien went to find a nice dark corner. There weren’t too many patrons in the little cantina off the beaten path in Nal Hutta. A group in a round booth, a couple here enjoying a meal together, a few betting on swoop races and watching the view screens.
That was something Ethan missed, swoop racing. The thrill of high speeds. The stomach dropping feeling when looking out over the city you were flying above. The adrenaline pumping through your veins made you feel as if you could live forever. Of course the swoop racing Ethan was a part of wasn’t exactly legal, nothing ever was today.
Ethan downed the rest of his drink and ordered another. As his third Corellian Whiskey was poured, some more patrons entered the cantina. He sat up and watched them enter, scanning the crowd for potential candidates.
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Fromikeable
Keeper Of The Techxts
1,616 posts
628 likes
...and I'm comin'! *guitar riff*
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May 6, 2012 20:05:51 GMT -5
Post by Fromikeable on May 6, 2012 20:05:51 GMT -5
((For Horst, this takes place after It's Fun to be Scum))
Horst was surprised he was walking into that dainty cantina that day. He was surprised he had been able to find quick and easy work on Nal Hutta. He was surprised a whopping 3,000 credits in his pocket (and that was after finding a place for the night and getting a few parts for the Night Watch!). Today had been surprisingly nice.
Horst stopped to retie his bootlace. As he redid the knot, he looked around. The cantina was just the way he had pictured it; it was relatively empty, more or less unexciting, and smelled like someone had failed to clean the floor of a few body fluids.
Perfect. After his last drinking experience, Horst was ready for a nice night of uninterupted, quiet solitude.
Horst moved to sit down at one of the tables near the windows. The smuggler sighed as he slinked into one of the chairs of the four person setting. The table was barren, of course, and so far as Horst could tell, made of some cheap metal. He didn't mind; to be honest they reminded him a lot of the old Mess Tent tables from the service.
A human waitress slumped up to the lone smuggler. The lady was stout, with a few moles on her chin and a hastily-made bun. Horst resisted the urge to smile.
What can I- uh... can I, uh, getcha?" The waitress faltered in her question, taking a second to stare at Horst's shoulder. Horst pretended not to notice. "A Corellian Whiskey on the rocks please." The waitress nodded and scurried back to the bar.
Horst glanced down at shoulder to the source of the waitress' discomfort. On it, repatched to his jacket, was a round military patch. The patch depicted a yellow rancor snarling with one arm raised, on which was the number 4077-89 in bold black numbering. Around the Rancor swirled the words "Giog's Rancors" in similar black lettering. Around that, on the border of the entire thing, was etched the Rancor's creed; a chant Horst remembered too well to have to read off of his patch.
Horst knew the night before that wearing his patch would be like painitng a bulleye on his face. He failed to care. Thanks to the night before's conversation, the smuggler was sure that he needed to wear the patch, at least for a little while. For just a day, he'd like to be able to embrace his past.
Hopefully it won't get me killed. We'll see.
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last online Jun 6, 2012 7:28:35 GMT -5
Youngling
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May 7, 2012 0:11:31 GMT -5
Post by Kami on May 7, 2012 0:11:31 GMT -5
((For Kami, this comes after her discussion with Lash in the RPM subforum))
For some reason Kami had a downright whimsical look in her face as she wandered down the backstreets of Nal Hutta. While the environment outside the cities may be somewhat pungent to non-Huttese life forms, within the shielded cities its glories seemed scarcely dimmed from its role as a major trading hub to rival Coruscant itself. Huge neon signs outlined the major shipping lines, the warehouses, the trading stations. The streets were still packed with sentients from across half a galaxy; or at least the main ones. If you looked around quickly you could still see the lifeblood of commerce flowing in the wealthy patrons, the convoys of cargo lifters and the mansions of the Hutts.
But then if you looked closer, you saw that the train of gaily dressed men and women following the Duros merchant were wearing binder cuffs. You saw that the flashing neon sign above the warehouse door was missing its third and ninth letter. You saw the patina of grime settling over the back streets, the ones not 'on show' to the galaxy at large. Or at least you did if you were anything like Kami. Welcome to Nal Hutta; the Glorious Jewel of the Hutts.
Of course, Kami has never exactly been a Jedi. Nodding absently to the Duros and his slaves, her mind went back to the scene in the spaceport cantina - and the look on Lash's face there at the end. Touching a fingertip to her lips she smothered another smile, turned right and ducked under a stuffed Acklay arm and into the cantina. A few quick paces forward and she stumbled, nearly falling down the last two steps to the main floor. While her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, the golden-skinned woman took a look around the interior. Looked promising - not massively packed, more discussion than music. The usual swoop-racing crowd was packed into one corner, while a Selonian couple enjoyed what was presumably meant to be a romantic dinner.
Over at the bar an Aqualish was arguing with his friend while a couple of humans enjoyed their drinks in solitude - which wasn't a bad idea at that. Restored to her customary grace, the blue-clad Firrerreo made her way past the ex-soldier with a small smile. Sliding halfway onto a bar stool, she amused herself with people watching while she waited for the barkeep to notice her. By the looks of things this was a human family operation - the older husband washing glasses at one end of the bar and nodding every so often to the stream of chatter supplied by an outraged-looking Rodian. Not that Kami's especially good at judging Rodian body language, but the second time he slammed one hand down on the bar she felt she had an inkling.
And that had to be his wife over there talking to the ex-Rancor. Times may be tough on Nal Hutta these days but there were plenty of silly young women you could hire to let themselves be pawed serving drinks, even if you were too squeamish to buy them.
