Let's get Crankin'

[Damon Riggs]

Riggs had been a few years removed from any of his old contacts in the Smugglers' Alliance. Most of them had moved on, but many still found themselves running about the galaxy working for credits that were tuppence compared to the earnings they had made together. Sure the crews often ran independent of each other, but there were times when they came together for work which could not be done alone. Riggs missed those days. He'd put out an all call over some of the old frequencies to meet at "The Afterburner" one of their favorite Cantinas and owned by one of their own [member="Eliza Steele"]. Whether she would join them or not was up to her, but at least they could give her some business while getting to work.

The old captain sat in a back corner table in his usual spacer garb. He was in browns and tans these days as opposed to the t-shirts and denims of the past. Space did get cold, and he was alone these days. One of their old crew, his pilot and first mate, would not be joining him. That meant he had a spot open. Riggs was tired of working alone more than anything else, and decided it was time he had proper crew, and why not use the old Alliance to draw from. Hell, maybe he could get it started again. The galaxy was at war again, and things needed to be moved in and out of First Order space, Galactic Alliance space... and they were a crazy enough bunch to do it.

There was plenty of whisky on the table anticipating the arrival of a few. Riggs had already started on his glass hoping he would not be waiting too long. The all call had mentioned this time, so others should have been arriving at any moment. The smoke and smell of alcohol filled the bar, and it was a glorious thing. A smile pulled at the lips of the smuggler. There was a job lined up already for anyone that wanted in. Call it a test in what they could do, but Riggs wasn't just trying to get people to sign up for an idea. This captain wanted to see everyone find their payday.

[member="Corvetta Salvo"] | [member="Rocco"] | [member="Morgan Daniel"] | [member="Robb Killian"] | [member="Kohai Drenn"]​

 

[Rocco]

The Iakaru spacer was a rare sight indeed, rare in a galaxy littered with all different kinds of sentient species that have reached for the stars. The prime-ape sentients from Iakar were primitive and had not achieved technological advancements in space travel. Lets be honest, they were no where close to such. Tribal creatures, slinging themselves across the jungle canopies with their hand crafted spears. So, to say that Rocco was a rarity was the truth of it all, especially suited up in a armored flight suit walking into a Cantina on Ord Mantell. Sure, he got a few looks of curiosity, which did not bother him at all. He was just as curius of them as they were of him. Space and all it had to offer was all an adventure for Rocco, who was more than willing to hop on ship and venture out from the familiarity and conforts of Iakar to experience first hand the dark abyss beyond it's atmosphere. He had spent a good portion of his life looking up at the stars, wondering about them and what gods had created them for what ever purposes they served. Now, he was amongst them.

Now, Ord Mantell was exactly what he called a sight to be had. Big bowl of dirt with rocks and mountains with splotches of industrialized utopian civilizations here and there. The arrid landscape was a eyesore to the little beast, the dry air played wonders on his eye ducts and dried his mouth and throat to the point of irritation. He needed off this planet and to do so he needed a ship. Now in retrospect to those that were born to the spacer lifestyle, Rocco was a amature. His ability to navigate the starts were highly questionable and left him out from working the navcoms. His ability to fly......... well there was a reason he was abandon on Ord Mantell. His talents were towards weapons and the application of violence. His race were well adept with spacial awareness, keen eye sights and hand eye cordination which made them talented marksmen. Rocco also had the natural ability for mechanics and tinkering and has been self learning the past two years on how to keep a ship in the air and weapons maintained.

Rocco walked through the doors of the Afterburner's cantina. He had been here a few times looking for a crew to take him on and the bartender knew it. With one look and a point of a finger the mantellian had gestured stronger towards the human spacer sitting in the back corner table. Rocco nodded in thanks and made his way over to the man in question.

"Yow uhre lookieng...... for crew?" The words escaped his large mouth in a low gruff tone of voice and his galactic common was broken with obvious signs he was not fully fluent in the language.

[member="Damon Riggs"]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Damon Riggs"] [member="Rocco"]

The Afterburner

--------------------------------------------------------

Ah. Guns, Spice and Creds. These folks were talking his language. After a brief encounter with bounty hunters and what passed for the law he had escaped void station for the most part, unscathed. Though the crew was now out of a pay check thanks to having most of their vessel blasted apart. Repairs had been extensive, and they were dipping into their reserves now. Even their op fund for buying stuff and reselling it was getting real low.

That's how our adventurers wound up here, and Morgan found himself staring down into the last drops of a whiskey bottle.

"Any leads?"

