Faction Breakwater | Rebels

[Aderyn Acair]

[THE REBEL ALLIANCE]

RALLTIIR - THE NORTHERN OCEAN
BREAKWATER - REBEL ALLIANCE RUSTBUCKET SHIP
THE PRESENT DAY

OOC NOTE:
Welcome to the Rebel Alliance!

This is our first faction social thread. The idea is that we have this large, mobile base that we are outfitting for use.
There's plenty of work to be done, but also plenty of play. You could be a new arrival, or someone who was part of
our 'origin story' thread at Borleias, Once Upon a Time, or anything in between. Assume if you've been entrusted
with the location of this top secret rebel base, you have been deemed trustworthy. Join our Discord to discuss!

---
​

"We've simply got to get it moved faster," Aderyn told the cargo chief, shaking her head, her voice raised over the sound of wind, surf, and engines. The wind whipped her dark hair around her head, completely undermining the air of leadership she was trying to convey, and the fact that she kept trying to swipe curling tendrils back in place wasn't helping matters. "If we've got traffic queued into orbit sooner or later someone is going to notice and start asking questions!"

"They're going as fast as they can, Senator," the cargo chief said impatiently. His gaze shifted around the broad top deck of the ancient aircraft carrier, from the far end of the runway where a light freighter was disgorging its cargo -- the last of its three dozen or so crates was waiting at the top of the ramp for the unloaders -- to the close end, where a controller was waving a pair of lighted torches to guide another freighter in for landing. "Until that cargo lift is repaired, we'll have a bottleneck. No way around it."

Aderyn opened her mouth to respond and immediately had to tug a mouthful of her hair from it. "I know," she called over the whining of repulsors. "I'm working on it, I promise. There was the trivial matter of making sure this thing didn't sink to handle, you understand."

"That's bottom-boat stuff," the cargo chief said. "I'm top-boat stuff."

"Understood," Aderyn said. "Well -- do what you can and I'll see to that cargo lift."

The cargo chief grunted and turned to walk away. Aderyn watched him, sighing inwardly. This was going to be a tough road to hoe. She turned herself and headed back toward the superstructure, where she climbed the stairs to the forward command center. It was quieter here, although a spot where one of the windows had broken allowed the wind to whistle through occasionally. "Senator," the communications officer said as Aderyn ducked through the hatch. "Some good news. Thirty percent of our early-warning sensors are online, and sixty percent of our adaptive camouflage is functioning."

"Thirty percent?" Aderyn echoed. "How is that good news?"

"This morning it was eight," the communications officer said cheerfully. "And sixty percent of adaptive camouflage? I mean... they'll still see us if they look, but they might be confused to see only forty percent of this wreck long enough for us to scramble fighters."

"Reassuring," the Senator said. "Keep at it. And can you find the mechanical engineer and tell them we really, really need that force-damned cargo lift sorted?"

"Will do," said the communications officer. Her cheerfulness was almost sickening, but Aderyn forced herself to view it positively. There had to be some positivity here.

"Keep up the good work," Aderyn said. "I need to keep moving. See what other fresh hell I can find before nightfall."

And she did.

OPEN TO INTERACTIONS​

 

[Lucan Mecetti]

Aderyn Acair @Everyone

Lucan Mecetti was a long way from home, both in time and space, but even then it kept shocking him how low the pit was that he found himself in. From the illustrious halls of House Mecetti to the more rustic abodes of the New Jedi Order, to now being part of a rust-bucket out on the sea on a random planet.

It had been easy to swear he'd fight for justice and honor when he could still reliably get access to some family funds. But now his leathers were starting to wane, he was running out of silk and they weren't making the shampoo anymore either that his hair had grown accustomed too.

At least I still have my honor. Lucan thought to himself as he sat on the railing of the ship, watching it cleave through the waters like a knife through butter.

Sure, you can't eat honor. You can't wear it like a pretty fur cloak when its cold either. You can't get drunk on honor. But it is mine anyway, which is all that matters.

Being part of the rebels had felt like a more glorious pursuit when he had met his fellow conspirators and anarchists on Borleias.

But what was the alternative? The Empire had caused the collapse of the Alliance and the New Jedi Order. Then the Covenant had destroyed the Empire and slaughtered his family to boot. That was the the most frustrating part. Knowing that there was no choice, that it had been made for him, while he was away on missions.

"If only we had a budget for better meals." He muttered to himself as he bit off a piece of the nutrition bar that was part of the standard Rebel equipment.

It tasted like pine tar.

But at least it would give him the energy to keep complaining, that was better than nothing.

 

[Nej Tane]

RALLTIIR - THE NORTHERN OCEAN
BREAKWATER - REBEL ALLIANCE RUSTBUCKET """SHIP"""

Nej Tane, was a lot of things.

