Private Merc Work

[Korn Kray'ac]

​

Spoiler: Music IC

​

A bar on Nar Shaddaa. Typical, really. Fistful of whiskey. Fitting, clearly, given the heart.
“Golden”, the words came in basic for the name of the cantina, with words spread apart.
Mixed bag of languages, fitting for a galaxy that was a mishmash of species and cultures.
It was a cantina, simply put, a drifting armpit, on Smuggler’s Moon, whose stench burned.

“I’ll have another,” called a patron toward the bartender. The latter nodded before the former.
Below dipped a hand and came up with a glass, showed a flask of sweet whiskey, amber nectar.
This would be the second after the first, if the math added up and no mistake, or so he reckoned.
Bartender gave him a wink across the counter, with him on his seat, her eyes with a bit of a beckon.

Eh, too early. The man agreed with himself. Def need a few more bottles from the shelf. He resolved.
She was fit, a Human like him, not that it made a difference. Then again, a man's here on business.
He had a mission, this man, despite his appearance as just another patron at a bar drinking his toll.
Drowning his soul in spirit and his spirit in soul, this man was yet no simpleton, if still with little wit.

Guitar strums from ceiling speakers amid drums, lyrics from a singer, from another man.
They taught me how to shoot with a steady hand. The listener echoed; an echo of his past.
I guess that’s something you don’t understand. Many wouldn’t, especially in this dying galaxy.
A man grew up on a prison farm, a Man, if you understand, with fists and feet in a bloody ring.

And I still fly that bloodied flag. The man sipped beneath the viewscreen of the music video.
Whistlin’ mhi loud enough to brag. Whiskey between his lips, he watches, listens—he knows.
Burning liquid down his throat, like hot blood, even if he’s a Mandalorian who has lost his bone.
He was here for a reason, in blue jeans, denim jacket, brown boots, at the counter, drinking alone.

Tibera Jessen

 

[Tibera Jessen]

A figure muscled their way through the crowd outside and into the dimly lit tavern. Their copper colored armor reflecting the neon well as they strode up to the bar counter. For a moment they looked down at the sullen Mandalorian in front of them, not sure what to make of the man. Their employer had said little of who Korn was, only that he was qualified.

A rasping voice came from behind the helmet, one that cut through the music in the bar. "You must be Kray'ac, I was told to meet you here so we can pick up the package." Came the steel voice of the spike-coated mercenary.

Some folks looked back at them, wondering just what kind of package the full metal stranger was talking about. One look at the stranger's back dissuaded them however. A rather compact looking shotgun hung there, a device not often held by mail carriers. Whatever it was, it wasn't worth bothering the two about it.

The only thing now was to pull up Korn before her grew roots.

 

[Korn Kray'ac]

Spoiler: Music IC

​

Muscle that muscled throughout the crowd. Wasn’t unusual to this man or Man anyhow.
Man, nah, this man was used to dudes who moved to bruise and push their way through.
Rodian at the Mandalorian’s left, he looked between both bar hoppers, with one in copper.
He stood up, he left, as a raspy voice cut up from behind a rusty helmet with whatever visor.

Korn Kray’ac, some sorry excuse of a Mandalorian that he was, didn’t move, did not budge.
The man kept his gaze trained on the screen above the bar where a man in a hard hat sang.
Hard work, dirty hands. Korn sipped his whiskey at that. Something something ‘Korn Kray’ac’.
Damn. Was I dumb enough to give my full name? Either way, ‘Magnet’ was here to stay—yup.

“Package?” Korn reacted, reflected, not looking away from the beaded face above his own gaze.
Ol’ black Betty. Ever aware of onlookers, eavesdroppers, no matter if latter's packin’ scatterblaster.
“If that’s what you call a pack of Trandoshans.” Korn shrugged, his voice casual and as plain as day.
Not in the sense of attracting unnecessary attention, however. No worries amid the cantina murmurs.

“Call me Korn, hold the Kray’ac.” Korn lifted the rim of his glass to his lips at that.
Tough shit, hard work everyday. “Buy you a drink?” He finally glanced at the man.
Didn’t much care about the broad frame or hazard suit. At least I’m gettin’ paid.
If his counterpart declined the drink, oh well,—a cheaper tab, and no mistake.

