Show Us Your Guns, Boys! | ORC Dominion of Elysian

[Chloe Blake]

Objective 3: Be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Word had a way from spreading.

Spacers' tales and murmurs through the Hydian Way. While her connection to [member="Jorus Merrill"] had faded some in the subsequent years, there was still just a tiny bit of knowing. A knowing perhaps granted from the affection she had for the Warden or perhaps due to the whims of the Corellian Gods. Be it as it may, this far out to the ends of the galaxy brought one blonde haired Warden looking to confirm it herself.

All she had was faith; more often than naught, it held true regardless.

She was getting on there, years and the like reflecting upon new crow's feet at the corner's of her eyes. In the few strands of silver in her hair. Yet there was no denying that same whimsical smile that seemed to permanently linger upon Chloe Blake's face.

This particular spaceport was surprisingly packed, but Chloe found a place to park the Aurora Hawk. Stepping out into the light from the loading ramp, the Warden brought her hand up to shield her eyes from the brightness of the sun.

"Well now, what we have here?"

 

[Jorus Merrill]

Objective Three: Somewhere else. Anywhere else.

[member="Agenor Dyre"]

An expression of befuddled paralysis grew on the face of an Alderaanian noble. "Ah, Captain...what is that?"

Jorus blinked and looked up as a shadow settled over them. "Bud, that's a Mandal Hype light corvette being piloted by a newbie or a glitbiter. It's also about to be a pain somewhere in my gluteal region. I'd cover my ears if I were you."

The Argo just barely brushed the Wretched Hive with a squeal of metal on metal. The Hive was good solid durasteel, but if Jorus remembered right, those Mando corvettes were plated in phrik and matrix armor. One of the Hive's asteroid mining torches snapped off and bounced along the permacrete in Jorus' general direction. The nobleman broke and ran, but he'd already brought in his cloud car and paid up front, so that was all right.

"Excuse me a sec," said Jorus to nobody, and stalked across the intervening distance to the Argo's forward hatch. Knocking didn't tend to get heard through an airlock door. Fortunately, he had a socket wrench in his pocket, and the butt of the tool made a satisfying clang clang clang against the phrik surface.

Righteous indignation vanished as he caught a certain voice from behind him.

"Well now, what have we here?"

He turned away from the Argo's hatch, socket wrench slack in his hand.

"...Chloe?"

 

[Zef Halo]

SOMEWHERE ELSE, ANYWHERE ELSE
OBJECTIVE 3: SOMEONE GET ME A DRINK.

Dyre would've probably stood there in a trance observing the damage of the collision had it not been for the inhumanely annoying clanging sound that came somewhere behind him. He blinked twice reverting back to reality turning to face what was all the commotion. In the distance, he saw the inspectors going through the crew's documents. His hopes were that there were no problems there, he had enough with this bumpy landing and now with this damn noise that reminded him of the days his father thought it was a good idea to fix things on their barge at 4 AM.

Holy-

"Whoa, buddy! Hey. Hey!" Agenor hurried towards a stranger that was knocking on the airlock of the Argo for no apparent reason. He tried louder attempting to silence the continuous clanging. "Hey! I am the Captain! What's- HEY! What's going on?"

An odd feeling in his gut told him that this would probably be the captain of the ship they had just bumped into. Dyre also had the awful precognition that the man was an insane glitter addict that would drive Agenor's blood pressure up again. On the other hand, the captain would appreciate if that was the case. He had a fair share of interactions with such sentients across all the scummy shadowports the Argo had docked on.

[member="Jorus Merrill"] [member="Chloe Blake"]​

 

[Chloe Blake]

OBJECTIVE THREE: Be somewhere else. Anywhere else
[member="Agenor Dyre"] [member="Jorus Merrill"]

The angles of his face were all wrong. Jaw a bit angular, hair a shade darker. No more the obvious that it was a profile the Warden hadn't seen before. The voice was a bit higher pitched, but the way he breathed out her name was all the same. It echoed with a familiarity that softened the features of the blonde Corellian standing not a few meters away.

