I Ain't Afraid Of No Stinkin' Vagrants

[Hannibal Oryen]

@[member="Triko"] | @[member="Kush"] | @[member="Juthan'Athar"]

IN ORBIT OF DRESSEL, MOREAU STATION
DOCKING BAY 21-C

Some folks had said Hannibal was crazy for taking in this particular bounty. Hannibal didn't like that word. He liked "ambitious." Yeah, that had a nice ring to it. However, Hannibal wasn't so ambitious that he was going this thing alone. No, he had a couple of friends this time. And a three-way split of a one million Credit bounty would set him for a good while. One was a Jawa which somehow managed to have a crazy look about it. Then there was a human- some kind of criminal or something. The final guy was a Chiss or something. Blue, red eyes. Frankly, Hannibal did not like to get hung up on such details as the specific profession and level of sanity of the people he was working with. They could hold their blasters without dropping them. Good enough.

Getting help wasn't the problem. Figuring out where the sorry sucker with a one million credit bounty was hiding out was. That Merrill guy had made himself a household name on the Mara Corridor. Probably had an emotional investment in it. Plus, he did a lot of flying. Either he was here or he had been here. As good a start in this investigation as any. Hannibal descended down the ramp of his KR-TB Doomtreader, Negative Perspiration, into the spacious hangar bay the fine folks at Moreau Station had designated "21-C." It had been a tight fit landing in here- a luxury shuttle was already taking up some of the space. There wouldn't be room for much else.

"Uh, excuse me, sir?" An Aqualish station attendant scurried towards Hannibal, datapad in hand. Hannibal did not care for Aqualish. They looked like they were supposed to smell bad. In fact, they often did. "You can't land in here, this landing bay is for the station administrator. We tried to h-h-h-uh, uh, uh..."

The attendant trailed off after Hannibal withdrew his Woebringer Pistol and pressed it between his eyes. He was probably going to say that he tried to hail Hannibal prior to the Negative Perspiration's landing in the hangar. That was true, Hannibal had just ignored it.

"Ay, Copernicus. Go get the station administrator and bring 'im down here." Hannibal ordered, pressing the pistol further into the Aqualish's skull for emphasis. He walked forward, and the Aqualish moved backwards to accommodate. "No funny business, or else. I got a few questions for the guy."

He withdrew the pistol from the Aqualish's skull, prompting him to scurry back towards the exit to fetch the station's administrator. Hannibal cast a quick look around the docking bay. Plenty of crates and storage containers despite the apparent low-usage of the place. Those would come in handy if a firefight broke out. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that- Hannibal just wanted what he came for and then he could be on his merry way to someplace that actually mattered.

Still, he holstered the pistol and slung his CC-13 rifle off his back. Never hurt to be prepared. He turned back to his ship, giving a sharp whistle to his passengers.

"Alright, gentlemen, it's showtime. Get out here."

 

[Aithne Charr]

Juthan stood, letting his robes that he had decided to wear flow down and shroud nearly every part of his body and denying view of his features or the saber clipped behind him. He then pulled up his hood up and walked out of the ship after making sure the hood hid his face. If this went sour he would not be caught with his face on a camera unless need it come to that and he sure as hell wasn't going to appear right out of the bat threatening like the others on the ship. Sometimes assassinations and kidnappings took a, precision and subtle nature to them, and this was one of those times in Juthans mind. He was also careful to hunch his back and suppress his force signature as he walked of to the side to remain inconspicuous. He did keep an earpiece in and also had his back up communication system, a Qom Jha that traveled with him named Ally of Outsider whom could transmit messages to the others should he need be even more inconspicuous. The whole point of separating from the group and keeping well away to be unassociated with them, yet still close enough to observe them, was all in case the man they were after tried to escape or there was an opening for Juthan to finish the job once and for all. Divide and conquer, that is how you reap the benefits of war. Or well in this case an assassination.
@[member="Hannibal Oryen"] @[member="Triko"] @[member="Kush"]

 

[Triko]

@[member="Hannibal Oryen"] | @[member="Juthan'Athar"] | @[member="Kush"]

Triko, like your average mentally-damaged, one meter-tall mass-murderer, was effectively a walking armoury as he stepped after the people? things? he was currently doing something with.

