Faction Real Steel [Darkwire]

[Darkwire Prophet]

"CALLING ALL SCRAP HOUNDS, DRUG FIENDS, AND JUNKHEAP MISANTHROPES; YOU LOVERS OF MECHANIZED MAYHEM, YOU PURVEYORS OF PUERILE DISASSEMBLY, ALL YOU DISCPLES OF DEATH METAL ROYALE! My name is Olly, and I am proud to bring you the most destructive, the most caustic, the most memorable rampage of hydraulics & circuitry you've ever seen!"

The holo-vid carried on with its soaring energy, laying out the exact details of the DEATH METAL ROYALE for all its aspiring contestants.

"We've got a BRAND NEW dump just waiting to be salvaged, all the way from Metellos! That's right, droid heaven got turned upside down and the best of what was left came right down here to us. I dare say these will be our meanest, most glorious bots yet!

"You know how it goes. You get twelve hours, starting tomorrow morning at 0537. You'll find a map, and that morning sludge juice, at the arena. Every team is getting one square kilometer, more or less, and you can pull whatever you want out of the junk piles there. No holds barred, no creations is too absurd. Just give me first bid if you find my grandmother's heirloom ring, ha!"

It was a simple set of rules for a simple way of life on the world of galactic refuse that was Altier.

"If you want to fight your grudge matches, I won't stop you. Find your opponents or fend them off, but everyone with a working bot should meet at the arena in exactly 12 hours. That's 1737, twelve hours to get to the arena, bring your bot, and face off!"

Some here took it in stride, like the creators of the bot-arena matches Darkwire had happened upon since it arrived in scattered numbers after the incident in Denon's District 7.

"Are you feeling me, contestants? The battle royale starts at sundown, don't be late. You don't want to miss the greatest clash of metal and destruction this planet has seen since the last one, ha! I mean it, I expect my ears to be ringing from all the clanging and mayhem these bots can muster. I want to see destruction! I want to hear screeching metal tearing apart! I WANT YOU TO BRING DOWN THE HOUSE!"

Life for the Shadowrunners might not be the same right now, but that didn't mean it still couldn't be exciting!

>> * --xING! COMM\ \\
<\Altier has always been a world ripe with opportunities for our kind.
<\This bot competition gives us a vital one, to salvage equipment and replenish our coffers.
<\Enter and win the arena match, by any means necessary.
<\It gives us time to figure out a new strategy for Denon.
<\There are no defeats, only delays.
<\And what's wrong with a bit of fun while we wait?

Spoiler: OOC Background Info

Altier. The junkyard world is an oft-overlooked, oft-underestimated world even among the elites of the Corporate Authorities. Corpos only care about Altier when it puts credits in their pockets, and it does that often enough. Still, neglect and extortion reign hand-in-hand, avarice on far more naked display than on its neighboring world of Denon. What guiding hand might exist is broken into feuding gangs and their offshoots, running miniature fiefdoms to eke out an existence via their piles of junk, co-opted by Corporate Authorities too eager to turn a blind eye to the world.

Here on Altier, things are simply thrown away. Appearances, garbage, and even problems. Few care who or what winds up on Altier, nor how long it stays there rusting in the sun-scorched earth. Eventually, it will churn out a profit that flies quickly offworld, repeating the cycle once more. Few come to Altier by choice, and most have reasons beyond their own making. Some even have dreams to make it big, or even to leave altogether. Those, like everything else on Altier, wind up simply discarded.

In the midst of the drudgery and discards, some manage to find fleeting happiness. Perhaps even paradise, for those of entrepreneuring spirit or the love of a chaotic existence. The planet has no shortage of fuel for either. Unconcerned by galactic wars, class inequalities, or the niceties of polite society, the opportunities are many and the profits are there for the taking.

Such is the choice Darkwire faces as it finds itself on Altier once more. More pauper than prince this time, it must choose what to take or wind up taken themselves. Arriving at the start of a new round of the popular, local undertaking known as DEATH METAL ROYALE, our Shadowrunners find themselves building their own remote-controlled combat bots to qualify for entry. Altier has much to salvage, but not much to give.

As so many learn on Altier, it's take or be taken, so which one are you?

Spoiler: TAGS

Anakin Stormrunner
Aren D'Shade
Brie Jaxx
Cartri Keswoll
Cassus Akovin
Daiya
Daven Tooms
Hex
Samuel Exel
Under Foot
Yula Perl
(Don't see your name here? Reply here to get added.)

 

[Glade]

Time: Just before the start of scavenging.
Location: Ready to Scrap, erm scrapper.
Team: Anyone! Bring snacks.

Core-world music in her ears almost every day now, the buzz was always worth it when she found just the right tune. She'd almost missed the announcement yesterday! Glade wasn't exactly Gadget Girl, but… Fyor was. That was a secret weapon, yesss sir, her droid and lifelong best friend beeped within her hoverchair. A chair with more neon than an information brokers bar before midnight. She was in a fancy two-piece dress, plenty of leg room for her chair, but it was stylized in understated fashions that weren't even out yet. Probably also illegally ripped off designs, but who cared where she was headed?

