Private 4.50 From Juranno | Invite

[Georgia Saint-Germain]

SIREN'S CALL | ALDERA CITY SPACEPORT DISTRICT | EARLY EVENING
​

Brassy notes and the sweet smell of t'bacc greeted Georgia as she opened the door to the Siren's Call, the closest thing to a seedy cantina found in the closest thing to a dodgy end in Aldera. If the intelligence that Georgia had paid dearly for was to be trusted, the place would be her best chance to find someone to smuggle her off the planet with no questions asked, if she had the creds.

Georgia had the creds.

She stepped into the door, letting the coppery slap close behind her, and took off her sunglasses. Giving herself a moment to adjust, she tucked her sunglasses into the neck of her shirt and pulled the thigh-length coat she wore to conceal the blaster tucked into her waistband tighter around herself before venturing in. A few steps took her down to the main level of the bar. It was, like most seedy cantinas in the galaxy, full of a rogue's gallery of assorted species, genders, and (she assumed) intentions and clouded with smoke of varying colors. Booths ringed the large, circular cantina main floor. If the entry doorway was 12 o'clock on the face of an old chrono, gaps in the booths led to small hallways at 2 o'clock, 4 o'clock, 8 o'clock, and 10 o'clock. A bandstand took up the space between 5:30 and 6:30 on opposite side, although there wasn't a band there today. Instead, the jazzy notes she had heard were being piped in from some unseen sound system. Tables dotted the floor except directly in front of the bandstand, between two and four chairs circled around the little tables.

Georgia went to the bar and took one of the many empty stools that ringed the circular bar. The barkeep came around to her, polishing a glass with a clean cloth. "Get you something?" he asked.

"Green Galaxy?" she replied hopefully.

The bartender looked like he was trying not to make a face -- or perhaps he was trying to remember how to make one -- before nodding. "Anything else?" He pointed at a battered menu card that looked like it hadn't been updated since the Great Galactic War some years ago. Georgia took it and ran her eyes down it, then asked for a basket of onion rings with side of spikey sauce. The bartender toddle off to prepare her order, and Georgia gave the room a once-over. Sparsely populated -- around two dozen sentients that she could see in a cantina that could easily fit seventy -- but still somehow smoky. All the right atmosphere for what she wanted to achieve. Straight out of a holofilm set.

It was perfect. Or it trying to look the part. Either way it was too late to back out now.

She reached into her pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She tapped the packet of cigarettes against the butt of her hand a few times so one of the tightly-packed cylinders came out enough to let her seize it with a thumb and forefinger, the tucked it between her lips and lit up. The amber glow of flames briefly illuminated her face before a cloud of smoke obscured it. She took a drag, then slowly exhaled as she reached over to pull an ash tray towards her. She hadn't had a smoke since she'd gotten on the 4.50 from Juranno, some hours ago.

The bartender came by and set the drink and basket of fried goodness in front of her. She set the cigarette in the ash tray so she could procure her wallet, then paid, sure to let him see how generously she tipped. She leaned forward conspiratorially and said softly, "I was told I might find someone here who was interested in a little... extracurricular work. Something without any inconvenient government entanglements." A finely sculpted eyebrow lifted slightly as she pushed the chits across the bar toward him. "Do you know anything about that?"

Dalton Lane​

 

[Dalton Lane]

Georgia Saint-Germain

The barkeep looked her over twice, before making the generous tip disappear in his hand.

"Well, ma'am, I reckon it depends on what kind of poison yar requiring today." The man finally said without stopping his superficial cleaning of the glasses. Anyone with an eye for it could see it was just something to do. Keep his hands busy, while he kept an eye on the joint and made sure no funny business was afoot.

"Group of gentlemen to yar left? Spell out a name and they make it disappear for the right price." His eyes briefly flickering towards a group of Rodians and one Eldorai with facial scarring. "Need some stims enhancing yar abilities? The ladies behind ya playing darts." Crisp looking. Nice suits and with a steady hands on ther darts. Seemed kinda off compared to the wild western vibes of the others.

"Need a package delivered without questions?"

A shrug there. "Got one guy in. Backroom. Only seen him two or three times, but pays his tab so I ain't complaining." Leaning in there conspiratorially like.