"Meh." Tanya, his sister replied. She was a tall slender woman, clad in an all black shipsuit. Morgan himself went with brown cargo pants, a Tan zip up jacket and a nice utility belt that had a drop led holster and tons of mag pouches on the back. A gunslinger had to be ready to what he does, sling lead.

Top that off with a ball-cap.

"We need some kind of work Tanya, look harder will ya?"

She snapped a bit, sending fire from her eyes.

"How 'bout you look instead of getting smashed all day? FO Intelligence has hunted us through six systems with Bounty Hunters and all you do is get drunk?"

"Quit nagging. Besides, that looks promising."

He nodded his head to the side in the direction of the gathering.

"Hmmm. Maybe."

"Well it's better than nothing I suppose. C'mon, let's check em out."

Both of them got off their stools and wandered over, keeping a safe distance and waving.

"Heya, crew of the The Vagrant Voyager here. You fella's look like some regulars. Got any news on jobs. Ya know, the good type."

 

[Damon Riggs]

Riggs had been enjoying his whiskey when he noticed the space monkey coming his way. There was nothing cute and fuzzy about this one at all, and the determination in his eyes was something he was certain meant one of two things. Riggs was in trouble, or the monkey wanted a spot on the crew, which was also a potential trouble.

"I am as a matter of fact," Riggs said as he shoved a glass over to the space monkey. "Name is Riggs. What's your specialty?" A name could come later if Riggs liked his skill set.

It looked like they were about to be interrupted by the brother and sister headed there way. Riggs kicked out a couple of chairs and invited them to have a seat. There was no sense in turning away people he didn't recognize, especially if they were offering a full crew. The jobs Riggs was looking to get would require multiple ships on occasion, and that meant the spacer needed all the contacts he could get. Networking was important. Of course his blue eyes had to wander of the woman's figure before looking to the brother.

"Drink up... these bottles are on me."

Riggs wanted to wait for a few more if they were coming before he was going to talk jobs.

​

[member="Morgan Daniel"] | [member="Rocco"]​

 

[Corvetta Salvo]

The days of the Smugglers' Alliance felt so long ago, like that one friend you could love but faded out of your life beyond realization. Damon was not exactly a best friend of Corvetta's, but she would never forget that one Kessel mission and how he had faced off with one of those monstrous arachnid beasts to help his mates escape. He was definitely a partner in crime that she could respect and appreciate, so when the Lost Cause crew received a message from him, it ignited a reminiscent smile, mirroring the fond memories of their smuggling family rushing through her mind. She already knew she was all aboard for whatever he wanted to propose.

The meeting place selected made the hopeful reunion even more picture-perfect. Eliza's cantina had been he favorite hangout of anyone dropping by Ord Mantell, and Corvetta even occasionally found an excuse to take a slight detour of some shipment runs to stop by in hopes of meeting with some of the old gang. As the pilot trudged down the dusty street in front of Steele's watering hole, she stopped in her tracks a moment to linger while the Mantellian sun cast its spotlight on the establishment. As vagrant as she was, "Frakkin' Snazzy Salvo" was quite the sentimental young woman.

Still, there were probably people waiting inside, and Corvetta would not stay too long in her pristinely framed moment. She pressed forward, her syncopated gait betraying her space legs as she entered the doorway and lolled towards the back of the bar, dust-covered maroon coat flapping behind her legs with each step. A meager collection of scoundrels seemed to be assembled around a familiar face in the corner.

"Riggsy? That you, bud?" As if anyone could forget the spunky spacer, Corvetta leveraged her hands against her waist, cocked her head to the side, and greeted, "How's it crankin'?"

[member="Damon Riggs"], [member="Morgan Daniel"], [member="Rocco"]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Damon Riggs"]

"Well now we're talkin'! See Sis'? Sometimes getting trashed pays off!"

He took his seat, and grabbed a bottle, pouring both Tanya and himself a drink and then nodded to Riggs.

"Well we got a mixed match."

He took a slug of the whiskey, letting the clean alcohol burn down into his gut and shook his head. Then he removed his ball cap, letting his wild tangle of hair out and began to reform the bill, curving it to his liking.

"Got Spades, a straight gunner type. Got my Sister Tanya here, good for Piloting, and Navigation. Evelyn runs our engineering and patch work. Then we got a Bothan medic. Faild out of med school, but he;s still patched me up more times than I can count."

Morgan pulled back his sleeve to reveal a garish scar that ran the length of his forearm.

"Might've lost my arm if weren't for his handiwork ya know?"

[member="Corvetta Salvo"]

When Corvetta arrived he raised his cup to the Red Trenchcoat wearing gal. She was a hot little number.

"Names Daniel Morgan Miss. Who might ya be?"