Humming to herself while her music drowned out everything else, so loud it probably woke the neighbors. Fyor was connected to her via a limited neural interface, feeding directly into her transparent visor about what parts they should look for. This helped her concentrate. Her illness had not been getting better, and concentration was harder each year, but what she lost in life, she made up for in gadgets! Yep! What had Caraday called her? A neon-boosted, data munchin, hutt stompin', techhead on fire! ….. That was probably a good thing she'd decided. Yep. Definitely.

Fettheads, what was she doing again? Oh yep, here to build a bot. Out the back of her hoverchair a large tray extended to carry materials that Fyor had suggested. Question was, how was she going to lift and sort it all out while stuck in a chair, it would take ages doing each and every small piece in the force.

"I know. Fyor you metalbiscuit, I know! Just back n, shift n, I dunno, wiggle that way when we need it."

Fyor beeped exasperated. "Oh Forcecakes, Fine." We'll do it all slow n stuff. She took a shot of stims, not the local kind, these were flown in from Nar Shaddaa, and you bet they had a kick. Doc would probably tell her not to with her condition, but doc wasn't here so. Yeah. They had a prize to win, and that was a buzz too.

"Heya! So we startin' soon?" She called over to whoever was running this place, she could already feel like she was about to fly.

 

[Cyran Vaas]

Time: 7 Hours before Death Metal Royale
Location: Altier

Cyran walked around and over the dreadful among the garbage. He supposed it was better to relocate some planets to act as celestial landfills rather than throw them out into space and riddle the galaxy with an incomprehensible amount of micrometeors. At least here they were stuck in Altier’s gravity well. It took him a while to find his map and find his small square kilometer of garbage to utilize to his heart's content in the allowed time. The bounty didn’t even wear his armor, just some casual clothes, not wanting to get it messed up from all the icky gunk around them.

Rolling beside him was R4-P4 which wanted to help provide their technical expertise at the task at hand. Even wanting Cyran to use him to compete. But the zeltron wouldn’t let that happen, plus it likely wasn’t in the spirit of the game to use a capable droid he already had. Along with the pair were a small team of cyran’s pit droids to help as well as a pair of exploration droids to aid in more quickly scanning through all the trash.

Initially only one square kilometer seemed almost too limiting but being here among the mountains of waste it seemed monumental to comb through it for anything useful. It was like finding a good needle in a pile of bent and broken needles. He only had about 8 hours left before he had to be ready and able to compete. As the group of pit droids rummaged through the garbage one of the floating exploration droids notified Cyran of something of interest.

Eventually Cyran and P4 strolled over to what the exploration droid found. Sticking out of the garbage was what looked to be a rusty humanoid hand. At first Cyran thought it was just an old droid or cyborg arm. But the floating exploration droid explained that it had to be more, because they couldn’t pull it out and that more of its body was stuck underneath. Grabbing its arm Cyran struggled to pull the mechanical limb and free it from the garbage that it was smothered by. He pulled and pulled freeing it bit by bit. Feeling almost like legendary heroes of feudal myths that pulled sacred artifacts from stone. With a final heave he seemed to free it but not before falling back into a harsh rusty pile of filth. When he finally got himself back up Cyran saw what it was he was struggling so much to save. It was an ancient model of “secretary droid” with a very feminine physique.

“Oh poodoo! another useless bucket of bolts.” Cyran explained, dismissing the old abandoned droid frame. But R4-P4 had something to say.

“You Pink Ditz, that’s a BD-3000 Luxery droid, one that’s in remarkably good condition considering how old it is and ending up in a place like this. It’s the best find we’ve seen since we’ve got here.” The astromech chirped in annoyance.

“Well yeah but I had something more cool and dangerous in mind. Like a battle droid or something like that. Not some personal assistant.”

“Battle droids either get left on the battlefields they died on or recovered and scrapped, people generally don’t throw them in landfills like this.” P4 then rolled over to the droid carcass and scanned it, and diagnosed what might be wrong with it. “I suggest we use the BD, at least her frame, all that’s really missing is a processor, and some fresh circuitry would help too as well as a decent cleaning to clear out the motors and joints. After that we can find some sort of weapons for her. We only have a few hours and shouldn’t waste it looking around for something that might not be there.” The astromech explained.

Frowning Cyran shrugged and replied, “Fine fine, let’s bring her back, although it feels silly showing up to a droid fight with something like a protocol droid. Even a gonk might be better, at least they have armor plating.” Cyran said before calling over the Pit droids to carry the BD body back. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a processor or personality matrix that belonged to an assassin droid.” The bounty hunter wasn’t very confident in their find, but he had to make due, which was sort of the point of the competition at the end of the day.

 

[Cinder]

Cinder was intrigued by Death Metal Royale.

However, she wouldn't be entering the battle herself. It would draw too much attention -- and she'd already heard lectures about how that was a bad, bad thing for her. Fine. She wouldn't construct a vending machine battle bot called Convenience Bot 5000 that shot out cans of soda as fast as a bullet or snack cakes that could kill.

Not like she'd thought about it...

Whatever. She'd simply sit and enjoy the carnage. Perhaps, she'd even get to sift through some of the wreckage to make her own bot for use at home. So what if it wouldn't be in the battle. Cinder's hair had grown now, so much that she wore it pulled back into a low tail. Her clothing was a bit big and tattered, but it fit the hobo-aesthetic that she was going for. Actually, she had no choice in the matter... it was whatever her caretakers could find. It was a good thing that she didn't care at all about fashion. And here on Altier, she seemed to fit in.

