My Ship is NOT Ugly! (Open to the Jewel's crew)

[Meira]

((Ok, I don't feel like waiting around anymoew. Palas is out and about, time to pick up some crew members!))

Palas hated this planet. Last time she had been here, she had almost been enslaved. Her lekku twitched at the anger this memory brought back. With a grumble and a sigh, she confirmed with a docking master which pad she would land on. Doc had better be here. She thought to herself as she brought the ship down, letting it settle on the pad with a groan of its own.

After Areleia's death and Syb's subsequent comma, Palas had to admit to herself that it was time to find Doc and convince him to join her crew... permanently. She wasn't going to put up with the stress of such medical situations again, and especially not alone. So here she was. This was the last place she had seen Doc. He had been on a few shipment runs with her and then went his own way during their pit stop on the moon. Maybe if he had stuck around, she wouldn't have been captured by those slavers.

But none of that mattered now. She was here and she had work to do. Yeah, she had to be careful. That's why she brought her blaster and a knife hidden in her boot. They wouldn't take her without a fight this time. The ramp lowered and she walked down it quickly. She wanted to spend as little time on this rock as possible. The dock master came up and they negotiated the docking fee. After paying the man, she left quickly to search out the bars that she knew Doc might have frequented. If he wasn't here, surely someone would know where he had went.


((Ok, since Areleia and otterling are MIA on the site, I figured we could at least get Lash and Dusain in this RP and work out everyone else after.))

[Jenno]

(It's a crummy first post with Lash, but at least it's something)

Smoke fluttered through the air like a swarm of bees, as always it was unbelievably thick, a ‘pure’ chest would not be able to withstand the concentration of the poisonous gas. However, Lash was more than used to it now; in fact he breathed it in as if he had just stepped out into a clear warm summer’s day. The bar was far from this though, all around was a collection of some of the moon’s worst slime balls. With the assembled criminals there was probably nothing you couldn’t do or buy, assuming you had the money.

With a dull interest the barman, a Rodian who was quite unfriendly even to regulars such as Lash, put down the ungenerously priced shot which he had ordered not too long ago. Looking at the unattractive brown liquid and the murky, unclean cup, Lash showed little emotion on his face apart from a minor distaste. He roughly picked up his drink, stared at it again for a few moments and threw it into his mouth. He swallowed instantly and the alcohol steamed its way down his throat, causing a burning sensation within everything it touched, every organ and every piece of skin tissue. He winced, unable to stop the reaction, and then took a gaping breath in, swallowing more of the smoke which lingered in the air.

Unfazed by this combination of harmful substances, Lash stood up and moved slowly over to the tables, it was time to start his work. There was only one active table and with one open seat, quite obviously calling out to him. This was going to be his night, he knew it, tonight he’d walk away from this table rich and well off. Well, at least until he lost it all in the next few days.

As he sat down he looked at the others assembled and they in turn briefly looked at him. Short, thin, bags from sleepless nights stood out prominently as did the shadow looming around his jaw and neck. He was addicted and they all knew it from that slight look, most likely desperate for credits and therefore and easy target, a few failed to suppress their smiles.

Despite Lash’s appearance he was actually well versed when it came to gambling, he was no expert but he wasn’t a pushover either, he thought he could probably clear half of those assembled fairly easy. Namely those who had let their smiles slide out, they would be easy to read. So he sat down, entered his card and withdrew a few hundred. The dealer, a now old and rusting droid, pushed him his designated number of chips and Lash waited and watched as the players finished their current round, ordering another drink as he waited.

As the winner raked in his small number of winnings, Lash shuffled in his seat, it was time for him to play and earn his keep for the next few weeks. No doubt Greegar had sent another of his goons to play, he’d have to figure out which one and then the best way to earn all of his chips as quickly as possible. The cards fell before him and he looked at them, Space Poker was the game and he’d make sure that tonight would be his night. He threw in his first chips as bait…

[Meira]

Palas lingered for a time outside the bar. The smoke was to thick to simply walk right into. She was acclimating. Luckily for her, there were apparently a number of other sentients who needed to do the same. The bar, being ever so accommodating, had set up an outdoor area with a few high tables and a smaller version of the bar inside. Palas stood by the bar, talking to a Zabrak who had said he'd seen Doc there once, but that it had been a long time ago.

