Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
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last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
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Oct 11, 2019 14:09:04 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Oct 11, 2019 14:09:04 GMT -5
“Alright, so, way I see it, this shit should be easy.” Istvan and his companions huddled around a small, round table, with napkins stuffed under a short leg to keep it from tilting to one side, in the back of a mostly empty restaurant. They were in a small room set aside for private parties, door shut against listening ears. If the room was supposed to be any nicer than the rest of the restaurant, it was impossible to tell. The carpets were stained, the cushioning the chairs long past its prime and the upholstery torn in places. It smelled faintly of cigarra smoke. Chyllis’ glory days were long past, but it served a very particular clientele now.
He leaned forward, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and looked at the rest of his group for the job in turn. My group, he thought, fighting back a smirk. He’d never gotten to lead a job before — let alone one this big. His dark green eyes lingered on Oberyn for a moment. This was the kid’s first gig since coming aboard. We can’t fuck it up. Not one of us, or the Cap’n will skin us all.
If his group messed up, the whole gig would fall apart. Istvan had no intention of looking for a new place to sleep.
Istvan set out two flimsies. They each held a set of instructions. “We can do this quiet,” he tapped the one that lay atop the other, “or loud. I don’t much care which, long as the job gets done.”
They had a night to finish planning. The Black Sun was making moves on Senators, and Rowan Arkada — Senator from Onderon — hadn’t been willing to listen to the Underboss’ offers yet. None of that bothered Istvan one way or the other, but the Black Sun was offering a tremendous amount of money to kidnap the Senator’s son and keep him until she saw the Underboss’ point of view.
“Course it’s Onderon,” he’d said when he found out. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
He suspected his past with the world was why Enzo had given him charge of capturing the kid. Not much younger than me, if I remember right. Nineteen, twenty. Somewhere in there.
“Whatever we do, we gotta do it right,” he said, looking over his group again. He raised a glass, stemless and with flaring sides half-filed with a glowing blue cocktail, to his lips and took a long drink. “So, what’ll it be?”
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Moonfire
Do I Wanna Know?
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I showed you my lesbian undertones, please respond
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last online May 13, 2023 9:54:53 GMT -5
Community Manager
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Oct 17, 2019 20:36:44 GMT -5
Post by Moonfire on Oct 17, 2019 20:36:44 GMT -5
The whole place smelled like reheated food, bad gas and the dusty acrid stank of cheap cigarras. It had that sort of cheap greasy fare, every assortment of meat and cheese and mynock wings breaded and deep-fried imaginable, that reminded him so distinctly of life on Hutta. It was the same sort of low-quality, high fat and filling slop Nemu would cater in on days he was feeling charitable. It soured his stomach and made his mouth water all at once.
Plucking up a cheesy bantha beef and onion roll from the tray Oberyn rolled the lukewarm oily tube back and forth between his fingers before dropping it unceremoniously on his crumb-covered plate. Istvan passed out his two plans, taking the lead for this subsect of the Decadencia’s crew. One plan had them bursting in, guns blazing to capture some supple lordling to ransom for his Republic senator Mommy. The whole thing twisted bitterly in Oberyn’s guts.
Some people just had all the luck.
Looking over the twin pamphlets Oberyn wondered if he should even weigh-in, if he’d gained the right to really consider himself part of the crew. A faint stab of grief struck him like a steeled dagger. Kris would have done well here, Kris would have looked over the plans and been able to say exactly what he thought they ought to do, and he would have been so bloody smug about it Obie would have hated it.
Looking up from the flimsies he handed his back, finding somehow the gumption to speak first. “Let’s give ‘em a show worth watchin’, mate. Do it loud.”
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Valcor
No longer lost in the woods
232 posts
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Meow see?
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last online Jun 1, 2021 23:31:32 GMT -5
Padawan
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Oct 21, 2019 20:36:24 GMT -5
Post by Valcor on Oct 21, 2019 20:36:24 GMT -5
This was most unpleasant work for Shorza. Not only was the business the directly malicious kind, but it was also being planned out in... this fine establishment. For once, the Zabrak was happy he was wearing his welding mask, that stunk of rubber and sweat, as that was at least familiar. That was more than he could say for whatever this place likely smelled like by its appearance. Yes, discomfort was all Shorza felt about this whole arrangement.