He really didn't know much of anything. Especially given that he couldn't feel much of his body, and that his mind was currently running like a Dell Computer and that the very fabric of space and time was currently wibbling and wobbling and shaking and shimmering and moving in all the directions, including starboard and port and bup and brown and just about all of those countries were shining in the present state of ich heisse Triko und ich bin zweiunddreissig hajre alt.

Still, he was clanking like all hell, a shotgun, RPG, repeating blaster and flamethrower all strapped to his back, two pistols to his thighs, a blaster rifle in his hands and grenades strapped across his chest in a pair of bandoliers and purple haze all in his brain.

'Scuse him, while he kissed the sky.

 

[Kush]

While the others were getting ready for the mission in their own way; Kush prepared in his normal way. He locked himself within his temporary room within @[member="Triko"] ship, and proceeded to smoke repetitive rips off of his bong. The room was filled with smoke in a rather short fashion of time, he was dressed as he does normal with added padded and layers that would give him a moderate resistance to blaster fire, and cleaving but still light enough for him to move in his normal fashion. He had a rather attractive woman of Serrranoian descent with him, she was a spy that could also handle her dank on the job. She would provide technical support and an eagle eye for Kush during the mission.

As she finished rolling a joint before they would join the others outside the ship, Kush began to strap his blasters to their holsters before drawing several vibro knives around him body. She passed him the joint, and keep held it between his lips as he continued dressing. The spy by the name of Kaliya Dupree began to put on her clothes as well, needless to say they lived a very librated lifestyle while together. Kush kissed her on the lips while passing her a 'shotgun' of smoke. As Kush dialed in the temporary code to the door, the smoke began to billow outside the room soon filling the ship with the to him pleasant smell of Grade A Mary Jane. Kaliya strapped on her Mandalorian inflitrator armor on before priming her stealth field effectively dissapearing from sight.

Kush stepped outside the ship before putting his black shade on, and placing his black Fedora on his head. An earpiece in his ear kept him in touch with the rest of the crew in case, they needed to contact with him as he walked beside Hannibal.

"You rang?"

 

[Jorus Merrill]

Silk Holdings owned major interests here on Moreau Station, but didn't own it outright. Its owners were pretty fething shadowy. At various points they'd recognized Jorus, as well as Qae Shena, as law enforcement around these parts. The station had been upgraded by the Vagrant Fleet and then by Silk, after a Bando Gora attack that saw the station move from Rishi to Dressel, a good portion of the way down the Mara.

Specifically, Silk ran a fuel depot here on Moreau, and the sort of light repair whatnot that suited a company known for making truck stops on middle-of-nowhere hyperlanes. The station administrator wasn't a Silk man, but he'd known Jorus for many, many years. An ageing Devaronian, he limped after the Aqualish docking officer, hands empty. Moreau was known as a waypoint for half the galaxy's bounty hunters and wanderers. This was pretty much par for the course when someone got excitable.

Also, the Vagrant Fleet hadn't been here in many months. They avoided the Mara these days -- bad karma with CIS and Darth Moridin.

"Something I can help you gentlemen with?" said the Devaronian.

@[member="Hannibal Oryen"]@[member="Juthan'Athar"]@Triko@Kush

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

@[member="Jorus Merrill"]

Hannibal pointed his gun upward, allowing it to lean on his shoulder as he fished in his pocket for something. He retrieved a miniature, circular device from his pocket, clicked the on button, and tossed it to the Devaronian. A small, rotating hologram in Jorus Q. Merrill's likeness would emit from the top of it the moment it was caught. Though if it wasn't, it'd probably land just short of the station master, facing up, and display the hologram anyway.