She had mused a moment too long; perhaps sensing her eyes on him earlier, the barkeep materialized in her field of view and bestowed a professional smile on her. "What can I get you, mistress?" "Corellian spiced ale, thanks. And what's your special?" As she turned across the bar, the side of her jacket pulled up a touch and revealed the tip of a gunbarrel, hanging close by her side. For a moment the barkeep looks blank, then he replies, "Er... chemilizard steak? It's good to build up toler-" "Just the Ale, thanks."
Honestly, some people... she shook her head.
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berserker
Kenpachi
192 posts
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100% closer than most, 0% self-preservation.
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last online Jun 17, 2012 21:13:33 GMT -5
Padawan
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May 7, 2012 8:24:55 GMT -5
Post by berserker on May 7, 2012 8:24:55 GMT -5
(Imagine Ress talking in a British accent, either Manchester or Cockney.)
Ress skulked at the bar as he meditated over his drink. At least, that’s what it would’ve looked like if he knew how to meditate. Given his history with Hutts, it was a wonder why he was still in Hutt space. Within a dingy cantina at its rotten heart which is their homeworld, no less. If Ress didn’t know any better, he would’ve been happy with his current situation. Still, being on this side of the galaxy, it wasn’t too difficult to find work that was best suited for his skillset.
As he was about to drink the glass of what smelled like Bantha piss, a conversation a few chairs away caught his attention. Ress turned his head slightly to the side as he pressed the rim of his glass on his lips. It seemed like a human was hiring a Twi’lek for some job; or tried to, anyway. The human, a mercenary or a bounty hunter by the looks of him, refused to give much detail on the job. Naturally, any smart scum, or those acting smart, would be suspicious. They probably wouldn’t have lived long if they took up every sketchy job, otherwise.
Lucky for Ress, he wasn’t that smart. Not when it came to earning credits, anyway. As the Twi’lek walked off elsewhere, and the human seemed to be alone, Ress waited a few moments before he drained his glass and got off his chair. As he shouldered his excessively long sniper rifle, his disk-shaped droid that has been floating next to him beeped and whistled in its droid language an inquiry of what he planned to do.
“Earning us some credits.” He said as he gave his little helper a wink. He walked over to the human sitting at the bar, staring off towards the rest of the cantina. “You know mate, if you want to give someone a job and you don’t want, or can’t talk about it much…” Ress said as he got closer. “…It always helps when they’re a bit desperate. Improves your chances of hiring them.”
“Mind if I take a seat?” He said as he pointed at the chair next to the man, the piece of Mandalorian armor strapped on his right shoulder as a trophy shone brilliantly in the dull lights of the cantina.
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Ghostie
SMELL LIKE POWA'
764 posts
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last online Aug 19, 2019 9:17:21 GMT -5
Guardian
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May 7, 2012 11:30:41 GMT -5
Post by Ghostie on May 7, 2012 11:30:41 GMT -5
Ethan’s attention was drawn to the Rodian down the counter, yelling something or other in Huttese. He was so focused on the Rodian, marking him as a potential candidate to try and hire that he barely noticed the Firrerreo who just sat down at the bar a couple chairs down, or the young man would walked over to him.
“You know mate, if you want to give someone a job and you don’t want, or can’t talk about it much, it always helps when they’re a bit desperate. Improves your chances of hiring them. Mind if I take a seat?”
“It’s all yours, kid.”
These guys just keep getting younger and younger…
Ethan sized the young man up as he sat down. He couldn’t have been any older that the Twi’lek he was just talking to, early twenties maybe. His hair was dark brown, and his eyes were similar in color. But the thing that caught Ethan’s eye was the pauldron of armor strapped to his shoulder. It had to be mandalorian, which meant beskar. Usually, the only way an outsider got their hands on some beskar’garm was through a mandalorians cold, dead hands. Perhaps the young man was mandalorian himself? There was one way to tell.
“What will you be drinking, burc'ya?”
Ethan wasn’t wearing his own armor, instead opting for his khaki flight jacket and cargo pants. Mandalorian armor could cause quite a stir on Nal Hutta. When you saw someone dressed like that in Hutt Space, it usually meant someone was being hunted.
Ethan went back to his drink, nursing it the whole time. And mandalorian would know Mando’a, the language. Most outsiders didn’t though. Ethan had used a very simple word, ‘friend’. If the young man responded with more Mando’a, then Ethan had met a fellow mandalorian by chance. If he didn’t respond with Mando’a, well then Ethan would have to wonder how such a young man was able to take down a mandalorian. More than likely with help from that huge rifle he had carried over. Either way, Ethan didn't care. He would be more that capable to fight a couple of Sith.
“So…” Ethan started, looking back at the young man “… Just how desperate are you, kid? Willing to get your hands dirty?”
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Fromikeable
Keeper Of The Techxts
1,616 posts
628 likes
...and I'm comin'! *guitar riff*
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last online Jun 22, 2023 19:35:57 GMT -5
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May 7, 2012 16:15:24 GMT -5
Post by Fromikeable on May 7, 2012 16:15:24 GMT -5
The waitress returned, silently holding Horst his whiskey before practically dashing back to the bar. Horst smiled as he took a sip; show up with a Republic insignia and people automatically think you're wanted. In all fairness, he was wanted, but the fact that people presumed it made the smuggler almost see a bright side to being hounded.
Horst glanced around. The room was empty save for three groups of people. One group was in the corner glued to the displays. Horst couldn't see much over the heads of at least 3 different species, but the roaring engines and vicious cheering made him sure they were watching pod racing. Horst had never been much of a sports fan, but he had to admit that if he had to choose one to watch, it would be pod racing. After all, if you're die doing a sport, you may as well feel a rush while you're doing it.
The second group of people was a scattered collection of numerous flavors and sights of the galaxy drinking their troubles away at the bar. A Firrerreo in blue apparel passed the smuggler with a small smile on her way to join the drunks. Horst smiled back warmly; it would seem he wasn't the only one in good spirits today. The Firrerreo settled on a barstool and ordered from the bartender, keeping her gaze on her barmates.
