Locked Into Strangeness

[Blue]

"And that's the last of 'em," the bulky dockmaster said, tapping away on his datapad as his men pushed off with the last several crates. The twi'lek, almost wider than he was tall, glanced up from his work at the much taller human. "You have any trouble on the way?" Willam smiled at the fellow, raising his eyebrows slightly in an understated, business-like fashion. "Nothing a bit of decent piloting couldn't get me out of," he responded cheerfully, his warm, smooth voice inferring some humble, untold story. The dockmaster shrugged, eyes remaining on his datapad. "Saaaays here that everything is in order... except for one crate that was a little busted up," the twi'lek said. Willam's smile widened. "Ahh. My robust steering may have sent it clattering about my hold a bit. Nothing was damaged, I hope?" A slight injection of concern creased his brow and flecked his tone, his left hand scratching worriedly at his neat facial hair. The dockmaster shook his head, offering a smile of his own. "Nah, the crate was opened a crack but the bacta packets didn't break. So you're still good with us." More tapping, then a ping noise that was music to the captain's ears. "Full payment's been transferred over to you now." Willam pulled his own datapad out to confirm, then slipped it back into his utility belt, lightly brushing his hand against the holstered blaster pistol at his hip. "Fantastic. An utter pleasure doing business with you!" Willam said appreciatively. "Speaking of business, would you happen to know if you or anyone else requires any cargo moving off-world? It sits ill with me, having her hold empty of something to carry. No rest for the weary, as they say!" "Hmm," the twi'lek responded, nodding his sympathy and confirming to Willam he had judged the fellow right. "Nothing on the schedule right now, but I can put the word around, if you like?" "You are the very face of generosity, sir!" Willam replied with a crooked smile. The twi'lek snorted disdainfully, but the amused half grin on the man's face as he turned to move away told the captain that he had made a fine impression upon the dockmaster. "I'll be in the nearest cantina, should you need to find me," he called after the departing alien, who raised a hand over his shoulder in acknowledgement. Now alone, Willam rolled his cybernetic arm in its socket and watched as the bay began to empty. Good thing they didn't decide to do a detailed inspection on that battered crate, or else they might have found some of those bacta packs missing. Not enough to cause concern, or even to arouse suspicion of theft, of course; he was not that stupid. Just enough to restock his own medbay with some now identifying package-free supplies. A faint humming noise, barely perceivable even in the empty bay, announced the arrival of his faithful companion. He turned to face the floating droid, it's various tool arms tucked away under it save for the two clamp-like grabbing claws, and the large lens whirred slightly as it focused on the human's features. "What do you think, Odd?" he asked the brown and red machine. "Think we can squeeze a few more credits out this planet before we hit orbit?" Odd made a series of skeptical whistles and clicks, and Willam sighed in exasperation. "Now look, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times! That was a completely legitimate, workable idea. How was I supposed to know that the nerfs would explode?" The hoverdroid retorted with some low chirps and whirs. "You kiss your Maker with that mouth, Odd?" Willam asked, and the droid beeped in amusement. Shaking his head, the captain hit the ramp button, checked with his cybernetic eye that the security system was online and functioning, and turned to head towards the nearest cantina.

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

There was no denying that Wayland was a bit of a backwater. And that was the reason Cristine Bellamy had moved there in the first place. There was only one spaceport of note and today it was buzzing with colonial security and the odd pair or trio of black-clad Imperial soldiers. Something had happened, plainly. It wasn’t on the news yet but she felt it in her bones or smelled it in the air. It was time to get out. The shallow cut on her neck that she’d woken up with and couldn’t explain gave her all the more reason to be quick about it. At least she didn’t have much to pack. Cris dragged a single large suitcase behind her, rumbling along on tiny wheels over the mesh floor. A long checkered coat was quite insufferable in the humid heat despite the thin fabric, clinging across the shoulders and at the elbows. A pink scarf was tied cheerily around her neck, beginning to sag. Cristine stared dejectedly at the vidscreens listing departures and arrivals for some time. Anywhere would do, as long as they were leaving today. Eventually, a cheerful twi’lek in the yellow jumpsuit of a dockworker took pity on her, suggesting she seek out an independent pilot at the spaceport cantina. It seemed like a good plan, until she got there. Cris peered around at the sparsely populated lounge, wondering how she was supposed to tell a ship captain from anyone else. She slouched into a booth, tucking her luggage under the table. Briefly perusing the menu, she ordered an overpriced salad of dubious quality and bottle of sweet tea.

[Blue]

