First Reply One Bad Apple Spoils the Bunch

[Til Melarr]

The IG-86 droid's optical lens whirred, zooming in as its microscopic sensors cataloged the ship's interior. Plates of dust, dried moisture stains, and an alarming density of biological bacteria registered across its display made it clear that this ship was filthy. Its head snapped back toward the resting Avarice , its vocoder clicking with disapproval.

"Negative. Suggested designations Emerald, Ramsey, and Gustav fail baseline criteria. They are insufficient. This unit has designated a superior alternative fusing mechanical architecture and organic fuel preparation: Whirrmix." There was no room for argument as Whirrmix turned away from the cot, stepping toward the ship's small galley with three heavy clanks as due to his new owner not providing quanity details, he saw fit to utilize all the food supplies on the ship.

In just a few minutes, every ingredient on board such as dried meats, powdered starships rations, preserved jungle tubers and spice packets was carefully heated. Pots were bubbling, heating coils shone bright white, and the cabin air quickly became thick with the aromas of forty-seven chaotic, simultaneous dishes.

While his former asset was converting a starship galley into a high-yield soup kitchen, Til was shoving his way through the sweltering heat of the Sector Four merchant square. He moved from stall to stall, keeping his eyes moving under the shadow of his collar as he gathered info on the local weapon traders. Most street-level blastersmiths were too small-time, selling refurbished power packs and rusty thermal detonators.

Trying to sell a real Sith antique to these lowlifes would only attract unwanted attention and a bunch of low offers he'd have to deal with harshly. He needed someone with a good credit line and a shady record. His gaze moved past a line of armor displays until it landed on a faded, neon-blue sign flickering through the grease and smoke: Meetzos Pawn Shop.

Til's sneer turned into a smug grin. Old Meetzos. The bug-eyed Rodian owed him three favors from a smuggling job near the Moons of Onderon, and more importantly, the old lizard knew how to keep a deal quiet when local patrols started asking questions.

Til checked the weight of the gem-studded slugthrower against his side one last time, rolled his shoulders in his new durasteel boots, and walked straight toward the shop's barred entrance. He wasn't in the mood to negotiate, and Meetzos was going to buy this damn gun whether he liked it or not.
​

 

[Avarice]

Tags: Til Melarr ​

"Whirrmix?"

He seemed to nod softly before drifting off to sleep.

Some time later, he returned from the dark embrace of sleep and sat up. It had been more akin to meditation, utilizing the Force to heal himself. He dropped the rest of his worn clothes into a small hamper, then stepped into the compact refresher to freshen up, taking a quick shower to scrub himself clean before drying off and pulling on a fresh pair of dark robes.

He quirked a brow as he eyed everything that had been prepared. He had caught traces of the scents while resting, though he remained uncertain whether the droid possessed any true understanding of cooking. For all he knew, it might have surreptitiously spent its entire existence cataloging different recipes…

Nevertheless, he carefully slipped on a fresh pair of socks and eased into his boots.

"I see you've been busy… May I partake in your creations?" he asked gently, uncertain whether the droid had finished preparing the food.

It could very well be poisoned, though he did not seem particularly bothered by that prospect. He neatly made the cot before moving to settle into the small nook beside the table. Reaching for a water bottle resting in the cup holder, he took a long drink and swallowed a few small medicinal tablets.

"I'm going to take a walk into town and see whether I can find your previous owner… Do you want to come with me and pick out some new ingredients?" he asked.

 

[Til Melarr]

Whirrmix's heavy metallic arm blocked Avarice hand from reaching a bubbling pot of gray, starch-heavy paste. The droid's red eye-lens pulsed with a seemingly angry glow. "Negative," Whirrmix rebuked, its vocoder clicking in disapproval.

"If you attempt to eat something that is not cooked properly, you will die from food poisoning. I have no intention of flying this rust bucket out of Onderon due to the possibility of catastrophic engine failure." The Droid explained in a serious tone to hide the fact that the food was not entirely editable for humans since he had no actual experience in cooking before this moment, though he did know what could kill a person given his assassin programming still buried deep within him despite his new owner's tinkering.

Whirrmix processed the offer to go grocery shopping in the city, the heat-coils of the galley glowing a dangerous, blinding white as forty-seven pots hissed simultaneously. "Proposal declined," he continued. "Abandoning my duties in the kitchen to go shopping would be foolish. I need somewhere to power down and I will not be doing so in the charred out remnants of a starship left unattended." Miles away from the suffocating haze of his former asset's soup kitchen, Til slammed his palm against the rusted door valve of Meetzos Pawn Shop.

He stepped past the heavy iron security bars and into the dim, clutter-choked interior, sweeping his arms out wide as he offered a grand bow to the back of the room. "Meetzos, my favorite giant bug! Rejoice, because your savior has..." his speech was cut short as a roar of a high-caliber slugthrower could be heard, causing him to hit the floor with a considerable groan in surprise at being treated in such a manner.

The heavy lead slug tore through the empty space where his head had been a millisecond prior, slamming into a hanging cluster of macrobinoculars with a violent crunch. The heat of the passing round was so close it literally singed the tips of his hair, leaving a brief, glowing trail of soft orange embers that he frantically swiped away with his green hand.

"Kark! Meetzos, you crazy lizard!" Til yelled from the dirt floor, his heart hammering against his ribs as he reached for his blaster. Behind the reinforced plexiglass counter, a stocky, bug-eyed Rodian lowered a smoking, double-barreled slugthrower, his snout twitching in pure anger. He didn't look like a guy who was ready to cash in on old smuggling favors from the Moons of Onderon.

In fact, it looked like Meetzos was still harboring a massive, burning grudge over that disastrous job on Ord Mantell, the one where Til had accidentally pocketed the entire payroll, touched a high-security vault wire he explicitly wasn't supposed to touch, and left the poor Rodian standing in an alleyway with exactly five credits and a sector-wide warrant from the local corporate police.

"Melarr!" Meetzos hissed in heavily accented Basic, his large black eyes reflecting the dim neon light as he cracked the weapon open to shove another massive shell into the breach. "You have a lot of nerve showing your green face in my district! I should blast off that wig of yours!"

"Whoa, whoa, hold fire!" Til scrambled to his feet, quickly smoothing down his jacket and adjusting his collar to regain his signature, unearned confidence despite the faint smell of burnt hair lingering around his ears. "Ord Mantell was a misunderstanding! I got lost! And besides, I brought you a peace offering that makes those five credits look like pocket change. Look at this."

With a grin that was entirely too smug for someone who had almost just been decapitated, Til reached into his belt and pulled out the tarnished, gem-encrusted Sith pistol, letting the dark stones catch the dim shop light right in front of the Rodian's snout.
​

 

[Avarice]

Tags: Til Melarr ​

He eased back and settled in the booth. "Maybe turn the stove off for now... I'm sure all great chefs have to experiment every now and a again... Don't take it too hard, Whirrmix. I can... bring you back a cook book, or a nutrition book, if you like?" He offered. " We won't be here for much longer , that is if you want to continue to accompany me.... if you want to take a rest, and get out of the heat of the ship, you can power down outside for a bit... When I return I'll be heading off planet. "

He moved to stand up and stretched taking the ship fob with him. He departed the skip-ray blast boat surprised the assassin-droid could get so many things going in such a small and tight space. It certainly was a bit of a fire hazard but who knew what all of that. With that he took a simple speeder bike from the ship and headed to town to seek out the Pawn shop his dastardly scoundrel was likely fond of visiting.