Private Operation: Quagmire

[Olen Halcorr]

Location:
Ord Cantrell, Faith Sector
Phantom Sun Shadowport
Tag:
L Laira Darkhold

Ord Cantrell. A planet that no-one would suspect was harbouring a secretive shadowport. He'd heard of these from the stories of spacers who came by Lysatra when he was child. He'd heard that they were places with secrecy and deception of the highest order, some had said they were frivolous places more akin to the party towns that one would see on Canto Bight or Teyr. Whatever they were, Olen was about to find out...

The X-Wing became engulfed in sort of bubble as was common with re-entry for most ships. Arriving into the atmosphere, with a nudge forward of his stick, the nose pointed downwards as he moved out of the clouds. He'd been told that the shadowport was located at the old spaceport on the far side of the planet, he had some idea why. It was a good idea, an inconspicuous location that most normal people would feel was abandoned and leave alone. But not to the countless crooks and scoundrels in the galaxy, not the people who needed to get away.

Looking over towards a complex of buildings which looked a bit like what he'd described, he kicked in the thrusters as he wanted to get a closer look. From a distance it seemed abandoned, unwanted, but as he took a closer look, he could see more than a few ships huddled around and a small building resembling a cantina built into a cave-like husk of the place. The perfect hiding spot.

Olen touched down around ten klicks away from the shadowport. If this place was really full of the amount of scoundrels and crooks that he believed there were, he didn't think he could trust them with his X-Wing. Shutting off his systems and pushing up the canopy, he hopped out as he astromech gave a worried tone. "Hey you'll be fine, if you feel like you're in a bad situation, just call me."

The droid didn't seem too convinced. He wasn't wearing the typical flight outfit but was wearing an orange jacket with white rank panels, one that he'd been wearing for more than his fair share of time. He was wearing the suit but the upper body part had come off and had been rolled down to his waist to make him look more like the classic spacer, under it, he wore a white shirt. Dusting himself off, he removed his flight gloves and helmet, placing them in the wing.

The agent that he'd been assigned too had set the rendezvous point as at the back of the small cantina at the shadowport, a discreet area where they'd be safe from any potential information brokers. Almost breaking into a run, he hurriedly made the trek. The place was much darker than he expected and much less busier, which wasn't exactly detrimental. He could spot shady people making perhaps backdoor deals or bets and the rowdiness of the cantina certainly overshadowed them.

Who exactly was this Fulcrum agent anyways. He'd been given a description and even a small holoimage to go with it. He'd been told the codeword and that she'd be arriving in an X-Wing which was always a plus, a shared interest perhaps. Red hair was a key part of her image and something he'd be told to look out for. He didn't like all this sneaking around, and pondered on why he'd been chosen for this mission. The things he did for the Alliance..

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Ord Cantrell
Phantom Sun Shadowport

It wasn’t too long ago Laira had been near Ord Cantrell, and given the circumstances the redhead wasn’t all too pleased to be returning to the world after some of their leaders had tried to sell out the Resistance to Imperials. Their reasons and the story that had led to the attack on the Chief of State was beyond Laira’s paygrade, yet she had a suspicion that she would see the darker part of Ord Cantrell at least once more. But when duty calls, the Jedi must answer it.

The young girl had spent sixteen hours stuck in her cockpit without much else to do but play games on her datapad and talk to her astromech while the pair traversed the cerulean void that was hyperspace. Unfortunately, the Rebel Outcast was still down waiting on repairs with the Resistance Fleet, forcing Laira to travel in her X-Wing and therefore leave her comrades behind on the RNS Solemn Purpose. Laira let out a yawn and stretched as best she could manage in the cockpit as the starfighter pulled towards the planet. “Gee, how long was I out?” She asked, wiping sleep from her eyes.

Her screen lit up with a response from her droids, <Two hours.>

“Alright, let me see the mission profile.” Laira yawned again, her hands flicking over displays while she entered in data to the computer, plugging in the card for her ship’s false identity. Its paint shifted and contorted until it matched the information on the card and she let it drift into the planet’s atmosphere. “Ugh, Fulcrum. I know its an important codename, but it's hardly cool, don’t cha think?”