When he had no more information for her, Palas thanked the man and bought his next drink. She then made her way to the door of the bar proper. She knew that anyone who would have real information about Doc would be inside... because that's where Doc would be. She sighed at the thought. She was chasing down a doctor who spent his free time in a place like this. But she knew Doc. And her her business, it was better to get someone you knew, than hire on some stranger. Doc may have his vices, but Palas wouldn't trust anyone else.

Once inside, Palas found herself squinting through the haze and moving slowly until she made it to the bar. She asked the bartender for a drink and if he had ever seen anyone named Doc around. Her served her drink, but didn't answer her question. She had to resort to speaking to patrons again. This was the part she didn't like. No matter what, when she approached someone, it was always taken the wrong way. She could blame her species for that.

And tonight was no different. She had asked a nearby Dug, who had requested that she dance for information. She kindly told him to stuff it. Even the few females in the bar were no better. She had encountered a beautiful Zeltros female who had tried adamantly to set up a business agreement. They would be the most sought after "companions" on the moon. In a way, she could have been flattered, but instead, Palas was just disgusted. Not wanting the night to be a total waste, Palas left the bar to see if she couldn't get some business out of her visit to this moon.

She made her way through the streets until she came to the lair of the notorious Greegar the Hutt. Surely he'd like to make a deal. Palas arrived just as Greegar was dismissing a few of his men. "His money, or his head." Well, someone was in trouble.

Hello Greegar. Palas said, her voice dipping into a low, sweet tone. Yeah, she knew it contradicted her pride. But business was business, and though she wouldn't dance for it, Palas would play sweet for a job. She wasn't above using some of her charms. The Hutt's face turned into something that Palas interpreted as a smile. She gave a bow as the Hutt returned her greeting. Ki chuba da naga? Well, he was straight to the point.

I'd like to know if you are in need of a good ship. I'm sure you've heard of Nui's Jewel. Greegar paused in thought for only a moment. Ke miya ponka atuna ke jalom jeya? He responded with a laugh. My ship is NOT ugly! Palas said, suddenly forgetting her composure. In an instant, she checked herself, and her voice returned to its smooth low tone. She's a fast ship Greegar. And... and by no means flashy. The Hutt grunted and seemed to be weighing the options for a moment.

Me wanchi pay nuto chu noni. He then waved over one of his men. Thank you Greegar. You will not be disappointed. Palas then sat down to go over the specifics of the deal. After some discussion, and a fair bit of arguing, the two reached a final agreement. Bidding farewell to Greegar, Palas made her way back to her ship, glad that at least one good thing came from this trip.

[Zarkan]

(I assumes I can bounce in ^.^)

Dusain happily hummed to herself as she rolled and half danced across the hanger floor occasionally sprouting of a few lines of one song or another as she helped the mercy and smugglies as she called them shift the cargo from the small hover trolley to the second trolley.

As she weaved though the loader bots, whom she believed were "dreadfully boring" she would continually passed this wondrously strange ship sitting only a little ways away. On one pass with a quickly glance this way and that she charged over to the ship, spinning excitedly around it's hull. "Oh," she thought "How glorious it's soo pretty and colorful" happily she poked and prodded some of the colorful patches covering it's hull. "I wonder what it's like under this?" flashed through her droid mind as several little arms popped out of her right arm and reached up at the panel barley touching it when it dropped of clanging on the floor. The sound of which sent the poor startled droid hurtling back wards and into the far hanger wall before she realized it was just a panel and slowly created back up to the ship to look up into the mismatched conduits, cables and other assorted vital "refuse" that makes up a ship. The droids photoreceptors practically glazed over in joy dusain could hear nigh almost feel the astromech in her yearning to move, fix, improve. She slowly reached up almost in a trance when the sound of the door opening startled her out of her spaced glaze. The sound startled her so that she jumped banging her head against the hull of the ship before she drunkenly listed rolled; and true be told fell several times, on her way back over towards the crew not noticing the republic officers wandering into the hangers nor really noticing here "friends" scattering like cannoks on a fire.

[Jenno]

“Fold” came the quavering voice of Lash as he pushed his two cards towards the dealer, taking another drink from his quickly diminishing cup to try and calm both his voice and his hand.

This was not good, an hour or so had passed since he’d first taken his seat and things had started off fairly well, he’d personally played two of the original players off the table. However, half an hour ago things had started taking a turn for the worse, across from him sat a Radian, who now had in his possession all of the chips Lash had claimed off those previous players. This shady character had also beat down all of the other players until there were only three participants in total.