Getting turned around on his way to the cantina was not the best of starts, made worse by the heat which caused him to remove his long leather jacket and sling it over his shoulder or else suffer the fate of a self-heating meal pack. But with his innate senses (and stopping a passerby for directions), Willam was finally able to locate the place. The inside, however, was hardly what he had been hoping for: very quiet, very dull, and most importantly very empty save for a small group of unpleasant looking individuals muttering around a table near the bar. Odd made a few low beeps and whistles from where it hovered just behind his shoulder, which caused him to huff a breath through his nose in amusement. "Yes. A virtual cornucopia of social activity," he muttered in response, his eyes scanning the place until they settled on a young woman he almost completely overlooked, sitting alone. She was all tucked into her booth, one large suitcase under the table, appearing fairly put out. She certainly seemed out of place in such a seedy looking establishment; she looked like she could be knocked over by a light wind and some harsh language. A runaway? No, too old for that in his mind, though her looks might cause some to disagree. Not a runaway, then, but certainly on the run from something, and traveling light... perhaps in more ways than one? In the few seconds these thoughts passed through his mind, the group at the other end of the cantina got up to leave. Moving by him, one of the younger chaps attempted to barge into his shoulder in some kind of machoistic show for his friends. Unfortunately for the young gentleman, he choose to shove Willam's right shoulder. The result was a dull, solid thwack sound as the bone met the metal prosthetic and a sharp hiss of pain as he all but tumble out of the door. "Mind how you go!" Willam called cheerfully after the fool. Now alone in the cantina save for Odd and the mystery woman, the captain shrugged his flesh and blood shoulder and strode forward toward her table. "Good day, miss!" he said, a warm smile on his face that wrinkled his left eye. His right cybernetic eye whirred almost silently as the lenses refocused on her face. "I was hoping that, if it isn't too forward of me to ask, I could join you? I need rescuing, you see, from the most terrible fate of drinking alone." Before anything could be said, however, the plate-sized hoverdroid whizzed past him and landed on the table, it's single large photoreceptor buzzing as it stared at the woman. Willam sighed in exasperation and his smile took on a more apologetic edge. "Or I could do what my droid companion does and barge in without so much as a 'how do you do?'. I'm frightfully sorry, he wasn't programmed for social etiquette but he does have some redeeming qualities, buried somewhere in his subroutines. Deeply buried." After a few rude-sounding beeps from the droid, Willam continued. "And I apparently forget my manners as well! Willam Scathe," he finally introduced himself, offering his left hand to her with the thumb held down to allow her to shake with her right, should she wish.

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

A mild scuffle near the door drew Cristine from her thoughts, glancing up through a fringe of dark hair. Blocking the way out, trapping her in. She stiffened in her booth, sideface, trying to project an air of unapproachable menace. All hundred-thirty pounds of her. Unsuccessfully, it seemed. The newest stranger made partial eye contact with her and broke into a smile. Cris automatically responded in kind, though rather uncertainty. The bulky bit of cyberware replacing his right eye arrested her professional attention – far from anything she’d ever worked with. But this was the Outer Rim, of course, not a core world with state of the art technology in every hospital. Strange, how easy that was to forget. ”I suppose so? Why not.” There were nothing but empty tables in the whole of the cantina, but it seemed a bit of a faux pas to point that out. She was being too literal again. Abruptly, she found herself staring at a small repulsor lift droid as it settled down on the table. It seemed an odd device of no immediately apparent use, bristling with antenna and various doodads of unknown function. Well, except the arms. Those were pretty obvious. ”It’s okay. Dr. Bellamy.” Cristine held his hand, briefly, playing along in the manner that seemed expected. She was not discomfited by cybernetics – should she say as much? No, that had to be implied with doctor. ”Day drinking … Wait, are you stuck here too?”

[Blue]

"A pleasure to meet you, Doctor," Willam said as he shook her hand, giving him a moment to observe her bearing in relation to his sudden arrival. She seemed a little stiff, the smile she returned strained. Something to do with why she was sitting alone in a cantina with a suitcase? Or perhaps she simply wanted to be alone, and was too polite to say anything. A doctor, she said? That was fair, not all medical professionals developed good bedside manners. That hinted that her area of expertise involved less patient interaction; surgeon, perhaps? The captain dismissed these thoughts from his mind as he slid into the booth, making sure he was not sitting too close to his new drinking companion. Unimportant; I'm just looking for a distraction for a little while until the dockmaster checks his docket for outbound cargo. Willam raised a hand to the bar and indicated that he wanted the same as the doctor, before turning his attention back fully onto Bellamy. "Not stuck as such," the captain began to explain, nudging his droid friend further up the table to make room for his drink. It beeped angrily at him, and the man rolled his eye. "Yes, yes, alright. Dr. Bellamy, this is Four-Zero-Four dash Zero Dee Dee, otherwise known as the 'infamous' Odd. Odd, this is Dr. Bellamy. Now do stop trying to make a scene before I'm forced to deactivate you on the grounds of perpetual rudeness!" The hover droid burred a response and fell silent at last, and Willam returned his attention to the doctor. "As I was saying, I'm not stuck here per se. I'm simply... waiting for an opportunity," he continued. "I captain a small ship, and leaving a port with an empty hold is just bad business sense. I'm anticipating a message from the dockmaster who, I'm hoping, will have some cargo for me to take somewhere." He turned his smile momentarily onto a man who appeared to set down his drink before watching the doctor appraisingly over the steam of the tea. Stuck here, huh? That implied she was having trouble getting offworld. Money trouble? He doubted a doctor would have much issue there, but this was the Outer Rim; most could barely afford a consultation. Trouble with the law? Possible, though she seemed a little uptight to be a criminal. Not that that has stopped anyone before. Trouble with a partner? No, she seemed a little too emotionally distant for a bad relationship to make her run. But perhaps that coldness is what makes running away seem the best option to get away from a broken partnership? Of course, she could just be having difficulty finding a ship that was due to depart. There was a lot of hubbub today, lots of security running around everywhere. She could just be trying to get out before whatever ants nest that got kicked ends up affecting her. There's potential here, should my friend the dockmaster fall through. "How about yourself, doctor?" Willam asked, taking a small sip of his hot drink. "Judging by your words and your luggage, you're looking to get offworld in no small hurry. Anywhere in particular you're eager on visiting?"