The droid tootled a response Laira didn’t bother reading.

“They could have used Red Riot, Crimson Avenger, oh, or Scarlet Spymaster!” Laira smiled to herself while the ship pulled through the clouds, descending towards a small complex of buildings, pulling back on the engines and cutting her shields.

<That might have given away your red hair to the enemy.>

“Hmm, fair point Rowdy. Still, I will talk to them about using cooler codenames. Oh, how about Star Saber!” While the redhead seemed content to workshop codenames with the droid, the X-Wing landed in the plains near a number of other vessels with a hiss. “I’m just saying is all.” Laira finished, standing up from the cockpit and stretching out her arms. She pulled her gloves off, leaving them in the cockpit as the girl jumped to the ground to rummage through her cargo compartment for gear.

After a moment, the girl pulled a jacket from the compartment and slipped it over her bare shoulders, leaving it unclasped. It completed her attire, a simple form-fitting black suit without sleeves and cut low, belt around her waist bearing her blaster on her thigh, and nice black combat boots. Laira put her lightsaber into the inside jacket pocket where it would be hidden from sight but accessible if she needed it. “Alright, you hold down the fort Rowdy, I’ll be back soon. You want anything from the cantina?”

The droid beeped and whistled angrily.

“No, you can do that to yourself!” The girl retorted with a mischievous grin plastered across her face as she left the droid with a small skip to her step and sway to her hips, heading for an old rundown cantina that had been selected for the impromptu meeting. Hopefully her contact would already be there and would be better funded than she.

Olen Halcorr

 

[Olen Halcorr]

Ord Cantrell
Phantom Sun Shadowport
Near the Cantina
Tags: L Laira Darkhold

He'd been waiting for some time, and seen no red heads passing by. Hearing a noise, he took a look up from his position spotting what looked like a fleck, hurtle towards the shadowport. On closer inspection, he immediately noticed it was an X-Wing Starfighter. The Fulcrum Agent.

Watching from the shadows, he saw her hop out of her fighter and converse with her astromech which was not too dissimilar to he and his own droid. The woman was red haired, contrary to his report and she was wearing the same clothes that had been pictured. He was more than positively sure that this woman was the one that he was looking for.

The Galactic Alliance pilot approached the woman. She seemed young, perhaps a few years off his own age, though they were both relatively young. He had sandy blonde hair that was mostly swept to the side but occasionally flopped over his forehead. He was just below average height and his lower half was orange with flight straps. His upper half was a brown jacket with red rank panels and a white shirt, not too unlike the average spacer.

"Fulcrum? I'm assuming it's you, what with the red hair and whatnot. If it is you, follow me."

He hoped this wasn't just some random young woman that had followed him. Just to be sure that it was not imposter, he fished in his pocket, retrieving his holotransceiver from his flight trouser pockets. He took his out, identifying to be her and breathing a sigh of relief, that could have been an awkward situation for them both.

"I'm the guy you'll have the honour of working with, in case you want some verification for whether it's me or not, the codeword is Quagmire. I see you're an X-Wing pilot also, I fly in the same ship as you do, good to see a fellow pointer pilot. Let's head into the cantina, I might as well get to know you a little better, kriff I'll even buy you a drink."

The man seemed semi-serious, speaking in a hushed tone and constantly darting his eyes around, he clearly didn't trust anyone here. But there was still that youthful exuberance in the man, and it was clear to see in his calm and almost cheerful disposition. He spoke with the clearness and conciseness of a coreworlder but with the distinctive drawl of someone from the Outer Rim or Wild Space. He gestured for her to follow as he approached the husk that they called a cantina.