He'd shot Jedi, fought Sith, fell in love with Jedi, had fragile alliances, become a Mandalorian Governor, was technically the ruler of a planet (albeit, a dead one), and- obscenely wealthy. Billions with a "B" in credits. However, even he, felt compelled by the recent events to do something. This of course, was the norm of the galaxy in his eyes. He'd been alive for a great long while now- nearly 70 years, and still going strong. The Morellian had a habit of trouble, a knack for shooting, and a penchant to rebel, to live life on the edges. And he was a sucker for the little guy.

Whole galaxy seemed like the little guy. Same players, same rules, same story. But maybe this time he'd be doing something about it, or at least, causing enough trouble to keep himself in the fight again. He wanted that fight again, he wanted that thrill. Every want and need he ever had was met, so he needed something deeper, something with meaning, some kinda pizazz.

So, in his nice hip-length oilcoat and tapping the Enforcer pistol in a crossdraw on his belt, he looked around the Rebel Alliance's new digs after landing The Lucid Dream after quite a lengthy vetting and landing request process. And... he hated it. It smelled bad, looked bad, and the people looked about the same. Cargo crews and the like were all in high spirits, despite their surroundings. He had to give them credit, the pilots, soldiers, Jedi and the who's-who of the goody-two-shoe world was coming here. The little guys waving wands and loading boxes surely had no hope if they were captured by the Empire, or any one of the people they were up against.

Nej walked past a cargo crate team, pushing some strawberry blonde hair out of his face and letting it rest above his head, before he stopped and looked around. The ocean breeze whipped through his hair and coat, knocking his unkempt mop around a little, flailing his coat in the wind while he stood and assessed the state of the crew and those around him.

Rebels rebels everywhere.... or at least, some rebels. He wondered how much of the fighting had been done yet, or what was yet just posturing and grandstanding, what was rhetoric and what was action. He had never really been a fan of the Alliance, and from the looks of it, most of the people here were Alliance, formerly. The current Alliance he'd already had to dodge a few times. But he had something to give them, to get them actionable.

He was here, despite his appearance and armament, to do something curious:

Be charitable and give a shitload of money to the Alliance. Nej had... a few million credits, non-traceable and physical, in the cargo bay of his ship. Approximately, he guessed, by the pile of money he took out of the bank, close to 90 million. Not a lot, but not a small amount either. And he'd been trying to get ahold of someone to talk to, but the freight crews were too busy, or referred them to their supervisors. Dock crew supervisors that didn't exist, were also too busy, or didn't want to talk to him. One little bastard even said something like "Morellian bastard". Which, that one hurt. How'd he even know?

Unless he knew Nej personally or by reputation, which, that also would still hurt his feelings.

Nej was still trying to talk to someone, wandering about the hangar- and then, later, the corridors of the illustrious ship.

That smelled bad.

​

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

EPISODE – Entry # 11
Location: – Breakwater, wherever it is… I don’t know… BRED does this.
Assigned Craft: My X-wing or My Other One Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Confused.
Background Noise: I can’t hear anything over the spherical Diva.

[I don’t know what you want me to do here, boss? This place feels like I’m about to fall through any bulkhead I lean against.] He was talking to his superior, Admiral Gym Halpern(ret) through comms. It was not the most pleasant of conversations but that was not because he did not enjoy speaking with the man he knew all of his life, it was because he was wary of the vessel he was standing on.

[Then don’t lean against the bulkhead, Michael.]

Wooo-beep

Shut up! [No, not you sir. My astromech. What should I do?]

[See if we can help. I’m sure Pehnataur would be willing to set up a meet.] He of course was referring to Thexann Pehnataur, the COO of GAL Ltd. and former Alliance Senator in his own right.

CUTTO SCENE - Michael and BRED were standing on the deck, looking out at their X-wing. This has been a difficult day.
Wooo-beep

Be nice.
Weep-boop

Walking down the hallway, he was struck by the sheer scale of the ship, and the number of people milling about. It felt less like a military vessel and more like a city in motion. Is this what they were reduced to? A floating refugee camp? The thought gnawed at him as he passed groups of civilians huddled together, their faces etched with exhaustion and not much further having passed deck crews, and maintenance teams scurrying to keep the aging hull afloat.

This reminded him of the Hidden Path. The makeshift shelters, the constant movement, the fear. One thing that was different was the face that there could be resources offered, not a lot, but enough to keep them going for awhile. The Path had been a desperate scramble for survival, and perhaps that was what this was, too, just on a grander scale.

