It's an A/B Sort of Day [Runi]

[Fiolette Fortan]

Zonju V​

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CJMB Clarke-Porras​

Mahlowe Freight Level, Cantina Grajo​

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Glasses clinked at the bar, and smoke seemed to cling to the air around Fiolette. She sat in the back, a glass of whiskey in her hand as the Black Label cigarra sat on the ashtray wasting away. Hi-Sense lenses enjoyed themselves in the dullness of Grajo's light. A reddish-pink hue swept over most of the 'clear' light. The small stage where live music would play was vacant for now. The jukebox played a steady stream of something that sounded like Terminus flavored electroswing or Kro'Varian mech-jazz. The Bith behind the bar worked to serve the drinks while his brother had the unfortunate time of being someone's grief counselor. Nautolan and Togrutan waiters and waitress kept patrons' mugs full and their bellies happy, the dejarik table had an intense game going on between a Kiffar and a Mirialan, the sabaac tables held their winners and losers.

When Fiolette needed to meet with someone for the act of disappearing, she turned to Jorus - who then sent her [member="Runi Verin"]. A meeting was set up for today at the Grajo. This was phase one, find a place to disappear to, the second act involved a fight, and the final act would be to reappear. A deal cut the day before between Zonju V's officials and the base was struck. They'd maintain control of the base and its assets when she left, and in return, they'd erase everything and for insurance, she had a few friends coming by to make sure she and hers were gone from Zonju V.

Blood was in the water, something was up and Fiolette wanted out.

And so as she sat in the back, the Galidraani deactivated her Hi-Sense implants and let her Azure gaze cut through the smoke-thick air as she searched for the woman she was supposed to be meeting with. A hand instinctively went down for the cigarra, the other went up to the back of the booth as she relaxed. Cigarra to her lips, Fiolette took a drag and let the smoke wash through her lungs as it then billowed from her lips.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Fiolette Yvarro"]​

While Runi Verin maintained no official rank or standing of any kind within the coalition, the salvager moved through the military base unimpeded like a Nabooian gral shark would a shoal of gooberfish. A privilege earned on the back of a reputation rooted in the distant days of the Underground, further tempered and proven in the all too frequent fires of conflict and loss that have dogged their heels in each successive incarnation. A fine collection of scars, brands and tattoos marring her dark skin the only other tangible reward for her years of service.

Scars and a whole bunch of favours.

The salvager snorted softly, tugging at the edges of the weathered spacers jacket she wore over a speckled and equally distressed looking vest, shaking her head slightly as she ducked past the mountainous looking Vaathkree that served as the cantina’s bouncer. The latter the current gorram reason she was forced to venture this close to First Order lines. Repaying the seemingly endless debt that she, like everyone else in this force-forsaken base, owed to Jorus bloody Merrill. The only man that could make her even entertain taking a meeting with a former admiral of the red, white and black.

At least the woman wasn’t hard to spot. Even through the hazey clouds of smoke and dull atmospheric lighting, there was simply no mistaking those wholly distinctive First Order issue lines. The regimented discipline they installed on the officer candidate production line almost as palpable as the scent of stale cigarras that permeated the cantina.

“Make this quick, Cheeka.” She started curtly, sliding into the faded faux-Corellian leather booth eat directly across from the redhead without any attempt at an introduction, instead using the time to flag down the service staff with a wave of an obviously cybernetic hand. While she wanted this over and done with as fast as near-humanly possible, there was little to no way she was going to achieve that while stark sober. “Merrill was a little light on the details but mentioned that you needed an escape pod. An out. Somethin’ about your former -” Her lips twisted sourly, “- Friends breathin’ down your neck?”

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

Fiolette could practically smell the woman from across the Grajo. If she didn't have so much respect for Jorus the admiral might've thought this was a terrible joke. The smoke from the cigarra continued to billow joining the many others within the cantina. Runi's tone was an easy enough catch that the Galidraani waited a moment before she spoke, "something to that accord yes." Regimented discipline maybe, high-class speech from the woman born on a planet that pretended it was in the Core. Fiolette took note of the spacer's accent though and ordered her own drink. "Avalonian Scotch, on the rocks." The waiter nodded and took off just as fast as he had shown up to deliver Runi's drink.

The cantina's patrons continued to come and go. A couple of freighters stumbled in and greeted the Bith while a group of Rodians decided to make a quick exit from the sabaac tables. The dejarik game had grown more intense over the last few minutes. There were now bets being placed and a rather cautious looking Sullustan collecting the bet money while looking over his shoulder at a rather large Weequay.

"Officially, our new headquarters will be located within Mandalorian space. Unofficially, our most important work needs to be secure in an undisclosed location."

Empires came and went, as did their technology and Fiolette wanted to ensure that her work would be kept safe and far from the prying eyes of those who wished her or her company harm. If they wanted to come after her she wanted them to work for it. "Captain Merrill informed me that you, Miss Verin, were someone I should be in touch with to find such a location."

The redhead put out the cigarra just as the young man returned to the table with her scotch. She took care in bringing the glass up to her nose taking in the scent of the scotch, in her opinion, there were very few brands of scotch that she could truly enjoy. Avalonian Scotch closely resembled the brew made in Herevan back at home. When satisfied the woman took a sip the warmth that it brought was quite comforting and relaxed any stress that the cigarra hadn't already mellowed away. "Care for a smoke?" Manners, she supposed as she offered Runi one of her Black Labels they were held in a bronze plated case with the logo of her company emblazoned upon it.

[member="Runi Verin"]