Unwisely, Lash thought, the third player, a human with what appeared to be a hefty pocket, called the bet the Rodian had placed. But Lash had seen the move, betting enough to make it seem as though he was uncertain of his hand yet at the same time trying to steal what he could from the human. Of course, the human had taken the look of uncertainty and pounced upon it like a cat upon a ball of wool. However, around this ball of wool sat a well hidden bear trap, and the inexperienced gambler had walked right into those merciless metal teeth.

As cards were shown, the human tried to suppress the anger which stemmed inside him, causing his blood to boil and face to redden. Gritting his teeth he stood up sharply, walking away in shame and disgrace, lacking a few thousand credits.

Now Lash was alone, no longer protected by the blundering of inexperienced players, now he would have to be cautious of every single move he made. He was no fool, this was Greegar’s man. He was used to them showing up, but never had a player of the calibre been sent, no doubt tonight was the night. Most likely Greegar had finally decided to rid himself of the annoying pilot who always turned down his offer. Would running be the best option? He doubted it; most likely there were some of the stinking Hutt’s grunts hanging around waiting for him to make his retreat before shooting him dead. He’d have to play, drag the game out as long as he could so that he could form some sort of plan to escape. Now he saw plain and clear how he himself had walked into a cunningly set bear trap and he was only a few ounces of weight away from springing it.

He downed the rest of his drink and ordered another, the feeling in his fingers was much duller now and his eyes were slightly glazed from the amount he had drank. However his mind whirred away inside his head, not severely hindered by the alcohol. After two years of obsessive drinking, his tolerance to the stuff had become a lot better.

As the two cards slid over to him, he gathered them up and looked at them with shielding hands, as if he was looking at the map of some ancient treasure and making sure that no one else would be able to find their way to it. His hand was nothing special, there was potential, true, but that was the case with a great deal of starting hands. He placed in his bet, not much but enough to make sure it didn’t seem like he had a weak hand, no doubt this Rodian would be using his larger number of credits to his advantage.

Lash was no longer looking to win this match though, he was looking to survive it.

[Otterling]

It had been a bad day. It was always a bad day anymore, it seemed, and Doc sighed into the bottom of his empty glass with the tired resignation of a man who knew full well that tomorrow was going to be just another repeat of today. He wasn’t sure how it all started anymore but he knew damn well how it would end. The same way it ended with most drifters like him; someone would get stupid, decide not to pay him, maybe decide he knew too much and then he’d go to sleep some night to not wake up the next morning…and that’s if he’s lucky. Still, Doc had fought too much in life, had fought life itself far too often, to end it all himself. He doubted highly if old age would eventually overtake him and as he eased up out of his chair, the screaming in his bones reminded him that while old age probably wouldn’t get the chance to kill him, it was certainly taking every opportunity to make his life harder. Time was a bitter old wench and she was getting her blows in every chance she got as if she knew that she would be denied the right of taking his final breath.

Doc stumbled a few steps and then paused, waiting for the servos in his leg to kick themselves back up so he could walk properly. The meager muscle still connecting what was remaining of his left leg to the bionic parts below always protested loudest after he’d been drinking. The mix of alcohol in his blood seemed to cause his nerve endings to fire a little haphazardly in that area and as such the prosthetic limb would often seize up, uncertain how to read the random electric impulses it usually relied on to tell it how to function properly. After a few seconds, the soft whir click of his leg resetting itself signaled that it was ok to try again and the doctor hobbled his way out into the fresh night air. The bar behind him wasn’t his favorite but funds were low and the drinks here were cheap. He glanced down the long dark walk that would take him toward the shelter he was calling home at the moment and sighed heavily through his nose. It was about time to take on a new crew again. His money from the last run a month ago was good but it was running out quickly and soon he’d find himself unable to eat much less get drunk. Better to hire on while he cold still afford to be a little choosey than to wait till the last second and risk finding himself desperately signing on with a crew that would drive him insane for the next month or so.

As he began the long trek home, his gait made a tad uneven by drink and an uncooperative leg, Doc’s one keen eye took in the subtle movements of shapes in the darkness around him. Hookers and street dancers lured in those who looked like they had the most to offer, drug dealers lured in those who looked like they had the least to lose, and the city’s nightlife continued on as normal. As he passed his favorite bar, the guttural growl of Dug caught his attention. Chep’chak, a stout and heavily scarred creature, sauntered out of the shadows. “Tugi, hampi. Cheeka no boska che chuba. Uba te compo?” Doc watched the dug carefully as he shook his head. Dugs are not creatures one takes lightly if they want to live long and while he knew that he was the closest thing Chep’chak could honestly call a friend, the friend of a dug was only minimally less likely to get stabbed in the back.