Dirty hands. Clean money. I ain’t a Mandalorian anymore, sonny.
“Pirates should be in any minute.” He told his partner-or-other.
He fit the description, anyway—a copper outfit less than sunny.
“Find out where their shipment is, get paid, go home, brother.”

Tibera Jessen

 

[Tibera Jessen]

"I ain't your brother," Tibera said as they leaned against the bar, arms resting over one another. "But I'll gladly take your money. Barkeep glass of Corellian wine on my friend here's tab."

Whatever manner of alien there was behind the bar poured a serving of wine for the figure in the hazard suit. For a moment the mercenary looked at the wine, seemingly inspecting it. Before long their hands reached for their helmet, a short hiss came from the metal as its seal was broken. A mess of white hair fell out from under the steel enclosure. Finally she could breathe none processed air.

Taking the wine class carefully into her right hand, she began to sip. It probably wasn't true Corellian wine, but it would take the edge off before an operation. That was all the woman needed it to do. "I assumed you picked this place for the music and not the drinks. It's pretty catchy stuff." Tibera wasn't as knowledgeable about music as she was wine, but she knew what she liked.

One of Tibera's hands tapped against the counter top in time with the music. It was rare for the mercenary to cut loose, but she felt she could trust Korn, as they were birds of a feather. Soldiers of fortune who had been given plenty of work in their time. Tibera, though, was much less experienced than her Mandalorian counterpart, only having been a mercenary for a few years. It was to be seen if she could keep up with him or not. Only one way to find out!

Korn Kray'ac

 

[Korn Kray'ac]

Spoiler: Music IC

​

One soldier shrugged toward the other, not terribly fazed about not being brothers. They didn’t exactly share the same father or mother. And neither one of us is a Mandalorian. Viewing the viewscreen, Korn wasn’t sure but he might have sworn he had just heard everyone’s favorite -snap-hiss!- that a lightsaber would emit.

That was before he turned, finally giving his counterpart more of a measure of eyesight, his ears too, having mistaken the sound for the helmet. Maybe he could blame it on his earache on account of some bad business with a former crewmate and bad aim, but his hearing was clear now, and his new partner wore no beard. Neither a brother nor a sister for that matter.

The woman’s hoarse voice behind the helmet was a mite misleading, but no mistaking that young face, white hair and those green eyes. Korn caught himself staring at her for a moment longer after the music shifted, whether or not the song had finished. People wore all sorts of outfits in this crazy galaxy but this one was a bit of a mystery.

"I assumed you picked this place for the music and not the drinks. It's pretty catchy stuff."

“Indeed. It’s my cup of tea.” He blinked at the glass in his hand. “Er, whiskey.” He was suddenly glad that his partner could appreciate taste when it came to tunes, though in truth it was their target that picked this joint.

A voice sang, guitar twang, no bar band, backyard lullaby on the viewscreen, tough guys spending time in the trees. Listen to the crickets sing. The rattle of the dog chain. Listen to the south bound breeze just creeping through the trees.

Tibera’s hands found the counter and tapped. Now it was Korn’s turn for a bit of a dance, bopping his head back and forth. “You good with that shooter?” He gestured toward the shotgun without looking at it or her.

Tibera Jessen

 

[Tibera Jessen]

There was a certain charm to how Korn spoke. It was blunt and to the point, but still had a friendly air about it. That was something that Tibera could learn a lot from. She found the mix of subpar wine and good company did a lot for her usual foul disposition. It was especially fun seeing the older man bobbing and nodding to the viewscreen, at least he was having fun.

"I can't say I'm a marksman, but I've never had any trouble with it up close." Tibera took a drink of her wine before she continued. "These old Trandoshan pieces are pretty easy to use. Thing is I can't see well past shotgun range, so it's scatterguns and pistols for me."

The hour was drawing close, soon their marks would enter the cantina. Until then, Tib would be fine just chatting and lounging with her new found accomplice. He was different than most people she'd worked with. Not an overly rowdy young buck, or a fanatical despot. Just a man trying to make his way in the insane galaxy he found themselves in.

Soon Tibera finished her wine, that was the only drink she planned to have. Overindulging before a firefight was probably not the best idea if one wanted to make it home. She'd then drop something on the counter for the barkeep, a shining piece of silver-ish metal with an Imperial crest emblazoned on it.

"Should cover my new friend's drinks too."