"Just some advice, sweetheart. Yar oozing money and nobody be missing the fact ya green as grass. Keep a careful hand on yar purse, 'cus half a dozen eyes already clocked ya for a good robbing, dig?" That last part murmured softly as a secret whisper, before he stepped away and started pouring another drink for a new customer coming up.

He did not spare a second glance at Georgia.

If the latter decided to visit the backroom? She'd find a man sitting at a lone table. Playing cards. With a small floating droid that had about a dozen hands, currently shuffling a deck under the careful watch of the gentleman.

"Now what do we have here?" Around the taste of a thick cigar currently smoking up the room. Dalton Lane most certainly spared Georgia another glance.

 

[Georgia Saint-Germain]

Georgia quirked an eyebrow but didn't otherwise respond to the bartender's commentary. Instead she raised her glass and took a long drink. When the bartender turned away to help the next customer, Georgia glanced towards the direction she had been directed. She didn't move right away; after all she had a basket full of onion rings to finish and they were, quite frankly, delicious. By the time she'd scraped the little cup of spikey sauce clean with the last bit of fried onion, it had been a few minutes. She drained her glass and ordered another before carrying it into the next room.

She wasn't sure what she was looking at when she arrived. Why a man was sitting there alone with a droid with too many hands, currently shuffling a deck of cards. The man at the table looked up and mumbled what passed as a greeting for underworld types, apparently, and Georgia stepped forward, approaching the card table.

"Mind if I sit?" she asked. "I've got a proposition for you. The barkeep said you might be able to help me." She laid a hand on the back of one of the chairs next to the droid, an eyebrow lifting. "A business proposition," she clarified, placing her wallet on the edge of the table under her other hand.

Dalton Lane​

 

[Dalton Lane]

He looked her up and down with clear amusement before inclining his head.

With a scrap the chair opposite him was pushed back. This gave Georgia a place at the seat, coincidentally with a set of cards attached to it, as the droid dealt her in with a bunch as well.

"Did he now? Must be quite the proposition you got then, lil' miss." A pause there briefly. "Quite the business proposition, as you say." Dalton chuckled as he took a sip from his ale and shrugged there. Then he put his cards down for the moment. Something told Lane that this one wasn't much for cards and didn't want her time wasted.

Outlaw shite aside, it had been a while since his last paying job... and this one seemed eager.

Especially with the whole 'putting the wallet down before the talk'-vibe.

"So whatcha got for me. Since ya hitting me up, I suspect you need something moved and need it moved quietly at that." Thoughtful glance there. That could be lucrative, since this was Core-space. High rates because of heightened security. But just what was it this girl was moving? She looked far too clean and... frankly... rich to be involved in anything overtly illicit.

Then again.

Looks could always deceive in his experience.

Georgia Saint-Germain

 

[Georgia Saint-Germain]

Georgia regarded the man opposite her curiously, blue gaze sweeping him up and down before she approached and took the seat that he had pushed out for her. Without being asked, she picked up the hand that had been dealt to her. Not a great hand. Maybe not a terrible one. She supposed it depended on the game.

"I need something moved offworld," said Georgia. "But it's a little more complicated than that. Isn't it always, right? What are we playing, here?" She hefted the cards towards him without showing him the faces. Once they had settled the kind of game being played, she studied the cards and made a selection, tossing a pair back to the table to get another pair back.

She held the cards close to her chest and looked across the table at Dalton. "I need a little more than transport. It's me you're smuggling off Alderaan, you see. Don't worry, I'm not a criminal, unless breaking your parents' hearts is a criminal offense -- and if it's a criminal offense anywhere, it'd be Alderaan, but still I don't think so. I just need to get offworld without any record of my leaving."

She glanced down at the cards when the next round came. A few had changed. One in her favor. Another -- really not. "In addition to safe passage, I'll need someone who can get me some..." Georgia leaned forward and whispered: "Papers." Her eyebrows lofted, as if Lane needed a little more context to her request. "I'm prepared to pay what's fair for those services. What do you say?"

Georgia laid down her hand. It was a decent play -- not unbeatable, but certainly nothing to sneeze at. Her blue eyes fixed on Lane, eyebrow arching in question.