"Khasaan'l", that old familiar greeting was as much of a comfort as a bittersweet joy. The smile upon Chloe's face grew wider, the apples of her cheeks showing. The collision was already gathering plenty of observers, most wondering if there was going to be a fight going down. Not that it bothered none Chloe. Coming in with a voice of cheerful reason was her motto, although, seeing the results of the mining torch on the floor and the slight dents and scratches on the Hive, well, one could understand the notion of being irate.

"Cjaalysce'l" you are wearing the road well. A slight bob of her throat, and Chloe rocked on her heels. However, much like the Gods were quick to always place someone in between them in the most awkward, or amusing of moments, another stranger darted in, hollering and almost indignant with whatever was being done on the ship. Captain or crew, maybe?

Her nose crinkled a bit, going from the Hive back to the Argo.

"Well, reckon your boat got a bit too up close and friendly with this one right here without even asking her out for a drink." she sang out, a mix of humor going along with the brightness of her blue eyes.

 

[Jorus Merrill]

Objective Three: Be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

"You're gorram lucky she's here, bud. Whatever lobotomized glitbiter you've got at helm just scraped off about five grand worth of mining gear, not to mention jostled the crews I've got modding ships in there. Know what can happen when you're using a plasma torch and the floor gets a bump like that?"

Jaw knotting, Jorus looked back and forth between [member="Agenor Dyre"] and [member="Chloe Blake"], then slipped the socket wrench back into the pocket of his coveralls.

"Anyways, you've got a Mandal Hypernautics warship plated in phrik and matrix armour. I'm betting you can afford to foot the bill, or you want me to call up Rigel Larraq and see what he thinks?" A bluff, but not by much. He'd met the reclusive, genocidal Mandalorian industrialist once or twice, but it had been his sister Rave who'd been friendly with Larraq. Then again, some folks said Larraq was dead.

Jorus let out a long, slow breath and refocused on his former roommate, former first mate, former everything but mate back in the day. She'd even taken his daughter under her wing for a while. Force, but he'd loved her once, and old affection came rushing back.

"Hi, Chloe. Cjaalysce'l. Sorry we're running into each other at a bad time."

 

[Tarok Vassket]

Objectifying males was entirely the norm within nightsister culture. Moving into an environment where they were not only able to choose their mates, but hold positions of authority had been a bit of a shock to Tilzi.

This, however, she could enjoy. Not just because of the dancing men either. Once upon a time a young nightsister had been forced to change her clothing in a wine cellar in front of [member="Bryce Bantam"]. It had affected him somewhat more than her.

Still, watching him make a fool out of himself in front of the crowd managed to feel like some kind of payback. Though she did notice he seemed to have broadened across the shoulders somewhat since she had last seen him.

It was remarkable how well she could make a cat whistle sound ironic.

 

[Zef Halo]

SOMEWHERE ELSE, ANYWHERE ELSE
OBJECTIVE 3: SOMEONE GET ME A DRINK. NO ICE.

The clanging finally stopped at the appearance of a cheerful lady that seemed to be the man's acquaintance. She induced some humor as coolant into the inevitable heated interaction but while the man might have seemed surprised at the appearance of the lady, he was still hellbent on the incident.

"Whoa, whoa, let's calm down a bit." Agenor motioned his hands to stop him from going complete ballistic. The captain took a quick glance at the damage and while keeping a straight face, he still cringed at the result of their landing. He raised an eyebrow in curiosity of the man's knowledge of the Argo's background and quickly concluded the man was not a glitter addict but the opposite - the stranger had believed that the Argo's pilot was one.

Dyre was about to speak when the mention of Rygel Larraq stopped him right there and he felt his eyes widen. Remaining silent as the man addressed the lady, Agenor knew he was in no position to debate much more. His crew were coming in already to check out why there was a small crowd surrounding their captain and the stranger.