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira was a little taken aback when she was quickly approached by the man, and raised an eyebrow to him. She was a little suspicious of the pilot that had approached her and quickly used her codename, but skepticism was beaten into a rebel fairly quickly. In days long gone, Laira would have simply trusted the man and skipped along beside him, assured that she could handle any problems that arose should there be any, but times had changed due to experience and trauma. Nowadays the redhead had her doubts about everyone outside her crew, since every government seemed to had some hidden agenda. Despite the concerns flaring in her mind, his aura didn’t feel dangerous or threatening to her senses.

“Well this would be awkward if I wasn’t Fulcrum, though I’m not sold on the codename.” The redhead responded with a grin, “And I’m afraid the honor is all yours good sir, I'm a delight.” Her tone was jovial, teasing even as she spoke to the pilot. She let the man from the Galactic Alliance take lead and find her into the cantina. She was light-hearted in her expression and carefree in her mannerisms, bouncing with each step as she walked only partially to stretch out from a long trip in a cockpit.

Laira was very used to places like this Shadowport, having spent most of her time around folks that frequented these grimy, seedier underworld places. She stood out some, being an attractive young girl with deep crimson locks, but her attitude fit in perfectly at home. Strong, confident, and with a hint of arrogance in everything she did, from her walk, her roguish grin, and how she carried herself through the regulars.

“Two drinks? Maybe a meal and you can call it a date.” The redhead rubbed her abdominal muscles gently, the thought of food causing a slight rumble from hunger pangs. The Force was nutritious and could sustain a young Jedi for a great time, but it was a hardly filling diet.

And she was still flat broke, but such was the burden of a freedom fighter.

“Yeah, X-Wings are my favorite, though I’ve flown some Fang-class and some TIEs, they don’t compare to the Incoms at all. I’m Laira by the way, you gotta name I could call ya?” She found the door and pushed it the open chime, stepping through the threshold into the darkened building. The stench of sweat, alcohol, and cigara smoke drifted like a haze hanging over the handful of guests. A few glanced at the doorway, but no one reacted to their presence in the dive. Laira stuck her chin out, motioning to a table near the bar they could sit.

Olen Halcorr

 

[Olen Halcorr]

The veteran starfighter pilot managed a weak smile. She seemed fun and bubbly, nothing at all like the rigid higher-ups who seemed to all have sticks up their asses. He was still in his prime at the age of twenty five but one look into his stormy grey eyes would tell a completely different story, he'd lost people and seen and done things that most at his age could never even dream of. Despite him playing stoic, it took its toll. His features were youthful but somewhat rugged, perhaps even handsome. He was from Wild Space, and it was a tough place to live, and that translated in him.

"Me neither, it sounds ridiculous and like something out of holodrama but translates into most languages. It's even got sort of a ring to it." He said, his weak smile turning more into a grin before going back to his default neutral expression. As much as he wanted to, he hadn't been sent here to frolick.

He walked with purpose, albeit somewhat slowly. He pushed some of his sandy blonde hair out of his face, entering the cantina. It was full of all the people that he didn't want to catch on a bad day, crooks and scoundrels, bounty hunters and smugglers, the galaxy's scum. A distinct boozy smell wafted towards his nose, making his nostrils flare. He wasn't used to places like these, though it reminded him of a hangar bay.

He raised an eyebrow curiously as she mentioned the word date. He scoffed, followed a chuckle. "I haven't been on a date in forever, not that this is a date of course." He seemed to mention the last part rather quickly.

"In other words, I'd kill for a Bantha steak, so why not. It's a change to those horrible tasting rations they feed us." He told her, managing another quick grin. He nodded seeing that the table she'd mentioned was unoccupied. "I'm Olen by the way." He said, putting in another smile, but this time, it lasted longer than the other ones and seemed more natural. Taking up the menu, he hailed a waiter to come to their position.

L Laira Darkhold

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira smiled at her blonde companion, eyeing the man from floor to ceiling through her peripheral vision, doing her level best not to make a show of looking him over as they found a seat at the table. Laira looked around, and failing to find a comfortable place to kick her feet up, she decided on sitting and crossing her left leg over the other. The redhead brushed her scarlet locks behind her ear and got comfortable in the chair, well as comfortable as one could manage after having been stuck in a cockpit for as long as she had been. She touched the menu but didn’t bother to pick it up.