"Jorus Q. Merrill. Weighing in at one-ninety pounds, five-ten. Wanted by the Confeds for a pricey sum. I know he has ties to this station. Big ones, so choose your answers to any questions I got wisely, Clyde."

Hannibal lowered the rifle, holding it in a relaxed stance and keeping it pointed towards the ground. "Dig?"

 

[Jorus Merrill]

@[member="Hannibal Oryen"]@[member="Juthan'Athar"]@Triko@Kush

The ageing Devaronian snagged the holoprojector from the air and rolled his wrist to display the image. He tossed it back with a grimace. "Well, that's different. I don't especially want to help you, y'understand, and you'll find not a lot of friends on this station. That man's done a thing or two for folks around here. But he's not here, and I'm hard pressed to find a way out of this that doesn't wind up getting me an' Moreau shot up. He lives on his ship, Merrill does. Beat-up old YV-929, rebuilt from scratch who knows how many times in the last eight hunnerd years. Gypsymoth, it's called. Pops in here every now and again if I give a signal. It's one signal for everythin', just a button."

 

[Triko]

@[member="Jorus Merrill"] | @[member="Hannibal Oryen"] | @[member="Kush"] | @[member="Juthan'Athar"]

Signal...?

It was at this that Triko leaned out from the group, having been entirely silent and motionless for some time.

"Where..." He puked up rainbows all over a passer by, levitating briefly as he did so. "...signal!?" His words seemed to be fast, but the world was slow.

Everything was slow. Wibbles and wobbles everywhere. The colours were angry, staring down into his soul, getting closer and closer and closer and closer until the enveloped him. He looked up to the deep, eternal sky and collapsed for a moment, eyes bulging and guns clattering off the floor. His hands twitched and thick, dark liquid pooled around his head.

"Urgh..." He rose to his feet, swaying about as the colours slowly faded into other colours.

Shaking quite noticeably, he looked at the devaronian again.

Jabbing his head forwards, he roared furiously.

"Signal!?" He drew a scattergun, the barrel quivering as he clenched the stock between his arm and side.

"Where signal!?"

Dinnae want to drop it.

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

@[member="Triko"] | @[member="Kush"] | @[member="Juthan'Athar"] | @[member="Jorus Merrill"]

Hannibal considered the Devaronian's words. There were multiple ways he could go about this, so it would be best to get the input of his team before deciding on a course of action. He opened his mouth to say something, but then the Jawa started muttering things. Was this guy blitzed or something? Hannibal suspected Kush was as well, but so far that guy hadn't been looking worse for wear. Kush was high, but the Jawa... The Jawa was on something else entirely.

"Ey, shortstack. Cool it, will ya?" Hannibal said with a glare to the Jawa. Once that was settled, he looked back towards the Devaronian.

"I want his transponder. Or transponders, whatever the case. Further, I gotta see some kind of evidence that you are, in fact, telling me the truth here. I also want every record you got pertaining to 'im. Footage, documents, the whole shebang."

If the Devaronian was telling the truth, that Merrill had innumerable friends on this station, then it was obviously in Hannibal's best interest to hit him someplace else. The man lived on his ship, but he had to stop somewhere to refuel every now and again. If Hannibal could confirm that a YV-929 was the vessel to look for and get a general area Merrill was roosting in, ambushing him would be much easier. Barring that, ambushing him here could be an option... A risky one at that.

 

[Triko]

@Jorus Merrill | @Hannibal Oryen | @Kush | @Juthan'Athar

Triko staggered back a bit, still shaking like there was an earthquake on.

Words rolled over to him and bounced by, his hands, mind and body all melting like delicious ice cream as the shaking grew into a pounding, words, insults and everything else melting around him and rushing past him like a roaring tide, all in slow motion as they engulfed him, bogging him down in what felt like deep, sticky treacle.

Gurgling quietly, he stepped back into the group, lowering the gun and dribbling sickly green liquid onto the floor. The pounding grew louder, the shadows longer and the people taller, rising and rising and rippling as the pounding screamed louder than ever.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

With a final crash everything collapsed, his mind cracking and the world splitting into fragments, his eyes falling shut and his legs buckling.