My luck exactly.

Agenor let out a long conceding breath.

"Alright." He said and realized that the next words he was about to say still remained in his head before he quickly added them. "I can pay, alright. Not in cash. Can do a job for you, for free. That sounds good to you ?"

"Also. The pilot's an intern. I mean, a newbie. We've all been there." Dyre quickly added just in case the man decided to tear down the already catastrophically low confidence of their new pilot.

[member="Jorus Merrill"] [member="Chloe Blake"]​

 

[Ria Misrani]

Jette was trying to figure out what in the blue earth she was watching, somewhere on Elysian squirreled away in a hotel room. Ria Misrani's 'cousin,' pushed her force aura seeing shades up on her nose as she held a can of crisps under her arm. Slowly she chewed on the crisp and debated about what she was seeing, and she knew she sort of recognized the pink lady. Oh, sweet, sweet pink lady the forcebuster thought to herself as she looked on. After awhile she determined that what she was seeing was well, trash. Where were all the beautiful ladies? And more importantly where was the pretty pink lady? Slipping off the sofa she knelt down at the holo to read where this was being held. "Hot diggity bantha-dog, scoobers we got ourselves a mission." She said speaking to herself, turning on her heels Jette stood up and headed for the door of her hotel room. "To the force-mobile!"

Objective 3 -> 2
Post 1

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Objective Three: Be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Spoiler

There was a clatter of plate in the near distance. The wearer could be sensed before he was heard, but only faintly. Like a bright lantern hooded. Baroque plate with hints of Mandalorian influence, particularly in the helmet, came into view. Markings from various cultures were carven into the plate, with matching symbols. Dai Bendu. Je'daii. Sith. Jedi. Jenasaaai and more. However, the suit was bereft of any obvious technological marvels crammed onto it like beskar'gam usually had, making it into a multi-tool of death and pain. No flamethrowers, no rockets. Just a trace of T-Visor and curved cheek lines, and a sword that drew the eye at his hip, being made entirely of crystal, and even sheathed still occasionally pulsing with light and crackling with errant static. A lightsaber rested next to it, with two odd nodules on the sides of the hilt. Calm seemed to radiate from the figure and he laid a hand, covered in heavy steel that shone as if burnished, on the one who came from the warship, the weight and general strength likely causing his shoulder to sag a bit under that gesture. A scratchy bass rumble of a voice echoed from the helm, and mirth was easily able to be heard in it.

"Wise move... Larraq is an old friend of mine... He likely would have owned everything that anyone you cared about ever bought by day's end if he heard of your mishap. And likely turned them into brothels, or something insulting like that He's crotchety in his old age. All of us Protectors seem to be getting thus..."

The hand withdrew, and he raised it to [member="Jorus Merrill"] and his friend, unknown to him, in greeting. As he shifted the catching light flared bronze on some plate segments, and silver-white on others. Parts of it were beskar, if anyone in the gathering knew the metal in it's unworked state. Ijaat didn't know if Larraq still lived or not, and for that guilt washed over him. Anija... Arrbi... Larraq... How many had his actions killed, or scattered to the winds and hyperlanes? Had he saved his people, or broken them forever? The thought was errant, and squashed, and he shook it away before eyeing Jorus. He knew the man, but not like this at all. Still half-way felt the same, but definitely not looking the same. Then again, he wasn't his own face either. Reaching up, he tapped at the left side of his helmet, and plates clattered and crawled, revealing a grizzled face with a growth of beard and tired but light-filled eyes.

"Sorry if i'm interrupting.. I have some work might interest you, if you are indeed the [member="Jorus Merrill"]. Won't be easy, i'll warn you now. I got a ship skinned in beskar needs a massive overhaul. She's a good research vessel, but I need more ability in the fighting department. And it's been in dry-dock nigh over a decade... You help me there, I'll show you how to work beskar for your purposes. And give you a copy of the research we'll be using. Full technical, visual, spectral schematics and scans, and a few other filters besides, of a Tho Yor from Tython. Specifically, Vur Tepe. I want to copy some of it onto my ship... You capable? Hell the kid here can help you... If he survives my gruff he's more than paid you back. I'm known to throw hyper-drives at people who scratch my ships..."