 

[Korn Kray'ac]

Spoiler: Music IC

​

Nodding away to the music beats, Korn instead then nodded in a gesture that served to agree.
After all, well, you didn’t really need to be a marksman at least when it came to a scatterblaster.
Up, close ‘n’ personal. This Mandalorian could relate. Arms and fists, head, legs, including knee.
Hand-to-hand combat's an underrated and underappreciated art, one in which he was versed.

He had also long since learned that being in a rowdy crowd’s as fun as having a more quiet time.
Right now he’s relaxed at the bar, sipping whiskey, sharing drinks, conversing, listening to music.
Time passed as did each glass but the man didn’t plan to get drunk. He’d just wait and unwind.
Every now and then he glanced back at the cantina’s entrance for them, the Trandoshan pirates.

They had yet to come in, which was probably expected given they were idiots and likely dead.
Prolly fell into a white ice spider’s nest. Korn blinked at that. Thoughts tended to enter his head.
Came out of nowhere, really, like a woman in a hazard suit with a shotgun. At least she can drink.
More than that, she could pay for it, and did so with a shining piece of silvery metal…something.

Imperial? Hm. Korn studied the coin-thing whozitwotzit whatever whatsuch and began thinking.
“Say…” The man’s blinking. “...You wouldn’t happen to know of one Admiral Kriss Kolzut, hm?”
Whatever her answer to the question, something struck the Mandalorian’s peripheral vision.
There were a few Mandalorians in this bar, armored, helmeted with their visors and their T’s.

He looked past them, however, turning toward the door where a pack of Trandoshans appeared.
“Hello,” Korn spoke low to Tib. Can he call her Tib? No matter, he gestured toward the entrance.
“Looks like we’re in business.” They did look like pirates—coats, guns, and ugly countenances.
Nevertheless, Korn Kray’ac would sooner piss on his own toes than show these guys any fear.

Kriff... That brought back a bad memory of his Zeltron mistress, an old flame, and her antics.
Karkin’ bacta bath. With that, Kray’ac began to rapidly blink himself out of this next distraction.
Concurrently the cantina continued with its conversation and commotion amid the Trandoshans.
“Hello…” The pirates turned toward a table of patrons, eyes into eyes, and they were Mandalorians.

Tibera Jessen

 

[Tibera Jessen]

“Say…” The man’s blinking. “...You wouldn’t happen to know of one Admiral Kriss Kolzut, hm?”

"Name isn't familiar, but it's hard to say. Before this job I was floated around Imperial space. Did some jobs for different remnant fleets. That's where I got the imperial creds."

Sure enough, as soon as she was comfortable, that was when a whole head of ugly walked in the door. Trandos, and particularly mean looking ones at that. One didn't even have to question whether or not these were their targets. If the smell wasn't a big enough indicator, the armbands the reptiles wore sealed it. Probably best to just shoot them, though that wasn't the only problem. Mandalorians and Trandoshan got along like gas and fire, with equally explosive results.

"So what's the plan? If we start trouble in the here, no telling what could happen. Think you can whip a whole bar worth of thug?" Tibera gave a cheeky grin at that, before placing her helmet back on her head.

For now she was fine to just watch the bounty hunters and pirates tear each other limb from limb. It was easier to collect the pay that way. On the other hand, it had been a good while since her last big scrap. She could use the exercise...

 

[Korn Kray'ac]

Spoiler: Music IC (Recurring)

​

Korn of Clan Kray’ac, there he sat, on a barstool in a bar on Nar Shaddaa called Golden…stuff.
Something-such, anyway. He wasn’t exactly versed in other languages, never mind Mando’a.
Mandos, however, were exactly what slipped into his vision as he watched their little corner.
A small group of Mandalorians sat at a table, gazing back at Trandoshans, as if on a border.

What was this—Trandoshan pirates versus Mandalorian mercs? Korn knew he was the latter.
Yeah, he knew he was Mandalorian, it was in his name and veins, even if he didn’t give a kriff.
Beside him, his accomplice donned her helmet, as if to gesture battle shall begin in a minute.
Mandos vs Trandos. A good show, except Korn’s contract wasn’t on the pirates’ bloodspatter.