Somehow he could not find a comfortable way to sit in his chair, the torn and rough fabric scraped irritatingly against his lower back as it was exposed the more he slumped down, and there were no force damned armrests anywhere to be found. This growing frustration was made manifest as the Zabrak grunted and shifted while the leader of the "mission" spoke. Red grumbled and squeaked his chair as his continued motions elicited louder and louder groans from the furniture. Finally when Istvan finished with a question, Shorza came up with the perfect way to fix his issue.
With a wave of a hand and a few silent gestures, one of two accompanying droids knelt down in front of his chair. Finally, comfort. With a sigh and a happy little hum, Red swung his legs up to rest on the droid where it came to kneel, folding his arms about his midsection. Now, what was going on again? Oh right, something about loudness or quietness. Shorza had no qualms about either, but would prefer not to scuff up his two pet projects if he did not have to, and was about to make this known when he was beaten to the punch by this young looking fellow near him.
Rolling his head along the back of his chair to regard Oberyn, Shorza finally broke his silence.
"Yeah kid, sure. Let's give 'em a show. Ooh better yet, let's read 'em poetry while the caps and security decide which part of our asses look best as a mantle ornament." He said with a hidden roll of his eyes.
"Nah, I vote quiet." He said, rolling his head lazily back to Istvan.
"But ya know. Whateva ya want boss boy. Ya party an' all." Shorza finished raising his hands in a sign of resignation.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
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last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
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Oct 22, 2019 14:03:02 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Oct 22, 2019 14:03:02 GMT -5
Istvan looked between his two companions at the restaurant table-turned-situation room. A half-smile pulled at the edge of his lips as he watched Oberyn for signs of reaction to “Red’s” rebuffing. He was tempted to bark something back but no, that was Oberyn’s fight, if he picked it. Oberyn was part of the crew; he could surely speak for himself.
Got a lot of mouth on him for someone hidin’ behind a welding mask, he thought with a sidelong glance at the Black Sun member. He was a mechanic or droid wrangler or something. The guy was a bit of a mystery, but he could use the Force. Istvan was weakly Force-sensitive himself; he couldn’t tell much, but he knew what it felt like when another Force user was around.
The more pressing issue, as Istvan saw it, was that his team was split. One vote to go quietly. One to make a scene of things. He had little preference one way or the other; going in loud from the get-go may well bring unwanted attention, but there was no guarantee that an attempt to get the kid quietly wouldn’t turn into a mess of its own.
He reached to the top flimsie and slid it forward. The stealthier of the two options.
“Let’s say we go with this option,” he said, eyeing Oberyn and Red in turn. “Kid’s attending the University of Coruscant. Tomorrow he’ll be heading to the Galrund E. Banush spaceport to head home to Onderon.” The university and spaceport both lay on the far side of the planet from where they currently sat.
“He’ll be making a stop along the way, at a condominium his father owns.” The route was highlighted along the flimsie, with the stopping point circled in dark blue. “So, we got a chance to intercept him, preferably after he leaves his pa’s place. Less time to raise alarm if he doesn’t show up before going to the spaceport.”
“Or,” Istvan said, sliding the other flimsieplast forward, “we can pay him a visit while he’s at the condo. We’ve got a way in through mutual associates.” He nodded subtly toward Red; the Black Sun had connections who could get them into the condo tower, if they chose the option. “Grab him, bag him, get the fuck out before the cops show up.
“Now, if we choose to intercept him, we’ve got the option to spoof an emergency repair call to the speeder he’s riding, with some extra convincing from our mutual acquaintance, and get them down for an emergency landing. Once they’re down, we come swoopin’ in as the replacement ride to get him to the spaceport. He gets in, we hightail it out with him.”
Istvan pointed to a building circled in red. The spaceport. “I don’t give a shit how much noise we make along the way, but the one thing we cannot do is let the little fucker make it to the spaceport. Too much security. He gets that far, we’re fucked, and the Underboss and Captain’ll have us all skinned and hanged.”
Istvan looked at Oberyn for a moment, then Red. “I think we go with this one,” he said pointing to the quieter option. "If we can’t get him down with the call, then we still got chances to force him down."
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