TAG: Aderyn Acair , Lucan Mecetti , Nej Tane

CUTTO SCENE - This is where he is speaking in a different setting, as if recapping what he had just seen on a holovid
Wooo-beep

 

[Aderyn Acair]

Aderyn ran into Nej Tane quite by accident. He was rounding a corner of the corridor just as she was coming from the opposite end, and she shoulder-checked him because she was busy trying to flip through a fistful of flimsis. She staggered back, free hand going to her shoulder as she grunted, then her hand went out to him, as if to steady Nej.

"Sorry -- sorry, my fault," she said hurriedly, her voice which usually featured a gentle Core Alsakan accent was thick from exhaustion and quiet. "I'm not used to this place yet. But that's all the more reason to be paying attention to where I'm going." She folded the flimsis and tucked them into the inside pocket of her jacket.

"Are you all right? Do you need something?"

Nej Tane​

 

[Nej Tane]

Aderyn Acair

Nej looked over at the woman approaching. And then looked a little more.....

He looked up and down, up and down, up and down- flicking eyes sizing her up, and... also sizing her up. Her accent was obvious, if not her situation. He knew her type right away, she was a politician or someone in office at some point. All managers, whether it be at a company or trying to manage people and governments, felt the same.

"Hopefully you won't be here too long, then. I sure as hell don't hope to be. But-" Nej's hands flicked, moving fast as lightning. It was easy to see why he was considered one of the faster guns in the galaxy, if not one of the quickest. His fingers released the credit chit, tossing it towards her. It flung through the air, whistling with the credit chit. Imperial marks, standard across most of the galaxy now. Physical, so no tracing. And washed, cleaned, laundered.

"Nej Tane, pleasure to meet you. I've got about- 90 million, give or take, in the hull of my ship. My gift, to the Rebels."

He said with a grin, pushing some strawberry-blonde out of his baby blues. He had his own beliefs about governments and what they were trying to build, but, the anarchist in Nej loved the idea of rebellion.

​

 

[Aderyn Acair]

"Well, we take what we can get for the moment," the Senator said with a half-smirk. It was hard to defend Breakwater as a pleasant place to be, given it seemed to be as much rust as bulkhead, but it was at least safe. It wouldn't sink (probably) and wouldn't be noticed by any Sith or Imperial interests (hopefully) and it would be a safe place to keep supplies and civilians until they got their porgs in a row (theoretically). But nobody seemed happy with it.

She had thought it was at least a cool setpiece for a rag-tag bunch of rebels, but maybe she'd just read too many novels.

Aderyn's hand instinctively reached out for the chit as it sailed through the air, flicked gracefully by Nej's fair hand. She caught it but barely; her reflexes were slightly dulled by the exhaustion of it all. She looked at it as if it would have a label of its contents written helpfully on its exterior, but no dice. Then Nej explained who he was and what he'd thrown her way, and her dark eyes widened, then narrowed.

"Is this some kind of joke, Tane?" she asked, flipping the chit this way and that. "Ninety -- " She lowered her voice, leaning closer, her words becoming a hiss: "Ninety million credits? What -- what do you mean by it?"

She frowned at the chit, made a note not to plug it into anything until it had been scanned thoroughly. "Would you come with me, please?" They needed to see Sol Stazi .

Nej Tane​

 

[Nej Tane]

Nej followed the woman, taking in as many details as the ship he was on as possible, observing the general state of it, following the woman. He thought for a while to her question, rubbing his stubble-covered chin before shrugging. They were off to meet someone else, that was obvious. Someone who probably was more equipped to deal with his generous donation.

"Ninety million credits? What -- what do you mean by it?"

"I have a couple billion lying around, owning a planet and all-" He said it so casually that it was obviously true. "So, I figured that you all, despite my many disagreements with governments as a whole... I don't exactly like the current ones either." He was led through more of the ship, passing corridors of people adjusting, or building, repairing, or planning and stockpiling. They were transforming this place, refitting it and making it somewhat decent. Or at least, at worst, trying to.

"Comes with a catch though, miss."

Aderyn Acair

​

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAGS: Nej Tane Aderyn Acair Michael Angellus Lucan Mecetti​

Jonyna had kept her distance from the burgening Rebel Alliance. Her focus had been on the Wild Space Rebellion, but with that fizzling out into a series of spotted cells across a wild eastern span of the galaxy, she knew it was time for her to make herself known.

Standing on the Breakwater, she looked to the others for a moment before...

Feeling at home. A feeling she hadn't felt in a long while.

"So this is the Rebel Alliance, eh?" She asked as she walked into the room, between a smuggler-king and a former senator.

This was what she wanted the rebellion to look like. Everyone equals. No matter where they came from.

 

[Ria Misrani]

The Jorus Merrill came in low over the Northern Ocean, and Ria didn't like a single thing about the approach.

