Post by DreadPirateMike on Nov 17, 2015 14:26:44 GMT -5
Behold, the converted freighter Three-Arms! A potent engine of commerce and sustenance! Or, one might perhaps argue, a nexus of poor life decisions. Philosophy aside, this will shortly become a place of bitter struggle. Vass Prong, captain and owner, shall find his home invaded and his freedom at risk, a dual affront that no self-respecting Fringer can endure! As for Rikkavi, Padawan learner, he too fights for freedom in a sense, as he fights for law and order...and a ride home. Whether mercy or brutality should rule the day depends entirely on the whims of the combatants, but one thing is certain! One shall stand, and one shall fall.
As requested and agreed, six rounds, unscored! May the Force be with us!
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His first thought was “Ow.” A moment later, as his brain reluctantly started working again to fill the gap happily filled by sleep until just now, his senses caught up, and recalled the abrupt impact against cold and unforgiving deck plating which had prompted the reaction. Lastly, once he’d regained cognizance enough to take stock of his surroundings and compare them against his memory, came the steady stream of panicked curses under his breath.
He was on a converted light freighter, and its owner was the reason he’d been dragged along to Bogden in the first place. Vass Prong, some Besalisk smuggling…ah, scrag it, fine! He’d admit, at least to himself, that he hadn’t really been listening during the briefing, and with his brain stuck firmly in panic mode, he couldn’t really remember either what four-arms had been hauling, or how it had come to the attention of the Jedi in the first place. Mostly, he remembered some variation on “Evildoer, truth and justice, blah blah blah.” One more thing Verity was going to kick his ass for, when he saw her again. If he saw her again.
The authorities on Bogden alternated between inept and criminal, and converged on useless, so a plan had been hatched. First, the three of them had tracked down Prong’s vessel, only to find it vacant. So while Verity and Jho went to pick up the man’s trail, Rikkavi had been left behind with a slicing kit to break into the ship and be ready to stop him from taking off if he got past the other two. In all honesty, Rikkavi wasn’t MUCH of a slicer; nothing he used the skill for would win the approval of the Order, so he’d been entirely on his own in picking it up, but luckily, this captain had yet to invest in much of a lock. Soon, he was aboard, all trace of his break in obscured to a cursory inspection, and he’d found a cozy, hidden place among the shipping crates.
It was VERY cozy, once he’d laid down the robe he’d been forced to wear on the mission. And either Prong had proven a slippery sort, or his master and fellow Padawan had run into some other difficulties, for hours had passed without word or disturbance. Rikkavi was patient as they came, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a creature of flesh and blood. After so long without stimuli of any kind, he could hardly be blamed for a quirk of biology…
And then, the ship lurched, and dumped him flat on his back. His slide across the smooth metal deck terminated against a bulkhead, head first, and that brought him back to the present string of curses. Yep, the ship was definitely accelerating, and given his luck, probably just moments from making the jump to hyperspace. Scrambling to his feet, he plucked his training saber from his belt, and uttered a silent hope that its visual similarity to the real thing would do his job. Racing up the stairs toward the bridge, he ignited the plasma blade, and desperately tried to sound authoritative as he announced himself.
“Hey! Lowlife! Power down your engines, or suck on some hot justice!”