The final group was barely a group; more like a pair. A bounty hunter sat alone, having scared off some sprite of a Twi'lek as Horst had walked in. Horst examined him from a far; the guy, unlike the rest of the bar crowd, seemed older, maybe about Horst's age. Horst nodded slightly, surprised. Most people in this business at that age either know what they're doing, or have all the luck in the galaxy.
The bounty hunter was joined by some younger guy with an enormous rifle strapped to his back, accompanied by a small disk-shaped droid. Horst was too far away to hear clearly, but he could make out the words "credits", "desperate", and most surprising of all "burc'ya".
Now there's something I haven't heard in a while.
Horst stood up, grabbing his drink. He hadn't heard or spoken Mandalorian since he was working with Sharpie a few years ago, and to hear the language this far out of Mando territory was something rare indeed. Mandalorians weren't unheard of in the underground, but Horst had failed to actually meet one so far.
Should I?... Horst considered introducing himself. He had been hoping for a moment to himself, but his curiosity once again got the better of him. Anyone speaking Mando'a was bound to be interesting.
Horst slowly made his way over the duo, being careful not to be too overly loud. The men were engaged in a conversation, though judging by the lax tones and body language, Horst guessed it couldn't be too serious (or at least not stressful. Horst had never been much of an interpreter).
"So... Just how desperate are you, kid? Willing to get your hands dirty?"
Dirty hands? I think it's safe to say I called it.
"Desperation? Copaani gaan burc'ya?"
Need a hand friend?
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last online Jun 6, 2012 7:28:35 GMT -5
Youngling
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May 7, 2012 23:52:56 GMT -5
Post by Kami on May 7, 2012 23:52:56 GMT -5
Kami could remember many days with Rossos and Val that had gone something like this - the three of them sitting in some seedy backstreet cantina, scoping out the other patrons for possibilities. She missed the banter sometimes - there was only so much conversation one could have with oneself before people began to look at you funny - but on the other hand it did make for a more contained hiring position. As the barkeep returned and slid her ale across the counter she nodded her thanks and returned to her memories.
She could still remember that first time they'd gone looking for work. The trio had performed a few operations so it wasn't like she was completely green, but always with a friend of Rossos or some guy Val had met in a bar once. This time they'd been taking her through the hiring process from scratch... and she'd flunked it miserably. The trick (as they told her later) was not to appear too eager. To always give the impression that you had several other job offers and it was really up to the agent to sell this job over the rest. As such 'That sounds brilliant - and we could really use the credits!' had undermined them a tad. Still, she'd improved a bit and had never lost them so many credits that the guys had decided to leave her at the ship.
Sniffing a bit, the delicious aroma of the spiced ale brought her back to the present and she took a sip with a look around the cantina as a chaser. No real changes - a trio of Twi'leks had come in and were making tracks toward the raised dais in the centre and the Selonians were occupied in grooming one another as their food was cleared away. The Rodian was still yammering away and- wait a second. The Rancor and what looked like a cut-price Mandalorian had moved up to talk with the older armoured human in what her experienced eye recognised as job negotiations in the making. Maybe this trip to Nal Hutta wouldn't be such a bust after all?
“So… Just how desperate are you, kid? Willing to get your hands dirty?” Shooting a glance toward the back of the room she notices a Twi'lek in a corner watching the discussion, but given he's safely out of hearing range she discounts him for now. Especially with the Rancor speaking what can only be Mandalorian now too. Since she doesn't she wasn't entirely sure what they were saying; but then again, it didn't really matter did it? Their body language spoke of serious discussion, and that's what she was looking for. Moving smoothly two seats to her right, she reseated herself and motioned her glass in a vague toast to whoever looked her way.
"Is this a private party, or can anyone join?"
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berserker
Kenpachi
192 posts
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100% closer than most, 0% self-preservation.
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last online Jun 17, 2012 21:13:33 GMT -5
Padawan
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May 8, 2012 3:48:05 GMT -5
Post by berserker on May 8, 2012 3:48:05 GMT -5
Ress eagerly sat on the barstool he referred to earlier. “Much obliged, friend.” He said with a grunt, as he began to settle in. As he lowered his sniper rifle to his side, reposed against the bar, an offer from the older gentleman made him look up.
“What will you be drinking, burc'ya?” He asked. Ress blinked once. He was the one about to offer his services, and the man started things off by offering him a drink. He must really have needed help badly. Perhaps this could work to Ress’s advantage.
“No, thank you, mate. I’ve had quite enough already.” Ress said as he leaned over the bar and turned his head slightly to the other man. That statement was only half true, however. He was indeed sick of drinking, true. But most of what he has drunk at the time mostly smelled of sewage, being cheap as he was. As he contemplated of taking back what he said about the offer, a realization suddenly struck him like lightning.
Burc’ya. That was not Basic. During the time he spent in Onderon as a mercenary, he has picked up a few words here and there. He was far from fluent on anything other than Basic or Huttese, but he could recognize an unfamiliar word when he heard it. This man either knew how to speak Mandalorian or was a Mandalorian himself. Ress prayed it was the former. Quite a number of Mando’ade has fallen on the other side of if his scope; one of them had a piece their armor unceremoniously slapped over his right deltoid. He immediately shifted on his barstool and made himself a smaller target. Ress knew, however, that he needed the credits. So long as he kept his mouth shut, he should be fine.
“So… Just how desperate are you, kid? Willing to get your hands dirty?”
Ress felt glad for the man’s question. This gave Ress the opportunity not to go nuts. He composed himself and replied with his usual wolfish grin, “Desperate enough not to ask.”