“No. Not that I’m aware of though I guess I could be and just not know it. What’d she look like? Was she at least pretty? It’d be nice to at least get killed by someone pretty,” Doc murmured the last part to himself, sarcasm dripping from every word as he edged away from Chep’chak. “Tawga, Ree. Twi’lek. Soma lanku shag! Bun yo muni chu?” The dug laughed, a disgusting rattle in the back of it’s throat that somehow still managed to be tinged with something suggestive. Doc wasn’t paying much attention at that point though. There was only one twi’lek he could think of that would be looking specifically for him: Palas. The hint of a smile that brushed over his features disappeared just as quickly as it arrived at the curious look he got from Chep’chak. “Which way did she go?” Irritated that his question would apparently go unanswered, the dug gestured with one foot in the direction of the hangers and grumbled a few less than polite words at the quickly retreating back of his “friend”. Doc hurried away without a backward glance. For once it looked like something was going right. He needed money and a crew to sign on with and here was his favorite one just waiting for him.

The ship’s pilot had, over the course of their interactions, somehow managed to work her way under the leathery toughness of Doc’s skin though he would rather die than admit it. She reminded him of someone from a long time ago…someone he tried very hard not to think about but whose name seemed irrevocably etched into the bottom of every shotglass he emptied. Doc shook the thoughts from his head and limped his way into the hanger. There, seated in the meager overhead lights, was the Nui’s Jewel. The presence of this ship confirmed that the Twi’lek Chek’chak had seen was indeed Palas and as he shuffled across the dusty floor of the hangar, he glanced around for any sign of her.

(Dug translation:
"Hey Doc, a woman was looking for you. You in trouble?"
"Very Pretty. Twi'lek. Beautiful expensive slave. Do you have a lover?")

[Meira]

((YAY! I seriously love Doc, lol... Glad you're back Otterling!!!))

Palas had finally reached the hangar, after having to take the long way around an impossing group of thugs crowding the quickest route back. When she arrived, Greegar's men were already there. She approached them right as they were convincing the dock master that he didn't see anything. The man happily agreed. He and Greegar had an understanding. He removed the record of Nui's Jewel having ever arrived, and walked home with a heavier wallet.

The men asked which ship was the Jewel and Palas pointed it out to them. She had to suppress her need to yell when she heard one of them comment on it's less than pristine condition. Taking a deep breath, she led them over to her ship. She didn't make it all the way, however. She stopped dead in her tracks as the sight of an older man caught her eye. The man seemed to be worse for wear, with his awkward gait and his battered appearance. That could mean only one thing.

Doc! Palas said, changing her course to greet the man she had come looking for. It seemed this visit was more than just a success. She looked over her shoulder and waved Greegar's men toward the ship, indicating that they should go ahead, and then turned back to her old friend. She threw her arms around the man, giving him a quick hug before he could protest. She then released him and spoke.I've been looking for you. I know you probably don't want to, but I need you back on my crew. From her ship came the sudden sound of a panel crashing to the ground. Palas turned her head to see an odd looking droid as it wobbled away from her ship. HEY! Get awa... But she didn't need to finish the statement. Already, the droid was moving away from the ship. It must have had a short circuit or something.

Rolling her eyes, Palas turned back to Doc. So what do you say? She smiled at the aging man, knowing that deep down, he was much kinder than he let on. She never brought it up, not really, but occationally she would pull on those heart strings she knew he tried to conceal. He had his pride, if nothing else, and so her pulling was subtle, and she would be surprised if anyone else knew of their hidden friendship. She would be surprised if he knew of it.

Her eyes then caught movement once again, this time near the hangar entrance. Her eyes widened as she recognized the uniforms the men wore... and the weapons they carried. Slowly, her hand moved down to unlatch her blaster holdster, at her side. Umm... you might want to decide fast. She said, indicating the new arrivals with an upward movement of her chin. I'm gonna have to be making a quick exit.

