Operat-... Oh Frak! [Oatara] {Spearpoint}

[Fromikeable]

The gutter was never a pretty place to be drowning in. Many a good man and woman had lost themselves in it at some point, and sadly a good few of them never seemed to be able to pull themselves out of it. Some stayed there simply due to self-pity, others due to a kind of twisted desire to be there, and yet others simply had nowhere else to go.

Still others, like Horst Stellar, were just too angry to leave.

In the collective disaster of 3 weeks time, Spearpoint had all but disintegrated. The base was in disrepair. The barracks were all but empty. Training had all but ceased. Raids too. The ships were beginning to rust, the engineers being worked to death, the pilots and raiders bored to tears with nothingness, and even the walls of SPHQ itself were beginning to succumb to the ever-invading jungle it held back. In 3 measly weeks, Spearpoint had turned from a well-oiled machine into a pitiful excuse for anything even remotely structured.

And at its head sat Horst, self-confined to his room, the lights off, his chin displaying 3 weeks lack of shaving and his body 3 weeks worth of heavy, heavy drinking. He couldn't remember the last time he'd changed his clothes. He smelled a powerful scent. His eyes were bloodshot and red. His hair an absolute mess. His voice sore and croaky from disuse.

It had all started with Ethan never coming back from a trip out to see if there were new targets about. Then Ervi had left after she and Horst had finally realized just how doomed their relationship was (a nasty, stupid affair that Horst tried not to think about; suffice it to say that he supposed that this was what he got for dealing with women). Then too many others picked up stakes and left. Bit by bit, Spearpoint had fallen off of whatever sort of high horse it had perched itself on. According to the last roll-call (few and far between they were nowadays), Spearpoint was down to just over 3,000 men; only enough to man the ships (not that they were being used anyway).

And now, there was Captain or Commander or whateverthehellrankhewasnow Stellar, literally only going out to get more booze, in a constant haze as he slept on the ever-growing pile of empty bottles he was creating. A few people had tried to drag him out of it, mainly Quintus and the Le'Fro'as, but they were simply met with drunken rage.

After all, this was all Horst's fault.

[Juzt]

Simo leaned against the door way of the mostly empty barracks. He twirled his blaster on his long tendril like finger, as he often did when he was thinking. His large red multi-faceted eyes focused on part of a jungle tree doing a good job of starting to split the barracks in two. He loved the jungle very much, naturally being a Rodian some where so humid and green suited him very much, the perfect place to hunt. However he took the encroaching jungle for what it was a sign of decay.

He had never wanted to join Spearpoint, and certainly held no love for its members. However, it served a function, while Simo was part of a large dangerous pirate outfit not many of his enemies would dare to try to take him out. With Spearpoint on his knees he was in more danger than ever. Something had to be done, he eased himself stiffly from the barracks door way and wondered down towards the officer's section.

He had always thought Horst was a moron, a grunt with no imagination only good at fighting and dying for someone else. When Ethan had gone Simo had felt Horst would loose control but he had not idea how quickly. He scratched one of his antennae and wondered if he should have left then. His enemies doubtlessly still had a bounty on him, but maybe he could have found a Hutt Lord to make it all go away. They always looked to get in an extra blaster or two, and Simo knew he could rise to prominence again. However, that was a big risk as it involved leaving a planet no one knew he was on and heading through space where everyone was looking for him. No for the moment he was stuck here.

It had all happened so quickly, a mere three weeks for Horst to loose Spearpoint and his senses. All because his pet Jedi and best friend had left him. Simo never being one to have friends certainly did not understand how loosing them would effect your work. He had seen Horst night after night in the various bars on the planet getting inebriated and had more than a few 'Bugsy' comments thrown in his direction. He had simply sighed and left him to his self destruction. However Simo was beginning to think now was the time to act. Horst was unfit to lead that was clear. Someone smart and strong was needed.... to cut a long story short it was him.

As always though nothing was simple, Simo was deeply unpopular amongst the other pirates. Simo did not socialise and they found his act of indifference creepy for the most part. Though it was also true that many grumbled about Horst's slipping control. So maybe Simo could push someone to take the job and manipulate from the sidelines, much like he had five years earlier with Kodo the Hutt.

So it was that Simo found himself outside of Horst's room, he could smell a faint aroma of unwashed human seeping from the door. Strangely it smelled just like a female Rodian in season to Simo. He grinned at the thought, then he dropped down the façade again knocked loudly and pushed his way in without waiting for permission to enter.

[Adobi-Wan Kenobi]

The man was going through a lot of boredom, keeping himself busy only by fine tuning his Mandalorian armor, or his ship, or droids, or speeders, computers, weapons, his plans against Hebba the Hutt. In truth, Zett Rem had ran out of things to tweak and fix, and was left with a simple data pad on his desk from the last class of recruits he had helped train, none of which where still around.

Zett had a ball which he was tossing between himself and the wall, he was waiting for something to happen, and at this rate it was too late to suggest his plot to Horst at the moment, spearpoint was too weak at the moment to try and go up against Hebba the Hutt, but he still didn't give up his one hope to take care of that plague.

For now though Zett kept with the thinning crowd hoping it would get some sort of reboot. But that was looking slim, and from what Zett knew Horst was well in the dumps. Zett stood after what must have been several hours of finalizing plans and then just sitting there with boredom, and then walked to a messaging system, he would send a message to his friend Kyle via Text style. Kyle was doing good for himself at the moment, so Zett doubted he wanted to join Spearpoint, nonetheless Zett would need him come time to kill Hebba, so he prepared ahead of time.

Hopefully something would pop up to buy time tell Zett was ready to come forth with his own plot. Zett didn't normally do things like this, plot without consent from his own members, but he wasn't going to say something and have everyone jump on the idea while they where at a down point. That would only get the three thousand members killed...

