Star Wars: Spheres of the Force (GM Terrigan) (Inactive)

Game Master Syrus Terrigan

*fanfare*

*theme music*

The Galactic Republic has endured for over twenty-one millenia, and is poised at the beginning of a golden age of expansion and prosperity. In the three years since the fall of the Sith Triumvirate, the Republic fleets have secured much of known space; more and more worlds are requesting Republic membership -- Onderon chief among them -- ; industry and innovation are progressing in leaps and bounds. It seems the time is right for the Republic to pursue its great destiny.

Yet all is not well in the galaxy. The Jedi Order still contends with the crisis of its losses at the hands of Darth Nihilus, Darth Sion, and Darth Traya -- their numbers have not been so few since the foundation of their storied tradition. Straggling remnants of the Triumvirate's forces still flit through the galactic void, leaving ruin and chaos in their wake. The greed of various corporate interests threatens to undermine the highest potential of this new era, but the galaxy turns on the Republic credit, and every being has its price. Challenge and danger alike are still alive and well in the spaces between the stars.

On the Hutt-controlled moon of Nar Shaddaa, the upheaval following the collapse of G0-T0's organization has made the Smuggler's Moon the most perilous place in the known galaxy. In the midst of the violence and treachery of Exchange dealings, risk and reward have come together for any being willing to take a chance. And in a small tapcaf in that nest of criminality, a gathering of destined individuals begins . . . .

*camera pans to Nar Shaddaa*

Chapter One: 'Bombed Out' on Nar Shaddaa

The midday sun paints the smoggy sky above the Red Comet Chaser tapcaf a dreary grey, but only offworlders would be able to tell the difference. The clangor of the chop shops on the levels below Anjiliac Plaza remind passersby and residents alike that this is the Breaker's Sector, where speeders and starships go to die. A massive bronzium statue, twenty feet tall and nearly fifty wide, still so new it is untarnished by pollutants, dominates the pedwalk square; it displays the full 'glory' of Her Magnificence, Caandra Anjiliac Vuiurd, controller of the sector and benefactor of all who come here.

The landing pads that ring the plaza and its perimeter markets have done brisk business in the last few hours. A handful of transport shuttles have offloaded rather large numbers of . . . 'tourists' from Coreward systems; one hyperspace-capable shuttle deposited a lone individual at the port, and immediately launched again without even killing its engines; a respectable number of light freighters have docked, their captains seeking work or entertainment after being paid by their fares. The folk of the Breaker's Sector know that today will be a good day for business, and so have taken to the plaza in force, hawking wares, offering services, or scouting marks. There is a tension in the air, however -- business is brisk, but terse. "Get all you can, and get the hell out!" seems to be the unspoken byword.

The Red Comet Chaser is filled to the full with a host of different species from across the galaxy. It may only be one of five similar establishments on the plaza, but it is the only one that looks as though it has been cleaned sometime within the last standard year -- there is pride in the work here, and it shows. A pair of Aqualish, a Trandoshan, and a Shistavanen obviously work security; a trio of Zeltron females take turns escorting guests to well-lit seating; two full bars radiate out from a central kitchen, breaking up the spacing of the tables and booths. A gaming den is nestled along the outer building wall, opposite the kitchen, and is the one spot that can be seen from anywhere on the floor. That's what you're here for! Take a seat for a while, and leave your cares and credits behind! It is at once public and private, close and roomy enough, unusual and back-home familiar.

A few heads turn as a young male Devaronian enters the tapcaf, his distinctive sense of fashion making him worthy of several double-takes. He gives his name to the smiling Zeltron, who fawns enticingly for a moment before whisking the dapper dude back to the only empty booth in the house -- right next to the kitchen, a sign in four languages declaring it "Reserved".

Again, thank you for visiting us today! Mr. Lofkte will be joining you shortly. May I bring you a beverage, while you wait?

Simple breakdown: Zargro has just been brought in; Vadi is in the gaming den (PM incoming, Sapiens!). Our out-of-towners are scattered about the bar or dining areas. Yes, they *do* serve droids here. :)

In order for me to get this rolling as best I've conceived, the majority of the action (read: dialogue) will hinge upon Kreshell Zargro for a bit. Ask your questions, interact with the world around you, but I ask for a bit of patience -- don't try to force anything, just yet. We're gonna get a feel for our pacing and 'glue', so let's take a little time with it.

And a MASSIVE "Thank you all!" for your patience these last few days!

Rhea wasn't paying too much attention to the people coming and going from the Red Comet Chaser. It was an eatery, after all, like ten thousand others on ten thousand worlds. You saw one dingy place, and to a certain extent, you'd seen them all. She was a little overdressed for the place, but that was just another part of the way she tended to do things - when you gave people something to look at, they rarely bothered to look for anything else. That had come in handy on more occasions than she cared to name.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Traveler." she said, smiling at the Duros sitting across from her. A chirp from a small translator adjusted her words into his native tongue, Durese, and the spacefarer just nodded.

<Likewise, Miss Varn. It is rare to meet one with such an interest in the intricacies of engines. The starfaring my people helped to pioneer is one of the most important technologies in the galaxy, but all too many people simply take it for granted. Your aide has already delivered payment, and the delivery of parts you asked for will be made. Unfortunately, I must get back to my ship - but if I have the chance, I would enjoy trading stories with you again.> the smooth-headed humanoid nodded, then swept a card over the credit reader. <Lunch is on me. Please, take your time and enjoy it.> With that, he got up and left the diner - to, it seemed, stars still unknown.

The woman who was left, well... she just smiled slightly as she watched him go. It really was interesting to learn about so many different things - and the report she'd send later would be another joy to write. Most people didn't realize how badly engines could be damaged by frequent movement between planets and space, especially hot worlds where the engines couldn't entirely cool down. The Duros - outstanding spacefarers, as a whole - had addressed that problem long since, and it was high time her home figured out how.