This was a good world to hide out on.

The teen felt like she had something in common with all the discarded things -- a camaraderie of sorts.

Tag: Open

 

[Under Foot]

[ can't feel my face ]​

The Squib's hands were shaking as he fumbled with the autoigniter.

His chest was tight. A panic seeping in through the dark whispers in his mind that echoed thoughts of failure in his head, again and again. He felt as though he couldn't breathe.

Finally, the igniter caught. A distinct scent hit the air as a tendril of pinkish smoke trailed from the tip, as the amber-furred alien brought it to his mouth and took a long drag.

The subtle notes of marcan herb hit the back of his throat as he breathed in.

He held it in for a moment, then gave an audible sigh as he let it out. His chest was still tight, but at least his hands had stopped shaking.

Honestly, this was probably the worst idea that he'd had. But it wasn't like there were a lot of options. He'd already used all of his good ideas, so the bad ones were pretty much all he had left. And, also, the good ideas had pretty much gotten him into this mess to begin with.

The Squib had transformed an old cargo container into a makeshift bar. A little watering hole adjacent to where the bot fighting would be taking place. A venue for placing bets, with the Squib offering odds to sweeten the pot. And alcohol. Lots of alcohol. The more people drank, the more they tended to gamble. And the less they thought about their gambling.

That was usually good for business.

Plus, bartending was the easy part. He wasn't having a panic attack about a lum-and-fizzyglug.

No, the source of his anxiety was the fact that bartending was just a cover. If one of the shadowrunners managed to net the prize money, that'd be credits in Darkwire's coffers today. But what about tomorrow?

So the Squib had a case in the back that wasn't Alderaan brandy. It was weapons. And he had some interest from the Corellian Exchange.

They weren't exactly the Hutts, but they were still gangsters.

Good contacts for Darkwire's network. Maybe. If the Squib wasn't killed by this.

Taking another drag on the herb, the Squib exhaled a thin trail of smoke as he lingered in the shadows behind the bar. He hadn't seen Hex yet, which was possibly a good thing. If this did go badly, he'd rather she not be around.

He hadn't seen his contact from the Exchange yet. So, until then, the Squib was just slinging drinks and puffing on a smoke.

This wasn't Denon. CorpSec wasn't waiting to descend on them. It was an easy plan. Bust the droids. Win the cash. Sell the weapons. Make friends, and then live to see another day.

But nothing was ever that simple, was it?

 

[Hex]

Tag: Cinder Cyran Vaas Under Foot
Location: Altier
Objective: Build a robot

Spoiler: Equipment

• Neon Lady suit
• ap-25i SIMP pistol
• 'Candles' Heavy particle blaster
• 'confetti' Rocket launcher
• Party Poppers (3 explosive, 3 gas)
• Dancer repulsor board
• Jade Void Amulet
• Dervish Knife

Spoiler: Hex dialogue colors

Poor Hex hears voices in her head

Hex speech to others
Hex speech to herself

Hexes inner voices
'...Neutral...'
'...Doubt...'
'...Anger...'
Coloured '.....' are also words that Hex can hear , but I decided not to write them to reduce clutter

​

Well this was exciting, it was interesting too, seeing what all her friends might come up with if they tried salvaging stuff and cobbling it together. Hex liked to build things from other things, it was fun, and the concentration required to get it right, helped the usually very erratic teen to relax. She had arrived on Altier just in time to collect her pass and head to her area of terrain. A square kilometer was an enormous area to find scrap if you knew what you were doing, but it would be a lonely twelve hours.

'...No interruptions, no distractiona...'
"You make an excellent point." she smiled.

She did wonder what her favourite distractions were all up to right now, she had spotted Daiya stuffing paint cans into her satchel before they got in the ship to come here. Hex skimmed low on her board through the corridors that were made by towers of waste. Above her in the air was a huge magnet attached to a crane, dormant for now so the scavengers could play their games, but she thought what fun it might be to have a go.

"Hey! watch where you are going!" she shouted at a pair of scav rats who lived in this part of the junk, they were fighting over something so she stopped to have a look.

"Whatcha got?" she asked, and one of the rats immediately pulled an ionic pistol on the blue haired girl. She smiled and raised her hands, the pistol was ionic, it wouldn't kill her, but would sting like a pig if she shot her. "Not gonna steal it, just want to take a look"

"Isshhck ttid! Isshhck ttid! Goy nawanga ttid!! Bglakk isshii ijk!!"

Hex look baffled but slowly drew a chocolate bar out of her pack to try and placate the grumpy rat. He sniffed it then snatched it out of her hand to eat, wrapper and all, only handing a small chunk to the other rat. He placed the item in her hand, assuming a trade had taken place before they both scampered back into a tunnel in the metal. Hex gave the item a quizzical look, she hadnt planned to buy it, the chocolate was simply to prevent her getting shot. "Oooh!" she gasped as the rotated the barely worn military flow power distributor in her hand. If she didn't use it today, this was bound to come in handy in the future. "Thank you!" she shouted after the vanished scrap residents.

