Little Birds

[Placeholder 018]

(Anti-Imperial sympathizers only. No combat. Antags can attend if a PM is sent first.)

There were some that greatly disliked the current situation that the northeastern section of the galaxy now faced. With the Dominion and the Silver Jedi gone, there would be nothing to stand in the way of imperial expansion. The days looked dark indeed, yet some semblance of hope remained.

Messages on private forums had been exchanged. Those wishing to air their grievances with the dawn of the next imperial age were called to meet in person in a safe and private setting. Gormans, a bar in Ession's lower levels, had been chosen as the venue of choice.

A thick cloud of smoke rolled up from Sylvanan's wooden pipe as he watched the cantina. The inhaled spice found its way to his tar caked lungs and found itself in his bloodstream shortly thereafter. The effects were immediate; his pupils began to dilate as his consciousness transcended into the realm of the ethereal The anxiety he'd begun to feel over this meeting was left behind along with the majority of his common sense as he ascended to the plane of bliss.

This only held for a few seconds before the high receded to the back of the Echani's mind. With its departure came the return of his mental faculties, though his perception of the world remained slightly altered.

The bar was mostly empty. Its owner had closed up shop early for the meeting. Sylvanan had been the first to arrive, and it was another half hour before individuals from a myriad of different species began to dribble in.

A hand came to rest upon the S-5 hand cannon hidden within his long coat as he watched the other visitors. Those invited had all been vetted in one way or another, but the possibility of their meeting could very well have been leaked. The last thing they needed here now were imperials.

"Thirsty?"

Sylvanan blinked as the bartender pulled him from his stupor. "I thought you were closing up for the night?"

"You think I'm going to host you all without making a bit of coin in the process?" The Nautolan bartender snickered. "I would expect you to be smarter than that."

The Echani shrugged, "I s'pose so. Balmoraan Bluesky for me," a credit chip was slid across the bar as Sylvanan turned about in his chair.

 

[Mara Lux'stati]

Bars were not her thing.

She couldn't drink, for one. Couldn't process it, couldn't get drunk. She simply couldn't participate in the main attraction for them. But there was always something else to be gained from visiting them. Information. Drink made people speak more, and spill secrets. Quietly, she walked down the street, watching for newcomers and trying to see if she recognized anyone. Data files and Face recognition software ran overtime. Aliens, most of them. Nonhumans, near-humans, and the occasional "normal" human crept into the bar as she watched from across the street. Smiling, she walked to join the growing crowd, her eyes scanning them.

Time would tell how this will end.

[member="Sylvanan Glass"]

 

[Kalyn Tal'verda]

Lyra was the kind of girl to go skulking around shadowy holonet forums that governments did not like you skulking around in. The kind of forums where rebels, criminals, drug dealers, war lords, and most importantly to her, slicers, hung around. They had names like The Shadow Group and R4Z0R and you could actually learn quite a bit from going there. The acts that often catch The Man with his pants down are often telegraphed months in advance on these kind of forums with posts like Looking for slicer for heist, and Need enforcer with great knowledge of hostage dynamics.

Those did not interest her that night however, what did interest her was a simple invitation, they were looking for people displeased with imperial rule in the northeast quadrant of the galaxy. She sure as hell was, they have been nothing but a pain in the rear for her since she arrived there from Hutt space a year ago. She has had to be especially careful, for the punishments for getting caught were much higher than in Hutt space, where a well placed bribe could even get you off for murder.

She slipped her way through crowds before arriving at her destination, a bar hidden neatly away in the drabby slums. It at first glance appeared to be closed, but further inspection revealed at least 3 others. Not to mention, the door was unlocked. She quietly slipped in, taking a seat at the bar next to a man who appeared to be smoking some kind of illicit substance. She sat down, spun around in her chair, before tapping on the bar.

"I'll have a wine, don't care what kind." She slid a credit chit over the bar, before looking closer at the situation.

The bar was mostly empty now, she must be early, there was some sort of woman sulking around in the back, and there was the man smoking what was probably spice by the smell next to her. She waited for her wine to be delivered, swirling it around before taking a sip. It was a Nabooan wine, she could tell that much from the taste, high quality for such an establishment.

"I assume you are the one who sent the invitation?" She said to the man next to her. "You must have some reason to invite us here. I would love to hear it."

[member="Sylvanan Glass"]

 

[Desmond C'artyom]

[SIZE=11pt]Rebels, treacherous scum of the galaxy. Or at least so Desmond, the right hand of the Grand Moff, had been told. Ever since his induction into the Empire he had done terrible things and seen even worse done by others in the name of the Empire, but still, he remained loyal. But, recently he had begun to have his doubts. He had more on the line now. The love of his life was at risk and if he continued to serve this regime he’d never truly be allowed to grow old with her. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Desmond pushed these thoughts aside as he eyed the seedy bar located within the slums. Desmond was dressed in typical slicer punk attire. He even had his hair spiked up in a faux hawk with copious amounts of grease. Imperial Intelligence had heard of a gathering of Rebels at Ession and had deemed it a priority that could not be ignored. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]So, they sent out an agent to find out where these rebels were located, their plans, and the homebase of their cell. If they even had one. Desmond shrugged on his brown bombers jacket over his black t-shirt and approached the bar. He rapped on the door once, twice, thrice, and then was allowed admittance by a friendly looking Nautolan. Desmond gave him a curt nod and walked to the bar. He tapped the counter and in a flawless fake Corellian accent he said [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Corellian hammer, make it a double,” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Desmond waited as the bartender poured him a glass of the bourbon, idly reaching into his jacket and withdrawing a pack of deathsticks. He stuck one of the glitterstim sticks in his mouth and put the pack back within his pocket, still feeling around his pocket he withdrew a lighter and lit the spice. With a flick of his wrist the light disappeared down his sleeve and Desmond smiled. The bartender brought him his drink and Desmond smirk grew wider [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Thank you kindly,” He said as he slid the Nautolan a credit chip.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Now to wait and see what happened.[/SIZE]

[member="Kalyn Tal'verda"] [member="Mara Lux'stati"] [member="Sylvanan Glass"]