The young Jedi had been through a lot in the last few years, from flying with the old Galactic Alliance over Skor and Kaeshana, to fighting the Mandalorians at Azure with the Silvers. She'd lost a number of wingmates in that time, but so far had managed to recover, and always keep her smile and fun-loving personality, to fight off becoming jaded and disillusioned though she wasn't much fans of many galactic governments that cropped up. Especially after what the last Alliance had allowed to happen to themselves.

“Suit yourself Olen,” she grinned at her companion, rolling his name around in her mind as she spoke it, committing it to memory alongside his face. She kept her posture relaxed and loose as she spoke. “So long as you’re buying you can call it whatever you like, hun.” A free meal was a free meal, better than her having to use a mind-trick to dine and ditch at least, but it was just that to the redhead.

She took in the scenery behind him, silver eyes taking notice of anyone who looked more out of place than they did without looking around or acting paranoid. It was a shady dive, full of disreputable people who made their livings fighting, smuggling, hunting, and enforcing as well as a handful of lowlifes who liked to blend in with them. Spacers like Laira and Olen weren’t entirely uncommon, but neither were they an everyday occurrence, bearing nicer clothing than most in the cantina.

“So, Olen,” She let his name drip from her lips like honey, “You wanted to get to know one another. What would you want to-” The girl stopped as the waiter arrived to take their orders, changing the subject to the matter of her meal. “You may want to steer clear of steak in a place like this. I’ll have a tsiraki and sunfruit liquor to drink, I think it's called a Bluedriver?” she told the waiter as the rough looking duros wrote it on his datapad with the stylus, “And I’ll have a salad with whatever poultry the cook makes the best if, you please”.

The duros grunted with an audible, "Hmm." When his bulbous eyes turned to the blonde man sitting across from Laira.

When she was done ordering, Laira returned to her original conversation like the duros didn’t exist. Sometimes fitting in was all about acting like you belonged and had nothing to hide. “What would you like to know about me? I'm an open book.”

Olen Halcorr

 

[Olen Halcorr]

Taking his seat down on the chair, he took another glance round the cantina. "I see what you mean, might just give the steak a miss." He said with a barely noticeable shudder. The griminess, people and general atmosphere told him that this wasn't the most respectable of establishments, and when regularly off duty, he wouldn't catch himself dead here. He studied the woman sitting in front of him, discreetly of course, he did this with everyone but he'd felt extra compelled to do it with her, an interesting feeling.

Just as he was about to start talking, the waiter came along,almost knowing that he was about to speak. He watched in amusement as she relayed her order to the duros who seemed a little confused at her order. Clearly he wasn't used to all of these fancy dishes which seemed evident by the grunt. The blonde pilot managed to stifle a chuckle though a light snicker escaped his lips which was noticeable. She seemed to have expensive tastes, even for a scum hole such as this place.

The place seemed just like how the old Spacers had told the story but both more and less than what he was expecting. In his peripheral vision, he witnessed a young Sullustan get thumped by a Trandoshan which made him give way to another tremble, certainly not the most civil place either. It was the sort of place that you'd seen on the Holodramas where barfights occurred, taking into account the death stares that were being passed around, that was something that he did not want to happen.

"Oh, could I get the um.." Referencing his menu once more, he skimmed through the options, settling on something particular. "I'd like some deep fried Nuna legs and a large Jawa Juice please." He asked, with a nod. The Duros once again scribbled onto the pad with his stylus the blonde pilot's order. "I'd like the bill early please." The waiter obliged, placing it down. He fished around his rather deep pockets, pulling out some Alliance credits and placing them on the table.