She continued her salvaging and went from pile to pile slowly before spotting something she liked the look of. Sticking out of the debris was what looked like half a caterpillar track. She hopped off her board and ran over to it, there was a patina of rust on the metal and the item was very grimy, but it looked like the locomotive systems were intact. Hex began pulling parts away until she could get close enough to try and start the machine.

'...You're wasting your time, it's broken, you can't fix stuff as well as you think...'
"I know its broken, but I can fix stuff as well as need, thank you..."
'...suit yourself...'

It appeared to be an old tracked bomb defusing robot, one which had failed in its task judging by the twist in its armoured plating. It took the teen a little while and involved stealing a few powercells to replace the damaged battery, but she got it started and with nine hours to go she was trundling through the scrap back to her workship, riding the small tracked machine.

 

[Glade]

Tag: Open
Mission: Build'a'Bot
Show was on the road, music, lights, and attitude.

"You wanna speak in basic? But that's like, so slow!" Glade quizzed him. Fyor droid beeped sadly back. "Okies, sorry I didn't mean'ta be catty, just kinda stressed with everythin'." Silvers shutting down was reminding her of another family she'd lost. No No No, not on her stim high. No tears today, there it was, that stim buzz, lean into that.

Fyor Droid Language Mode Activated.
Please Wait. Adjusting personality matrix.
Thank you.

"It is indisputably a pleasure to speak to you again miss Natoline, I have a carefully laid out a search pattern based on this site's previous history, and scheduled disposals."

Music instantly off. Nato… Glade, hadn't heard that voice for years. She missed it more than she knew. Polite, overly technical, and intelligent. She just wanted him to keep talking now, frell their search. Fyor droid waited patiently until she came around.

"Okay." She said quietly to him, tearing up properly

"With your permission, I will start a simple grid search algorithm at coordinates A-7, overlayed with the disposal pattern data I have provided."

Bobbing her head. Still teary but ready to go. Quick sniff, she got herself back together.

On they hovered, to find their buried treasure, with Fyor's calculations and search algorithms they would likely do better than expected. The first thing discovered was a thick scoop, a secret reliable weapon in a bot war to have. If the holovids had taught her anything! Bonus it was, you guessed it, neon green. Time to force lift it to the back of their ride, it was harder to do when she couldn't see the back of her chair properly. Glade had to settle down and concentrate on her ability, even stimmed out as she was.

 

[Junker Jonn]

​

Location: Altier, Cargo Container Bar
Tags: Under Foot

​

Kubaz facial expressions are tough for most non-Kubaz to read. Though humanoid in overall build, their faces were pretty much all snout, without any of the features that humans and near-humans tend to rely on to discern emotion. Despite these challenges, it wasn't hard to figure out the mental state of this particular Kubaz as he entered the makeshift bar near the robot fighting ring. It was written all over his body language - the way he was hunched over as if trying to become smaller, or the way his head swung around, watching anxiously. This particular Kubaz was harried. Anxious. Guilty.

It'd been a good long while since Junker Jonn had left the Scar Worlds behind and dashed Coreward, toward the relative safety of the center of galactic civilization. He'd spent a long, long time trying to hold together the Kubaz expat community on Mek-Sha, managing resources and negotiating squabbles with all the other bands of refugees who'd ended up there after the Bryn'adul genocides. Eventually it'd been more than his nervous little heart could take, and he'd just... walked away. He wasn't proud of it, but surely everyone could see that he wasn't cut out to be a leader in time of crisis.

He was just a simple man, trying to make his way in the universe. He wasn't hero material.

So Junker had gone back to what he knew - the scrapping trade. He'd built up a new crew, taken on contracts, made an honest living. He didn't mind hard work, especially now that it was away from the old warzones of the galaxy's eastern fringe. He'd been on exactly one haunted starship, and he intended to keep that number right where it was, because one was too many in his book. Altier was missing the stark, untamed beauty of the frontier, and had in fact replaced it with the depressing bleakness of endless corporate exploitation, but at least there were no Sith ghosts or active bioweapons to worry about.

But then he'd gone and done it. In the absence of monsters, he had created one all his own.

"Fuzzy Tauntaun, if you've got it," Junker squeaked to the Squib bartender, sliding down in front of the bar. "Something else strong if you don't." He needed to wash away his sins, forget the abomination he had wrought for as long as he could before he was forced to unleash it. It'd seemed like a good idea at the time; as much as he liked scav work, he would be perfectly happy to take home this bot fight prize and retire. But was any amount of credits worth what he had done? "Do you..." the Kubaz began, stroking his snout anxiously. "Do you think the spirits remain in the Netherworld because..."

"... because they, too, fear what we have created here in the galaxy?"

As if on cue, the monstrous offspring of Junker Jonn trundled into the bar, trilling cheerfully. It skated along on tracked feet that had been welded to what looked like half of a gonk droid's body. The bisected frame had been turned sideways and covered in panels and components, all so mismatched that they could have come from anything from vaporators to starships. A mess of gun barrels protruded from the front, the weapons half hidden within the chassis. On top of the body, completing the unholy amalgamation, was a circular head clearly scavenged from some off-brand astromech.

The droid stopped beside Junker, trilling excitedly. The scav captain put his head in his hands.

What had he done? What hath Kubaz-kind wrought upon the galaxy?!