Zett sighed as he stepped into the empty hall ways after the massage was on it's way out, and Zett needed something to do, perhaps something had changed sense the last time he checked.

[Fromikeable]

Hyperspace was a rather fascinating sight. Many claimed it was hazardous to health, but they all forgot to mention the many great men who had dared to gaze upon it. It was a past-time, and thus far it had succeeded in doing nothing but giving a simple, meditative quality to to the stars unlike anything else. The simple streaking, the topics of what simply was and how different it could look...

Sadly, the meditation (if one could call watching hyperspace from the captain's chair of a frigate meditation) was interrupted by the helmsman, a Lieutenant, spinning his chair sideways and reporting. "We've begun the final parsec sir." He shifted a little nervously as his CO moved his gaze, his face displaying his bored irritation, toward him. "The scouts don't report any movement."

The man in the chair simply sighed, waving a hand. "Of course they're not moving. If those men were worth their credits, they should be completely unsuspecting." He sat up in his chair, stretching his neck to the side a bit. Deserters were never truly sources to be trusted, but nevertheless there was nothing to lose in paying them off a few thousand credits for a lead. As it was, it was amazing that they had needed to stoop that low for what was, in retrospect, a rather obvious location. It was discreet, surely, but obvious; hiding in plain sight.

"Report all hands to battle stations. I want a full-scale bombardment as soon as we're in range." The helmsman nodded before his neighbor sounded the alarm, numerous members of the bridge scattering about for last minute checks.

"And Lieutenant?"

"Aye Vice Admiral?"

"Don't you dare let them scratch the ship."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The funny thing about drunkenness with Horst was that it produced two very opposite feelings in rather immediate thresholds. The first was simple apathy; a total concession, more or less, to his problems and life in general. He didn't get down on his knees, but rather just flat-out stopped caring altogether.

The other feeling produced was anger. Lots and lots and lots of anger. The Corellian was ordinarily rather provocative and asinine, but once he was pressed enough while intoxicated, it became less of a real anger and more of just a blind, basic disgust with everything.

So naturally, when some loud knocks at the door forced him to look up and shout, the apathy was the first to come out. "Thought I made it real clear," he hollered grouchily, swilling a bit more whiskey. "If yer' leavin', leave. I don't got any money for ya'." The door's immediate opening succeeded in catapulting him into his second emotion, and without looking or particularly trying to hit anything, he chucked his bottle as hard as he could at the door, hearing a nice shattering of wet glass. Lying back on top of his pile of dirty clothes and bottles, he simply sighed, annoyed, as he opened up another such bottle and swigged it.

Then he looked up. Simo. The single most annoying, trouble-making, obstinate Rodian he'd ever had to deal with. He'd been around cocky recruits, old vets who thought they knew best, and snide wise-crackers who thought that they were the gods' gift to the opposite sex, but that bug definitely knew how to piss him off.

"Godsdamnit, frak off Bugsy."

[Juzt]

The glass came whistling past his head, Simo was quick to move but was still showered with a few broken shards from where it collided with the wall. Simo's face remained imobile as if nothing had just happened. Simo surveyed the room, and the object shouting abuse in front him. His lip curled almost unnoticed but it was there. Simo hated Horst. There were very few people he had hated in his life, there were plenty he looked down upon but for the most part he lacked the empathy to hate someone.

However, Horst was that one man. Everything about him he despised. His manner, his general lack of intelligence, his unsophisticatedness, and most damning of all was that Horst was military. Simo hated military types. Unimaginative and lacking in so much self respect they allowed themselves to be ordered around by some one else. Worst was when they tried to make you like them, and Horst until recently had seemed determined to do this. Simo was not a soldier and never would be. He would make sure of that. As always the most irritating thing for a military man was to get no reaction from a 'recruit' when you screamed at him and told him he was useless. What they exspecting was to annoy you so much you did all you could to prove him wrong. However, Simo could not care less. He knew how good he was it was up to you to prove it to him.

Ah bugsy. Horst's favourite disrespectful insult. Rodians were of course not insects but Horst was too stupid to know that so Simo quite happily ignored the comments. In fact watching Horst drunk and crawling round in the dirt made the comment seem a little rich to Simo, but Simo was here to get things fixed and straightened out, insults could come later. Pathetic so his girlfriend and pet Mando had abandoned him he should use that pain to make himself stronger or at the least acknowledge his stupidity in making friends. Simo had not sympathy for the useless sack of flesh before him. However, unfortunately Simo knew Spearpoint needed him to function.

He looked at Horst with an amused face “What will you do if I don't go? Fall on your fathe a few timeth?” Simo lisped. He hoped to eliminate this speech impediment with Basic eventually but the moron only spoke basic not Rodese or even Huttese, so Simo had to try work round it. He sighed, “Hortht thith can't go on any longer you know it I know it. Ith amathing how one perthon can kill thuch a thriving group tho quickly."


“I don't care for Thpearpoint or thothe moronth out there or you. I am in thith for the money.” and the protection he secretly thought. “Well my pay along with everyone elthe has tjtopped and why?” He asked his antennae twitching, “Becauthe the great Hortht is lying in his own filth, unable to make a choice unable to make a move. You are worse than utheleth.” He through that out there in the way he had seen officers train their troops years before.

“Ethan and your pet Jedi run off, and here we are. I knew you were pathetic but I had just no Idea how pathetic.” Simo stood over him his towering 6 foot 7 inch frame looming, he red multifaceted eyes were pearcing and horribly cold and hard. His fingers clenched and unclenched.

[Adobi-Wan Kenobi]

((OOC---Skip me guys, Zett can't do much yet that i can think of next to interrupting.))