Now, what food compatible with her biology did they serve in this place...?

As the dapper Devaronian sits, he stashes the cane he wielded, made of some beautiful, black wood and lined with silver. He also sets his black, pin-striped top hat, which exactly matches his full suit, on the booth seat next to him.

He looks back at the hostess with a charming smile. "A beverage? Well, seeing you makes me tempted for a fine Zeltron spiced wine, but alas I must talk business and we both know that isn't what that wine is for," he coos with a wink. "I'll have a Corellian brandy."

As the hostess left his table he reaches into a pocket of his vest to reveal a silver timepiece. He looks at it, and then quickly around the establishment. A flash of nervousness sneaks onto his face until he takes a few breaths and reverts it back to his normal charming smile as he tucks the timepiece back into its pocket.

Be natural. Those who try to hide are easily spotted.

A blue-skinned Twi-Lek strolls through the cafe, glancing at the menu before heading towards the gambling area. To a first glance, there is nothing peculiar about her, and if someone bothered to give her a second glance, the peculiarity is that there is nothing peculiar about her. Her behavior, her clothes, her body language are those of someone who's trying not to be noticed.

Grabbing a drink, she moves to the pazaak tables, watching intently the players in search for for a single familiar face.
Where are you, Xatt...

Since departing from his lone vessel Le' Za had fathered some questionable looks and curious gazes, partly from security who took interest in him. The zabrak donned his hood, drawing it to obscure his crown and facial features.Hiding ones identity was commonplace in Nar Shadaa, if nothing more for safety. Perhaps he'd draw a curious glance, but it would be far easier for him to get lost in the crowd this way.

stealth: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10

It's places like these that give nostalgia for Yanibar .

And although Yanibar herself was no oasis, she held a charm all her own. Perhaps not as lusterful as the many core worlds, the zabrak reminisced on her splendor. Even in his wanderlust, the zabrak allowed himself this moment. He begins to survey the area.

Edit: And it *begins*

For once, Hayden was pleased with the intimidating bulk of hardware following him, nearly to the point of admiration. The journey to the tapcaf from their newly acquired lodgings a few blocks to the south was uneventful, despite his trepidation and the relative havoc of the day's goings on. Hayden had counted no less than five potential kerfuffles averted based upon nothing more that he could see than the sheer terror his companion inflicted upon the world at his mere presence. It was heartening to see faces in the crowd bent upon mischief turn a rictus of mixed amazement and self-doubt as they considered that perhaps dealing with the nearly 7 foot metal man with a blaster rifle was not quite as worthwhile a task as turning off the cooking unit suddenly remembered to be still running.

Seated as they were now, drink in hand and electrodes applied, respecively, Hayden figured this trip may not be so bad. The local color was quite colorful, if bladed and spiked as well, and he'd yet to meet anything as scary as the HK unit. He poured himself over the map as he'd poured the last two brandys. His datapad was already filled with addresses and contacts to make concerning his mission. He was yet stinging in the posterior from the proverbial brand of exile, and damned, bound, or at least damn sure determined not to screw up his ticket home.

The lines and street names of the district on the map blurred and lost focus as he allowed the brandy to sooth him into a quiet reminiscence. Home, of course being where the heart is, his mind's eye turned to the whisper of silk on flesh and the dim lights of a quiet, secret, shared apartment.

I hope she finds her way back...

"Suggestion: We ought to buy grenades." The droid says, cutting into Hayden's private thoughts. "Partially in case we get into trouble, partially because you can get anything on Nar Shaddaa. Mostly because I want some."

"Invented Statistic: It has been approximately one million, one hundred twenty-seven thousand, two-hundred and four seconds since I have blown anything up. In other words, an eternity." Realising that his words are falling onto deaf ears, Theta-Zero pauses in its argument, making a note to circle back later. His mechanisms whir quietly as he takes in the sights of the cantina.

A fancy looking Devaronian, a Zabrak, enough humans that a few going missing wouldn't be noticed... A twi'lek. Others. Nothing that looked even remotely threatening. Still, it would be better to have grenades. Despite numerous memory wipes, something deep in Theta-Zero's programming tells him that Revan would have agreed. More recent programming tells him that he must do whatever is necessary to protect the boy. He likes when those two things are in sync, as they are now.

"One could manage to get lost here." Theta-Zero says, his eyes returning to Hayden, but his face revealing nothing behind the words, whether the droid is asking if Hayden is considering abandoning his mission, admiring the moon's underbelly which he had not seen in some years, offering a warning, or simply attempting to make conversation.

"I think getting lost is, though not the aim, likely to happen. We can go shopping for toys after we locate some local transport and appropriate it to our own devices. A speeder or something. I could be happy with a hoverboard"

Jostled out of his reverie, Hayden shook his head and blanked the screen of the tiny holo-map in front of him, "We have a lot of ground to cover. At least five independent mercenary organizations, a man of quasi-reputable character and an untold amount of credits named Jargon Masshafa, a few other folk to talk to. I think Masshafa is one of the old Exchange bosses that floated rather than sank with the last upheval. Maybe his arse is made of marshmallow.

"Considering, though, the type of folk we're to be courting, grenades are now prioritized on the shopping list. Glad you thought of it."

Kreshell's Corellian brandy arrives in so brief a moment one could think it was already prepared. His wait for Jebber Lofkte, on the other hand, is another matter. It is some twenty minutes past the appointed time when an entourage steps out from the kitchen interior and surrounds the booth in which the Devaronian sips his drink. Five thoroughly equipped persons take positions around the reserved seating, and one glances from Zargro's face to a datapad and back again before giving a curt nod.

Sir, if you will, please stand and approach me a moment. I need to do a quick scan before Jebber joins us.