Tanya scowled.

 

[Robb Killian]

Galactic power struggles and the infamous goings-on of the mighty and powerful made it easy for a man like Robb to get lost in the shuffle. But he was a nomad at heart, a wanderer, and not all who wander are lost, after all. But even wanderers get lonely, and Robb was elated for an excuse to work with old friends and even new acquaintances, anything for a taste of the good old days with the Smuggler's Alliance.



Still though, it paid to be careful when meeting new people. So Robb opted for a certain degree of anonymity, at least for the time being. The spacer dressed with ritualistic efficiency, dexterous fingers laced his boots, clasped his belt, and donned his cap with practiced motions. Next, Robb shrugged into his shoulder holster, wincing as an old ache flared in his right tricep, a large bruise from a not so distant scuffle, compounded with a rough night's sleep on his old bunk. It was the good kind of ache though, the kind that kept a man on his toes and reminded him to be wary. Nearly finished, Robb grabbed his helmet from its cradle and made for the door. He had one hand on the latch when a strange feeling, almost an internal alarm, sounded off in his head. Releasing handle, Robb stepped in front of the small mirror in his cabin.



The man staring back at him looked different than he remembered; older, tired, and in desperate need of a shave. Tired eyes stared back at him, twin cerulean pools cradled in jaded bags. The man's eyes had a seriousness to them, almost a sadness (if he was honest with himself). Robb lifted his cap ran a hand through greasy, bedraggled hair ( a cross between bed-head and hat-hair) before replacing the garment. He thumbed the thickening stubble growing across his jawline, and frowned as he rubbed the bald patches around the scar-tissue adorning his left cheek. Robb shrugged at himself, (mostly) apathetic to the scarred and ageing visage staring back at him. Maintaining eye-contact, Robb finally donned his helmet, observing the embrace of anonymity. His visage became one devoid of emotion and identity, a matte black wall between Robb and the rest of the galaxy, just the way he liked it. Robb tested the helm's weight by stretching his neck, leaning his head first left, and then right, while simultaneously rolling his shoulders as the bucket's internal systems and automatic seal kicked on. Satisfied, Robb nodded to himself and wrapped his knuckles against the right side of him helmet (approximately where his right temple was), donned his jacket, and slipped out into the dusty streets of Worlport.



Robb was no stranger Eliza's old dive, and arrived at "The Afterburner" quickly enough. The spacer made his way into the establishment and eased himself against a nearby wall. The meeting point was pretty hard to miss, a corner table occupied by Robb's contact, Damon Riggs. Robb had never formerly met Riggs, to his recollection, but he recognized the man well enough from the old Alliance roster. A small gathering was forming around the table, including one Corvetta Salvo. The spacer smiled at the sight of his friend, silently hoping that the others would be along shortly.



Robb made his way to the section the bar designated for billiard tables and found a pickup game at the table closest to the meeting spot. A middle-aged human with grease stains on his coveralls eyed the helmeted spacer warily as Robb stepped up to the table. The man's caution melted into benign ambivalence as Robb swiped a credit chit on the table's built-in receiver. The stranger grunted in approval as and arranged the balls in their triangle while Robb retrieved his own cue.



"Your break." Robb said, his voice metallicly augmented by his helmet's internal microphone. The other man shrugged and leaned over the table for his first shot while Robb sorted through his helmet's HUD to tune into Rigg's gathering while he played.


A new voice chimed in through Robb's earpiece as the stranger broke, sending the assorted balls rolling every which way with a resounding, if somewhat muted, Crack.



"Names Daniel Morgan Miss. Who might ya be?"

Lets see what Riggs has to offer.



[member="Damon Riggs"] | [member="Rocco"] | [member="Morgan Daniel"]

 

[Rocco]

"Gunz, i uhm good wid gunz!" There was no hesitation in Rocco's answer, the little beast was well adept at the use of weapons and was not shy at boasting it. Plus, the crews he had been paired up with in the past have always entrusted in the role of gun hand. He was also good at fixin stuff and tinkering but he knew his place in this new found life and where his skills were best used in.

There were others that arrived, like birds to the prey. The galaxy was never without folk looking for jobs and there were always a spacer of sorts looking for a crew to man his or hers ship. One would wonder what the life expectancy was for such a career choice but those thoughts had not crossed Iakaru. Just leaving Iakar was an adventure and now here he was exploring all he can, one ship, one starport at a time.