Hurrying with the credits to what vaguely resembled kitchen quarters, the Duros left the two to continue their nascent small talk. He peered into her silver grey eyes, trying to piece together her life, and where she came from. Failing in this endeavour, he asked, "Tell me.. Laira, where do you come from, what's your story? we all have one. Even I do." He remarked with a cheeky grin, almost challenging her.
L Laira Darkhold

 

[Laira Darkhold]

“Well, I’ll try to keep it short.” Laira began, bouncing her leg in a slow methodical pattern as she mused on her own past. There was a lot to tell if she wanted to be comprehensive, her time with Spynet, joining the Resistance, becoming a Jedi. But, he was a stranger, there was no reason for her to spill out all the intricacies of her life and the trauma that had made her into the amazing person she was today.

“I was born and raised on Bothawui, but my folks were killed by the Empire a few years back before they collapsed. I had enough money left to buy a ship, started running some odd smuggling jobs here and there, but I ended up flying with the Alliance against the First Order until that Alliance started to crumble to the Imperial Bloc.” Laira had some choice opinions about the old Alliance, but that was ancient history now. She found no use gripping about that government when she was here meeting a different one, still her past experiences made her wary of trusting them.

“That was a difficult time. Lost a lot of good people to the First Order and the Sith back then.” Her tone turned somber, but only for a moment before she returned to her bubbly mood, her broad smile returning to her face. “Once it collapsed, I’ve just been running around doing what I do largely on my own. I mean, I’m broke as hell, but it's a ton of fun. I get to punch sithies and imperials whenever I want, and that’s always a plus.”

She looked up, watching the waiter exit the kitchen with their plates and drinks clanking on a tray, but her silver eyes quickly returned to the man across from her with the sandy blonde hair. Laira didn’t much bother to hide that she was examining him now, leaning forward to put her elbows on the table as their plates were set down. “So tell me, what makes Olen tick? Got any family? Somebody waiting for you back home?”

Olen Halcorr

 

[Olen Halcorr]

The blonde starfighter pilot pondered on what he'd just been told. It seemed mostly truthful though there was a part of him that wondered if she'd lied to him and whether he should spout nonsense, but he dismissed that thought pretty quickly. He listened in and nodded as she mentioned the First Order War. He'd fought in that conflict like so many others and had suffered when they'd been battered by the Order. So many good friends and pilots had been snuffed out in that unforgettable fight.

"I mean, I think that life suits you, I mean you seem pretty happy and carefree." He chuckled, her's was an ideal life and there had been times that he'd contemplated leaving the military but his sense of honour and duty to the government had prevented that. He raised an eyebrow to her inquiry about himself like he hadn't seen the question coming. He wondered if she'd ever want to return to duty, but his gut told him that she wasn't about that life.

"Me? Well.." Deducing that he could probably trust her, he reasoned to tell her snippets of his life, it wasn't that she was untrustworthy, he was just a little reserved. He nodded to the waiter as their food was presented to them. He took a bite out of one of his Nuna legs before speaking. "I come from Lysatra, in Wild Space. My father worked on the Gulag virus and my mother was a pilot. She taught me how to fly. Though, she disappeared when I was twelve. I went to the Grayson Academy and fought the First Order like you, I stayed on though and here I am."

He gave a chuckle when she mentioned someone. "No, I don't have anyone waiting for me at home. I've just never had the time to look for love, though some of my buddies have got hitched. I'm just looking for the right girl you know." He maintained eye contact while taking a sip from his Jawa Juice. Feeling embarrassed, he turned the question on her. "What about you, do you have anyone waiting at home?"
L Laira Darkhold

 

[Laira Darkhold]

“No, I care bunches, wholesale caring. I just don’t have anyone telling me what I can and cannot care about and how to go about it.” She responded with no hint of disdain or offense crossing her features or body language. She wasn't bothered, as she could tell he held no resentment about her way of things and certainly didn't intend to offend her. Laira just felt like correcting him, to ensure he was aware she had plenty of responsibility just not in the same sense he did as a soldier. Such was the life of the Jedi, a responsibility to a galaxy where borders drawn on maps held no meaning.

Laira smiled, taking small dainty bites from her meal as he spoke and a large gulp from the blue-green alcohol she had been served. They weren’t so different, well they were, but they had similar motivations though their backgrounds were somewhat contrasted, her having been raised with abundance, him having been from the reaches of Wild Space. The redhead listened, letting her eyes flick between her salad and her companion.