----------

As Vadi scans the gambling den for Xatt, it becomes clear to her that her gambling peer is not where she expected him. That is not terribly concerning, though, since he is a known late-riser -- he *will* show . . . eventually. He is likely in the midst of one passionate entanglement or another -- his luck runs in many arenas of life.

While she waits, Vadi notes that one of the pazaak tables is undergoing a remodel of some sort. She has heard word of a new gambling fad taking hold in the community -- something called "sabacc". And Nar Shaddaa is rarely behind the times in gaming ventures.

A handful of barely-familiar faces offer the azure Twi'lek nods of recognition or gestures of greeting -- the small-timers from here in the Breaker's Sector. All of the tables have active games going, save the one being torn out for modification. Might it be a worthy time to score a few more credits while awaiting Xatt?

----------

The tapcaf menu offers cuisine that caters to many tastes across species, Rhea notes, and some of the dishes even sound appealing -- others are even safe bets for a Hapan away from home. It's a good thing that the Duro engineer paid for the meal, though, for the prices here are a little higher than average, it seems.

Varn's mind goes back over her mission objectives while she scans the integrated tabletop menu. The acquisition she just made will prove a solid start, she is sure, but there is a great hope for a finding that will serve to strengthen the position of House Varn back in the Consortium. Political growing pains being what they are, ensuring that Hapan infrastructure can support their growing numbers and needs is of highest priority.

Give me two successive Perception checks, please, Rhea.

----------

Additional post incoming!

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9
Hah. XD Aaaaaand since I think I need the result of those before I do anything else, I'll leave it at that. Side-note: Feel free to roll just roll for me if there's nothing else you need me to do in a post - keeps things moving, and I won't mind at all.

Le' Za-deen finds it shockingly easy to blend into the teeming mass of sentient beings. He finds himself concealed more by sheer numbers than by his own skill at skulking. While the Breaker's Sector certainly shares similarities with the spaceport back home, the Zabrak finds himself a bit daunted by the orders of magnitude of difference between Yanibar and Nar Shaddaa -- so much the same, but so much MORE.

Le' notices that one tapcaf in particular seems to look and smell better than the rest that open onto the square. Having only standard ration bars to feast upon during the transit, the impulse to eat real food strikes, and with intensity. There are several small kiosks in the square that offer foodstuffs, however -- there are options a-plenty.

What is the most pressing concern for the freshly-arrived Zabrak?

The devaronian stands still continuing the smile that seems permanently attached to his face. As he walks over to the designated place he removes a blaster from his hip, hands it off, and adds, "If I had known it would be this big of a party, I'd have ordered more drinks.."

Not the time for a game. I'm gambling enough at the moment as is.

Sliding through the pazaak crowd, Vadi moves towards the nearest bar area, sipping her drink, something strong and sour. Her eyes scan the room intently, looking for her contact to come in.

Memory and memory circuits both remind the Jedi/droid duo that a small shop not far from the tapcaf advertised armaments as its primary wares. Grenades will likely be found there, though quantity and quality will likely be in question -- good ordnance can be hard to find, even in the wilds of Nar Shaddaa.

----------

After Zargro submits to the search and scan, he notices with some surprise that his blaster is handed back to him. We know you're here for business; keep your hands away from your holster, and it'll stay just business. The guard strides to the kitchen door and waves in the "VIP".

Jebber Lofkte proves to be a large, fit-looking human dressed in a bland tunic/trouser combo that would hide him in most crowds, were it not for the shock of unruly black hair that gives the impression of a man who races swoops with no helmet. That, and the spit-shine on the boots he wears, made of well-kept, tough leather. He saunters to the table and eases his nearly seven-foot frame into the booth opposite Kreshell before he even gives his guest a cursory glance. Once he does, though, Jebber's right eyebrow sweeps upward in comfortable skepticism, though only for a moment. He gets right down to business.

Word is that you're looking for a job, Zargro. Specifically of the captaining type. I'm involved in many shipping endeavors, as you know, and business is good. I can honestly say that we could use another operating vessel . . . .

Thing is, though, that the last I knew, you were working with one of Vogga's crews. And the way word got to me about your interest in work . . . well, triggered an alarm, you might say. You've kept this quiet. And that makes me think that you've got trouble on your heel. Maybe you oughta give me the rundown on your angle, eh?

The rangy human laces his fingers together and leans forward, elbows propped on the tabletop. He is obviously expecting a story -- and he looks as though he has time to spare: relaxed, unhurried, efficient.

----------

As the crowds shift and collapse and reform in the ebb and flow of the eatery, Rhea thinks for the briefest of moments that there is some familiar characteristic about the droid seated across from a human male along the opposite wall. A double-take, though, makes her second-guess her first impression . . . and then second-guess again. I could swear I've seen that model before . . . . But where? And why does it bother me?

A plate of steaming food is brought to the table, and the aroma of subtle seasoning done right wafts up to her nostrils. With the first bite, Rhea is convinced that she has, by sheer luck, probably found the best dining on the Smuggler's Moon. She tucks into the dish with genuine pleasure, still keeping her eyes open to the goings-on. The droid seated with the robed human continues to be a point of interest -- some thing niggling at her memories.

---------

Vadi, Vadi, Vadi, my sweet! So good to see you again!

Vadi nearly jumps out of her skin at the sudden voice at her ear. Whirling to look over her right shoulder, she sees the face of Ayepp Xatt, chin propped on the seat back, a smug smile brightening the features of the yellow-skinned Twi'lek. The 'fresher door behind him disgorges a disheveled Falleen woman, who smacks Xatt on the posterior as she slinks past.

I was right. No wonder I couldn't spot him!

Still grinning, Xatt comes around the table and drops into a seat with a pronounced sigh of satisfaction. After he takes a breath, the scoundrel produces a pazaak deck and begins to shuffle with swift, absent-minded motions.