Here he winked, but the gesture was half done, as if to leave the other questioning if he was kidding, or just being alarmingly honest.

[member="Agenor Dyre"] | [member="Jorus Merrill"] | [member="Chloe Blake"]

 

[Dax Perl]

[member="Cear'bhaill"]

The Rogue burst out laughing. And not just a few moments of light-heartedness, more like a full three or four minutes of raucous, side aching laughter. When the Master finally got ahold of himself, he finally answered, as if the laughter wasn't enough. "No, no, I'm not." he said, still gasping for breath. "Have you seen some of the people competing? It'd be a waste of my time. An embaressing one if you ask me."

 

[Chloe Blake]

[member="Jorus Merrill"] [member="Agenor Dyre"] [member="Ijaat Mereel"]

Well now, things were certainly getting a bit more crowded and complicated. Nevermind the odd fact that the Jorus Chloe knew wasn't the one standing in front of her. Well it was but it wasn't. However, she had a tendency to take things in stride. All the will of the Gods one way or another. It may not make sense now, but perhaps later.

"Reckon things are looking a bit hectic now." she murmured over to [member="Jorus Merrill"], her half smile lingering upon her lips.

Looking on over towards the remains of the plasma mining cutter, Chloe did as Chloe would.

"I'll take care of this here." if anything, she was worth her weight with a hyderspanner. Coming up close to Jorus. she brought her hand out and gently squeezed his arm. It was as much as she would allow herself with him having folk nearby.

 

[Klesta]

Objective: Spectator
Post: 4/20

"Now that's one diverse palette of competitors, but that's probably a function of the competitors' species"

"We had an equally diverse palette of competitors back in the SJ military beauty pageant but I was quickly eliminated after the first round of the Third Fleet pageant when I took part: each individual command, usually large enough to cover a sector force, held its preliminary round, whose champion moved on to the final pageant on Voss"

"Were there other rounds? Like, say, a squadron-level pageant (for the navy) or division-level (for the army)?"

"These were the preliminary rounds, yes"

Yula, now realizing that she is sitting at the same table as one Jessica Med-Beq, one of the gossip regulars of the Sith Inquisitor due to her intellect, would feel very tempting to also want to add a line or two about her being a marquee attendee. But she knew better that it wouldn't fly to run a story with how Jessica may be cheating Summer with Julie, however tempting it is. And yet Julie gave more information as to how the contest was run. Clearly the competition won't be the same if the items they are made to wear are different, and the weight given to each step, just that Yula may be wondering how Julie won the pageant at the squadron level only to lose it at the fleet level: was it because the competition was rigged to make someone lose or the pool was shallow? But the military beauty pageants tend to be different from the civilian ones, where the one she remembered from the One Sith era was more a competition of military skills than an actual beauty pageant.

 

[Jorus Merrill]

"I can pay, alright. Not in cash. Can do a job for you, for free. That sounds good to you ? Also. The pilot's an intern. I mean, a newbie. We've all been there."

"Wise move... Larraq is an old friend of mine... He likely would have owned everything that anyone you cared about ever bought by day's end if he heard of your mishap. And likely turned them into brothels, or something insulting like that He's crotchety in his old age. All of us Protectors seem to be getting thus..."

"Sorry if i'm interrupting.. I have some work might interest you, if you are indeed the Jorus Merrill. Won't be easy, i'll warn you now. I got a ship skinned in beskar needs a massive overhaul. She's a good research vessel, but I need more ability in the fighting department. And it's been in dry-dock nigh over a decade... You help me there, I'll show you how to work beskar for your purposes. And give you a copy of the research we'll be using. Full technical, visual, spectral schematics and scans, and a few other filters besides, of a Tho Yor from Tython. Specifically, Vur Tepe. I want to copy some of it onto my ship... You capable? Hell the kid here can help you... If he survives my gruff he's more than paid you back. I'm known to throw hyper-drives at people who scratch my ships..."