It had been a long time since she’d made it to the core, likely since the Galactic Empire still controlled Coruscant and Tython, though that had been a while. Long enough for them and the Mandalorian Empire to collapse while the new Alliance and Republic flourished in their wake. So much had changed in such a short time, the Sith Imperial Civil War was raging anew in the Outer Rim and relative peace and freedom was finally overtaking the Core worlds. “Seems everyone I meet has lost someone, I guess it's to be expected with how many wars have happened in my nineteen years. Still sucks though.”

Laira smiled at his comment, covering her mouth politely to finish chewing before answering. The girl motioned to herself, gesturing from her head to toe as though saying 'look at me', raising an eyebrow as she did. “Honey, people wait for me wherever I go.” She answered a little comedically and a little honestly with a chuckle escaping her throat as she spoke.

“I’m still single in the romantic sense, my lifestyle doesn’t really help with relationships. But I have some close friends waiting for me while our ship gets repaired and a toddler I rescued not too long ago expecting his big sister back in a few days.” She refused to be called the child’s mother, believing herself far too young to have a baby his age, though some people had made the mistake upon seeing her with Faljinn.

Off to her left she could hear raised voices between a few of the patrons, sounds of chairs being pushed around and glasses clinking. Outwardly the redhead ignored them and took another bite from her salad and bringing her drink to her lips.

Olen Halcorr

 

[Olen Halcorr]

"That's an interesting way to put it. I have to admit Laira, I never thought about it that way. I always thought allegiance to a specific cause was the way to go for everyone." He told her, giving a nod. There were days that he often wanted to be like her, on his own righting wrongs in the galaxy, without the strong arm of the GADF. He took another swig of Jawa juice, it was his personal favourite drink. He'd been to his fair share of cantinas and had never failed in choosing the Tatooinan concoction. It was harder to get these days so he valued it all the more.

"I wouldn't really say lost. My mother taught me how to fly but other than that she wasn't too big in my life. It was my father who mostly took care of me, he was the one at my graduation from the Academy. In a way, I never truly knew my mother, I remember she had dark brown hair, and grey eyes like mine..." He pondered a little, thinking about what his life could have been like if his mother had never left.

Like Laira, he took a glance to his right, hearing raised voices which seemed to be getting even louder. He was getting concerned and gave his redheaded companion a look of discomfort. His suspicions of skulduggery were confirmed when a plate came flying towards his head. Having relatively good reflexes, he bent down, the plate narrowly missing him, as it sailed through the air, another target seemed to be chosen. The plate shattered as it hit the head of a mean looking Trandoshan. Now his reflexes seemed like a curse as he looked up to see the rather aggravated alien standing over him.

"Hey.. look that wasn't me, I have nothing to do with this." He reasoning was futile as the Trandoshan didn't seem to be in the mood for talking things out. Olen was picked up and thrown hard into the ground. Seeing this, chaos ensued in the bar. A young zabrak woman broke a bottle over the head of a Rodian. Olen had blacked out for a few seconds and came to, in a hellish situation. His food had been knocked over and he noticed the Duros bartender sneaking out a backdoor. Shaking himself awake, he noticed he still had his blasters and decided that he was going to use them. Where was Laira? Everything ached but he could just about remove his dual blasters from the holsters. It was about to get messy.
L Laira Darkhold

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira smiled to her companion, regarding him kindly and sympathetically. She knew what it was like to have someone walk out. She’d done it to others in the past, and sometimes it was for the best to leave and follow your destiny. The redhead wondered in the back of her mind, what it would be like to see what had become of those she’d left behind. “Well, at least you’ve got your dad. I’m sure he’s proud of his cute little flyboy.”

By the time she finished speaking, the fight had begun. Silverware and dishware was thrown, shattered by the skull of a battle-scarred trandoshan, though it had been aimed at her companion. Laira didn’t need to be told what would happen next, so the redhead quickly grabbed her drink and downed the last of it, tilting her head backwards to drain the liquid. Olen was hauled up and thrown by the Trandoshan, far beyond being reasoned with. Laira snatched her compatriot’s jawa juice from the table, Laira finished that glass as well as the fight spread throughout the cantina in earnest.