 

[Under Foot]

A Kubaz sauntered up to the bar.

"Fuzzy Tauntaun, if you've got it."

The Squib had several step stools behind the bar, allowing him to reach up and grab what he needed from the various liquors and syrups. And he'd devised a raised platform out of crates so that he had something to stand on that put him at bar-counter height. Mixing up the drink, the Squib dipping into the cooling unit under the bar to produce a chilled highball glass.

This may be a junkyard -- it was Altier after all -- but that didn't mean they had to be uncivilized.

Pouring the drink out, the Squib slid the glass over in front of the Kubaz and then started to clean up when he heard.

"Do you think the spirits remain in the Netherworld because... because they, too, fear what we have created here in the galaxy?"

The Squib turned his head up, his ears flitting as if he wasn't sure what he'd heard. Was this marcan herb hitting a little harder than usual?

Then the mechanical abomination wandered in.

Was that a gonk droid chassis?

Picking up the rolled cigarette, the Squib took another hit of the herb and then held it out toward the Kubaz.

"You may need this more than I do."

Junker Jonn​

 

[Brie Jaxx]

Location: Altier, the makeshift bar
Objective: Build a robot (and try not to get carried away in the salvaging)!
Tag: Under Foot , Junker Jonn , open!

​

Altier. From formerly making a living as a salvager, Brie had been here before. She thought that she had, at least. She couldn't remember exactly when, but the ships nav computer had recognised it as visited before. She never thought that she would do anything more than just search and salvage on here, though.

"We've got a BRAND NEW dump just waiting to be salvaged, all the way from Metellos! That's right, droid heaven got turned upside down and the best of what was left came right down here to us. I dare say these will be our meanest, most glorious bots yet!''

The announcment had made her ears perk up when seeing that holo-vid. Not only was it a very interesting origin to the scrap that had been dumped on Altier, but the contest itself came off as pretty fun and challenging to her. Having quite the experience in picking out good quality and valuable items at the scrapyards of the galaxy, together with the premise of wrecking havoc without having to risk their own lives for once, a journey here didn't sound so bad after all. So, without further ado, Brie had put on her old but reliable as well as comfy teal spacesuit (leaving the helmet aboard, because she simply didn't see the need for it on Altier, and also it wouldn't be distracting Cartri Keswoll if she bumped into him), put her hair in a practical ponytail and punched in the coordinates for Altier.

What she did not remember from her previous visit to Altier though, was that it had bars! Surrounded by the hills of scrap! The container turned into a makeshift bar looked pretty modest from the outside, but she could hear that they had guests. A slightly below-decent Jawa Juice couldn't be much to ask for, even for Altier! Brie thought, and entered through the opening in her usual careful but curious way.

''Under...? Under Foot?'' she uttered with slight uncertainty to both getting his nickname right from the last time they worked with eachother, as well as in surprise to seeing the little squib managing a bar here of all places. ''Oh, kriff-!'' came the next line along with a step back in reaction to the sight of the bizarrely looking droid, seemingly armed to its teeth too. The droid battle wasn't about to start for yet a good couple of hours! Guard droid to the kubaz standing beside it, maybe? The initial shock soon wore off her, and seeing that Under Foot was okay with the alien and his droid, she dared to walk up to the counter and take a seat. On a respectable distance from the two other guests, of course. However, she flashed them a small smile and nod of excuse.

''Uhh, you got any Jawa Juice back there?'' Brie asked the furry fellow shadowrunner and stretched on her neck a bit to see what the little squib had managed to find or bring to the planet. ''You're not participating in the contest? I thought you liked old bits and bobs?'' she added, remembering that salvage hunt they all had went to.

​

 

[Yoroi Argosa]

Location: Altier

Bright. Too bright. Yoroi held a hand above his eyes to shield them from the unfiltered sun that baked Altier. He never adjusted well on arid worlds having grown up in a domed city. Nights were always better, no matter the world. More fun at least. Night was still a ways off but Yoroi couldn’t sleep any longer. Instead he ventured out of his ship to slate his boredom in the junk-strewn backwater he’d landed on.

It was clearly a busy day. Hooded locals huddled around holotables speaking in foreign dialects. Yoroi understood some but most sounded like little more than random grunting and the gargling of spit. He suddenly wished he had a hood of his own. Sweat was quickly beading on his browline and the long coat that was a comfort during space flight felt suffocating.

Bullhorns mounted to long poles screamed on about the event that had the junk town in full color. Death. Metal. Royale. Yoroi was interested. He didn’t know what it was but it didn’t matter. A contest could mean only one thing. Gambling. Tapping his pocket, he checked that he indeed had some credits on him. His pace quickened. He needed to get out of the heat and into some action.

Yoroi moved toward the largest portion of the crowd. Through squinted eyes he spotted a cargo container with several drab cloth tarps blowing above the entrance. The most important part was the scrawled sign depicting a frothing glass of drink and, next to it, a credit symbol. Truly a universal language. Salvation.

The bar air was thick, smoky and hot, but at least it was a dim refuge from the sun. A golden colored squib eyed him as he brushed the sand off a weathered stool against the counter to sit down.

“Nog. Grog. Anything cold. Please,” Yoroi asked with a hint of desperation. The walk and the heat had done its damage to his thirst. The other patrons seemed preoccupied with a thick custom-job battle droid. Ah, death metal. Yoroi was beginning to put the pieces together.