A queue. An actual queue of freighters stacked up over open water, waiting their turn at a landing deck that, she could see even from here, was missing about a third of the lights it should've had. Somebody was waving glow-torches around like it was the dark ages. If she could see all this on a passive sweep from two klicks out, so could anybody else with a scanner and a bad attitude. Subtle, she thought. Real subtle, you beautiful disaster.

She put the freighter down where she always did, at the edge, away from the crush, in the spot nobody was watching, and sat for a moment in the cockpit, listening to the base's comms bleed across the open bands. It wasn't hard. Half their channels weren't even encrypted. She heard a harried voice arguing about a cargo lift. Heard somebody else report sensors limping along at thirty percent, camouflage at sixty, with the particular forced brightness of a person trying very hard not to scream.

Easier to be a cat about all this. Curl up somewhere warm, let the rust-bucket sort out its own problems.

She got up anyway.

The thing was, Ria knew this kind of place in her bones, a half-dead ship full of people held together by spite and improvisation, every system one bad day from failure. She'd grown up in the guts of ships like this. She'd survived in the guts of ships like this. And a broken machine was, frankly, the only social situation in the galaxy she fully understood. Machines didn't want anything from you. You either fixed them or you didn't.

So she shouldered her kit, walked down the ramp into the salt wind, and went looking for the cargo lift instead of looking for a person, because the lift wouldn't make small talk.

She found it bottlenecked exactly where she'd expected, crates stacked up, crew standing around it wearing the specific expression of people who'd been told to fix something three pay grades above them. Ria didn't ask permission. She'd learned a long time ago that permission was just an opportunity for someone to say no. She crouched, popped the access panel, and let the diagnostics spill across her slicing kit's little screen in a waterfall of fault codes.

"Huh," she muttered. Not the lift motor. The controller. Some genius had let a logic board corrode in the sea air and the whole assembly had been throwing itself into a safety lockout for, she checked the timestamp, days. They'd been hauling crates up a stairwell by hand for days because of a part that cost less than lunch.

She got to work. Old reflexes. Her fingers knew the shape of this even when the rest of her would rather be anywhere else.

It was somewhere around the point where the lift groaned, shuddered, and lurched back into grinding, beautiful life, to a ragged cheer from the stunned cargo crew that Ria became aware she'd acquired an audience. She didn't turn around right away. Turning around fast was how you got shot. She closed the panel, wiped her hands on her jacket, and stood, already composing the dry, unbothered expression of a woman who'd rather not explain herself.

"Before anyone asks," she said, more casually than she should've, "nobody let me aboard. Your perimeter's a sieve and your comms are wide open, I heard your whole maintenance list from two klicks out, which you should probably do something about." She took a breath and went on. "You're welcome, by the way. Logic board's corroded; I jury-rigged it, but it'll fail again unless somebody seals the housing against the salt. This is a boat. On an ocean. Somebody should've thought of that."

Then, because the face in the small picture they'd given her at Borleias had stuck, she was good with faces, you had to be, she added, a little dryer, a little quieter:

"Senator Acair around? Tell her the slicer from the bunker came to collect on the part where she didn't shoot me."

Aderyn Acair​

 

[Aderyn Acair]

Aderyn stopped, looked down at the chit in her hand, then back up to Nej, her dark eyes faintly twinkling with humor.

"Now there's a catch?" she asked. "Now? After you already handed over the money? Oh, there will be encryption. Of course. Well all right. Come along."

The Senator continued along the corridor, took a left and then went down the stairs.

"Why do I know that name, by the way?" she asked. "Nej. Nej Tane." She rolled the name around in her mouth like it was a wine for which she was trying to identify the tasting notes. "That kind of money -- political benefactor, perhaps? But -- no -- that doesn't make sense. You're not one of the Alliance's most wanted, are you?"

She paused at a doorway to allow a trio of rebel troops to come through the hatch, then proceeded once the way was clear. "Not that that matters a jot at this point." Aderyn stopped at another hatch, levered it open, and then gestured for Nej to enter. As she followed him in, someone chirped through to her comlink, advising her that the slicer from the bunker was looking for her.

"Never a dull moment," she told Nej, apologetic. She raised her comlink to her mouth. "I'm in 5-Aurek-3. Show her down. Does anyone have eyes on Stasi? He'll want to hear about this." She clipped her comlink back to her belt and leaned against the table that dominated the room which turned out to be a conference room. "All right, Nej Tane, what's the catch?"

Her eyes cut to the door as a stranger walked in. So this is the Rebel Alliance, eh? Aderyn glanced the feline woman up and down briefly. "I don't know if that's what we're calling ourselves, but it's as good a description as any. Who might you be?"

Nej Tane | Ria Misrani | Jonyna Si​