Background & Context

[Loske Treicolt]

Somewhere between Azurbani (Inner Rim) System and the Outer Rim;​

The plan was simple: Rid their experiment without being responsible for the loss.

Where better to lose someone than Nar Shaddaa? The armpit of the galaxy was pretty much a one-way ticket for those who weren’t capable of surviving and what better way to test the skills of their specimen? There were two ultimatums to prove or disprove their hypothesis - with no room for any false positives (Ultimatum was not a scientific term, but it fit the purpose

1.) She made it off this planet, and into something, then they could pocket that success internally.

2.) And if not — well, they were scientists, not murderers. They would not be held responsible for her demise (save for what they had told the Jedi Masters who had donated their DNA for experimentation). The record shows disposal, although the method was vague.

—

Nar Shaddaa; ​

Loske was dizzy.

If she knew what a hangover was, she might relate this feeling to the after-effects of a riotous night shared with toxic elixirs tainting her system. Alas, that was not a memory injected nor a test situation she’d been exposed to.

“Ha-ha, those jokers..” she kept muttering, staggering out of the dimly lit station.

A growl reminded her on the necessity of the task she thought was her primary inspiration. An unknown inheritance from [member="Marcello Matteo"]. Again, she couldn’t remember. It was like a dream, and she was super disconnected. She could see where she was (although the lighting was not conducive) — she could hear the noise of conversation and shouting. She could smell the different fluids that contributed to the atmosphere of the hangar she found herself in. All her senses were alert, this was certainly real.

It just..

felt so disorienting.

“Ha-ha, those jokers.” She murmured again, reassuring herself that her squadron was playing another prank on her. as memory served, they always did that to her. “Next time - I’ll be laughing.” She snapped an elastic from her wrist and around her blonde strands, pulling them from her face. For such a dark, damp location — there was certainly a sticky sort of heat associated with the area. She was convinced she knew what was going on. Her squadron, a rally of humour, had robbed her of her ship and, as she pat herself down for discovery, and her credits. A late initiation and an internal prank of sorts. Maybe after this meant she’d be fully qualified to cross over to the Galactic Alliance’s forces. A final pat served her relief, discovering that at least her documents were in possession.

Stomach served as a compass, and the first diner she came across would be her salvation. The place wasn’t nice by any standard - Nar Shaddaa or not; but it was quite full, which served as some sort of standard for scaling the edibility of the menu.

“Cover fee.” A droid bleeped intrusively at her, rolling into Loske’s athletic frame and hardly giving her any time to step out of the way.

“What? For a diner?”

“Cover fee.” It repeated, stubbornly.

“That seems a little ridiculous. I’m just hungry.”

“Cover fee, or scram.”

“But I don’t know where I am…” the droid didn’t seem to care, so curiosity egged her to pursue the question of “--how much?”



[member="Greyson"]

 

[Long Gone]

Nar Shaddaa.

A place he had learned to call home.

Well, for the time being, he never truly knew where home was or who was his family. Part of his problem adjusting when the war was at its height. When the Omega Protectorate was knee deep in the mix. Greyson sighed and continued to scrub a pot before chucking it across the way and into a pile of clean dishes. The loud clanking noise reverberated through the empty kitchen. “And now this is what I do...” Instead of bashing in skulls of creatures from darkness and beyond, killing Sith soldiers and more – he washed dishes. A simple life for a simple man. Greyson took a moment to look out of the back of the kitchen and into the diner itself – an eyebrow raising as he spotted a very unique scene for a slumhole like this.

A young blonde, a pretty one at that – talking to the stupid waiter droid. Well, she appeared to be arguing with it? Or maybe bargaining. Greyson sighed and grabbed his towel, drying his hands before throwing it over his shoulder. He picked up his half-lit cigar off the counter and put it in his mouth, walking out of the back and into the main diner. He puffed on it once, letting a plume of smoke fill the air and billow behind him as he walked the line of the counter – listening to the conversation between the blonde and the droid.

‘Broke, eh?’

‘No, damnit, ain’t your problem.’ Greyson grumbled as he came to a stop at the end of the counter, leaning against it, puffing away at the cigar. A Rodian patron next to him began to grumble causing Greyson to look at him and then the girl again before a hand came to his mouth, withdrawing the cigar and promptly dropping it in his cup of blue milk. “Shove off, you green piece of shit.” The Rodian began to promptly curse back and left the counter in a huff, throwing credits at the plate in disgust. Greyson was intrigued at this point.

What was a girl like that – doing in a garbage dump like this? Not that he was intrigued to a point to hit on her, just you didn’t find girls like that running around in this part of town.

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Slender shoulders sagged at the admittance of the cost. Nervously, Loske scratched the back of her neck; reaching over the heightened collar of her leather flight jacket.

“Euh, yeah.” She drawled, prefixing her admittance to lacking funds with a slow approach. “How about we make a trade or something, I’m starving. I’ll do your dishes, even!” Her desperation was exaggerated with her gesturing and over-emphatic eye rolling upward, opposite to her shoulders sinking deeper to the ground.

The droid almost short circuited. “Dishwasher previously acquired. Beat it, meat bag.”

“Come on, please!”

At this point, the droid reached out now — clamping it’s….clamps onto Loske’s shoulders and spinning her around forcefully.
Shocked and frustrated, the girl sputtered. Something within her sputtered as well, coursing through her veins and tickling at the droid’s fingertips like a little spark at the tips of its metal grip on the teenager.

It beeped agitatedly, surprised by the shock it had incurred and gave a forceful push. Something within Loske bubbled, but she immediately quelled it; putting on a backward step and a pouted lip.

“Please?"


