Hyperspace Hood Ornaments

[Mav Halo]

[member="Nicair Claden"] [member="Aver Brand"]
​

Kark, the brass pair on this kid. Almost impressive.

Almost.

​

"Recompense is that you get to walk away, alive and under your own power, burc'ya." He rested his head the palm of one of his hands, the other dropping from view without any attempt to be subtle. "And to clear up any misunderstandings that might be rattling around in that leaky brain pan of yours, where I'm from, Vhettiya? When someone calls you a burc'ya, a friend, we generally mean anything but."

There was that expression again. The one that was a smile and yet wasn't all at the same time.

"So how about you get along now, nice and easy, while things remain all nice and civil like."

 

[Aver Brand]

“You want— ?”

Aesor arched an eyebrow behind the dark visor of his buy’ce. Snorted. “Ya gatta learn ta ask nicely, adiik. I don’t owe ya shet.”

He spread his arms – half invitation, half mockery. Stenness was crawling with Clan soldiers by now, all of them ready to mow down a fether at the drop of a dime.

“But sure, eh? Sure.” The Mandalorian shrugged. “It’s been a good day. I’m feelin’ generous.”

He laughed as he made for the door of the joint, gesturing for [member="Kalad Shysa"] to follow. “Ain’t paying ya though. Ya get to keep your head on your shoulders. ‘S more than enough.”

[member="Nicair Claden"]​

 

[Azimuth Industries]

Ootman sat in the corner of the tap cafe, hood worn low enough that only his snout peeked out from beneath. He quietly sipped his caf and strained to listen. Everything was going well, except for the listening part.

Why?

Well I’m glad you asked.

Ootman could hear every word the duo were saying. He just couldn’t understand a stanging word of it.

Perhaps that’s an exaggeration, since the majority of the incomprehensibility came from the big Mandalorian. Fortunately, violence was a universal language and it was hard to miss in the tone of the now trio of beings. With a sense of trepidation, Ootman elected to stay seated, but he had a bad feeling about this.

“Noot noot.”

[member="Aver Brand"] [member="Nicair Claden"] [member="Kalad Shysa"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

"And where I'm from, vod, there isn't a word for friend. No payment suits me just fine, getting off this planet for awhile will be worth it. Bad blood in the streets it seems."

My how arrogant he had become, he liked it to a certain degree. How so very confrontational, his blood kin could be onto something.

[member="Bareesh Kajidic"]
[member="Aver Brand"]
[member="Kalad Shysa"]

 

[Mav Halo]

[member="Aver Brand"] | [member="Bareesh Kajidic"]​

His jaw knotted with visible effort to keep his tongue from adding further fuel to the fire. There was simply no profit, no honour and no glory in slinging further words. Rodach had secured his services. If he wanted the kid along for the ride, Kalad would simply have to acquiesce. At least until either the line of credit ran dry or the shabuir stepped out of line. The nail that stuck out and all that.

"Feth. I should have known this was gonna be trouble the moment you didn't try to quibble over the price." The stool ground out a woody protest as it was pushed back from the table. A plated hand wrapping around the lip of a battered and scarred t-visored helmet, cupping it under arm as the Concordian rose to follow his temporary employer. His gaze flickering only briefly to [member="Nicair Claden"] as he passed on his way out of the tapcaf. The Kubaz trying to vanish in on himself in the corner didn't even get that much. "Fine, naas, I guess saves us picking up bait. Just try to keep up, ad'ika. I ain't getting paid nearly enough to hold your hand."

 

[Aver Brand]

Rodarch said nothing more.

The trek to the docks didn’t seem nearly as long as it was going in. Probably had something to do with the fact that the crowd was mostly dispersed now – armed mercenaries with an itchy trigger finger usually had that effect on people.

Everything was quiet as he led them aboard the Ishmael-class, waving at the understated crew section. There were more of the same mercs in here – grim faced, when they showed their face at all. For the most part they were leaning on the walls of the transport, sitting about the plain metal benches, and cleaning their weapons.

“It’ll be a while ‘till we get in range of one of the wasps,” Aesor spoke once they settled into the far corner of the hold. The muted hiss of docking clamps releasing filtered in through the thick metal hull, and then they were off.

“When it gets hot, we’ll be going in on one of the whalin’ boats back there,” he stuck a thumb over his shoulder towards the smaller vessels in the back. “Us and two other teams’ll be harassin’ the big bastard while old Lemmy here gets in close with the nets.”

He snuggled up to the wall, arms crossed, ready to catch some shut-eye on the ride over. “You got any questions, ask ‘em fast. Elsewise go get some rest.”

[member="Kalad Shysa"] | [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] | [member="Nicair Claden"]​

 

[Nicair Claden]

Nicair followed, there wasn't much he could do about it. He cut short any attempt at small talk, not that any of the mercenaries wanted to engage him. They knew who he was, talking wasn't something he rather enjoyed. Unlike some of the others around him he refused to blatantly sleep and instead opted for a form of meditation he had picked up when he had done some training with the Matukai. The Force had no use to him, but channeling his energy and blatantly avoiding sleep was something he had become adept at, particularly the latter.

This would be an enjoyable time.

[member="Kalad Shysa"] | [member="Aver Brand"] | [member="Bareesh Kajidic"]