[Otterling]

(I'm glad you like Doc! I'm having a blast. ^___^ )

Doc hadn’t seen the arrival of the new comers to the hangar but he’d heard them alright. His fingers had twitched over the battered leather strap that kept his blaster in it’s holster, a precaution in case the new arrivals were less than friendly. The bright voice that called his name shortly thereafter though was anything but an enemy and he turned with his usual scowl, something witty and sharp to say right on the tip of his tongue before he suddenly found himself in an unexpected embrace. The shock of being hugged so affectionately left him momentarily speechless, it wasn’t every day that anyone in their right mind found him particularly huggable, being more akin to an angry pit viper than anything remotely cuddly, but the moment was gone before he could pull his mind together enough to protest.

Again, Doc was about to speak when the loud clang of metal hitting the floor cut him off once more. He leaned over as best he could to peer beneath the hull of the ship and noted the same thing Palas did: a strange droid that was poking about where it didn’t belong. “%^*# malfunctioning bucket of bolts,” he grumbled under his breath as it moved off, teetering oddly. Both parties straightened at the same time and he looked down at Palas again, this time getting so far as opening his mouth before being interrupted for a third time. Both eyes followed to where Palas was looking though only one of them was of much use and he snorted in irritation. “Dang it all, girl. You haven’t BEEN on this forsaken rock long enough to grow a new nose hair much less get into %(^# trouble. I see you’re as good at sniffing out reasons to flee the galaxy as you ever were. I wasn’t planning to sign on with anyone,” he lied smoothly, too proud to admit how eager he’d been to get to the ship and meet up with his friend, “but it looks like you’re insistent as ever to get holes blown in you so you’ll need me to patch them shut again.”

From all outward appearances, Doc looked as gruff and surly as ever but for those with a keen eye, it was easy to tell his enthusiasm as he hobbled faster than normal toward the ship’s loading ramp. The heavy weight that had been sitting on his chest for the last year seemed to lift instantly as he peered up into the open hull of the vessel. He knew this ship, had come to appreciate her during the missions he’d flown with Palas in the past and though he couldn’t admit it even to himself, it was as close a place to a home as he’d had in a very long time. He shuffled on-board, barking in low hushed urgency at the filthy lot of sentient refuse that was currently loading who knows what into the back of the ship. “Move it, move it. You want to get caught with that in your HANDS?” He growled and snapped orders at the men like the seasoned veteran he was and snarled insults under his breath with all the malice of an old dog.

[Jenno]

A bead of a sweat rolled over the crevices which his apprehensive features formed. It moved slowly and carefully, as if too much speed would allow the rodian to divulge some weakness, some fatal flaw in Lash’s game. Right now he was holding onto his life by a thread, one which had already been twisted and stretched to breaking point. Looking swiftly at his cards, Lash had to resist the urge to once again curse his luck; it seemed fate was playing a bad hand… many bad hands. Wiping the sweat away before it reached his eye, Lash looked up at his main opponent with his discerning eyes, their usual sharp and striking pierce had now been washed dull with alcohol, but it was the only thing stopping him from losing his nerve completely.

This wasn’t just bad, it was disastrous. It hadn’t taken long, not long at all. Already Lash was over fifty-thousand credits in debt, that was money he had no way of paying or any way of winning it back. He was pretty limited in options as well, he’d managed to assess that there were at least five armed goons of Greegar’s in the cantina, none of them had drunk enough for their aim to really be off enough for him to attempt a basic ‘fleeing’ strategy, one which involved a quick and simple distraction whilst he ran away as fast as possible.

Fortunately, the game had drawn in a lot of attention from the locals who had been around. They’d slowly begun to stand around, a few people even joining the table, wanting to get their hands on the lovely pile of credits which were now on the table and up for grabs. Of course, this had been where Lash had to put his efforts; he’d have to pull out something quite spectacular in order to get out of the cantina without a scorching blaster wound. He’d been suggestively playing one of the new players in particular, he was a large man, hulking some might say, quite the opposite of Lash’s food deprived form. Yet with all that brawn it seemed that there was very little upstairs, and control seemed to be a word he couldn’t grasp. Already a couple of snide, witty and underhand comments had pissed the man off to a fairly great extent, it would just take one little push now, Lash would just have to get the timing right. If Lady Luck wasn’t with him on this one then it would certainly be a degrading way for someone like him to die, yet even now he was too stubborn to even try pleading for his life. He’d give it a shot.