Dalton Lane​

 

[Dalton Lane]

Georgia Saint-Germain

He told her the card name, 'Quantum Fidget' , and briefly explained the rules.

Far less complicated than Pazaak. More a thing to do while bored than anything else. Also playable alone, which made it quite popular with solitary operatives and the works.

"Oh, yeah, almost always more complicated than that." Dalton responded bemused as he looked at his cards and grunted. Then folded. He'd take her in the next run, that one was for sure. For a moment Lane just listened to her, but then blinked when she got to the heart of the ... cards, so to speak. It was her that he'd be smuggling and didn't that just raise all kinds of interesting questions.

One eyebrow went all the way up, but Dalton contained himself.

It didn't really matter - no questions asked, after all.

"A criminal offense? Probably not, cheeka. But... pissing off a rich set of parents can cause all kinds of trouble down the road." This round Dalton won and he smirked in response, before shrugging.

"Papers aren't too hard to get. Get me a name and I can do the rest." He paused there and fixed a look at her in return. "We would have to go right now though. You can't go back to pack anything more, too risky. You ready for that?" If Georgia insisted on going back, that only opened them up to more opportunities of being found out.

Or more people tying her to this place, then to this room and perhaps to him.

None of it ideal.

 

[Georgia Saint-Germain]

"Don't worry," Georgia said, raising a hand in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. "My parents aren't rich. I really doubt they'd hire anyone to stop you, or hunt us down." She leaned back in her chair and shook her head, long brunette tresses shaking along with it. "Here's the deal: my parents have what you might call control issues. I'm a grown adult woman, but they refuse to acknowledge that I can make my own choices. They insist that I stay here and run the family business, but -- "

Georgia sighed and took a deep breath.

"I want more out of life. I want to live before I settle down, you know? But no matter how I've said it, my parents react to my desire to leave Alderaan and make a life for myself with the kind of hand-wringing, pants-wetting histrionics typically reserved for the invasion of Skor II." She rolled her eyes. "So -- don't worry about them, and don't worry about me. I've brought everything I need."

She left out that she had extensive savings stashed away in cyberspace, such that she could purchase any necessities she had forgotten. She tapped her bag and smiled. "As for my assumed identity..." She frowned thoughtfully and leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. "Shall we say, Callista Antares?"

Dalton Lane​

 

[Dalton Lane]

My parents aren't rich.

Said with the confidence of a sentient born in wealth.

Oh, Dalton did not doubt her parents weren't super uber wealthy strata, but they certainly were of means. Which could always become problematic, but lucky for Georgia Saint-Germain Dalton was short on cash and needed this job badly. Even if his pazaak face didn't show any shade of desperation. It was all calm and steady professionalism.

For now.

"And what do your parents do for a living, ma'am?" Curious tone as he pulled up his datapad and ticked in the name 'Callista Antares'. It began to run the cyberware that would start crafting fake credentials for her.

"You got any plans for once we are out? Life ain't that easy and comfortable out there, y'know. It helps to have a plan to get rolling."

Not concern, no ma'am, Dalton didn't do that.

But if Georgia Saint-Germain had a plan and this wasn't half-assed? It would be even less chance of this coming back to bite him in the arse. Which he was a great fan of.

Beep boop.

Dalton looked down and saw the work was done. He pushed the datapad over to Georgia. "Ma'am, meet Callista Antares. Born and raised on the streets of Coronet City, former courier and current scavenger down the Outer Rim. Work for ya, I assume?"

 

[Georgia Saint-Germain]

Georgia closed her eyes and tried not to roll them. What difference did it make what hare parents did? What difference did any of it make?

Unless this gentleman had plans to go back to them with his cap out, offering information to get her back for fair compensation. She internally cringed and opened her eyes. "They're in commerce," she said in a tone that, she hoped, did not invite any more probing questions. They were import-export specialists. A quick datanet search of their names would turn up the company, Galactic Imports, well-regarded by middle-class people for tchotchkies, furnishing, and home goods from far-flung areas of the galaxy.

"Dunno," she replied to his second question. "I don't have any specific plans in mind. Find a job. Do adventures. Why, you got any good leads?"