So, dear -- I may have heard a thing or two, but why don't you tell me what I can do for you?

----------

I'm still waiting for more from Le' Za-deen!

Rhea frowned slightly as a distant memory niggled at her. Most people didn't realize it by looking at her, but she'd studied a truly tremendous amount of technology over the time in her current position. Big and small, new and old, helpful and not... and as part of that, she'd seen a whole lot of droids as well. Maybe she was finally reaching the point where she was seeing so many things that they started to blur together? Meditation exercises might help with that.

(What was the alternative, seeing the same thing from before in a random diner on a random planet? Naaaah. The odds against that were literally astronomic in scale. Although if such a thing did occur... well, she wasn't sure she believed the Jedi tales of the Force causing things to happen, but that was probably a better explanation than sheer chance.)

Vadi grabs a basic deck, laying down a random card in front of Xatt, more to keep up the facade than actually playing. Memories of a former job pop up, and are promptly repressed.

"Well, I suspect you've heard that much, but there's been turmoil in the Exchange recently. That Quarren Horeadash aggressively overtook Ranvad's position. However, the turnover rate turned out to be higher than expected, as he himself was mysteriously found dead in his bedchamber. Tragic accident, looks like he fell on his own blade. Repeatedly."
"Long story short, my position is rather precarious at the moment, and I'd welcome a chance to get off this rock. Failing that, a new job would be appreciated, a safe position. Nineteen, I stand."

Zargro throws his head back and laughs for a couple moments. He then rights himself with his usual smile and replies casually, "Lofkte, Lofkte. Angles are like anuses, everybody's got one," as he says this his hand makes a sweeping motion, gesturing to the entire room. "The real question here is," his hand balls except for his index finger, "do you have a vessel that operates far enough away? Because, if not, then it doesn't matter what my fun little story is. 'Leaving' and 'good terms' is an oxymoron when talking about Hutts."

Xatt blinks a few times at Vadi's words, and seemingly forgets the non-game they were playing. His flirtatious smile vanishes as though it were never there.

Seems to me, then, that you need to be talking to spacers rather than gamblers like me, Vadi. But, what kind of pal would I be if I didn't have some good news? The smile returns, all stars. If you look toward the kitchen, you'll notice a cluster of well-armed goons guarding the far table. That's Jebber Lofkte's escort. Jebber handles the majority of Caandra's shipping interests, and I believe he's meeting with a candidate captain now. At least, that's the word in the air, right now. The lovely lady who was just keeping me company delivered the message to reserve the table . . . . This just might be your best opportunity!

Ayepp glances down at the cards, at last, and mucks a perfect 21 with an expression that says Sometimes, even a winning hand has to fold. He jerks his head in the direction of the entourage as his lekku twitch out: See him first. Will help more if needed.

----------

Lofkte's skeptic eyebrow locks in position this time, and his incredulity is palpable.

I thought we were talking about putting you in charge of a hyperdrive-capable ship, Zargro?! What do you mean, "far enough"??! If you can't use a boat to keep ahead of trouble and turn us both some profit, why are we even talking?

The big man sweeps a hand over his windblown locks before he continues.

All right, all right. I know you can work with a crew -- you proved that the few times you undercut us on some bids the last couple years. Caandra hasn't forgotten, by the way . . . . But I haven't mentioned your name to her, yet -- it's the only reason I think we could pull this off.

You want a ship; I've got a ship. You want work; I've got work. How far the work goes isn't the issue, really, and for a few reasons. First, if I give you a ship and a job, I need to be reasonably sure the credits come in from that job. Second, if you've got trouble coming your way, and it puts the ship, the cargo, or both at risk, I need to know what we're looking at so I can seal the deal or ship you out the proverbial airlock before I hand you access codes and a lead. And, third -- here's the kicker -- if you dump the job and your name comes up in that catastrophe, I'll have Caandra and Vogga *both* coming after me. The fourth is the bright spot -- it's no good to me to give you a shot at working for me if I'm not willing to look out for you; if you can prove you're capable and reliable, this can be a good thing for both of us -- and I look out for my people.

So I'll ask you again, Devaronian: you wanna tell me what's going on?

Kreshell, give me a Knowledge (local) check, with a +2 bonus.

GM

The zabrak finds himself standing over the ensemble of oderous foods. Banquettes stretched before him. It looked as though every imaginable dish was present. From the Core's vibrantly colorful desserts, to the Rims less than aesthetically pleasing morsels. To this the zabrak found himself scowling. Feasts like this were almost unheard of in Yanibar, and was more for a public display of status.The distinction from Yanibar's wealthy
Upper class, and its expansive lower class had never been wider. To Yanibar's elites they couldn't get far far away enough from her (Yanibar) 'poor and downtrodden' people. Le' Za was reminded of a failed assassination attempt at one of Yanibar's delegates, who's food had been poisoned at one such feast, not unlike the one the zabrak found himself at.

He reaches out with the Force, searching the expanse of food before him.
heal: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Once he is confident the food hadn't been tampered with, the zabrack set out picking his portions. He gathered this quickly.

One cannot be too careful here of Nar Shadaa!

Le' Za glanced over the Sebacc tables, these games were much too random for his fancy. He instead wandered over to a dice booth, at least here he could have *some* influence. He stood inconspicuously in the crowd gathering around one of the dice players. From the looks of things, they were on a winning streak.

edit: good lands, can't blame the dice here

"You are a treasure, Ayepp, and I'd always come to talk to you rather than any spacer. I hope good tidings come to you."

Vadi rises to plant a kiss on the other Twi'lek's cheek, before moving over to the guards with her most professional smile.

"Good day, gentlefolk. I have a business proposition for Mister Lofkte to hear, a proposition he'll be very interested in hearing. Would you mind telling him?"