Necking the last of his drink he watched as his would-be accomplice managed to loose a fair share of his money to the rodian, who had run rings around him and played the man quite easily. Lash snorted down a laugh, one which was certainly large enough to grab the attention of all those at the table and the crowd which had gathered around them. It was due to this snort, this degrading and insulting little deed that the man’s calm and sanity was finally shattered. He stood up at a frightening rate, knocking his stool to the ground with an attention grabbing crash.

“You” came the deep, gruff and shaking voice of the large man; it wasn’t fear that shook his voice, but the pure rage which flowed through him. He looked down at Lash’s punitive figure who had also gotten off his stool. With a quick glance, Lash noted that the man’s hand was clenched tight, knuckles whiter than the palest snow. Good, pushing him that little bit further would not be difficult. “What’s this problem you’ve got with me!” he demanded.

Lash looked up past the well toned chest and into the large chiselled jaw of this burly man. “I’ve got no problem with you,” he replied quickly and honestly, with a tone that was overly suggesting his innocence. Yet that tone quickly sharpened when he spoke again, “but your idiotic playing style makes it impossible to hold back my laughter.”

That was it, those few words were all it took, surrounded by many local men each tending to host their own large build, this man cracked, he’d been shamed too badly and thus it was required that he prove how wrong this skinny little morsel of a man was to insult. He swung his right fist in a large and slow, yet extremely powerful, right hook. Fortunately Lash had been in a large number of bar fights. Well, he had run away from a large number of bar fights, but he counted them as one and the same. But the only reason he was so good at getting away was due to one thing, his speed. He managed to duck below the bulking fist which approached him; however this wasn’t a good thing for the man who had been standing behind Lash, who now received the punch square in his jaw. Naturally he was sent sprawling to the ground, but his friend was quick to respond to the attack by returning with a punch in the attacker’s temple.

After that, chaos ensued, a few punches, and especially missed punches, was all it took to motivate a bar full of large, burly and drunken scum of the Galaxy into a bar fight. Lash instinctively ducked as low as he could, but not before catching a glimpse of the Rodian trying to protect his pile of credits against a number of strong looking locals. This made Lash grin, although he had to quickly weave his way amongst the numerous scrapping people, avoiding the large swings, being watchful of where to go and at one point he even had to avoid a flying Twi’lek. But eventually he found himself out on the streets of Nar Shaddaa where he stopped and doubled over, breathing heavily as sweat dipped onto the ground. However, this moment of respite was quickly interrupted as a blaster bolt when sizzling past him. With a panicked look Lash saw a few of the ‘muscle’ fighting their way out of the cantina, weapons pointed in his general direction.

Without much thought of where he was going or what he was going to do, he simply ran as fast as his legs would carry him which, due to the number of time he had done so, was pretty darn quick.

As he weaved his way through bystanders, turned unknown corners and headed down unfamiliar alleys in the maze-like city, Lash finally began to think things through when his chasers realised they were out of range. It was too late now, no matter where he went, whichever bar he stepped foot in, he would be a dead man, Greegar would see to that. He bit his tongue with a slight bitterness as he thought of that squirming worm; his life would have been so much simpler if he hadn’t been around. So much of it would…

He’d have to leave, but he was currently lacking in the funds department. There was no time to stick around to either win or earn any, which left Lash with one conclusion. He’d either have to steal a ship or stow away on one. Now, as far as these two ideas went, the first would most likely involve some form of fighting or confrontation, so that was out of the window. As he headed towards the nearest dockyard, he settled on the idea of stowing away on a ship, he didn’t know which ship and he didn’t know where too, but with a handful of armed and most likely severely pissed off thugs behind him, he didn’t really care all that much.

As he approached the dockyard he stopped running and reverted to sneaking around, hiding behind any objects he could find, barrels, crates, anything that would give him a good scoping position. He looked at a number of different ships, he intended to find one which they would not suspect him taking off in, after all, why would a pilot with his reputation willingly choose to fly a piece of junk? It would be the perfect escape plan.

And then he found his golden pile of junk. It wasn’t overly large, but a decent size and probably supported a number of passengers, yet he knew the model, there were secret compartments used for smuggling, and some would be large enough for him. It was an old model, and he was surprised that anyone would rather keep and maintain it instead of simply buying something bigger, better and, well, faster. He watched closely, it seemed that the crew was around, and loading things onto the ship, which meant they’d most likely be departing soon, even better. Lash remained crouched down behind the collection of barrels, his breath slowly returning to him, his right hand lay over his blaster, just in case. When his moment arrived he’d have to sneak on board, or else those thugs would most likely spell his end. If they could spell.