“Sooo,” he spoke to no one in particular. “Are there any favorites to win this royale today?”

Under Foot | Junker Jonn | Brie Jaxx
Open To Interaction
​

 

[Junker Jonn]

​

Location: Altier, Cargo Container Bar
Tags: Under Foot | Brie Jaxx | Yoroi Argosa

​

Junker nodded appreciatively as the Squib set down his requested drink in front of him. He'd had some hope this makeshift bar could actually produce one when he'd seen that the bartender was nonhuman; humans tended not to favor the Fuzzy Tauntaun, which interacted oddly with their physiology and caused numbness of the lips. The scav captain threw the drink back, sucking the cold liquid up his snout and then feeling it trickle down his throat. A loud slurping sound bounced off the cargo crate walls of the improvised drinking den, followed by a satisfied sigh.

A Kubazian sigh, which somewhat resembled an air bladder deflating through an off-key trumpet.

As the abomination that was his fighting bot trundled up beside him, Junker looked ruefully up at the bartender. "That's kind of you," he said, eyeing the offered cigarette, "but I don't think I have the right... parts." Smoking a cigarette was nigh impossible for a Kubaz. Assuming he could get it to fit his mouthparts at all, he would have had to either hold his snout out straight the entire time or smoke with the cigarette pointing straight down, dripping ash down his front and smoke up his face. His species favored the more manageable hookah for their inhalant needs.

Oh, kriff! The sound make Junker sigh again, and this time the sound was distinctly more melancholy, like a saxophonist running out of breath. Someone else had entered the bar and been immediately visually accosted by the abomination he had birthed. The Kubaz turned to look and saw a human female, who sat well away from him and his mechanical menace. She looked young, though it was hard for the scav captain to tell with humans. The young ones, with naturally colorful hair, sometimes dyed it silver or grey, and the old ones, with naturally grey hair, sometimes dyed it back to color.

You had to check for their skin wrinkles if you wanted to be sure, and that involved too much staring to be polite.

Another human came in after that, looking for a cold drink. It was still a shock to Junker to see quite so many humans, but he had to remember that this was considerably Coreward of the region of space he was used to. Mek-Sha might be teeming with the various species who had been driven to near-extinction by the Bryn'adul, but nearer the center of the galaxy, humans were absolutely dominant. Are there any favorites to win this royale today? Junker shrugged morosely. "Hard to say. Most bots are still under construction. A parade of pending abominations against decency."

He looked down at his own creation, which trilled happily up at him, oblivious to his discontent.

A third sigh. "Another one, please," he told the bartender.

 

[Glade]

Tag: Open
Mission: Build'a'Bot

Wistful feelings of remembrance. Pottering at a steady hover around, there were so many memories here and history. Every time she brought a piece of the past to her, the Kiffar would immerse herself in the impressions she felt. Junk piles were slices of lives, she could be here all week and be happy.

She probably spent more time on little eccentricities and keepsakes than she did on finding parts for the bot! "It would be prudent to not delay, we still have 85.33% of our intended construction to complete." Every so often being interrupted by the nagging voice of her friend.

Back of the hover chair, was increasingly weighted down and chugging along sluggishly. She needed a spot to bury the loot! Alongside all these nuggets of memories that she'd found within the metal. There was a chunky metal ring, a green neon scoop, some rotating painted discs that needed sharpening, and… "this one's kinda nice." A weighty metal sphere, of course, bright in color, polished really classy. Like everything she was collecting on her chair, it had to look good.

"That device would most certainly need more time than we have allotted ms Natoline."

Nose scrunch. But it was pretty.

"My sensors indicate this will most optimally provide what we are looking for."

Bleh. "Oh alright."

She force-hovered it on over at a bouncy pace toward Fyor droid, who could sense her disappointment. A can of spraypaint, extended from out the side of the chair, and quick as a flash, she had it in a coral pink color. Her bright smile said it all. Taking their loot into a clearing, the hoverchair's back began to dump the goods in a small pile. "Er, gonna need you'ta, help" The last word softly accentuated, she was way out of her element.

"Have no fear, I have a detailed plan of action, and have laid the blueprints out in an organized step-by-step format. Her visor came alive with the designs. We shall proceed with the central gyro and make our way to the outer ring, attaching the implements from slide 6 to slide 13 in cross-section 2a."

Glade blinked.

"Yep." Let's do that.

Two small eyes watched her from within the junk pile, greedily eyeing her salvage.

 

[Under Foot]

The Kubaz's commentary about not having the right parts to smoke the herb actually got the Squib thinking.

Maybe something like a hookah? With a mask?

If he'd had the time, he would have started sketching out a design on one of cocktail napkins, however, someone calling his name prompted him to look away from the Kubaz.

It was... Brie?

He thought her name was Brie. ''Uhh, you got any Jawa Juice back there?''

"Of course," the Squib replied, ducking below the bar and rummaging through the cooling unit before he came up with a container. Pouring that into a glass, he put the drink down in front of the human girl as a third patron entered the bar.

So far, this was proving to be a far busier venture than running a scrapyard had been.

"Nog. Grog. Anything cold. Please," the stranger ordered.

