Splat

[Hamish McNair]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

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Tatooine - Mos Eisley Spaceport - Rimworld Ranger Station​

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"Welcome aboard, Marshal!"

The Sheriff Marshal was a short, pudgy, old man with a handlebar mustache and protruding beer belly. He regarded the rugged looking Hamish with soft, gleaming, eyes, similar to the way a proud father would gaze upon his son. This was likely due to the fact that Hamish possessed more combat experience than the entirety of the newly formed Rimworld Rangers combined, and would probably do an absolutely stellar job bringing law and order to the Rim. At least, the Sheriff Marshal was hoping that would be the case as he leaned forward and placed a brass badge on the worn-out desk.

Reaching out, Hamish took it gingerly and pinned it to his shirt, which was stained with sweat and dirt. Tatooine was a dusty, hot, place, alright? "Uh, thanks boss. Guess I'll go out and save the galaxy then, eh?" He joked, standing up off the chair whilst extending his hand for a firm handshake.

On the way out, he was directed to collect a duster, hat and blaster revolver from the storeroom. Which he did. He looked like a genuine banthaboy from the old western rim holovids, and actually quite liked the appearance.

Grin on his face, and sporting new leather boots, Hamish stepped out of the station into the fresh Tatooine air.

And straight onto a hot, steaming, pile of bantha crap...

Banthaboy indeed, he thought, grinding his heel into the sand underfoot to try and clean the stinky boot. A group of slave boys nearby pointed and laughed, which made Ham go a bit redfaced. Little brats, hope a starship lands on them, he half thought, half mumbled.

KAPOWSHHHHHHHHHKRRABOOOOOM

And then the group of boys were gone. In their place, a smoldering wreck of an aging freighter, smoking, burning and sparking. A few moments passed with Ham's eyebrows both raised as far as biologically possible before he managed to stammer out a solemn eulogy for the deceased.

"... Holy frak."

Little did Hamish know that the pilot of the freighter was still alive, and one of the nastiest, meanest, outlaws this side of the rim. Toothie Beejay. The story behind the man's name explained his permanent violent rage, although it did not excuse the mass murder of five hundred people on Taris. Nor did it excuse his Sithly ways. Yes, Toothie Beejay was a Sith Knight, with a peculiar interest in regenerating lost body parts through the use of the force.

Anyways, Hamish stood there gobsmacked as this outlaw slowly regained consciousness.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Hamish McNair"]

Sarge wasn't known for visits to the twin sunned world, mostly because his relationship with [member="Danger Arceneau"] was frigid at best. He'd never imagined there were many who could say his dislike for them was purely non-violent in nature, and he also could imagine that there weren't many people she could be so... distant with. She'd cultivated an image of hospitality, part of her shtick, really.

So yeah, really hard to imagine she could be quite so cold with anyone else who'd not, well, done her wrong in some manner. She was hospitable to them, too, just with blasters and embargoes and trade war stuff.

He was off on a tangent. Crashing starship, tumbleweed, Toothiebeejay and the Hamarshall.

And there was Sarge, just staring at the freighter crater in his gigantic olive drab armor. "What in the kark is even going on."

 

[Hamish McNair]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

In the moments post crash, silence descended upon this particular district of Mos Eisley. That changed when a hulking figure in fancy battle armour a couple handfuls of feet to Ham's left broke the silence with the question that was on everyone's mind. Hamish was now gobsmacked once more, as its not everyday you see an Iron Man/Hulk hybrid standing a stone's throw away from you. That said, the sight was rather comforting, as fancy battle armour used to be Ham's life.

But now, all the new Ranger Marshal could do was stammer an, "Iunno," and, as an afterthought, tip his banthaboy hat cordially.

Why did you tip the hat, came the self-criticism from within, as Ham turned to face the wreck.

BOOM! ... THUD!

Emergency explosive bolts blew off an escape hatch, which flew for a good distance before landing squarely on the bantha crap and skidding into the Ranger Station. Ham heard the receptionist scream and then another dull thud signaling what he assumed to be her falling off her chair in shock. Somewhere in the back of Ham's mind, he felt a tingle.

For some reason, the mystical forces above deemed this the right time for Hamish to suddenly feel a connection to the force. What had set this off was still unknown, but like Spiderman and his spidey senses, Ham sensed something bad was about to happen...

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Hamish McNair"]

From within the escape hatch emerged the repitilian form of Toothie Beejay. The Sith was giant, green, and mean - the ever elusive female Trandoshan. Sarge had never heard of Toothie Beejay, but if he had, he'd likely note that it was probably the only sort of 'beejay' she could have offered. Ya know, what with being a giant, scaly reptile with rounded eyes and a maw of razor sharp 'nope.'

Sarge sniffed inside his helmet. "Huh, never seen one of those before."

 

[Hamish McNair]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

"Damn," Ham agreed. He had seen her before, however, as she was on every wanted poster this side of the galaxy. "That there's Toothie Beejay!" He stammered, immediately drawing his blaster revolver in the process.

The outlaw Sith must've heard her name, because she looked over -- first at Ham, then at Sarge -- and drew two lightsabers, one for each hand.

"You look like you can handle yourself," said the Ham, in Sarge's direction. "Why don't you help me apprehend every male's nightmare over here?"

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge hefted his own lightsaber as she pulled hers, the snap-hiss of it igniting followed by a blindingly silver blade springing into existence. He was old fashioned - a single saber, defensive bladework. Perfect against an opponent like this who preferred the overly aggressive styles, because you didn't have defense with two blades. "I haven't the faintest clue who that is, but considering she's about to attack, I'll do what I must."

And sure enough, she threw herself through the air at [member="Hamish McNair"], figuring to take the 'weaker' of the two. Mostly because Hamish didn't have a lightsaber in hand, easier kill, right?