The offer of booze won the little guy over. He quickly hopped up onto the empty chair and took his share of hard spirits into the empty glass at hand. He would take a quick taste, little the nip burn from tongue and down right into the soul. He was not fancied to the taste of it, but the buzz and intoxicated euphoria one felt in the quest to the bottom of the bottle was the true game of it. Good way to wait and see if one got the job or not. Plus, from the looks of the manlings that had showed up, it seemed he was the only one best suited to be part of the crew, or so he thought with his competitive nature settling jealously into his mind.

[member="Robb Killian"] [member="Morgan Daniel"] [member="Corvetta Salvo"] [member="Damon Riggs"]

 

[Eliza Steele]

​

​

A grin grew upon the brunette's face as equally dark brown eyes spotted some of the old members of the Smugglers' Alliance from the balcony above the Afterburner's main floor. Charlie the head bartender had notified her that they had gathered in the bar. It had been a while since Eliza Steele had seen any of them since taking over running the cantina full-time from her father. Well also the petite smuggler had been self-grounded while recovering from a rather nasty blaster wound to her left shoulder; gained in a tiff with a mean-spirited Transdoshan who owed her past due credits for a job done. The eight foot reptilian lizard was left worse for wear though, which gave the full-blooded Corellian much amused satisfaction. Eliza may be small, but she most definitely carried a big punch.

Heeled boots clicked on the flooring as the Corellisi made her way down the stairs from the apartment she kept there dressed in her usual spacer attire with a trusted DL-44 Heavy blaster pistol holstered in a gun belt slung low on her shapely hips tied off on her right thigh. Eliza stopped Dahlia, the Twi'lek waitress, and ordered some appetizer plates be brought over to the table before going over herself to greet the group.

"Well hello old friends, and new... Long time since the gang got together. What's up?"

[member="Damon Riggs"] @Rocco [member="Morgan Daniel"] [member="Corvetta Salvo"] [member="Robb Killian"]

 

[Damon Riggs]

Riggs laughed hard at how quickly the space monkey said he was good with guns. His mind immediately went to the small guy holding some type of heavy repeater and flying through the air trying to control it all. He shrugged as he pushed some whiskey over to the others that had joined them since. "If you can shoot anywhere near as well the same rate as you answered then you got a spot on the crew. What do they call you," he said to [member="Rocco']. His eyes still regarded the others, he'd gotten their names so Riggs wasn't concerned other than the fact the giy in the ball cap looked like he was going to drink up all the booze.

He shrugged with a glance up away from the table when his eyes laid sight on a very familiar face, and form. [member="Corvetta Salvo"]. Between her and Jace Trent, the two had started this whole thing. Riggs and Russo had joined later, but it had been a fun stint for them while it lasted. The fact he was looking to get the alliance crews back together had been something that he hoped would draw the woman out. If she was down for getting it going the crews Riggs couldn't convince might follow behind. Even if it was just the three or four ships represented between them all at the moment, Riggs saw this as a good start.

There were so many people to answer he just made nods to them all, though Corvetta got a personal greeting. "It's crankin," he said with a grin as [member="Eliza Steele"] made her way to the group. He'd heard her boots clacking on the floor. Choosing her watering hole had been intentional. He was well aware a group like this might have the chance of drawing her attention, and Riggs had seemed to have gotten it as well. Of all the crews that had been part of the Smugglers' Alliance, Corvetta and Eliza seemed to be the most active of the ladies among the work. They were going to need it to get through the job RIggs was looking at lining up.

"Lookis like most of you got the message I sent out then... now let's answer Eliza's question," Riggs said as he looked over to her with a wink. "Now we all know this war between the First Order and the Galactic Alliance is good for business, and bad for it all at the same time. We so much breath anything illegal in First Order space and we're in deep Bantha Poodoo, and the Galactic Alliance will work with us as far as it causes problems for the First Order. Honestly I don't know who is worse than who... I just know we all need to be able to get through that region of space without getting caught."

Riggs tossed a holo map of First Order space onto the table and pointed to a couple of their shipyards. "It doesn't matter which one we hit really, but transponders with First Order codes, designed to rotate through the code in conjunction with the changes the First Order makes would be helpful for all of us. What better way to get us going again than to get all of us what we need in order to make business easier, and make this even happen? Every crew that signs on with a member for this job gets a transponder, and we sell the rest on the black market."

[member="Robb Killian"] | [member="Morgan Daniel"]​

 

[RC 212]

[member="Damon Riggs"]

His stomach turned at the words "First Order." Tanya gave him a nudge to the ribs, and he realized he'd been drunkenly nodding off.

"Whoa!"

"Shh!"

These people didn't know about his bounty, and how much FO Intel was on the hunt for the crew. A few indecent exposures, theft and destruction of governement property and other things made him an undesirable. But Daniel did have one good thing going for him. Contacts.