Know Underworld?: 1d20 + 6 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 6 + 2 = 9
well then

Kreshell leans back comfortably, "Lofkte, your making it out to be worse than it is. I made some of my previous crew a little upset and so I left. I took nothing from V-" he stops talking as a Twi'lek walks close. Kreshell raises his brow, "Friend of yours Lofkte?"

Kreshell and Vadi

As Vadi approaches, she is met with stony expressions and readied weapons. The efficient woman who seems to be leading the squad grits out a few words: You don't have an appointment; you're not on today's agenda. What do I get for interrupting him for you? Time is money, pretty-girl! I might be able to get you a moment to speak with him after his meeting is concluded.

As Kreshell takes note of the Twi'lek's approach, Jebber actually turns his head away from his verbal sparring partner to look. The big man turns back with a shrug, and says, Dunno who she is. I know she doesn't have a place on my schedule, though. Fliina'll run her off -- too bad, though: she's cute.

But your old crew's mad at ya, huh? And you haven't crossed Vogga in anything? Well, except for coming to me for this job, obviously.

There is a lengthy pause as Jebber ruminates, eyeing Zargro closely.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (17) + 12 = 29

Boards ate edited post. Hang on.

Jebber continues: I don't think you've told me all I want to know, Kreshell, but I believe you when you say it's just your old crew that may have problems with you. Tell ya what: with a couple of concessions, I'll let you take this job, and we'll see how you do and then go from there.

He glances over to Fliina, who has left another guard to watch Vadi for the moment, and says: Bring him out, and let's get this done. . . . . And what did the pretty blue one want?

Pause on this line, for the present.

----------
----------

Hayden and Theta-Zero

Hayden scans various dossiers on his datapad and Theta-Zero scans for targets, but they both take note of the blue-hued Twi'lek that crosses from the gambling den toward the back booth. When a large face with unruly hair turns back to look as she is stopped by a cluster of guards, Hayden has a sudden flash of recognition. He can hear the increased buzz from the HK unit as the droid runs his own facial-recognition software.

One perception roll each, please, gents.

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----------

Rhea

From the other side of the restaurant, Rhea also notes the Twi'lek that is accosted by armed guards, and the face that peers out from the nearby booth.

Perception for you, too, please!

Fliina rolls her eyes and says: She's just sure she has something you'd want to hear. Didn't say anything else. But you know we've got to get back to Caandra's audience chamber quick-like, Jebbs -- can't waste time on eye-candy. The woman makes eye contact with the guard at the kitchen door and jerks her head in the direction of the building rear. Get the kid. I'm covering. Then she takes his place as the duraplast-encased man ducks through the kitchen's double doors.

Just a few minutes later, the guard returns, hauling a hooded human in front of him. With no kindness at all, he jerks the hood off and looses the manacles that held his wrists behind his back. A brutal shove sends the blinking youth careening into the seat next to Zargro, jostling the Devaronian's shoulder and knocking some of his effects about.

Jebber stands up.

And the guards freeze.

Make a scene, Parck. I dare you.

The hubbub of the tapcaf takes an anxious pause as Parck hesitates, his mouth opening and closing awkwardly before he lapses into a resigned silence.

Jebber's voice grows softer, but it still pierces the air with clarity. I don't care where you go, Parck, but you need to disappear for a week. Tired of telling you where you're wrong. Brawls cost, and costing this place business because you stay angry costs us money. Go. I'll adjust your pay accordingly.

Parck turns to go back through the kitchen area, but Fliina catches him as Jebber's eyes narrow dangerously. Wrong way, void-for-brains. Out the front, like everybody else -- you don't work here for a week, remember? The space of a quick breath. At least.

Head down, Parck turns once more and threads his way out the front, making sure to keep clear of the field of fire oriented toward Vadi.

The hubbub resumes, somewhat muted.

Sorry about that. He's tough and good in a fight, but Parck isn't good for much else. You all right, kid?

And there's Zev Ronen's straight line!

Kreshell dusts off his shoulder and rights items displaced from the jostle. He resumes his smile before saying, "Wow Lofkte, you've got a heart of gold." His eyes narrow as he continues humorously, "Are you trying to convince me to work for you? Showing that you're a nice guy?" He chuckles at that for a few moments.

Getting more serious, Kreshell straightens in the booth, "I've got the skills and motivation you need and you've got the job that I want. Let's do this."

Bluff: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (20) + 11 = 31

Vadi smiles like a predator. "It's fine. Of course, Lofkte will flay you alive like a kath hound when he learns just who you kept waiting, but I always enjoy those moments."

She leans nonchalantly against the railing, fishing a datapad out of a pocket and lazily looking through it.

What, exactly, was going on over there.....?

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

...Not much, apparently. XD I should Take 10 more often.

'Parck' walks out to the front of the establishment, rubbing his wrists to restore the feeling after wearing manacles for so long.

"Great..." he mutters sarcastically to on one in particular. He had no money, no weapons, no ship, and no idea exactly what had just happened. He was glad to be free of Jebber for a while, and of that spiteful woman Fliina.
I might as well enjoy this while it lastshe thought to himself as he approached the bar.

"Gimme some Ruby Bliel... On Jebber Lofkte's tab." he growled to the barkeep.

Ummmm . . . . Point of Interest: Parck was the guard that just unceremoniously dumped you on Kreshell. You aren't free of anything, yet!! Get an edit on that, and fast!! :D

EDIT FOR CLARITY: Zev is seated beside Kreshell Zargro across the booth table from Jebber, having just been released from the hood and manacles that have been used to restrain him for the last few hours . . . . Parck is merely a named NPC.