No, it was on their shipment, and his partner surely knew that unless she was just another idiot.
Nope. She digs my music. That makes her worth it, I reckon. Korn decided. “Bar worth of thugs?”
They didn’t call him Magnet for no reason. From the looks of it, neither party was yet drunk.
But nobody here knows about how Magnet’s fists can crush bone into dust. More than a bit.

“Keep our distance,” the mercenary sipped. “We need to find out where the pirates’ ship is.”
That pair of mercs, these soldiers for fortune singing a whore’s tune, were here on business.
Meanwhile one Trandoshan stepped up to one Mandalorian and then he shook his fist at him.
Oh druk. Some dumb luck could just see these pirates winding up dead or in a jail cell at best.

"If that one swings a fist, Tib, then I think this whole cantina is most certainly gonna be in for it."
Pit a pack of pirates against a gang of Mandalorians and you ended up with math worth addition.
Or is it subtraction? Korn blinked before shaking his head, readying the blaster positioned at his hip.
If Tib and him were gonna get paid then they needed to refrain from stains getting on a denim jacket.

Tibera Jessen

 

[Tibera Jessen]

Was it wrong for Tibera to want some one to swing? Either way the best way to do this was to listen to Korn. They needed to find the ship, and dead Trandos were terrible at giving directions. So for now the mercenary would have her back planted firmly on the bar.

The lizardmen said something in their gurgled tongue, whatever it was got some kind of laugh from the scaled ones. They would make tracks quickly to a table, crisis seemingly avoided, at least for now. It would seem that there was something worth backing down from Mandalorians. They slinked off to one of the far tables.

"I think I know what they're up to..."

Though her Trandoshan was a might rusty, she could speak enough to catch that the Lizards were going to divvy up their spoils. Ill-gotten gains that would trickle down to the lowest levels of the pirate scum. The creds they were talking probably would be enough to kill over, but damn if it wasn't an enticing option.

"We could wait for them, try and follow them back to the ship, or we could try the more direct approach. I know which way I could go."

 

[Korn Kray'ac]

Spoiler: Music IC

​

As much fun as it would have been to see Trandoshans clash with Mandalorians, Korn wasn’t exactly displeased that it didn’t actually happen. It could have gone either way but, in the end, the Trandos walked away from the Mandos and a quiet time played away to another tune. They ain’t worth getting beat, and you ain’t worth the whiskey.

Magnet granted himself another sip of whiskey at that. Magnet. Sometimes the nickname just slipped in, though it had been a long time since he had to fight in the pit. Distracted again, he found his thoughts and blinked out of them.

If this Mando's Mando’a was bad, well, his Trandoshan was complete crap. Fortunately, his newfound partner knew enough to translate the scum. Korn wasn’t racist, no mistake, he just hated Trandoshans.

“Hmmmmmm,” he hummed. “Tailing them seems easy enough, I reckon.” They had only to risk being spotted. “Another option is to buy our way in. Pirates are nothing if not greedy. Might be they take in a pair of mercs if they think we’re worth it and can offer them profit.” They could make up some nerfkriff about a ship in some system worth plundering or something. “Get in with the crew in short time, rob them blind, fly back to Bimtukbu before you can say 'Korn, you're one cool dude'.”

He shrugged. It sounded better in his head. He generally didn’t think much about his ideas but tailing these idiots back to their ship was good enough for him anyhow.

Then again, his partner had thoughts of her own, lest he forget. “So, which way would you go?” Korn tried not to look at the Mando guys headbutting each other’s helmets and beginning to get drunk.

Tibera Jessen

 

[Tibera Jessen]

One could almost hear the gears in Tibera's head grind to a halt, he wasn't the boss here? That was one of the many issues the mercenary had, she was not good at thinking for herself. If it wasn't able to be solved easily and with direct force, she was flying blind. It was a great thing she had her helmet on, or else Korn would see how bewildered she was. Instead, she'd play it cool and cross her arms pensively.

"You wanna know what I think?" Her voice gave it all away, it was like a child speaking to a parent. "Couldn't hurt to see how how good my Trandoshan holds up. Sneak on their ship like you said. Get whatever it is they're hiding and head out."

Now all she had to do was smooze with the lizards and make it to their ship, easy day. "Wish me luck..." Tibera said as she strolled over to the table of reptilians. Oh how those aliens would growl as she confidently sat down amongst their number. They couldn't decide whether to be dumbfounded or offended by the metal clad intruder.