“As for getting my hands dirty, well… So long as there are no civvies harmed. If we can’t avoid it, don’t expect me to be the one pulling the trigger.” He added with as much conviction as his own dirty hands could allow. As he finished his sentence, however, another voice emanated from behind him.
"Desperation? Copaani gaan burc'ya?"
Another Mandalorian. Just his luck. Ress turned his barstool around, to see who spoke. The man seemed older, more or less the same age as the one he talked to a few moments ago. One particular feature Ress noticed was the patch on his shoulder, shaped like a Rancor. He immediately knew that this man had ties with the Republic military, just like his former owner. As he was about to greet the other man, another came to the scene.
"Is this a private party, or can anyone join?"
A woman. A Firrerreo, with her brilliant two-toned hair. A nod was all he could muster to greet the two with. His droid beeped and whistled in amusement. Things just got interesting.
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Ghostie
SMELL LIKE POWA'
764 posts
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last online Aug 19, 2019 9:17:21 GMT -5
Guardian
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May 8, 2012 19:14:53 GMT -5
Post by Ghostie on May 8, 2012 19:14:53 GMT -5
“No, thank you, mate. I’ve had quite enough already.”
"Suit yourself..."
Well, the young man must’ve known some Mando’a. There was no hesitation or question in his speech. Ethan still wasn’t sure what to think of the young man though. Most mandalorians wore their full suit of armor if they wore any armor at all. This one… He only wore one piece, and that made something inside of Ethan say that something was wrong with this picture.
"Desperation? Copaani gaan burc'ya?"
Ethan spun around when he heard more mando’a. There stood a large man behind him, scruffy looking and large. The man was about Ethan’s age. To make it this far in the underworld, he probably knew what he was doing. The large man had a on a brown jacket with a republic and a squad insignia on it. The Rancors. Ethan had heard of them before. Some sort of engineering corps squad in the Republic Army if he was correct. Ethan had heard about them in passing during his time in the Navy.
“Yeah, I could use a hand. In fact, multiple hands would work better.”
It seemed Ethan didn’t need to do any scouting after all. Mention credits and people come running. Well lucky him. Maybe he would end up leaving that rather angry Rodian down the bar alone. Ethan just didn’t want to attract the whole cantina. He only wanted the right people for this job. So far, these two men seemed to fit the bill.
Almost on cue, right after the Ex-Republic Engineer got done talking, Ethan heard someone else close by. He spun around the other direction to see the Firrerreo that was down the bar, was being the key word. She moved down to listen to their conversation. He must really be getting old to not know when someone was sneaking up on him. Ethan had half a mind to carry on in Mando’a. He wasn’t sure if a young woman could handle the kind of job he had set up.
"Is this a private party, or can anyone join?"
“Are you sure you could handle it, ad’ika?” Ethan turned around on his stool, to face the whole group. “Here’s what I’ll tell you in public: There’s a lot of money involved, and I mean a lot. But it’s also quite dangerous.”
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Fromikeable
Keeper Of The Techxts
1,616 posts
628 likes
...and I'm comin'! *guitar riff*
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last online Jun 22, 2023 19:35:57 GMT -5
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May 8, 2012 19:50:08 GMT -5
Post by Fromikeable on May 8, 2012 19:50:08 GMT -5
"Here’s what I’ll tell you in public: There’s a lot of money involved, and I mean a lot. But it’s also quite dangerous."
Hmmmm... Horst scratched his chin, considering. This guy had made a nice impression, to be honest, and was probably bound to some Mando honor code considering how he shot out the language. Even still, Horst was wary; he wasn't about to trust a random stranger he'd just met just because he was more interesting than your garden variety of scum.
.. Even still...
Beyond that, Horst wasn't going to be satisfied at any point with a simple "lot of money" and "dangerous". He did merc work, of course, but never before he knew what'd he be doing, to whom, and most importantly why. He may have been scum himself, but he had standards. Scum standards.
... ... even still.
Horst sipped his whiskey, which he had carried over. He was, of course, open for work (it's not like he could be very picky), and beyond that, this bounty hunter seemed... different. He wasn't just another apathetic kill-and-cash head-hunter who only considered booze, credits, and women; he seemed a bit more in-depth than that. Horst couldn't quite describe it yet, but the guy asked and spoke with a purpose; whatever he was up to, there was more to it than simple profit.
"Ret'lini this is interesting, what exactly are you proposing beroya?"
Horst also nodded to the kid with the huge rifle. Judging by his armor and his lack of response to the Mando'a, he had probably snatched the beskar off of a dead Mandalorian. Beyond that, the kid looked uncomfortable; Horst wasn't sure why yet, but he was guessing that he might be on edge due to the Mando'a. That made him smile.
Horst motioned his drink toward the accented sentient. "By the way kid, verd ori'shya beskar'gam." Horst was quoting the old saying, but in this instance he meant it literally. "A warrior is more than his armor."
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last online Jun 6, 2012 7:28:35 GMT -5
Youngling
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May 9, 2012 11:43:26 GMT -5
Post by Kami on May 9, 2012 11:43:26 GMT -5
“Are you sure you could handle it, ad’ika?”
If she's heard it once, she's heard it a thousand times. Maybe not the Mandalorian, but this old hunter is far from the first to decide that just because she is perhaps more decorative than the next hard-bitten mercenary she is somehow inept. The funny thing is that she ought to be used to it by this point... yet somehow it still manages to surprise her each time; like now.
“Here’s what I’ll tell you in public: There’s a lot of money involved, and I mean a lot. But it’s also quite dangerous.”
Tilting her head to one side, the Firrerreo addressed herself directly to the sometime-smuggler. "Well that rather depends on you and your mission, doesn't it mah bukee? You've been remarkably close-mouthed about it, and I respect that; but it does rather put the onus on you when it comes to deciding job roles." She took a long pull from her drink, then swivelled about and nodded to the other two men. "If your 'job' involves a one-off quick in and out from a civilised system, no real risk and leaving any wounded there while the survivors get out for big profits once they make it home... then you may be right."