EDIT TWO: The one-hour window is past; not too big a deal. We can let Parck's reaction stand as-is, and Harm's Way can pick up the Zev Ronen character with his next post. That small misstep is on me -- I put too much action on the NPCs (I was trying to have a "living" background -- tried for too much, reckon). Nevertheless, my thanks to Harm's Way for roleplaying an additional character, however briefly: it was good! I will make use of it. }:>

Kreshell gestures at the new addition to the table, "Okay Lofkte, I'll bite. Who's the kid?"

With wild eyes, the young Mandalorian throws a sideways glance at the Devaronian he now shares a booth with. Remaining silent, except for the short growl in response to Jebber questioning his welfare, he takes in the scene around him. His wild mane of unkempt brown hair falls unceremoniously down towards his shoulders, framing an exhausted, unshaven face.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17

He focuses his attention on the armed guards around, trying to take count of how many blasters he can see within arm's reach while looking for a way out. Just in case things turned sour, which they often seemed to do around the young mercenary of late...

Perception: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (6) + 0 = 6

Hayden stares, dropping into an analytical focus as the background noise and scenery from across the room become more colorful.

"Hey!" He whispers unnecessarily to Theta-Zero, almost unheard above the din of the crowd, "are you seeing what I'm seeing? If things get sideways, we split."

Thumbing through the dossiers on his datapad, he quickly looks for a match, having seen a face quite recently much like the face currently scowling and giving orders across the room, "Also, I think I know Mr. Important over there. I think he works for the... well... lady that runs this sector." Hayden, while versed in all manner of Hutt social protocol and vernacular, was unsure that he should deem one a 'lady.' "She isn't on my list, but we might could sell her a bridge. Possibly through this guy. Keep an eye on him. Please."

Perception for Twi'lek: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19

"I think getting lost is, though not the aim, likely to happen. We can go shopping for toys after we locate some local transport and appropriate it to our own devices. A speeder or something. I could be happy with a hoverboard"

"Overprotective Statement: Hoverboards are too dangerous." Seemingly stunned by his own response, the HK unit pauses before adding. "Blasted Republic programming. Clarification: While I have never heard of even an apprentice being taken down by blaster fire, the same cannot be said of explosions." Pausing once more it adds. "Hence grenades. I must ensure your protection at all costs. We will acquire a speeder."

Jostled out of his reverie, Hayden shook his head and blanked the screen of the tiny holo-map in front of him, "We have a lot of ground to cover. At least five independent mercenary organizations, a man of quasi-reputable character and an untold amount of credits named Jargon Masshafa, a few other folk to talk to. I think Masshafa is one of the old Exchange bosses that floated rather than sank with the last upheval. Maybe his arse is made of marshmallow."

Observing the map with Hayden, the HK unit nods at his description of Masshafa. "Metaphorical Statement: There is a creature on Genonosis called a hydra, an insect with multiple heads. I have heard legends that if one of them is removed, another will grow to take its place."

"Unrelated Statement: Bugs all squash the same way."

As Hayden begins to study the crowd, Theta-Zero follows suit, running facial recognition on anyone who looks interesting - and on several people specifically because they don't. As Hayden draws some conclusions, Theta-Zero looks back at him. "Surprised observation: Your senses have improved dramatically since we were first shackled together. You may yet rise above the ranks of being a mere fleshy water-balloon."

"She isn't on my list, but we might could sell her a bridge. Possibly through this guy. Keep an eye on him. Please."

"Query: Why would we want to sell her a bridge? Is that a new code for kill her?"

Hayden pauses in thought, made hesitant again by the delicate precision necessary when speaking with the droid. He'd gotten used to it as of late, but HK still gave him challenge with regularity.

"No... not for killing her," wondering if this is what his mother goes through every day in politics and suddenly having a modicum of respect for the woman's patience, he continues, "We're going to sell her an idea. One that will build bridges, yet may not be something she would initially find worth her time or money. Like the old saying, but, I thought, eloquently ironic in a modest fashion... though you cause me to doubt that last bit..."

He shakes his head and continues, "If we have to kill anybody, the code will be: 'Help! Help! Ahhh! My Legs! Why my legs?!' Or something similar."

Le' Za-deen

After a time, Za-deen is satisfied that he is suitably blended into the crowd of the Red Comet Chaser, and he moves to an empty table not far from the gaming den to finally tuck into his meal. After several days of ration bars and water, it is a pleasant thing to be able to enjoy real food again. Nothing about the meal triggers his suspicions, which is even better. Why am I so nervous? No one knows me here; no one knows why I'm here . . . . But I will learn if the stories from home are true . . . . And betrayal will have its reckoning.

Le' watches with something a bit more than idle interest as the azure-skinned Twi'lek crosses the dining floor toward the gathering of . . . "thugs" clustered around the back table. As she is intercepted, he notes the armaments being carried, and the gruff manner exhibited by each one of them. When the tapcaf goes still and silent once the "VIP" stands up and one of his enforcers is dismissed, the wanderer hastens to finish his plate, thinking that opportunity may have just opened the right door . . . .

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12

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Vadi

Vadi's halfway-playful threat yields results, but it doesn't violate the chain of command -- yet. The resolutely mute goon covering her with his rifle glances back to Fliina and tips his head toward the gleefully expectant Twi'lek. The human woman proffers another searing eyeroll before moving to take the Quarren's place. Everybody knows you're waiting, lady. Jebber knows you're waiting. Cool your jets for a nanosecond, and he'll chat -- if he can. . . . . Knowing him, though, I'd say your chances are good. Fliina's eyes move obviously along Vadi's figure, from toes to head-tails, and the frank gaze Vadi finds boring into her own after that survey conveys megabytes of information. Don't make this a problem. He'll get to you. I know it. So Vadi contents herself with leaning against a high tabletop as she scrolls through her datapad, not even heeding its contents as she watches for her chance to get a word in with the "man of the hour".