Using the step ladder, the two-tailed alien reached up for a bottle of nog that was sitting behind the bar. Fishing out a tumbler, he dropped an ice cube into it and then poured out a finger of nog into it and set it in front of the man.

"Sooo, are there any favorites to win this royale today?"

The Kubaz was the first to take that question. "Hard to say. Most bots are still under construction. A parade of pending abominations against decency."
the owner of the gonk chop-job remarked, before he ordered a second round.

"I'm offering odds if you're a gambling man," the Squib noted in a neutral tone of voice, as he whipped up another fuzzy tauntaun and replaced the Kubaz's empty glass with a fresh drink.

''You're not participating in the contest? I thought you liked old bits and bobs?'' Brie noted. Not at all inaccurately.

"Prize money just gets you credits today. I'm usually more interested in tomorrow and the day after," the Squib answered. Plus, it didn't make sense for Darkwire to flood the contest if the goal was to shore up their coffers.

Everyone just needed to do their part, and Darkwire would come out of this richer and better connected.

Plus, he was betting on Hex and it wouldn't be prudent to bet on her and also compete against her.

"I hear there's still time to enter the contest if that's more your interest," Ree added, as he set to work cleaning up from the drinks he'd mixed up.

Yoroi Argosa Junker Jonn Brie Jaxx​

 

[Daiya]

She sat at the edge of the junk pile, nestled in among an impromptu assembly of torn cushions and extracted foam. It worked well enough as a chair, though Daiya still felt herself shifting from time to time. Comfort was a hard thing to catch on Altier, her arms were already searing from the too-warm sun's rays reflecting off her glistening, too-pale skin and the air gave her a dry, rasping throat. The teen took another drink from a canteen, battered and reformed like nearly everything on this planet, and let the cool liquid soothe the rawness in her throat.

"Well, this is chit," the teen said to no one in particular. She didn't actually hate the sketch she'd drawn of the landscape around her. If she squinted, it almost looked similar. Frustration sounded at the back of Daiya's throat as another part of her jammed her datapad parts back together, stuffing the device back in her satchel.

Hopping off her makeshift throne, the young shadowrunner stuffed hands into her pockets, stalking off among the piles.

There was yet to be anyone who needed what Daiya could offer today. She was no mechanic or inventor like some of her fellow Shadowrunners, and what little vision she had for a killer robot was dwarfed by the likes of Hex or Brie. It was fine, Daiya told herself, she didn't need to be good at everything. Still, the young shadowrunner couldn't shake the feeling that she'd be of better use infiltrating a factory again, or at least trying to sabotage one of the competing teams.

Or just use up all her glitter spray paint on graffiti that no one but her would appreciate.

Daiya's boot found the edge of a piece of scrap, and she kicked at it. It went sailing through the air, and as she tracked the arc with practiced eyes, her face scrunched in sympathetic pain before the junk even landed. The scrap bounced away before she could see if it had hit or just startled the being nearby, but the teen hurried to approach them.

"Oh feth, I didn't mean to hit you!" Daiya shouted even before she drew close. They had short, brown hair and were thin bordering on malnurished. She could relate, and the closer Daiya got, the more true that was. The other girl looked like one of the scrap rats that skittered over the piles, expert eyes snatching prized junk with nimble fingers. Or maybe just someone lost.

"It just got away from me," she offered, which was true in a way. Then, realizing the other girl might really be an Altier native, Daiya followed up quickly. "It's not mine, you can claim it or whatever beings do around here."

Cinder​

 

[Cartri Keswoll]

Location: Altier
Objective: Drink sorrows away
Tag: Brie Jaxx / Under Foot / Daiya / Junker Jonn

Altier, the planet where you could find the most top quality junk in the universe. That was only proven by the fact of a robot brawl where like minded individuals built a robot to face off. Cartri could have made better use of his time, but it was far better than sitting on the couch and sulking in his apartment all week. So, with the immense will to get himself socially active again he finally dragged himself off planet to finally get some of the rusty air the planet had to offer.

Cartri chose to ignore the robot antics and went straight to a bar that was made from an old container. He wasn't really planning on drinking, but it was better than standing around being bored. The ginger made his way over and saw a familiar face in the form of Brie and Under, who were probably some of the few people in Darkwire he trusted right now.

"Undie, Brie..." he said in a lower tone that lacked his natural upbeat personality. Since all the Denon chit Cartri had lost his edge in terms of teasing and having fun. Those who he loved most had betrayed him and almost got him killed, it was going to take a long time for him to even begin moving on from a thing like that "Surprise me, give me something strong" he asked the Squib before giving a shy smile to Brie "How are you doing? I hope things have been better since... well, you know" Cartri said with a lowered head, speaking more quietly than he usually did.

Cartri had always liked brie, even when they were at each other's throats in the caves. She was loyal, and that was something he looked for more than anything right now "I also owe you a drink... it's the least I can do considering you were one of the few that were there for me"

​

 

[Brie Jaxx]

Location: Altier, the makeshift bar
Objective: Build a robot (and try not to get carried away in the salvaging)!
Tag: Under Foot , Cartri Keswoll , Junker Jonn , Yoroi Argosa , open!

​

"Prize money just gets you credits today. I'm usually more interested in tomorrow and the day after," the Squib answered. Plus, it didn't make sense for Darkwire to flood the contest if the goal was to shore up their coffers.