She shrugs simply, "I don't know that I'd even be interested in a job like that, and you couldn't afford my rate for it anyway. Besides, when it comes to straight up combat you're right - one of these great louts would piledrive me into the dirt in no time." She paused and took another long drink from her spiced ale, watching the dynamic developing among the quartet - the Rancor seemed to be developing more of a position of authority than the possible Mandalorian; that revelation of desperation, it did it every time.
"Of course, if you give three karks for your men's lives and you don't happen to have a fully functional auto-doc medical bay available wherever you're going to do whatever it is, then you want me. And if you're lookin' to infiltrate someone in who has any chance of the locals believing isn't 'Mad, Bad and Dangerous'," she quoted the local hit song, "Then you want me for that too. As to the rest, well..." She shrugged simply once more and resettled her P-30 in its holster.
"I'm not completely helpless in a lightfight either - its more a matter of what I will and won't do than whether or not I can 'handle it' - or whether I'll wind up taking that Ithorian to see his liveship." Well look at her - maybe that was her weakness, implying she couldn't do something. Thinking back to the number of near-death experiences it had got her into since the Battle of Mon Calamari, Kami was beginning to think so, at any rate. Her point made - she hoped - the green-eyed woman took a break from speaking to enjoy the spiced flavours of Corellia's finest.
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berserker
Kenpachi
192 posts
0 likes
100% closer than most, 0% self-preservation.
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last online Jun 17, 2012 21:13:33 GMT -5
Padawan
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May 9, 2012 19:50:24 GMT -5
Post by berserker on May 9, 2012 19:50:24 GMT -5
“…a lot of money involved, and I mean a lot. But it’s also quite dangerous."
Ress only focused on bits and pieces of what the older Mando said. A lot of money was all he had to say to whet his appetite. As for the dangerous part, well…
“Like I said, I won’t ask.” He said as he tried to contain his enthusiasm. “Point us at the right direction, and we’ll get it done.” Ress added, referring to his droid. This was usually something that his employers liked about Ress. He was head-strong. He only cared about details when he was actually there; and even then he preferred to go with the flow. It has kept him alive since Tatooine and Onderon, so why stop now?
“By the way kid, verd ori'shya beskar'gam.” Ress snapped back into reality at the statement. Without thinking, he made a reply.
“Only when he’s alive.” He said with a grin. He never meant the statement to be menacing. Ress wasn’t the type of person to make himself look intimidating to others. Most of his life, he spent running in shadows, away from people’s attention; another attribute of him that’s kept him alive so far. Still, he couldn’t resist trying to look clever. A few moments later, he realized he has practically shown the two older gents that he knew quite a bit of Mandalorian.
As Ress began cursing himself in his thoughts for being such a dolt, the Firrerreo began to reveal her thoughts about the possible job, along of what she was capable of doing and not doing in certain situations, almost like a job interview. Well, however one should act in an interview, anyway. Ress had absolutely no idea, and cared little of it. With the attention towards her, questions won’t be asked of him. Hopefully.
“…it’s more a matter of what I will and won't do than whether or not I can 'handle it' - or whether I'll wind up taking that Ithorian to see his liveship.”
The Firrerreo woman’s words rang like a bell in Ress’s minds. He normally wasn’t impressed with people who talked too much, or was too nit-picky of things, but the russet-and-blue-haired woman’s last words colored him impressed. Not many can keep such principles once they’ve worked long enough within the galaxy’s underworld. She has definitely gained his respect, at least for now. Of course, he won’t let this woman outdo him.
“Well, I can plink stuff with my rifle. I’m pretty good at it.” He said as he leaned against the bar. Impressive wasn’t what one would call it, however. Still, behind its underwhelming nature, his statement carried fact, along with a two-kilometer killshot record. “If that doesn’t work for you, I could always club someone with my rifle.” Ress added jokingly.
“Anyway, I’m good with guns and I can pilot ships pretty well. Just don’t expect me to go hand-to-hand with someone. Wouldn’t end well. Unless of course clubbing someone with my broken limb is amusing to you blokes.” Ress said, as he attempted to make a fool of himself, trying to be a jester. This way, with any luck, nobody would expect him to pack a huge wallop behind his slender frame.
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Ghostie
SMELL LIKE POWA'
764 posts
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last online Aug 19, 2019 9:17:21 GMT -5
Guardian
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May 10, 2012 20:58:47 GMT -5
Post by Ghostie on May 10, 2012 20:58:47 GMT -5
Ethan was really beginning to dislike the Firrerreo. She talked a lot, and everything that came out of her mouth wasn’t the most pleasing thing. He gave more than “three karks” about his men’s lives, that’s why his ship had a medical bay. And of course he could afford her rate. But she did say she had some nice skills. But that was the problem, she said it. Ethan had no way to prove it yet.
The young man on the other hand, he was something different. He could handle himself if his rifle was anything to go by. And from what he said by responding to the Ex-Republic Engineer, that must’ve been how he got his armor, with that rifle of his. Ethan had no problems with him killing mandalorians, business was business. It proved he could handle himself.
The Engineer was the oddball so far though. He had remained quite so far, and most of what he said was mando’a. But being as old as Ethan guessed he was, he would probably be real cautious about being hired into anything. You didn’t get this far with no brains.
“Trust me, I can pay your rate ad’ika.”
Ethan said to the Firrerreo. He finished his drink and put the glass back down on the counter. Where could they talk privately on Nal Hutta? It was like asking a wookiee to shave, it just didn’t happen. There were only a couple of places Ethan could think of, but his potential employees wouldn’t like them.