She drummed her fingers on the table anxiously, casting a glance over her shoulder at the door before reaching over to take the offered datapad. She examined it for a moment, then grinned. "Looks good to me. I don't need to fake a Coronet accent, do I? Not sure I know how. Is it like... twang-y?" Georgia asked with a half-smile.

Dalton Lane​

 

[Dalton Lane]

Georgia Saint-Germain

S'far as Dalton was concerned trying to play a game from two angles was a recipe for disaster.

Sure, he could get her money and then turn around to betray her to her parents. But a) that karked with your reputation in a not so fine way. B) There was no certainty her parents wouldn't just put a bullet in his back afterwards anyway. Rich folk always had a way to marginalize the lives of those they considered beneath them.

Not a roulette ring Dalton was eager to roll.

"Find a... job. Do... adventures." Dalton repeated with just a hint of incredulity. Oh, dear, they were gonna die, weren't they? Well, maybe if Dalton dropped her off and immediately speeded for the horizon, he wouldn't be taken in the afterburn.

Maybe.

"I will put you in contact with some folks who can get you a job." He says with a snort finally before taking the datapad back and beginning the printing procedures. "Nah, you can easily just say the Outer Rim grinded that right outta ya. But yeah, bit of a half-twang and some muddy texture in between, be talking like dis, see?"

The accept appearing and disappearing like a mirage.

"Alright, we are in for business then." Standing up and pocketing the datapad, before handing her the printed fake ID. "If you will follow me." Before stepping over to the backdoor in the room.

"You got anything to wear over your head, a cap or something?" Over his shoulder as he tapped in the key, which made the door slide open in a hiss. Behind it was an empty short corridor that exited into the alleyway behind the bar. It was quiet and that was just as well. Hopefully they would just smoothly slip out and without any fanfare.

 

[Georgia Saint-Germain]

Georgia absorbed the information that the outlaw was providing, her fair eyes widening as he rose and went over to the door. Her breath caught in her throat and she pushed herself up to a standing position, casting a glance over her shoulder at the door back to the main bar. This was it, then. The point of no return. She could either go back into the bar, back into Aldera, return home, live out the docile, dull life that her parents had planned for her -- or she could follow Dalton Lane out into the back alleyway behind the bar and start a new an uncertain life.

After a moment, she hefted her bag over her shoulder, straightened herself, and strode purposefully over to Lane. After a moment of digging in her bag, she pulled a hat she had purchased from the train station, advertising her as a fan of the Crevasse City Caniphants, a shockball team she had never heard of. She pulled it on over her hair and then pulled the bill down to shield her face. "How's this?" she asked, trying to affect the Corellian accent Lane had tried to teach her, glancing up at him hopefully.

With that, they slipped into the alleyway. Georgia -- Callista Antares -- didn't spare another glance back to the bar. There was no going back now. She had her whole life ahead of her; all she had to do was go and take it. "Where are we going?" she asked quietly as they made their way up the alley. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder for comfort.

She wondered if she was ever again going to feel like she wasn't being watched and tracked.

 

[Dalton Lane]

Georgia Saint-Germain

"Caniphant, huh? More of a Fleezos fan myself, but to each their own." Dalton drawled once he saw what kind of hat she was wearing. Nine to ten odds that it wasn't hers. Just something picked up right before this trip, but it amused the man regardless and so the comment was made absently. "Got the jersey and all."

They walked deeper into the alley and Dalton couldn't help but chuckle at her affected accent.

"Not too horrible. You might have a knack for this." He bumped her hip with his as a tease. "Who knows, maybe I can make a smuggler out of you, how does that sound?" A smirk there. The image of neat and organized Georgia getting her hands dirty in the smuggler world was too amusing not to smile out loud.

"Starport. Using one of the maintenance corridors. It will be tight, bit dirty, but I know the crew working it. So we will be able to walk in without being caught on any of the cameras."

Something that was non-negotiable, if they wanted to get off Alderaan without being noticed.

"That way even if your parents call the cops, they won't have a clue where you left, even if they manage to track this bar."

Scary thought, wasn't it?

What did Georgia even know about this man? Enough to put her life in his hands? Pretty risky preposition.