A rodian and Zabrak were hauling each other around, throwing haymakers, the waitstaff were bailing from the building through the kitchens. Even the old bartender had pulled his scatterblaster from under the bar and hustled away as someone was sent for a ride down the bartop. The massive trandoshan turned to loom over the seated redhead angrily after he had smashed Olen to the ground, his shadow blocking the dim lights.

“Sorry buddy.” Laira said with a soft smile, her cheeks a little rosy from taking the shots so quickly. Her feet lashed out, catching the trandoshan in the knees causing him to stumble dropping him to a crouch. The redhead moved fast, rising to her feet and snapping her left leg up to drop her calf on the top of the grey-skinned lizard’s head in a downward arc, smashing his face into the table with an axe-kick.

Laira balled her hands into fists, hearing glass shatter. A wookiee and a trio of weequay were having it out in the back corner, the spray of viscera making it clear things were not going so well for the weequay pirates. Some people were fleeing the cantina, but most of the patrons had devolved into the melee with earnest. Laira was keen on joining it herself, ducking a bottle only to hear it shatter against a wall a moment later.

Silver eyes scanned the room, looking for her next victim. Whoever was between her, Olen, and the door.

Olen Halcorr

 

[Olen Halcorr]

Olen awoke with a start. He'd blacked out for a second but when he woke up it had seemed like he'd missed a lot. Things seemed a little fuzzy and he looked up to see two of his redhead companion in exactly the same position. He waas seeing double. Not good. Trying to regain his stability, he took a look a round, being startled to see a knocked out Trandoshan next to him. The whole bar seemed to be chaotic, he watched a human woman knee a Twi'lek male in the lower back, which sent the green alien tumbled to ground.

He shook himself, seeing that he still had his dual blaster pistol, tucked safely into discreet holsters on his trousers. Pulling them out, he blasted a Nagai that was going straight for him. Olen pushed up the table, taking cover and periodically firing as more of the people in the bar had caught onto his little trick and brought out their own blasters. Attempting to dodge blasterfire he threw himself to the ground somewhat violently as a stray bolt just missed his head, hurtling through the door.

"Listen Laira, as much as I like to-" He jumped out of cover and took a potshot towards a Rodian out of cover. "Stay and have fun, we have a limited-" Once more, he opened puerperal blasterfire at an opponent near the kitchen. "Time window for this mission so I'd appreciate it if we got out of here and maybe didn't die." He said with a hint of sarcasm as he edge towards the door while still maintaining cover fire.

Getting surprised, a scruffy looking human male rushed him, getting him to ground. Olen swiped his legs which caused them both to fall. Grabbing hold of the shirt of the dark haired man, he swung for the presumed scoundrel, knocking a punch, but his attacker came back with a punch to the gut, he was winded and having the upper hand, the man attempted to launch the final blow but he drew his blaster and shot him through the chest. He started to edge towards the door, signalling for Laira to follow.
L Laira Darkhold

 

[Laira Darkhold]

As blasterfire opened up, Laira took cover behind the back of a booth, putting her back against the metal as Olen snapped to and began exchanging fire with the thugs and gangsters. Her hands were still balled into fists, but she was aware the situation was quickly escalating out of control. It likely wouldn’t be long before someone threw a grenade or someone informed the local authorities. The pilot had a point about their timeframe, and they couldn’t waste it in a medical facility or detainment center.

“Yeah, don’t worry.” the redhead agreed, crawling away from the booth as blaster bolts began perforating it. Smoke rose from blaster bolts, an acrid smell of burnt metal and leather filling her nostrils. “Not dying is a specialty of mine.” Laira grinned to Olen with rosy cheeks, still flushed from having chugged their drinks so as not to waste them.