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Zev and Zargro

For the first time in several hours, Zev can actually see. It takes some moments before his eyes adjust to the well-lit eatery's environs. He sees a strangely-dressed Devaronian on the bench seat next to him, and the too-familiar face of Jebber Lofkte on the other side of the booth. With Parck taking his leave by way of the bar to the right from his current spot (and obviously being told in no uncertain terms that Ruby Bliel isn't available to him, and certainly not on Lofkte's tab), the young merc notices a blaster rifle, a pistol, and a vibrosword being held or worn by the Quarren within arm's reach. Fliina, some 15 feet farther away, has her customary twin pistols still holstered, and is engaged in a quiet contest of wills with an attractive Twi'lek. Kitchen doors at five, tapcaf entries at one and eleven, bar to duck under cover at three, Devaronian blocking path to second set of kitchen doors at seven and bar at nine . . . . Quickest path is to snatch something off the Squid-head and duck back into the kitchen . . . but I don't know the layout in there, which is bad. Gotta be careful . . . .

Lofkte doesn't wait for Zev to reply once Kreshell asks about the newcomer, telling the Devaronian, This is Zev Ronen. And he's 'Concession One'. His former mentor has . . . left his ship in our care, and it's the likeliest one for you to take on this first job -- Note my optimism, there, Zargro -- , and I think you ought to take the youngster with you. He's familiar with its systems, he knows a bit about how we operate here, and considering the debt he's inherited, he'll have plenty of motivation to make sure this job goes properly. He goes with you, or there's no deal.

Now, here's the other part -- 'Concession Two'. Considering the fact that my upcoming meeting with Caandra is going to involve telling her just who it is that's taking the Spice Rush offplanet, I'm going to need . . . insurance. To the tune of twenty thousand credits. That buys me a bit of cover with a boss that's gonna be hot as a star-core, and protects the business from a busted job -- a little bit, anyway. And it's like the first: money, or no deal.

Yes, I know, Kreshell. Roll with it! As in, literally: seize the opportunity to talk him down. Furthermore, have a bit of faith in me to keep your bankroll in solid standing.

The big man leans back on the padded seat, his eyes roving between Zev and Kreshell as he waits for the pair to react.

Rhea Varn

"Just because", we're going to see if a GM roll helps any more than your last couple . . . . Shame on me for trying to use the mechanics to justify the narrative, but I'm gonna roll with it for the present.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15

The same Falleen that just extricated herself from the yellow Twi'lek and the 'fresher, now wearing an RCC uniform, comes to clear away the Hapan's plate and refill her drink -- all while ogling her overtly, and departing with a suggestive wink.

And then there is a roaring silence, centered on the back booth. And when the tall human male stands up and nearly whispers, Rhea's memory is jogged again . . . .

Jebber Lofkte. Handles the shipping concerns for Caandra Anjiliac Vuiurd. Mid-ranking lieutenant in established Exchange operation. She drums her fingers on the tabletop. Linking up with him could get me a better cover here in Hutt Space, keep feeding me new tech to reclaim, and pad my own accounts -- because that stipend isn't great, even with the perks . . . .

And one burst of memory prompts another, aided by the snippets of conversation that are discernible through the lulls in the restaurant's ongoing din. Those speech patterns are unmistakable! That is an HK unit!! . . . . But, then . . . who is it with??! And Rhea's attention centers on the young human male in the droid's company . . . .

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And my huge Hayden/HK addendum was devoured . . . . Every time I save the data, it doesn't need it; every time I don't, it fails. I hate the boards! For five more minutes. I'll get it re-posted shortly.

Level 1 is swingy that way, no? XD Even with decent modifiers.

Rhea began drumming her fingers harder as she thought.

Know History: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22

The HK series was relatively rare. As a combination that tended to mix protocol and assassination, they were a bit infamous for their success rate... admittedly, part of that was the simple fact that there were so many droid designs it was hard to pick them out of the crowd, not to mention the knockoffs that some people built to deter troublemakers. She'd once visited the Beharen Droid Factory on Corellia, and they'd been a little miffed about the knockoffs of their own products.

Of course, the fact that someone had an HK droid - or a knockoff - didn't mean they planned to use it. Perhaps they'd only noticed the protocol aspects, or simply liked the design. (There were all kinds of weirdos in the galaxy, and she'd met her fair share.)

She was fairly certain she hadn't pissed anyone off around here, but you couldn't be too careful. She shuffled around a bit to discreetly reduce her exposure, even as she called on her training to (unobtrusively) enhance her speed if a negative situation occurred. If it was nothing, well, it never hurt to get some practice in and nobody would be the wiser.

Hayden and Theta-Zero

Intrigued Observation: Yes, that is, indeed, Jebber Lofkte, young Hayden -- Caandra's logistics director. And he is gradually attracting a crowd . . . . Good. More targets. Irritated Query: Whether or not we negotiate hostilities here, so far from our intended assault point, perhaps we should determine the cost of one of his speeders, hmm? Condescending Statement: It wouldn't be worthy of deliberation if a droid had been handling the incoming flight paths of the ships entering Nar Shaddaa space, of course, but the insistence of "civilized" worlds on employing mere organics for such tasks continues to perplex my logic circuits. Just how many credits is that interrupted flight going to cost you? Just behind the amber gleam of Theta-Zero's photoreceptors, BeShawn could swear he could actually see the droid's desire for erupting violence.

As the somewhat distracted Jedi finally locates the pertinent files, buried as they were in the most obscure portion of the mission briefing download, -- Superior job, Archive apprentice. Though we aren't supposed to be anywhere near this part of the moon . . . . --
he quickly dumps the datapad to the tabletop, knowing full well that Theta-Zero's assessment will contain everything worth knowing in the moment. Why spend more effort just to get a repeat of what's been reported?