Thud. As he hit the ground,the pounding stopped, the world now clear, still and calm.

With a long gasping breath, he dusted himself off, a last bit of liquid dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.

"Triko sorry."

 

[Jorus Merrill]

@[member="Hannibal Oryen"]

"He's got a handful of telesponders, but th'only one he uses in this sector is Gypsymoth, registered on Nar Shaddaa." The Devaronian winced. "Keep your little friend calm, please. If you need proof, I'll need to take you to my office. This way an' up four levels -- on the liddle control tower, see."

He turned to lead them to his office. Even the most basic of research would have confirmed that, yes, the station keeper's office was in that control tower.

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

@[member="Triko"] | @[member="Kush"] | @[member="Juthan'Athar"] | @[member="Jorus Merrill"]

The Jawa, at Hannibal's request, proceeded to have some sort of nervous breakdown. The entire ordeal was complete with uncontrollable shaking, spittle, and finally a faceplant. This was an aspect of his team. This was someone he was going to be depending on in the future. Hannibal was proud to have picked such a shining example of good citizenship. Two members of his team were buzzed out of their mind, and the other was off being all mysterious-like in the corner.

Maybe he should have been concerned with the level of sanity and coherence his new-found friends possessed. Too late now. He'd cast his die with these folks, it was time to see the hand through.

Hannibal ignored the slowly detoxing Triko in favor of carrying on business. "Your office? Sounds swanky. Ight, Clyde. Lead the way. Slowly. Hands behind your back."

He leveled his rifle at the Devaronian's back, keeping it trained there. "Alright, shortstack and blue, you guys follow me. You keep watch of the ship, buzz." Hannibal ordered, referring to Triko, Juthan, and Kush respectively. He still did not trust this administrator.

 

[Aithne Charr]

Remained where he was, taking minimal interest in the conversation as necessary and keeping up the guise he had donned. When Hannibal left with the Administrator he now turned his attention to the guards in the area, counting and positioning them in his head, keeping their avenues for reinforcement and escape also thought out. Something didn't sit right about this place and he was determined to make sure that he was not caught in a flood should things turn sour. @[member="Hannibal Oryen"] @[member="Jorus Merrill"] @[member="Triko"]

 

[Matho Healb]

Matho was sitting comfortably at the helm of his Kazellis-Class Light Freighter, stationed above the Moreau Station. He'd been following his operative for some time, wondering just what the Fondorian was up to in his spare time. He reflected on the ethics of this decision, deciding that running a company of highly deadly space assassins kind of throws ethics out of the window. He looked down on his navpad, a small red dot showing the current position of the operative. He had the map of the area overlayed on top of this dot, creating an effective means of tracking him throughout the station. He sipped a bit of water from the mug that was always on his desk. After putting the mug down, he keyed his headset, ringing the Fondorian.

"And what, might I ask, are you doing on this station, Hannibal? It seems like you made quite the stir with the dock attendant. With our weapon's tech, no less. Swinging around a woebringer isn't exactly subtle, is it?"

His tone was calm and concise, he didn't want to make the Fondorian think he was about to smear his organic material all over the faces of innocent bystanders.

@[member="Hannibal Oryen"]

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

@[member="Matho Healb"]

Hannibal ceased pointing the rifle at the Devaronian in favor of using one hand to tap his helmet so he could utilize his commlink. General Healb? Not a good sign. Looked like he had been followed. Time to do what he did best: play things off. He chatted to the general as he followed behind the station administrator. There was no way he was losing this bounty, especially not when the contract given to the Ravens was for horrendously less money.

"Oh, y'know, just visiting my sick grandmother." That was a partial truth. Hannibal had a sick grandmother about eight years ago. She was no longer sick. She was dead. "I 'unno what you're talking about with dock attendants, boss. I'm just... Kssssrhk. Oh, uh, ksssssrhk, I think we're breaking up... Ksssssrhk. Must be some interference with the, kssssshrk, station. I'll, uh, ksssssrhk, call you back."