"Well may be able to help with that. Used to fly Tibanna Gas for the FO Freighter Companys out of Bespin. I know there's a gal there named Rhekka Karrde and few others I think. Call themselves the Undergound from what I remember."

He took another isp of his drink.

"Feth it I'll come clean though. Stole my ship from FO, blew up a bunch of stuff including the recent dock explosion at Void Station you may or may not have heard of. We got a big target on our heads, but I still got friends not loyal to those scumbags. We can get ya in. And oh, I can sling a pistol as good if not better than the next guy, and know some smugglers cant, to hide messages inside of messages."

The bottle was empty and he dropped it to the table, interlocking his fingers on top of his ball cap and leaning back.

"So whaddya say? Shall we pay Bespin a visit?"

 

[Robb Killian]

[SIZE=9pt]"Well hello old friends, and new... Long time since the gang got together. What's up?"[/SIZE]



[SIZE=9pt]Robb sunk his first shot as the familiar voice of one [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Eliza [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Steele filtered in through his earpiece. He risked a glance over at the gathering and, sure enough, there she was. Robb[/SIZE] [SIZE=9pt]wasn't so much surprised to see[/SIZE] [SIZE=9pt]her in her own bar, she had every right to be here after all, b[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]ut Eliza had been one of the Alliance's founders, and it had been a very long time since so many of them had been in one room. [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Trent would make three.[/SIZE]



[SIZE=9pt]Robb shook the reminiscence away and returned to his game. His casual eavesdropping had apparently cost him as two more of his [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]opponent's[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] balls were mysteriously absent from the table. The stranger met Robb's level stare with a bored shrug. [/SIZE]



[SIZE=9pt]"Ye[/SIZE] [SIZE=9pt]sh[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]ould[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] pay more attenshion," he slurred, almost [/SIZE]guttural[SIZE=9pt]. [/SIZE]



[SIZE=9pt]The [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]clums[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]y[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] swagger in the man's step (along with the broken [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]capillaries[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] in his nose)[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] suggested that the older man was a drinker, if not a regular patron of the Afterburner itself (if Robb had to venture a guess). But it was the [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]mischievous glint in the [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]man's eyes that led Robb to suspect he was being played. Robb cocked an eyebrow at the man, a pointless gesture given his helmet, but [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]a habitual one nonetheless.[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] T[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]wo can[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] play [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]this [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]game[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt], old timer. [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]He activated his helmet's internal targeting assist as he line up his next shot, his HUD helpfully suggesting a proper trajectory[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]. The game continued on somewhat even footing while Robb[/SIZE] [SIZE=9pt]eavesdrop[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]p[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]ed[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] on Riggs' plan.[/SIZE]



[SIZE=9pt]"It doesn't matter which one we hit really, but transponders with First Order codes, designed to rotate through the code in conjunction with the changes the First Order makes would be helpful for all of us. What better way to get us going again than to get all of us what we need in order to make business easier, and make this even happen? Every crew that signs on with a member for this job gets a transponder, and we sell the rest on the black market."[/SIZE]



[SIZE=9pt]Not a bad plan at all.[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] C[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]olor me impressed, Riggs.[/SIZE]



[SIZE=9pt]The game was nearing its' conclusion. The stranger was good, Robb had to admit, but he was a pretty sloppy p[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]ool Shark. Too obvious, and probably a little too drunk to boot. All he had to do was miss the last shot and the game was Robb's.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=9pt]The spacer spared another glance over at the table as the discussion carried on.[/SIZE]



[SIZE=9pt]Bespin[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt], eh?[/SIZE]


[member="Damon Riggs"] | [member="Morgan Daniel"] | [member="Eliza Steele"] | [member="Rocco"] | [member="Corvetta Salvo"]

 

[Eliza Steele]

Dark chocolate orbs flicked momentarily to the entrance where a human male walked into the cantina. It was the Corellisi's previously scheduled appointment. She was a businesswoman after all and he was here to pitch a joint venture that might prove beneficial to those who transported certain cargo. Though it was way too early to know if the prospective business partner was actually capable of providing what the man said he could. Eliza's father had sent him her way... and that was usually a red flag.

"If you'll all excuse me, I have other business to attend to right now. Please enjoy these appetizers on the house," Eliza turned her dark head and motioned to the serving tray with several plates of varied food items the Twi'lek waitress had just carried over and put down on a stand next to the table.

"It was good to see you all again. I'll leave you to it," the petite smuggler smiled, then turned on her booted heel and walked over to the man now waiting at the bar counter. Steele greeted him, then they disappeared into her office in the back past the rec tables.

Spoiler

I'm out-good luck