"I'll take care of this here."

"Uh..."

Jorus glanced between the three of them: the commander who'd let a novice bump his ship into the Hive; the armored Mandalorian who'd unloaded a heck of a potential job; and Jorus' oldest friend, who was now going out of her way to fix his boat with her own tools and no mention of reward.

"Ah..." He focused on [member="Agenor Dyre"] first. "Done. All's forgiven. Heck, don't even worry about the job, just think of me next time you spot good salvage."

He turned -- [member="Chloe Blake"] was already getting things going in the hydrospanner department. "Don't put yourself out, Chloe. I'll get Darr and the boys down here and patch it up. And if you're dead set on it, well, they can give you a hand."

And then [member="Ijaat Mereel"]: "Bub, that's a serious offer. Good thing you're willing to show me how to cut and weld Mando iron, otherwise I'd be wrecking all my good tools on that hull. You've got yourself a deal. Lucky you've found pretty much the only ship modder who knows what a Tho Yor is."

 

[Seydon of Arda]

Objective 1

[member="Joza Perl"]

It's predatory kink relied on a certain humanoid foible; natural inclinations of charity toward young, to children and juveniles, creatures appearing defencelessly reliant on the charity of age and the wealth, experience accrued through said years. The creature belied first-impression categorization. A Bastard, more likely, an r&d rejection somehow allowed to escape and live off cold charms and a crystaline, perfect survival instinct. She looked no older than eleven dressed in bumpy hand-me-downs, a yellow frock with blue daisychain embroidery round the hem, stomping in plastic clogs and jingling, plastic and tin ankle nets. Pale and sunken-eyed through long months haunting tourist attractions past midnight. Where the inebriated and generous thought nothing of her starlight eyes or that thankful gleam to carefully hidden incisors.

He caught her feeding off a slain Gran. An eye-stalk clamped firmly in her jaws. She banshee-screamed as his stride charged him across the evening park and pushed her into flight. Seydon ran her down through stretches of boardwalk carnivale, in and out of bustling late-eve attractions luring with festivities and vendor specialities. A spectacular ruckus was when she galloped through a more high-end bistro and flew past a balcony railing. Customers wailed as the Dunaan sprinted in, vaulting laid tables, planting a boot on the brass-chrome rail and leaping down through empty, hot air.

Seydon lost her at the 'pageant'. The contest attracted rare crowds looking to make biz off the stage displays of male skin and talent. Bodies thrummed in looped crowds jostling to catch sight of coming and going competitors. It was bawdy, kitch, every second competitor a victim of specialized photo-plastic surgery chiseling their features into approximations of the galaxy's latest, arguably 'hottest' media faces. A fair throng hemmed in behind the stage, and he caught her going belly down through parts in standing legs. Blue flashed up the aluminium stairs bolted up the stage scaffolding. Seydon parted through a bronzed, half-naked line up waiting for their turn ahead.

Up the step-walk and into a dark space of inky curtains smelling of salt must and mothballs. Light flooded his vision out in a wash of white as he pawed through heavy blinds and stumbled onto a stretch of incandescent plastic catwalk. The creature was gone, nowhere to be seen. Seven score eyes and more all stared up in blind anticipation. Like a cervine caught in floodlamps, Seydon froze, stuck in place on the pageant stage. The roar of baying voices as an announcer stuttered on the stage PA.

“...Uh-oh.”

“Don't even think about it,” Said a bouncer in the wings. Broad shouldered Gamorrans with human handlers blocked off any nervous contestants from making a dive for it. “Uh-uh, you strut out there and make something charitable! Money, buddy!”