[Meira]

((NPC Republic Officer Post FTW!!!!))

Quinn disliked... no hated... no... Quinn loathed his job. And he was fairly sure his superiors loathed him. If they didn't, why would he be
here, of all places, on Nar Shaddaa? It was a joke, an insult. Well, he didn't care. They thought they were getting the best of him, but Quinn knew better. While the higher ups congratulated themselves on getting rid of a troublesome officer, Quinn congratulated himself on finding a better retirement plan.

When he was stationed on the moon about five years ago, he had been targeted for assassination all of eleven times. He was fairly sure that was what the big guys had in mind. No one cared about this place, especially not the republic. They turned a blind eye and let the Hutts do what they wanted, as long as it stayed there. But Quinn had wised up. He only had to report on occasion, and it didn't really matter if he made any "progress" as long as it looked like he tried. He had made agreements with the crime lords, and was pretty proud of himself for it. Only he and the bosses knew. His men, their men, and everyone else were unaware that these "random raids" were well choreographed plays. Neither he or the bosses cared if a few grunts died in the process. It kept the republic off of both their back, and they both walked away with some extra money.

And so it was with this reminder constantly playing in Quinn's mind that he led a small unit into a "randomly selected" hangar for a random inspection. Of course, his own information told him that the cargo was ready and loaded on the ship, confirmed when he saw the Hutt's thugs quickly scurrying from the ship. Already they were drawing their blasters and getting off a few pathetic shots.

Quinn ordered his men to spread out while he hung back in relative safety. His discerning eyes quickly identified the one that Greegar had told him was the pilot. The purple Twi'lek was retreating to her ship, gun drawn. Don't harm the pilot men. He said. It was standard procedure to take the pilot alive, if possible. With a sigh, Quinn waited for the whole thing to play out. The smuggler would jump on her ship and make a daring escape... and he, poor Quinn, would have to snap his fingers in disappointment and assure his remaining men that they'd get 'em next time.


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((And now as Palas))

Palas let a small smile cross her lips as Doc barked like the old dog he was. Maybe she needed to see a shrink, but he couldn't help but admit to herself that she missed that sound... as rough and unfriendly as it might seem, Palas recognized it for what it was. Doc had his own peculiar way of doing things. And if it led him onto her ship, which in this case it had, then she'd take it all with a grin.

Well I wouldn't want you to fall out of practice! She called out, retreating toward the ship right behind her old friend. Her blaster now in hand, she let off a few quick shots toward the soldiers as she moved up the ramp. Hopefully Greegar's men wouldn't forget their spines and stick around long enough to cover her escape.

Palas hit the controls to raise the ramp. It would take awhile... she had yet to fix the hydrolic springs. The ship groaned, and she rolled her eyes. Turning away before the ramp had even inched up above the ground. It would close.... before they left the atmosphere...

Running to the cockpit, Palas put the ship through the gauntlet of start up procedures. If there was one thing this ship was good at, it was getting up and going when in a pinch. That is... if nothing was broken.

[Zarkan]

The sound of conflict reached dusain like a hammer as she slowly turned towards the sound. The sight of the republic troopers sent the poor droid into a near hysteric scramble towards the nearest cover barely keeping other bits and pieces under control as she half crawled half rolled randomly across the hanger. Dusain always with a perchance for hiding in dark metallic holes crawled up into the mess of wires that made up the space between the hulls of the rust bucket ship. Dusain would have happily scurried up farther but unfortunately wires enjoy tangling leaving her stuck with half her body still hanging out facing a sparking engine power coupling.

[Jenno]

At first when the quick shuffle of feet reached his ears he didn’t quite understand what was going on. But when he saw the thugs who were loading the ship turn and pull out weapons as well as the loading of larger, more military based weapons, he could pretty much guess what was happening. Then the blaster fire burst out from an assortment of weaponry and Lash crouched further, although his muscles screamed to him that it wasn’t possible to do so.

As he peeked wearily over the barrels, he managed to briefly catch a glimpse of the pilot getting on her ship, as well as a droid making its way onto the ship. With a swift movement of his hand, his blaster was drawn and he was ready to make his daring escape. He looked around carefully again, trying to plan his short run to the ship where hopefully he’d be able to hide. He swallowed hard, closed his eyes and placed his life in the hands of Lady Luck. With a firm grip he leapt over the barrels.