<<You got a lot of nerve, we were just in the middle of something!>> Was the jist of what the boss Trandoshan said

"Just here to talk, you lot look like you're a few hands short. My friend and I think that we can help you out." Tibera replied in basic, knowing most Trandos understood it. The big Trandoshan made a gurgling chuckle as he heard the proposition. Most of his kin ended up as soldiers of fortune, rare was it when one of his kind actually hired outside of their own.

<<So you're mercs huh... Yeah you've got the look about you. Sure, it should be funny seeing you humans try and keep up. We just came off a big score in a nearby system. Could use some help keeping it safe while we transport it to the buyer.>>

 

[Korn Kray'ac]

Spoiler: Music IC

​

“C’mon, bartender, change the song!”
Cried some other drunk guy at the bar.
“Okay.” So the song inevitably changed.
Something something ‘I Love This Bar’.

That sudden shift of tracks displeased another man and his friend but Korn didn’t watch to see.
He was too busy thinking like a mercenary for the job he was on. Of which, no, he wasn’t boss.
His partner and him were in the same position and on the same level; but a pair of mercenaries.
Here to get paid the same way, having been hired by another party who gave them both the job.

"Sneak on their ship like you said. Get whatever it is they're hiding and head out."

Perfect. “Good luck— Hey wait, what?” Korn wondered if he should be tagging along with her.
He didn’t delay for long lest she be gone like a dead girlfriend. She walked. He followed after.
At the table of drukugly Trandoshans, one Trandoshan spoke Trandoshan, Tib spoke in Basic.
It began as a simple conversation. Simpler the better when it came to mercs trying to get in.

But one casual moment later and the party of pirates spilled the beans of their latest booty.
Good job, Tibby... Korn thought against patting her on the back, looking between each seat.
Each slithering and snarling face. Funny, huh? Except in the end we will be the ones laughing.
They were hired. Moments later of discussing pay to play pretenders, they would be leaving.

“Question,” Korn injected into the conversation as the Trandoshans made to leave seats.
He looked to the side where the table of drunken bucketheads were happily headbutting.
“How do you feel about Mandalorians?” The Trandoshans blinked at each other, thinking.
The man standing before them did not appear to be Mandalorian. “We think they’re weak.”

"Indeed." Korn will remember that.
Tib had a moment to speak her piece.
Otherwise, the whole group would leave.
After the Mandalorian knocked a shot back.

Tibera Jessen

 

[Tibera Jessen]

Things were going quite well with the Trandoshans. It was lucky that they were half drunk and fairly simple to start with. It was also quite likely that these lizards really were in need of the help. Must have been a rough job if it had Trandos hiring random mercs they found in bars. Trying not to dwell on these questions Tibera reclined back against her chair. One's eyes couldn't help but notice the wicked looking blades the lizards carried around. Every so often the leader of the scaled ones would pull out his curved knife and mess with it. If he was trying to be intimidating, it wasn't working.

Soon enough the deal was set and the two mercs hard become unofficial members of the crew. Unfortunate to leave the bar behind, the music was making the night all the more fun. Alas, the only thing they could look forward to now was a long ride to the space port. Blissfully they would be in separate vehicles. No need to keep up a front the whole way. The two mercenaries could strategize if the notion struck them, or they could wing it from here. She knew which one appealed to her.

"Kinda surprised that worked, I kind of expected more hassle from these pirates. One of us must be lucky tonight." It was either that, or they were walking head first into some kind of trap. Who cares, as long as they make it to the ship okay. From there it was an anything goes kind of job.

Tibera sighed to herself, her head resting on the back of the seat she was in. Outwardly it looked like she was particular interest in the headliner of the vehicle they were in. Keep you chin up kid... just like always...

 

[Korn Kray'ac]

Spoiler: Music

​

Korn wasn’t really the type to dwell on the why so much as the how. He had met enough pirates and idiots and idiot pirates to know they’d hire just about anyone when the occasion called for it. If the new addition to the crew didn’t work out? They’d space ‘em. These two just had to make sure they stayed on the job and were off the ship with their stolen cargo before that had a chance to happen.

In the speeder, Korn took the reins, giving his gaze beyond the windshield thingamajig as he caught himself in a bit of a jig. Just casually bobbing back and forth to the song. “Lucky is my middle name.” He smiled his partner’s way.