“And our next contestant is an anonymous participant! With his own unique brand of entertainment for our judging panel!” The announcer ad-libbed.

A dead beat of silence and dulled reflex. Seydon's thoughts overclocked, rummaging for solutions to being caught in front of a hollering crowd. As seconds ticked, jeers began ringing in. Someone tossed a half emptied carton of some foul vegan juice his way and bounced it off the curtains. The seated judges tapped stylus' to datapads, prompting him with pointed glances. What did he know about popular entertainment?

“...Feth it,” He said behind his teeth, unbuckling his cobbled-together chest rigs and undoing his tunic and jerkin. Talent show. He could do this. Somehow. The first flash of pale-flushed skin elicited a few hoots and wolf-whistles. The Dunaan briefly retreated upstage, sinking his head behind the curtains. He'd caught something in the dark on his way up, toeing a bit of wood and string. ...There.

An old, half-tuned Corellian stringtar. He tested the frets and plucked along, adjusting knob and lever until his ears sought the right, clear notes. Shirtless music. A time-worn tradition of many desperate buskers and cantina bards across the Hydian Way. And unlike most, thankfully, Seydon of Arda had a tune or two under his belt. His fingers began plying the instrument.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STBx4fWgtZI​

 

[Mara D'Lessio Merrill]

[member="Seydon of Arda"]

For a half-Zeltron, Mara wasn't especially pink most days. Tonight was absolutely an exception. Her blush could have ignited a small star. She'd known Sedaire and Beyyr and some of the other, ah, charitable contributors for years. Decades, in Beyyr's case. Mostly she kept to her table, alone and far away from the stage, and studied her menu.

It was a worthy cause, she kept telling herself. Joza Perl's Heartbeat House ran things like this to benefit the tidal wave of refugees who'd swarmed Elysian and nearby systems. Anonymously, Mara had tossed a good half million into the pot, and another twenty million into prefab residences, job training, language classes, and child care, just here on Elysian. Blood money, in its way: a good chunk had come from her aunt's sins, and all of it, to some degree, was because of the Mandalorians Mara had hanged on Ord Mantell.

Bitter thoughts and blushing embarrassment vanished as a plaintive stringtar cut the mood. Mara's eyes prickled, and she looked up from her menu, across the crowded room.

A shirtless man with long white hair sat on a stool, picking out that lonesome tune. Scars gouged his pale skin, and a canid's-head amulet hung around his neck. She'd met him once or twice, her aunt's old friend, the Dunaan -- the monster-hunter. What Seydon of Arda was doing on that stage, so far away from the old Levantine worlds he'd called home, was anyone's guess. Presumably he'd come here to kill something, just as she'd come here to forget killing. It didn't matter. The tune grabbed her heart and held it tight.

 

[Zef Halo]

SOMEWHERE ELSE. ANYWHERE ELSE
OBJECTIVE 3

Agenor surprised himself by keeping his cool when a metal clad palm graced his shoulder. He frowned with one of his eyes for a moment to adjust to the heavy weight. The man was a Mandalorian, if his armor did not give him up it was what he said that did. Not only that. Dyre had been in numerous battles against the Mandalorians during his time as a naval officer in the Republic. He knew the air with which they walked.

The iron clad warrior withdrew his attention from the captain of the Argo and turned it to the stranger whose ship got damaged thanks to the intern's great landing skills. Apparently, this man was well known. This Jorus Merrill, if he heard the name right from the mouth of the Mandalorian. Meanwhile, Dyre's eyes caught the unknown lady volunteer to repair the damage. Jumping on the opportunity like a famished dog on bone, Agenor shifted away from the shadow of the warrior to offer his crew's assistance instead after the Jorus guy had suddenly forgiven him for what had transpired.

The captain believed that the man felt as if he had been suddenly overwhelmed by paparazzi. He tried to make the most out of it.