[member="Greyson"]

 

[Long Gone]

"Alright, alright." He waved a hand and stepped forward, touching 3-LON on the shoulder. "Quit being such a rust bucket." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a few credits and slammed them down onto the tray. "Kid's gotta eat, don't be such an emotionless - droid." He stared at the droid for a moment before gesturing to Loske. "Come on kid. A spot just opened up..." The particular spot, belonged to the departing Rodian. "I'll get you something better than the garbage on the menu." He gave her a cocky grin before moving over to the counter, clearing off the remnants of where the Rodian patron was. He whipped out a dishrag and began cleaning it off before disappearing into the kitchen with a small pile of plates.

A service droid, a female one at that would roll up beside the counter - waiting patiently for Loske to take her seat. "Come on sweetie, have a seat. It appears Grey has a soft spot for ya." She said with a southern systems accent.

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

As if the heavens had opened up, an angel of mercy stepped into the fray.

“Are you sure?” Loske interrupted, and since he didn’t seem to second-guess his actions. In fact, he seemed to be kind of authoritative about the whole thing; which made her rigid and feel like she had to stand to attention.

“Gee, thanks so much.” He worked quickly, trading spaces with another droid which made Loske cringe initially. Thankfully, she was more kindred than the other. Long legs stretched and she adjusted herself to the leather, wiggling slightly to keep from tipping over on the stool. She was sometimes surprisingly uncoordinated for someone her age.

“I mean, I’ll have anything. I don’t want him to spend more than he has to.”

Too bad she had an insatiable appetite. “Whatever’s recommended.” She straightened, grinned and slapped both palms on the countertop.

“Whatever Grey suggests.” Her ponytail swayed with the enthusiasm of the girl, who’d desperation had shifted to joy.

"His name is Grey right, that's who you're referring to?"


[member="Greyson"]

 

[Long Gone]

"Greyson..." He said as he pushed out the doors from the kitchen holding a steaming plate.

He'd come and set the plate down before her and nod to Dotty. "Make sure she gets whatever she wants to drink - and if she wants more, let me know." On the plate was a rather large helping of Bantha steak and potatoes and a variety of vegetables. It was rather high-class for this sort of establishment. "We have a little stock of specialty items for special guests." He chuckled softly and patted the counter next to the girl. "Just let Dotty know what you want to drink and she'll take care of you." He gave her a nod before moving back into the kitchen without another word. DOT-4 or Dotty leaned down and pulled out a small datapad.

"So what can I get for ya hun?"

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Blue eyes widened in appreciation as steam stung her skin, the dampness immediately noticeable in the otherwise dry, but thick, air of Nar Shaddaa. It was the most pleasant smell she’d been exposed to since she woke up. Her lips curved into an ‘o’ shape as she reached for cutlery, nimbly scooping the knife and fork up.

“Thank you so much, I honestly owe you big time Mr. [member=Greyson] .” Knife plunged into the juicy meat of the Bantha, and Loske could feel the saliva of anticipation building up in her throat. For such a skinny girl, she had the appetite of a pregnant Wampa. A trait inherited from her DNA-injections, but unbeknownst to her.

“Water, water is great. That’s totally awesome, thank you.”

The fork met the knife now, and the sawing began. “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t remember anything, but I’m pretty sure my squad is toying with me.”

Chomp. Chew.

“Oh yeah, I’m Loske by the way. Loske Matson — I fly stuff for The Republic.”

Should she be saying that so loudly here? “Or, I did. Looking to change my roles around a bit. Not sure how that involves Nar Shaddaa though..”

Her light eyes ignited with realization "Maybe this isn't initiation, my former squad is probz pretty irate right about now." The cultery collapsed. "Probably deserved desolation punishment."

 

[Long Gone]

Greyson re-emerged from the kitchen with a handtowel wrapped about his hands.

“Uh-huh, the Republic? Right kid, you are quite a bit away from home.” He shrugged and tossed the towel over his right shoulder before leaning on the counter infront of her. Dotty would of course – bring the water as the young girl requested before moving on to serve other patrons. Greyson simply watched as the young girl devoured the plate before him.

“You’re acting like you haven’t ate in quite a while – you sure that’s what you do for a living? Nobody knocked you over the head recently have they?” He said as he tilted his head from side to side, examining her blonde hair, looking for some sign of trauma. This girl wasn’t telling the truth about something, there was no way a girl of that size could put down a plate like that – and have steady work. None of that made any sense. Ontop of all that – what in the hell was she doing here?

Greyson scratched the side of his head before reaching out towards Loske. “Lemme see that ID, kid.”

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

"Ha!" Loske offered between swallows. The food was delicious! "I always eat like this." Her fork swirled around the surface of the plate, gesturing to the disappearing contents of the meal. "Appetite like a growing boy they say." (Lie. Comments pulled from admonishes to Marcello as a teen). “So my earnest compliments to the chef.”

At this point, the dotty rolled back out and clunked the base of the glass against the counter; the adam’s ale inside sloshing slightly but not breaching the rim.
Stuffed cheeks, the teenager grinned heartily “Thank you!”

Before she could suck some water down though, [member="Greyson Terrik"] asked to see her credentials and she fought a frown. Why did he want to see her papers? Why was everyone here so shady?

“Uh, okay.” He sounded suspicious. And technically he had a right to. He’d just given her admittance to nutrition she’d otherwise be denied; she wasn’t really in a position for denial.

A twist of her torso, and she produced a datachip that had been pressed against her lungs. “Loske Matson, fresh Republic Air Force graduate, Squadron Assignment — classified.”

She leaned on a single elbow, winking heavily. “That means I’m really good.”