He hung up the call.

 

[Kassk Kry'lya]

@[member="Matho Healb"]
Kassk gets up off of his chair, standing next to where Matho was. He walks back into the ship, emerging with a BTI-Ravager slung across his back, and a BTI-Reaver in hand. He approaches the helm once more, staring out towards the station and sighing. He looks over towards Matho, "I kinda liked the... Fondue guy. Hannibal, I think. He seemed pretty.. alright. Well, enough moping. What's the plan?" He continues to stare at Matho, waiting for reply.

 

[Matho Healb]

Matho smirked as he was hung up on, setting his headset down on the table. He looked over to Kassk. "Well, great minds think alike I guess. He's chasing the same lead we are. Although, I don't think he's considering that his target is a political bargaining chip."

He attempts to hail Hannibal again, this time by a direct comms link. "I hope you know what you're doing. Especially because as soon as you reach his office, he's going to kill you." He closes the link after his message, not wishing to hear the snarky reply from his operative. Matho stands, facing the rear of the bridge, sighing as he walks towards the cargo hold. "Kassk, ready your armor, God help that boy if we have to use the Tartoros just to pull his ass out of there alive."

@[member="Kassk Kry'lya"]
@[member="Hannibal Oryen"]

 

[Kassk Kry'lya]

@[member="Matho Healb"]
"Wait wait... the armor? As in... ARMOR ARMOR? Like, the one with the need for excessive upper-case letters?" Kassk is notably more excited as Matho mentions armor, and he begins to slightly twitch in his right leg, and his voice gets slightly higher in pitch. He talks much faster.

 

[Matho Healb]

As Matho enters the armory, he begins to sign the necessary documents for checking out equipment. "Let's see... CC13, LRBR, Concussion grenades... Kassk, make sure you grab a DSG as well... Also, swap your Reaver for a Retaliator."
He dons his ACA Assault armor and flicks through the vision modes. As he readied his gear he couldn't fight the nagging feeling that he'd have to have a conversation with his operative in between blaster fire.
He brought the Estoc into dock at 21-D, and proceeded to leave the ship, Kassk in tow. He too was approached by a nervous attendant, this time human.

"S-sir, you need to fill out your docking slip or I can't let you enter this station."
"Look kid, I'm sure you think you're just doing your job, but you're getting in my way. I've been sent by the Bothan senator to make sure your station is up to snuff. As you know, the senate meeting is coming up soon, and he'd like to have the Dessellians by his side." Matho sounded convincing enough, probably more-so with himself and his officer dressed to the nines in weapons and armor.
"O-Okay, I'll ju-ust have to make a note of t-this in the log."
Matho tensed, if their involvement in this station was to be discovered, Jorus and Thessa would have an immense advantage. He leaned in close to the attendant, his visor's 'teeth' reflecting the human's terrified face.
"Son, I don't think you want to be responsible for the Bothanian Senator's displeasure. If I have to tell him that some brat is impeding Bothanian business..." He chuckles to himself "Then station logs will be the least of your worries."
The human thought of this for a moment, weighing his options before letting Matho through.
"That's what I thought."

Matho checked his datapad. Oryen was increasing altitude, probably heading up to the office. They didn't have much time.

@[member="Kassk Kry'lya"]
@[member="Hannibal Oryen"]

 

[Kassk Kry'lya]

@[member="Matho Healb"]
Kassk quickly dons his heavy armor, placing the Reaver on his personal weapon rack, and strokes it, lovingly, "Soon..." he whispers, before grabbing a Retaliator rifle off of the wall, and a DSG. He slings the DSG behind him, beside the rocket. He sprints out of the ship, following close behind Matho as he heads into the hangar. He sits behind Matho and tries to look super edgy as he talks the kid into letting them in. He follows Matho into the hangar after the kid backs down, and quickly looks over his rifle, nodding. "I'm ready for anything, sir."