"Hey, you know what ? Let my crew fix this." Before Jorus could think of protesting, Agenor added. "Trust me, no training experiences for the intern this time. The crew of the Argo's capable of fixing that. Let's do that, okay ?" He glanced at the lady and then shot straight to his initial idea. "How about I treat you fine gentleman and lady to a drink. An apology in liquid form in glass still counts, right ?" Dyre shifted glances between the trio.

[member="Ijaat Mereel"] | [member="Chloe Blake"] | [member="Jorus Merrill"]​

 

[Bryce Bantam]

Objective 1 - Talent!
Judges [member="Joza Perl"] | [member="Kimiko"] | [member="Cira"]

X <-- Play that funky music!

The stage was dark when it came to the talent show to begin. The band had set up their instruments and the performance was about to begin.

As the light came up Bryce stood there topless in only skin tight leather pants, black boots and gold suspenders. As the music came up he held a mic to his lips and began the performance.

As the harmony began he sang....

​

"Oh you gonna take me home tonight
Oh down beside that red fire light
Oh you gonna let it all hang out​

Fat bottomed girls you make the rocking world go round!"​

​

Dancing about the stage he thrust his hips as all the ladies in attendance. Gripping the mic tightly he sang to each with all the passion and love in his heart.

"Left alone with big fat Fanny
She was such a naughty nanny
Heap big woman, you made a bad boy out of me"​

​

Upon his bare hairy chest silver chains shown in the spot light. Continuing to gyrate and shimmy for the crowd he was really enjoying himself as the sone game to a close.

​

"Get on your swoops and ride!"

"Ooh, yeah, oh, yeah, them fat bottomed girls
Fat bottomed girls, yeah, yeah, yeah,
All right
Ride 'em cowboy
Fat bottomed girls​

Yes, yes, right."​

​

​

 

[Nealon Zalman]

Objective 1
Post 1

When Nealon awoke he didn't found himself on the ship of his abductor but instead in a back room of a place he hadn't seen before, his body hurting from sleeping in a rather uncomfortable position in a chair. He didn't knew how exactly he ended up here, but by now he had made the step from still half drunk to full on hangover and his headache was worse enough without thinking about it. The room around him was considerably more luxurious and clean then the ship he had been on, and while it wasn't is appartement back on Nar Shaddaa he still felt a lot more in his element here.

Pushing through the pain in his head he forced himself to stand up, only to catch his reflection in a near by mirror. He looked absolutely terrible, his clothes which formerly had been ridiculously expensive designer pieces now looked like he had picked them up from a very, very cheap thrift shop. At closer examination he could even find a few stains of puke that he seemingly left on himself on the flight here. There was no way he would go anywhere like this.

The white shirt and the green jacket didn't belonged to him, but the people who brought him her had basically stolen his life, so stealing clean clothes seemed more than fair to him. He was in the process of undressing when a woman's voice could be heard from behind him.

"Are you here for the model contest? I couldn't find your name on the list."

This had to be a joke. Someone had dragged him out of his home into the depths of the galaxy, gave him long speeches about fate and destiny only the send him to a model contest. If there really was fate in the galaxy, then it was cruel and had a very strange sense of humor.

"Ahm. Yes of course. Nealon Zalman, big name and all. I thought I didn't had to sign up to be honest."

He turned around to the woman, his pale skin making a strong contrast to his emerald eyes that pierced out of his ridiculously symmetric face. There had been people that asked him if he was a model before, but he never had considered actually doing it as he believed it to be something beneath him. Now well, what option did he have. Maybe contesting could work out to hid benefit.

"Well Mr. Zalman I'm sorry but I never heard of you. Still you look like a model so I will write you on the list. Pick something from the drawer behind you, I will be right back. Do you need anything else?"

The young man forced himself to give her a winning grin, despite his confidence being crushed by her words. There was actually one thing he needed, and he was sure that this event had it.

"Bring me a drink please. The strongest you can find."

He turned to the drawer and opened it up. Swimwear. Yes fate certainly had a very strange sense of humor.