There was yelling, at least to the men it sounded like yelling, although with the prominent sense of fear in the voice it sounded more like a fearful scream instead of a daring battle-cry. It was enough to cause a distraction for everyone as the seemingly unaligned man jumped over the barrels, screamed, fired a few random shots off with his blaster, which ended up missing anything remotely resembling an armed soldier, and ran up the ship’s ramp as if he had just wet himself. There was, of course, a short moment where everyone looked on with both shock and fear but as soon as he ran up the ramp the soldiers were opening fire once again. All too eagerly Greegar’s thugs returned it.

As Lash stumbled into the hanger his face was drenched in a cold sweat, his heart was racing at lightspeed. It had been the most daring and risky thing he’d done in a great many years, in fact he swore that he’d even killed a few men in his gallant battle to board the ship. But now he was on board he had to pray that the pilot was decent enough to get them off the ground and away from this place as soon as possible.

He managed to catch a glimpse of the odd droid from earlier, although it seemed to be missing a reasoning and sanity matrix from what he could tell. He scurried around the hangar, trying to lay his hands on a hidden section or seemingly immovable panel. Eventually he did so and pulled it off. Not wasting another moment he climbed inside and moved the panel back as best he could. It was entirely dark now and cramped, but the stowaway didn’t mind, at least he was safe, at least he was alive.

[Meira]

And with a final moan of complaint, the Nui's Jewel won out in the fight against gravity, lifting up off the landing platform. With Palas at the controls, the ship turned, hovering over the conflict below and lined up with the trajectory for orbit. One last quick check assured the Twi'lek that they were ready to go and the ship, along with two new passengers flared it's engines and escaped the fray.

Down below, thugs retreated into the slimy holes they came from, and a convincingly disappointed Quinn patted his men on the back before whistling his way to the nearest cantina for a victory drink. Nar Shaddaa continued on, as if nothing had happened.

((FIN!!!!!! Finally!!!!! Will continue.... in SPACE!))

[Otterling]

It didn’t take long for Doc to make his way to the makeshift med-bay the Jewel housed. The door squealed open with a cry that said it hadn’t seen a good oil bath in quite some time but it was a comforting and familiar sound to the older man. He’d seen and done many things in this room, though from the looks of it when he walked in, it hadn’t been used as a medical facility in quite some time. Boxes littered the floor and were stacked in haphazard piles that leaned precariously against the walls, some half crushed beneath the weight of those on top. Bits of packing material leaked from rents in the storage containers like wounds, spilling everything from canned food items to mechanical odds and ends. Doc kicked a stray sprocket out of the way and listened to it skitter across the floor, the gentle tinkling sound joining chorus with the horrendous groan of protest from the ship as it struggled to shut the bay doors.

Oh yes, he’d missed this place. He spent the better part of the next few minutes rooting through boxes to see if any medical supplies still existed on board though he’d make due with little more than mechanical tape and rope if need be. He’d done more with less in the past. Satisfied that at least he could locate what appeared to be the corner of a bed beneath the stockpiles and that a few of the boxes had yielded what looked to be gauze and needles, Doc made his way toward the front of the ship. He ambled into the cockpit and flopped aimlessly into the co-pilot’s chair, turning it slightly to look at Palas.

“Another amazing getaway,” he drawled sarcastically. “I know I was drawn to tears when she finally lifted off.” The surliness was all part of the act, of course, but he had a reputation to upkeep and there was, at least in some small part, a bit of concern that the ship had so much trouble getting off the ground sometimes. “There ARE better ways to get your adrenaline thrills than keeping the ship just on the verge of falling apart at any given moment, just so you know. You could…kick a bantha square in the crotch. Or slap a hutt in the face…you know, if you could determine which end that was. And don’t bother asking me,” he grumbled almost to himself, “I’ve studied anatomy for years and I still don’t know sometimes….I think it’s cause both ends smell the same.”

Doc turned back to look out at the stars stretching like thin tendrils of light before them. “Not sure where we’re headed, sure I won’t care, but ya might wanna go talk to your new stowaway. As we were taking off, something made a sound like someone anally pillaging a goose and I can say that none of the men you hired have ever made that sort of noise… though that may change after the proctology exams; but we’ll see how many of your men piss me off first, shall we? In the meantime, let’s go find what made that sound and put it out of it’s obvious misery.”