“We need somewhere private to talk. Meet me at the spaceport.” Ethan said to the group “If you want, I have a speeder outside and we can go over all the details on the way.”
He got up and lead the way out of the seedy little cantina. The small bar was in what seemed to be an alleyway, on the ground level. It was evening time, but that didn’t mean much on Nal Hutta. It was still swamp and smog, and you couldn’t see much beyond that.
Ethan’s speeder was still sitting on the side of the alley furthest away from the cantina. Or rather, the speeder Ethan rented from the spaceport. Luckily it hadn’t been vandalized at all. It was a normal looking speeder, red with white trim. It was a bit out of date though. Ethan figured all four of them could fit in it if they wanted to.
“If you aint coming with me, meet me at the spaceport if you’re still interested.” He looked at the group. "And why would I do anything to harm those who may become my employees?"
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Fromikeable
Keeper Of The Techxts
1,616 posts
628 likes
...and I'm comin'! *guitar riff*
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last online Jun 22, 2023 19:35:57 GMT -5
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May 10, 2012 21:27:08 GMT -5
Post by Fromikeable on May 10, 2012 21:27:08 GMT -5
Horst's smile widened as the young sniper responded to his statement before he could translate it. Sometimes it seemed all these younger fry were all the same; a bunch of confident hot-shots who'd rather show off than ask questions. It wasn't that they were overconfident; Horst had seen enough to tell you that age wasn't the only bringer of skill. To the contrary, some of the most skilled people he had ever met were far younger than him.
Did they live long? That's another story.
The Firrerreo seemed likewise cocky, as she started rambling about how she would and wouldn't take certain work because it may or may not suit her. Horst merely listened, understanding; he had standards as well, and he could respect another of the same mindset. With that said, however, she seemed rather showy; a trait Horst usually associated with, well, getting shot. Judging by her caution, the smuggler doubted she would though.
Finally, the bounty hunter rolled the dice when he invited all three of them, the underworld ingrates he'd known for probably two minutes, to a speeder on their way to the spaceport. "“If you aint coming with me, meet me at the spaceport if you’re still interested. And why would I do anything to harm those who may become my employees?"
"I can think of a few reasons," Horst responded, breaking his silence. He was being honest too; a bounty hunter luring three potentially wanted men and women into a small, secluded location out of the public view? Wonderful...
Horst finished his whiskey with one fell gulp. As he exhaled, he imagined two things. The first was him saying goodbye right then and there, finding another cantina, and finding other work he knew wouldn't kill him. He would get a package, get gone, and have another handful of credits to drink away in no time...
The other image was him entering that speeder and being cuffed to his chair before being stunned. Then he'd wake up in some Hutt's dungeon waiting while the fat slug and some bounty trader haggled outside of his cell.
... Even still... Horst couldn't just dismiss this guy. At this point it wasn't just that he spoke Mando'a, or that he was actually recruiting people for something so controversial and dangerous that he had to actually talk about it in private on a planet like Nal Hutta. No, by this point, those were just little things. As Horst stared more at this bounty hunter clad in modest apparel, he began to understand that he wasn't here just for some work. Horst couldn't explain it very well, but the way he spoke and the manner in which he did it ruled out money as a factor, making him very...
... interesting.
Horst set his glass down on the bounty hunter's table, making it shake slightly. "This I've gotta' see." The smuggler grunted before following the bounty hunter out of the shanty cantina.
He added, half jokingly and half determinedly, "If you try to murder me, I'll kill you."
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last online Jun 6, 2012 7:28:35 GMT -5
Youngling
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May 12, 2012 13:06:36 GMT -5
Post by Kami on May 12, 2012 13:06:36 GMT -5
“Trust me, I can pay your rate ad’ika.”
Kami flirts up her brows as though she doubts this, but now that she wasn't being talked down to as much her mind's a little clearer - and working fast. From the looks of things he was probably right; he could afford her fee, unless she charged something ludicrously astronomical in a bid to get out of here. But if he didn't need the money, he wasn't likely to be making more from this job. Which meant... what? Revenge? He didn't seem like he was so possessed with rage that he couldn't move past it, but then in the larger scheme of things that meant precisely zip. There were men and women out there very well paid to seem like they felt things they didn't - and vice versa undoubtedly. So, what then. A larger cause?
Kami was intrigued, even as her latent self preservation was starting to scream at her. This seemed like a surprisingly effective collection of individuals she was visiting with - the rifleman at range, while the other two seemed well suited to closer work. Fortunately they also seemed to have avoided the usual ubiquitous gun-happy greenie, so they might actually all survive this one. She liked that in a team.
“We need somewhere private to talk. Meet me at the spaceport - if you want, I have a speeder outside and we can go over all the details on the way.”
He seemed kind of grumpy now - at a guess, he was regretting allowing her even the small opening he had. Not that it really mattered; noone who insisted on working only with friends seemed to get far here on Nal Hutta. The trick was knowing the difference between 'not-friend' and 'enemy', but he seemed like a professional. Provided she showed she was the same, she doubted there was much harm in accompanying the others to at least hear the details.
Slipping smoothly to her feet, she strode along at the back of the little group, bringing a comlink to her lips and murmuring a few words near-silently into it even as they rounded a corner: "Toof, might have found us something promising. Keep her warm and I'll keep you posted." Following him out of the cantina, the Firrerreo headed out through the alleyway to board... a remarkably generic-looking speeder.
“If you aint coming with me, meet me at the spaceport if you’re still interested.” He looked at the group. "And why would I do anything to harm those who may become my employees?"
"I can think of a few reasons,"
Smothering a smile at that, she followed the older human to the speeder and clambered in once he had unlocked it. If pushed, she could name a few people who would go to at least this much trouble to speak with her on their terms; but overall the 'bait' in this theoretical trap doesn't feel as sweet as she'd expect for deadly danger. And besides, despite his terseness the paymaster has her intrigued.