 

[Jessica Med-Beq]

Objective: Spectator
Post: 5/20

"Jessica, there's something special about your body. Then again I noticed your intellect much faster than your physical attributes"

"Julie, you're making me blush at ultrarelativistic speeds"

Jessica never cared for the performing arts that much; yet, somehow, the fat-bottom girl performance given by [member="Bryce Bantam"] managed to overshadow what [member="Nealon Zalman"] or [member="Seydon of Arda"] managed to do. But perhaps that was because she herself had that particular characteristic the song talked about that this particular performance seemed to resonate with her, and pretty strongly at that. For some reason she was about to blush, with her face turning red because she seemingly can't get the fat-bottom song out of her mind... earworms are a thing. She could feel, however, that Julie had a question that was caused by her having slipped a word that might not have been all that common. Few people would even know what ultrarelativistic mean outside of engineering or physics: she didn't expect a pilot to know the subtleties of the sublight speed spectrum. Also, the people around the table where the three ladies are, assuming Yula also listened on this, made her more embarrassed than ever.

"Ultrarelativistic?"

"I know that even energy torpedoes aren't flying at that speed, but ultrarelativistic speeds characterize sublight speeds that are close to the speed of light in vacuum. While by no means instant... you probably have an idea how fast that is"

 

[Chalim Vern]

Objective 3: Pagent Robbery
Post:1/?
SUPER IMPORTANT!!!
https://youtu.be/POHscfRZty8
Chalim, Arridrrl, Oes, and Sala walked up to the makeshift entrance of the pageant. Fully clothed in armor and weapons on their back, anyone who saw them backed up in fear, some even screaming. Chalim stopped, looked around, and motioned Sala and Oes to either side of the walls that were put up around the place, towards places were spotlights were at. They nodded at him and ran off, working their way up to them to get a good vantage point. He glanced at Arridrrl and jerked his head towards the entrance to the backstage.
They walked through the place like they owned it. "HEY!" Yelled the stage director, "who are you? I don't see you on the itiner..." That's all he got out before Arridrrl pulled out his blot blaster and blew him back. It was loud, but not louder than the music. "Stupid rich people, never knowing what they're in for."
"AAARRRRRLLLLL" Arridrrl agreed.
"Well," Chalim said shaking his hair around, "Hope the crowd likes me."
He walked up on stage and the spotlights suddenly moved from the model on the stage to him, indicating that Sala and Oes now controlled the lights. The man looked around confused for a second as Arridrrl stopped the music. "Hey, what givesss ." He stuttered about as he turned to Chalim, with his carbine pointing straight at him. In that moment, both knew that he was about to die, and both knew the other knew, and as Chalim squeezed the trigger he smiled, oh they're just going to love me. The crowd screamed as the man's body got blown back, at which point Chalim faced to the crowd, "I am sorry to say that there has been a change to the schedule, one contestant has decided to drop out suddenly," as he glanced at the body of the man, "I am here to replace him in the talent act, my talent, how to become rich in minutes!"
As he scanned the crowd he saw both [member="Bryce Bantam"] and [member="Joza Perl"], "Hey Joza! Good to see you, it's been a while, remember, Deveron, I was a little drunk, but now you get to see me for real. And Bryce, Bryci, can I call you that, I'm going to call you that, it's an honor to finally meet you. Oh, and before anyone gets any ideas, know that I have two snipers positioned with a vantage point to take any of you out, and my ship is sitting right off the coast about 50 meters away with enough firepower to blow up this whole area in seconds."
"What do you want?" an observer yelled.
"What do I want? Oh, nothing much, just 1,000,000 credits from every one of you transferred to this account," he pointed behind him as Arridrrl showed it on the holo-projector, "within 25 minutes, anyone who fails to do so gets blasted, time staaarrtts, NOW!" Immediately dozens of the watchers pulled out their datapads to transfer their credits, "HAHAHAHAHA! Oh, tonight's going to be FUN!"