Olen was shoved to the ground, scrapping with a dark-haired human on the ground. Laira started to crawl towards him for support, but was cut off by a rodian trying to kick her. The redhead took the boot to the ribs but rolled away, lashing out with her own leg in a snap kick to the side of the alien’s knee, amping her strike with the Force channeling into her muscles. The leg snapped sideways with a crunch, dropping the rodian to a crouch before the redhead slid away, using her feet to push herself along the floor on her back behind Olen until she was back behind cover near the door.

“Alright hun,” She began, still smiling despite her bruised ribs, “Let’s make a break for it. If you want, I can carry you.” Laira teased, though not entirely. If Olen did need to be carried for whatever reason, she could make it happen though she would much rather run behind him while he provided cover fire.

Olen Halcorr

 

[Olen Halcorr]

"Haha very funny, be thankful they didn't hit your funny bone. Now let's ditch this place."

Olen provided cover fire from his twin blasters, hitting an scrapping Rodian in the chest, he edged out of the scene of chaos that had engulfed the cantina. It was almost intriguing to see that all the destruction had been caused by an overactive Trandoshan.

Putting the comlink to his mouth, he established a connection with his astromech. "Dew, listen we need a pickup ASAP, is everything okay?" A snarky response came in the form of periodic bleats which quickly prompted him to close the transmission and report to his companion.

"He's coming, you should get your own ship here, perhaps Dewback can talk your astromech." He suggested, seeing the frame of an X-Wing flying towards their position. The point became larger as it approached closer and closer, touching down by them with the canopy opened up for him and his red flight helmet and black gloves sitting in the pilot's seat.

"Good to see you too buddy, me and Laira had a bit of fun in the cantina, nothing too major." Popping a grin at Laira, he clambered into the fighter, picking up the helmet and gloves and placing both accessories on. Dewback gave the droid equivalent of a scoff as he stretched the wide ends of his gloves and did the straps on his helmet. He hit the button on the left panel which closed the canopy with a hydraulic hiss.

The controls flashed to life as he grabbed the control yoke, content at being back in his favourite ship. A quick two fingered salute was warranted as he eased the X-Wing into an ascent, waiting for his companion to get a move on.

L Laira Darkhold

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira grinned, her amusement at the situation clear by her expression and body language. Yes, it was a combat and people were dying because of it, but it was amusing in some ways. The banter, the chaos of it all. Bar fights tended to escalate until someone with enough authority or firepower stepped up and put an end to it, after all.

“Roger.” She said as the pair bolted from the cantina, in the end they had left without paying and so Laira had still dined and dashed, a little flushed from taking shots of drinks that weren’t meant to be shots. “Rowdy, run startup, I’m on my way.” The redhead muttered through her comlink, though she stayed with Olen. His X-wing arrived a moment later, the droid piloting it swooping low to pick up the pilot, she admired the design for a moment, letting her hand run against the metal of the nose cone.

The redhead returned the simple salute to the pilot, and then turned to dash off to her own X-wing sitting in the lot, its engines coming online even as she approached. She ducked under the fuselage and bounded up to the cockpit in a few short leaps, slipping into the seat. Her gloves, goggles, and helmet were all waiting for her as the starfighter eased away from the ground. As she pulled her gloves on, Laira grinned at the screen where her droid was communicating with her, “He was alright, no I didn’t swoon.” her hands flicked a few switches and brought up her sensors as the cockpit hatch closed and sealed.

“Give me quiet one and open a line to our new friends.” Drive baffles wafted over the exhausts and sensor negators clicked into activation, though they weren’t going to keep her hidden while comms were active. The X-wing began accelerating after the other fleeing starfighter with haste, sailing through the blue sky like a dart.

The droid tootled something else, and brought up a communicator line. “Hiya, I’m gonna call you Flyboy over comms. You can still call me Fulcrum if you like, though I will also accept complimentary nicknames you come up with.” The redhead called over the comm-channel sending the directed burst transmission to Olen. She pulled her helmet over her head and dropped the visor, letting the hud overlay connect with the ship’s sensors.

Olen Halcorr