Brie gave the furry one a smile at his smart but maybe obvious conclusion, if you just thought about it. The little one really was kind of cunning as a squib! No one was to fool him. Of course, none of them were here to make a fortune but it was a contest for credits and gave them some fun time outside The Tombs, and it was something new for most of them to try. Upon the question if she were going to participate herself, Brie nodded after taking a sip of the juice.

''That's the plan! Depends on wether I find Daiya or not... Have you seen her around?'' she asked and sat down the glass on the counter. Just then, a voice sounding to be stuck in sorrow greeted them.

​

"Undie, Brie..." he said in a lower tone that lacked his natural upbeat personality. Since all the Denon chit Cartri had lost his edge in terms of teasing and having fun.

Brie turned around and saw the ginger boy definitely not being that ginger as he used to, more like gingerly. He looked like someone who had lost everything, and Brie stared worriedly upon him as he took a seat and ordered something strong. The strongest thing Under Foot had in the bar. Something must have been horribly wrong.

''I- I'm good... but... What happened to you??'' she asked straight out. She knew that Daiya and Cartri have had a tough time after the incident on Denon, but there had to be something more to explain his mood, right?

Cartri had always liked brie, even when they were at each other's throats in the caves. She was loyal, and that was something he looked for more than anything right now "I also owe you a drink... it's the least I can do considering you were one of the few that were there for me"

''Don't worry about it, Cartri. You would have done the same for me. You got us all worried back there... That doctor deserves a kriffing medal.'' she explained, and with a chuckle praised the doctor that had taken over the care of Cartri after they had arrived at The Tombs. ''Denon wouldn't have been the same without you. You know that, right?'' Brie added, smiling at her friend and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. ''Everyone thinks that...''

 

[Cinder]

Alarms went off in Cinder's head.

Turning swiftly, she stepped to the side in time to avoid being hit by flying... scrap. The teen stood puzzled, her eyes focused on the piece of metal now motionless on the ground. But then, a voice called out. Her eyes widened, every muscle in her body tensed.

However, Cinder relaxed as she regarded the other girl – a teen with light hair and blue eyes. The other girl spoke to her like she was an alien. A strange being. If only she knew just how strange. For the time, it worked in her favor.

"No harm done," she replied, which was the truth.

Cinder bent momentarily to retrieve the piece of scrap. "I will take it." That's what people here did, didn't they? Of course, her attire of a baggy shirt, over-sized overalls, and a flannel button up made her fit in pretty well. The other girl looked... different. Stylish. Fashionable.

"You are not from here," Cinder observed aloud. "I am," she nodded.

Impulse had warned her about talking to people. Her identity and purpose were still... questionable. It was something to be hidden. But she was curious. After all, she'd never met another person her age.

"Cinde... Cindy. I am Cindy." She kept her distance. "Who are you?"

Daiya

 

[Under Foot]

"Undie, Brie..."

Oof. Cartri was looking...

...well. Just oof.

"Surprise me, give me something strong," the teen remarked. The Squib inclined his head in acknowledgment, even as his tails flitted from side to side at the dilemma of being the one to choose.

Just what did humans like to drink any way?

Something strong. Something strong.

The Squib came up a minute later with a bottle of green-colored liquor. "Novanian grog," he announced, in case either was unfamiliar with the alien script on the label. "The Duros swear by it," he added, giving it that quintessential Squib salesman touch, as he poured a single out and set it in front of the teen.

Then he seemed to stop and think for a moment. "Corellians classify it as a paint stripper," he added, almost as an after thought.

Was it even safe for humans to consume?

Well, they'd be about to find out. "Oh well. Two things can be true at once, yeah?" the Squib remarked with his signature smile.

He'd just leave the bottle.

Cartri Keswoll Brie Jaxx​

 

[Yoroi Argosa]

"Hard to say. Most bots are still under construction. A parade of pending abominations against decency."

The Kubazian had made a good point. Building a near-sentient droid only to send it into a gladiatorial deathmatch did verge on barbaric. However, Yoroi simply shrugged. If this was part of the Altier culture he would withhold his judgment. Such was being a citizen of the galaxy.

Yoroi swished the ice cube in his glass. He had pulled a cigarette from a case he kept in an interior coat pocket and was now holding it between his lips while he glanced around the room. Some of these strangers didn’t appear to be locals. It wasn’t the fact that they were human but that they were too clean. Their skin lacked the damage that would come from living on a world like Altier. No layers of new sunburns on top of old tans. No blotchy irritation from the winds and dust. They looked more like Coruscanti than outlanders, and profoundly young at that.

He concluded they had to have been travelers like himself or at least new transplants. Maybe students or tourists who had jetted in for the royale.

"I'm offering odds if you're a gambling man,"

Yoroi’s eyed darted up from his glass. The nog had begun to work its magic on his chemistry. He had indeed come to the right place.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Yoroi replied, leaning back on his stool. “Never taken part in many wagers like that.” He let the statement hang for a moment, not wanting to seem too eager. He’d seen many desperate gamblers pay the price for being too fast with their credits.

“But I suppose it could be fun.” He produced a datapad from his coat to see if he could get some insight on the contestants and find a good bet.