When that failed to elicit amusement, he cleared his throat and focused back on the air-road-something-or-other. They were flying high in the sky of Nar Shaddaa city, stinking of villainy, following their quarry, right behind the pirates.

Some time later the Trandoshans led the pair of mercenaries to an abandoned warehouse. Hmm. This is the kind of place you take someone you’re about to cut up into itty bitty pieces. Korn shrugged, trying not to think too much.

They didn’t go inside. Instead, the pirates parked beside the building, and Korn saw why. There, in the middle of nowhere, was a red corvette. It looked lean and mean, like its captain, that Trandoshan, as he approached his ship. Looking impatient, he gestured toward the mercs to hurry it up.

“Well, this is it, Tib.” Korn nodded toward his partner in their speeder. “If you’re having second thoughts about this job, speak your piece.” He was speaking sincerely. “Once we board that cutthroat's boat, there’s no going back except in a bodybag, my friend.” That said, he cleared his throat. “Uhh unless they just...ya know...space us.”

Tibera Jessen

 

[Tibera Jessen]

Tibera was taken aback by Korn's words. It was rare for anyone she worked with to actually give a damn about her. Korn couldn't see it, but there was the most puzzled look on the lady mercenary's face. "Yeah, I'm as ready as I can be," She said, putting the possibility of getting spaced as far from her mind as she could. "Just gotta focus, and keep up with you, right?"

The warehouse was little more than a personal docking spot for the pirates, with all the machinery and parts they needed to keep it working. In some ways it was kind of clever, hiding a ship in the middle of a massive city. No rival pirates would come this far into protected space, and no law enforcement on Nar Shadda would think to look in their city for a bunch of Trandoshans. At least these were the thinking sort of criminals.

Once their speeder landed, they were immediately surrounded by members of the ship's crew. Obviously they didn't trust the mercs as far as they could throw them. A smart move on their part. "Looks like the lizards don't expect us to find our own way to our bunks..." They could stand to be a bit further away, the smell of them was getting a little intense.

One of the Trandoshans garbled something at Tibera and Korn, it didn't take a master translator to know they said "walk".

 

[Korn Kray'ac]

Spoiler: Music OOC

​

Maybe it was because of Korn’s past, what happened to him after he was born, when the boy became a slave, and the Mandalorian became Magnet in the fighting pit. He escaped, but he never really ran from his past. Maybe Tib just had one of those faces. Either way, this woman beside him was his ally for this mission, and he had her back.

“That’s right,” Korn answered. “Focus. Keep up. That goes for the both of us. We’ll be fine.” The once-upon-a-Mandalorian sighed, eyes to the dark orange sky. Burning cinders… That’s what the horizon looked like at this time on Smuggler’s Moon.

Outside the speeder, he wasn’t too surprised to find that those pirates wanted to escort these mercs to their quarters. Or worse. Korn played it laidback but that came naturally to him. “As long as they don’t observe us using the restroom too,” he spoke low as the pair of mercs moved.

“Let’s go,” grunted a Trando at the ship’s entrance. “Space ain’t got all day, kay?”

Of course it doesn’t. It’s space, mate. Korn didn’t say, just smiled Tweedle Di’kut’s way. They made it inside the ship. A pair of blaster-toting Trandoshans led the mercs through a corridor decorated with a few crates, suspicious stains and what was just then a broken vase.

“KARKIN’ RODIAN!” Growled a Trandoshan at the other end of the hallway. “When I find that slime, I’ll make him wish he wasn’t born.”

“Poor quality?” Korn looked from the pieces of vase on the floor to the pirate captain in the corridor. The latter looked between both mercs. Poor choice of words, maybe.

“He sent me a black vase. It was supposed to be pink.”

Korn blinked.

“Pink vase to decorate my quarters. Red walls.” He stepped forward. “Same colors as a Human’s flayed flesh.”

Oh my.

The captain looked left, looked right. “I hope you guys can fight. Might run into a rival of mine along the way. Even then, we’re heading to a pirate haven in the Rim.” He licked his lips. “Some Weequays there who like making slaves out of Humans.” He stepped closer, watched both for a moment, then slapped a hand on either shoulder with a great laugh. “WELCOME ABOARD THE CRIMSON KISS, KIDS! Show our guests their bunks then everyone come to the bridge in ten minutes."

Tibera Jessen