"This I've gotta' see."
Her thoughts exactly.
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berserker
Kenpachi
192 posts
0 likes
100% closer than most, 0% self-preservation.
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last online Jun 17, 2012 21:13:33 GMT -5
Padawan
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May 15, 2012 9:02:50 GMT -5
Post by berserker on May 15, 2012 9:02:50 GMT -5
(Sorry it took so long, had problems with my internet connection. Had to talk with tech support from my internet provider. D: )
“We need somewhere private to talk. Meet me at the spaceport - if you want, I have a speeder outside and we can go over all the details on the way.”
The older Mandalorian offered. Ress looked around him as he did so. He saw a half-empty cantina with people going about their own businesses. What could be more private? What could be so secret that talking outside the earshot of a lot of people was not enough? The notion intrigued Ress to some degree. This was no ordinary job, he could tell. The secrecy of the whole thing, the I-can’t-tell-you-now and we-must-find-a-more-private-place nature of their little discussions reminded him of those old holo-vids he used to watch with his Pa; when he wasn’t too busy being drunk and hitting poor little Ress up, of course. He wanted to know more, and as he was about to accept the Mandalorian’s offer, a statement made Ress smile.
“…why would I do anything to harm those who may become my employees?"
The older gent said. Why indeed? To Ress Courtright, this man needed help badly enough to some degree. He merely chuckled at the notion. One Mandalorian, no matter how much training or experience he possessed, was no match for three people with their own training and experience, should the need arise, which Ress knew it won’t, since he sensed the jested nature of the statement. At least, he hoped he was right. Ress would never try to tangle with someone who has lived long enough to be the Mandalorian’s age, though.
“Well, I’d love a ride. Bloody hate walking. Such a pain.” Ress said, his disk-shaped droid breathed a synthetic sigh of disapproval, which her master ignored. As he slid off his barstool and shouldered his rifle, the ex-Republic man’s words made him crack a smile.
“If you try to murder me, I'll kill you."
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Ghostie
SMELL LIKE POWA'
764 posts
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last online Aug 19, 2019 9:17:21 GMT -5
Guardian
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May 16, 2012 9:01:35 GMT -5
Post by Ghostie on May 16, 2012 9:01:35 GMT -5
Ethan turned on the speeder as they all piled in. He was surprised he was able to convince them all come with him. Usually you just didn’t hop into a speeder with random strangers on Nal Hutta. Those situations never ended well. But Ethan was sincere about hiring the three of them. Well, maybe not sincere about hiring the Firrerreo. He would have to see about her.
The speeder rose off the ground and through the smog. In no time at all Ethan was flying through the multiple speeder lanes of Bilbousa. He was weaving in and out of the lanes and flying at high speeds, probably being cursed at by multiple speeder pilots. It wasn’t like there was any law enforcement on Nal Hutta that would care. Is this how Ethan always drove, just like they did back at home on Corellia.
"It’s a ways to the spaceport I’ve docked at, so let’s just get started. You can call me… Mr. Hiker for now.” Ethan grabbed a cigarette out of the cigarette box on the dashboard. “You guys don’t mind, do you?”
“Now then, down to business. I know you’re all wondering about the secrecy, and you’re about to find out. I’ll be blunt and to the point. We all know there is a war going on, right?” Ethan nodded to the response he got. “Right. Now by my… let’s just call it estimation, most of the fleets of either side will be close to their borders, protecting each side from attack. These fleets will leave supply depots, ammo dumps, and other such places unprotected except for troops. So we sneak in, grab the stuff, and sneak back out.” Ethan paused, “I’m planning to hit the Sith only.”
It was silent for a minute. They all probably felt he was crazy or stupid, or both. Ethan knew how fleets worked, they could pull this off. And then they could sell everything they got for profit, or keep it as loot. He wasn’t stupid. Ethan decided he was probably crazy after listening to himself, but not stupid.
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Fromikeable
Keeper Of The Techxts
1,616 posts
628 likes
...and I'm comin'! *guitar riff*
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last online Jun 22, 2023 19:35:57 GMT -5
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May 16, 2012 15:13:22 GMT -5
Post by Fromikeable on May 16, 2012 15:13:22 GMT -5
Horst folded himself into the speeder with a little trouble. Big men were never meant to ride in smaller speeders, and while this one did adequately on leg room, the smuggler had to make sure his arms weren't hindering anything as the vehicle took off.
The Mandalorian drove like a madman. Horst's eyes widened a few times as the speeder regarded its traffic like the smog it smashed through. He likened it to the insane antics of the speeders of his youth; half the time one would come into Rorry's shop, it would be there thanks to someone being generous with the accelerator. It wasn't too hard to imagine their's having the same fate.
The Mandalorian referred to himself as "Mr. Hiker"; a name that gave Horst a sort of deja vu. The title sounded familiar from some long forgotten memory, and Horst took a moment to try and remember as "Mr. Hiker" began to gun a stick.
"We all know there is a war going on, right?"
Horst tensed. His typical instinct told him that this reference was meant for him; he was usually incredibly secretive of his past, and that typically meant a great sensitivity to any mention of the army. He looked down at his patch; he knew the thing was going to be trouble for him. He didn't regret wearing it, but even still, the trouble it brought might be his head. Therefore, Horst merely nodded, allowing the Mandalorian to continue.
That's when Mr. Hiker revealed his slight mental problems. For a minute he went rambling on about hitting up Sith war supply depots along the border and how they could just "sneak in and sneak out." Horst's discomfort was dashed as he let out a chuckle, allowing it to fill the speeder. He remembered doing stuff like that in a 12-man squad of the most elite Republic soldiers armed to the teeth with high grade gear. Here this nutjob wanted more or less the same results from a 4-man squad consisting of himself, an ex-Soldier, a cocky sniper in beskar, and a chirpy Firrerreo.
"Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
The smuggler continued laughing until he had to stop to wipe his tears away. Of all the things this guy could have wanted, his own little war against the Sith? Horst hated the Sith as much as the next guy if not more; they were a pack of slaving, greedy hotshot bastards as far as he was concerned. If he was going to be paid to rattle their cage, he would have no complaints. But with this pack of misfits?
"That's something," he responded, still chuckling softly. "Did you think of that before or after someone hit you upside your head?" The smuggler meant it seriously, but afterward he ceased his laughing. After the initial burst of amusement, the idea actually wasn't that bad. To be honest, he probably would have agreed... had it not been for a few concerns.
"Besides, you and what army? Take it from a guy who has done it," he pointed to himself. "You're gonna need a helluva lot more than us."
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last online Jun 6, 2012 7:28:35 GMT -5
Youngling
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May 18, 2012 12:34:57 GMT -5
Post by Kami on May 18, 2012 12:34:57 GMT -5
Kami on the other hand had little difficulty in wedging herself into the speeder. Something about not being a large man in heavy armour, but she wouldn't comment on that. Yet, anyway. Admittedly her eyes widened a few times during the drive, but it wasn't immediately clear whether this was more due to some potentially dangerous assumptions being made or the passing perils of corners, landspeeders and one particularly ill-placed food stand. The young Firrerreo drove fairly aggressively, but this Mr Hiker drove as though he had something against his own vehicle - or at least the pedestrians who scattered from his path.
"We all know there is a war going on, right?"
The near-human's expression darkened. Clearly the older man knew more about her than she had expected - enough to use this as a verbal slap-down for daring to assume the limelight for a minute earlier. In some ways she was starting to reconsider this job offer - but it was a chance to get even for Mon Calamari, and that wasn't something she could count on getting paid for every day. The question was, how much grief was she willing to take for that opportunity? Only time would tell - but whether or not she would be part of it, this was something she wanted to happen. So when the Rancor started laughing...
"Besides, you and what army? Take it from a guy who has done it, you're gonna need a helluva lot more than us."
"Such doubt, from one so experienced?" Her voice cut in silkily, "I admit, that's less than comforting from where I sit. But assuming Mr Hiker is correct and part of the Sith preparation for war is stripping defenses from all their vital logistics stations-" She paused, then looked back at him with a slightly puzzled expression. "Er, what exactly does 'unprotected except for troops' mean Mr Hiker? No orbital support? Or force-users?" Admittedly either of those would probably put paid to any such mission - but then again, so would any real number of 'troops' unless the trio of men were far more deadly yet than she had realised.
Of course, she wouldn't necessarily take a stranger's briefing of all the attendant risks as writ. She'd made the mistake of trusting in the inherent goodness of employers in the past; there was no percentage in it, even when such generous terms were on offer. Especially when such generous terms were on offer. It wouldn't be the first time an employer decided to save credits by eliminating the witnesses.
She'd wait and see - and try not to judge him by his driving. Though come to think of it, that might actually be a point in his favour - it seemed crazy, but it was working...
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berserker
Kenpachi
192 posts
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100% closer than most, 0% self-preservation.
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last online Jun 17, 2012 21:13:33 GMT -5
Padawan
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May 18, 2012 19:45:56 GMT -5
Post by berserker on May 18, 2012 19:45:56 GMT -5
Ress leaned over the opened window of the Speeder, the hard wind blew his not-so-long-and-luscious hair here and about. The window he let down as an answer to the older Mandalorian’s plea for a drag (He never liked the smell of cigarettes) stayed open as Ress looked on, as he listened to the plan being unfolded. They were being hired to raid Sith outposts. No wonder this man never bothered to tell anyone his plans. The galaxy would have imploded in on itself by the time he’d have found anyone willing to take on his little task, provided that there was anyone around at all.
“We all know there is a war going on, right?”
Ress merely gave a grunt as an answer. Who doesn’t? It’s already been two years, and Ress has known of the signs long before that, most of the galaxy has known. It was the reason why he decided on being a mercenary once and the reason why he had to bury a friend. He half-heartedly listened to Mister Hiker’s plans and took note.
As the speeder raced through the smog-choked streets of Nal Hutta, Ress remembered his times with Cass as they themselves raced through Onderon’s streets. Before he could be threatened of drifting off into memory lane, a thunderous laugh from the Republic-man snapped him back into the present. He fidgeted as a man would have when taken by surprise. He looked about the speeder, befuddled. Did he miss a joke?
“That's something. Did you think of that before or after someone hit you upside your head?”
Ress was almost inclined to agree on the Republic-man’s doubts. But on further analysis of the Manalorian’s plans, Ress decided that it wasn’t as far-fetched as he or the other man thought, and kept his thoughts to himself. Surely the Mandalorian was smarter than what the Republic-man would believe. After a while, the Republic-man took back his words of mock and asked of the Mandalorian’s retinue, whether he had enough men, as merely four of them assaulting a supply depot would surely mean folly. The Firrerreo also voiced out her concerns of the defenses they would expect, or not to expect, for that matter.
Ress sat through it all, listened when he can, looked on and agreed when his mind was elsewhere. It made no difference. He has already accepted the job the moment he walked over to the Mandalorian at the bar. There was one thing that bothered Ress, however, enough for him to voice it out.
“Why not hit the Republic as well? Surely they’re as hard-pressed as the Sith. Maybe more so, if I’m not mistaken. They’ve been losing ground, way I heard it. They’re a prime target, when we get the chance.” Ress said. He had little love for the Sith, even more so towards the Republic he was born into. When they were in a position to strike one faction, why not two?
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