 

[Georgia Saint-Germain]

"I could do it," said Georgia defensively.

She could imagine herself as a swashbuckling smuggler, sneaking in and out of systems. She pictured herself as a smuggler out of the holovids: a romantic figure, a feminine Han Solo stealing from the evil and giving to the good, using her smuggler skills to bring relief or harass enemies. Still, she guessed that if she ever did become a smuggler, it would take time to get herself up to speed, but still. Always good to have something to aim at. There were two ways of looking at it.

Shoot for the moon; that way if you miss you'll end up among the stars.

Or...

When you wish upon a star, you're a few million years late. The star is already dead. Like your dreams.

"It's not so much a matter of 'if'," she informed her companion. "They will call the police. Which is why we need to get offworld -- and out of Alderaan's jurisdiction -- sooner rather than later." Georgia continued along the alleyway. "If it means getting away, I'm not worried about getting my hands dirty, all right?"

She glanced over at him as they passed under a light. "Anyway - tell me about you," she said. "How did you get involved in this lifestyle?"

Dalton Lane​

 

[Dalton Lane]

Georgia Saint-Germain

"Could you?" A glance her way, before his expression broke into a grin.

"Maybe you can at that, who knows?"

Georgia or Callista certainly seemed fierce enough for it. Not afraid of anything, not even walking into a random bar and then following a disreputable smuggler out of the backdoor. In a career where guts was seven-ninth's the law... that could get her far, if she was serious about it. Not that it really mattered to Dalton.

Do the job, get paid, move on.

That was the name of the game.

"Well, darling, I didn't have much a choice innit." As he guided her down another corridor, before Georgia got the distinct sensation of them moving up and towards the starport. The sounds of ships in the distance and growing louder at that. "Born to a pirate father and a bartender momma, I lived my life around ships."

A shrug.

"Dad bit the lead early on. Corellian Defense knocking him down. Ma didn't have two coins to rub together, so I was mostly on my own. Stole my first ship when I was four and ten. Did my first shipment a week later. First worked for the Hutts of Nar Shaddaa for a few years. Before ending back up in the Core Worlds, when first Republic-Sith war heated up." That memory made him grin alright. "Lots of cash to be made when a conflict like that pops up, y'know?"

Without further ado the smuggler kicked a panel... and suddenly the wall gave way. On the other side? The starport. The sounds suddenly much louder now.

"After you, miss, my ship is right ahead." Following right after her to a pretty decent-looking Corellian-made freighter. "And what about you? What made you finally say 'nah, fuck your comfortable house and rules, imma make my own way in life'?"

 

[Georgia Saint-Germain]

As she listened to Dalton Lane's sad story, she couldn't help but feel a little sad. He was like a ragamuffin right off the holovision. The only thing missing was being a Corellian orphan, complete with blood stripe. It sounded like a hardscrabble life. It was not lost on her that she had a comparatively idyllic upbringing. She'd never gone hungry, never wanted for much in life. It simply came at too high a price: her independence. Her parents seemed to think she was created for their purposes: the family business. It wasn't fair, she thought, and perhaps it made her look foolish to the man helping in her escape.

Maybe he was right. Walking away from a life of relative comfort and safety just because it wasn't fulfilling was a luxury few had.

"How terrible," she said, her brows furrowing as she absorbed his story. "Working for the Hutts -- I can't imagine anything worse." Georgia tried to repress a shudder and didn't quite succeed. The Hutts were legendary throughout the galaxy for being slimy, both literally and metaphorically, and she couldn't imagine having to interact with one. Perhaps with several layers of intermediaries -- or protective equipment like hazardous material suits.

Maybe both.

She stood back and watched as Lane kicked a panel open, eyebrow cocking curiously. "My, you're full of surprises," said Georgia before ducking into the newly opened secret door. As they emerged into the docking bay, "Oh... well, I suppose it was when my parents told me about opening a new regional headquarters in Juranno. They told me I was moving to Juranno, a city on another continent, and expected me to pick up and go by the end of the week. They never asked me." This was clearly irritating to her, as her nostrils flared irritably. "Anyway. Nice ship. Looks solid. What is it?"

Dalton Lane​