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We are almost off and running, folks. The turning point toward action is so close I can almost taste it! I think we'll probably be eyeballs-deep in the voodoo before the week is out!

"Huh. Good point. Hadn't considered he would have one for sale. I would dither a bit and propose we find a more reputable salesman, but this is Nar Shaddaa... Perhaps we should engage him in a polite query once he becomes less... well... occupied in what looks like it could be anything from a slave trade, drug deal, or even an aliatoric public theatre operation. There even seems to be a queue starting up."

Hayden surreptitiously angles himself in his seat to get a better view of the festivities, making a show of turning on his holomap and topping off the brandy he'd purposefully been neglecting.

perception: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (3) + 0 = 3

He ponders the scene in silence for a moment before he leans in toward Theta-Zero, "So... should I be the one to take the lead on the approach, or would you like this one? It seems more your bailiwick."

Jeez. First time in a long time I haven't had a perception bonus. Punished by the dice gods for my lack of foresight. Har. I never saw it coming.

Kreshell gives Zev an appraising look over again. After seeming to consider for a couple minutes he speaks up, "Concession one is a deal. I like him, he's got some spunk and it looks like, a brain in his head. Concession two on the other hand," he gives Lofkte an injured expression, "c'mon Lofkte. You want me to pay you to work for you? C'mon...I'm not deaf to the need to placate Caandra, I mean I get it. But, how about five thousand and you tell her that my move against her was part of the overall plan of shafting Vogga and jumping to this ship. That'll give some insurance and, more than credits, it'll give her the satisfaction of getting one over on Vogga. The satisfaction alone should placate and the credits should pull this over the top," Kreshell ends this in his token smile. After a few moments of letting that sink in he adds, "And Lofkte! You can even claim that the whole thing was your idea and that you understand that a croney like me is risky so you already have an inside man watching me just in case. Boom!," he makes a big gesture, "That plus the five thousand credits is sure to win her over."

Yup. Diplomacy roll there, Kreshell! }:> And: well played!

Ooops! Got a little excited and forgot.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (18) + 9 = 27

Kreshell and Zev

Upon hearing the counteroffer, Jebber shows a quick half-smile that fades too quickly. I said it was 'insurance', Zargro. Not payment. The credits stay with me until I need to use them, if at all. If this job runs clean, then I'll shave the difference off our take once you get back -- return of principal, if you will. He reaches into a trouser pocket and drops a trio of datacards on the tabletop, and gestures for Fliina to pass him the datapad. Make it ten thousand, and you've got yourself a job, Kreshell.

Jebber's fingers tap the loose pile of datacards. Nav data, comm protocols, and contact info for the job on one of 'em. The direct comlink frequencies for me, Fliina, and Caandra's majordomo are on the other. He fishes out the third, of metallic blue hue and unusual configuration. And this one here! This is where you learn I'm of a different cut than most businessmen on this rock: this little baby lets the two of us process our insurance transaction right here, provided you've got a credstick, and your comlink will be pinged if the money is transferred, ever. This one's never been used, never been sliced -- it just puts the money in escrow until it's needed. If I have to get to it, I'll try to send you a comm so you know what's up before you walk into anything. Like I said -- I look out for my people. But that means I expect you to keep me informed of any developments.

Well? Ten K and a handshake, Kresh, and you can fly clear skies!

Yes! He bought it!

"As you wish. I'm not the one whose skin is on the line."

Tapping on the datapad, Vadi runs through all of the database from her days in the Exchange, hunting for information on Lofkte and Caandra.

Kreshell's face turns serious as he stares at Lofkte. Then, a moment later, he smiles once more as he begins fishing a credstick out of his pocket, "Alright Lofkte ten K insurance it is! Heck! I get a direct comlink to the beautiful, smart, and scary Fliina!" Kreshell winks at Fliina and then looks back to Lofkte and adds jokingly, "You should have went a bit higher just for that!"

After the electronics have been dealt with Kreshell stands up to leave. "Ya'know, I'm pretty excited to finally be working with you Lofkte. If this guy," gesturing to Zev, "is any bit good and stays this mute, it's going to be great business!"

The HK unit stares at Jebber Lofkt, seeming to glare despite his lack of facial expression. "Irritated Statement: I would love to take the lead, and choke him with it. But I suspect he is the nearsighted type of meatbag who sees droids like myself as property, instead of perfection incarnate. Incredulous Statement: He may consider it rude for me to approach and not you. In reality he should be so lucky as to converse with me directly."

"Anticipatory Statement: Besides, this is your mission, and if you perform it with meatbag-level intelligence, there will be plenty of opportunity for my 'bailiwick'"

Zev

Lofkte hasn't missed the fact that Zev has been sizing up everything in sight while seething quietly as the negotiations were ongoing. As he stands up from the booth, he stares Zev down and says, in a voice that brooks no dissent, Make sure you tag along on this one, kid. Check your bunk, and play the message I left you on that datapad. And do that before you do anything else. It's important.

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Okay, folks -- this is your window of opportunity: if you're going to make a move, do it now! There will likely be some "railroading" coming, perhaps for most of the group, and for that I offer my apologies -- it's not something I prefer to do, but I'm ready to put this thing in motion!! If any of you need a more concrete hook, let me know via PM or in the discussion thread, and I'll getcha something.

Oh, yeah -- Za-deen needs to give me another Perception check.

And all of our Force-sensitive characters need to make a Force Use skill check, as well.

"Hm... perhaps in a moment. He's got courtiers. It could be contagious," Hayden stops for a moment, a nagging feeling tugging at his senses and distracting him from the words he was putting together in his head.

Force Sense: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20

Force Sense(untrained): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17

Hiding her nervousness, Vadi glances again at Lofkte. Something is making her uneasy, something other than the chance of being discovered by thugs...