The Areta: Never A Dull Moment (CLOSED \ Scrapped Thread, See OOC)

[Lyla Quinn]

[After much deliberation on the matter, I've decided to close and scrap this thread. We've lost too many to offline hiatus (myself included, it happens, life gets crazy, not blaming anyone <3) and to try and explain why most of my crew is now gone at this point in the story would be too complicated. Thank you so much to everyone who gave this a read or dedicated any amount of their time to our story. I'll be transplanting the ideas, storylines and remaining characters and crew to a new thread sometime in the near future, but we will be starting already on-board in hypserspace. Anyone already involved is welcome to rejoin us there, and it will be open to new passengers as well. Message me if you have any questions! I'll link the new thread here once it's made.]​

​

​

​

​

Coruscant​

CoCo Town (Collective Commerce District)​

CoCo Airhub, Platform 713B​

OOC Crew Thread​

​

(STATUS: UNFINISHED \ SCRAPPED, CLOSED)​

​

The ship-wide comms crackled to life as 'The Areta' broke smoothly through Coruscant's crowded atmosphere, descending with purpose. "Touchdown in ten! I know you're all eager to stretch your legs, but I need everyone in the R&R for a quick briefing once we land. Promise I'll be fast. –Oh, and…whoever left their half-eaten bowl of chaka noodles in the laundry room, get rid of it before our passengers arrive, please? We want good impressions, people."

Quinn closed the link, sharply tapping the filmy status light next to the speaker until it flickered from active green back to inactive red. Coruscant's bright daylight briefly flooded the bridge, washing the worn deck in midday sun and sparkling off the instruments and screens before the viewport tint shifted to adjust its shade. The Twi'lek peered over the pilot's chair at the sprawling cityscape and the traffic that wove through it like veins, a small smile on her face. It'd been too long since she'd spent any measure of time in the glittering Upper City, brushing elbows with the rich and powerful. Most of their jobs here came out of the dark Underworld or the industrial Works, so the idea of not having the ugly grey-brown underbellies of the skyscrapers as your ceiling was pretty appealing. But the last two months had seen a rise in commission work out of the Commerce District for private contract freighters like 'The Areta', cargo hauls and passenger transports alike, and everyone was taking advantage of the influx of 'classier' clientele.
Of course, what was 'classy' to a simple spacer didn't quite translate to the same thing for those with a higher credit number. Coco Town wasn't exactly the 500 Republica. It still sat in the shadows of the towering skyscrapers and had its fair share of dingy diners and muggings; most of the buildings were considered ancient by Coruscani times, lacking extravagant designs and cloudscraping heights. But the sky was fully visible and it was still considered an 'Upper Level' Class B area for most. Lots of honest work to be had. Plenty of not-so-honest work, too, but she'd been assured that the job she'd lined up for this round was completely legal and 'by the book'.

She hoped it was. Things were still a little too hot up and down the Corellian Run for her to risk anything illegal right now, especially if they picked up passengers.

With a gentle, friendly clap on Irma's shoulder, Quinn swiped her datapad off the captain's chair and spun about, lekku shifting over her shoulders as she headed for the door. "Nice an' easy. Coco Town again, you know the spot. Hopefully the Airhub isn't too crowded this time. See you in the galley when you're done!" And the captain disappeared into the hallway, scrolling through something on her datapad.

| [member='Meira'] | [member='Irma Olanthe'] | [member='Fidelis'] |​

​

Spoiler

OOC: Please give my crew a chance to respond to this post before you join up! We haven't quite landed yet.

 

[The Girl In Green]

Irma squirmed a little under [member="Lyla Quinn"]'s touch, biting down lightly on her tongue to keep herself from saying something cutting. She'd only been on the Areta for a couple of months, and couldn't afford to lose yet another gig to a smart mouth. The Twi'lek probably didn't mean the gesture to be paternalistic--more likely she was just trying to be friendly. Long-term smuggling jobs did tend to foster more intimacy between crewmates as a general rule. Even if that particular prospect was awkward, it was better than most official gigs. At least on the Areta she could choose her own clothes.

Speaking of which...Irma snuggled back into her jacket as she focused on the controls in front of her. The YZ755 freighter was no luxury cruiser, but it was fun getting a feel for something with this much bulk to her--like trying to ride a bantha when all you were used to were Endor ponies. This model held some surprising tricks, too, if you knew what you were doing. After two weeks (and an unsanctioned re-routing or three) to learn those tricks, Irma had managed to master her easily, and she took to the task of landing her in the narrowest spot in the bay she could fit into with relish. Surely, the 'Captain' would appreciate her pilot saving them money on the rental space.

Once all her lights were green and she heard the gentle tick of the engines starting to cool, she pushed herself out of her seat and made her way out of the cockpit and towards the galley. It had taken fifteen minutes between orbital clearance and finally making touchdown, but that already meant she was late. [member="Fidelis"] and [member="Meira"] were probably already waiting on her--Irma Olanthe, last to the meeting again. What else did they expect from someone who had to fly the ship all by herself?

 

[Fidelis]

"Touchdown in ten! I know you're all eager to stretch your legs, but I need everyone in the R&R for a quick briefing once we land. Promise I'll be fast. –Oh, and…whoever left their half-eaten bowl of chaka noodles in the laundry room, get rid of it before our passengers arrive, please? We want good impressions, people."

When Captain Quinn had first come over the comms, Fidelis's main weapon - a F-11D blaster rifle - had been nearly completely stripped down. By the time she had finished, and the last crackle of static was done echoing off the metal walls of his berth, the weapon was completely ready save for the lack of a magazine in the receiver. A quick slam put the rectangular tibanna gas canister into the slot. A quick tug ensured it remained in place. And a low whirring let Fidelis know that the blaster was ready for combat. Placing the gun on the makeshift rack near his bedside, Fidelis stepped out of his berthing with purpose, making sure to lock the door behind him and wasting absolutely no time getting to the meeting point.

Fidelis had not been with Captain Quinn long; certainly the most recent addition to the ship's roster, at any rate. Even more disconcerting was the fact that - so far as he could tell - he was the only male that had been on the vessel for more than one trip at any given time. But in the two years he had been roaming the galaxy, he found something with Captain Quinn and the Areta that he hadn't found elsewhere. Between the cramped quarters, the close proximity, where and how he was forced to spend his time, and his purpose in being on the ship to begin with - preventative medical maintenance on the crew and patching them up when things went sour - Fidelis found an all too important familiarity. And in that familiarity, almost all of the discomfort and awkwardness Fidelis had developed was thoroughly quashed by the ability to truly re-establish his old routine.

If Fidelis was being honest with himself, it was the best that the former Stormtrooper had felt in ages.

Not, of course, that he had told anyone on the ship save Captain Quinn that facet of his history. It was something of an open secret, in fairness; Fidelis exclusively used First Order materiel, kept it all in as pristine a condition as their resources allowed, kept to a strict schedule, and generally behaved as a soldier on duty was expected to. But not saying it outright gave the rest of the crew plausible deniability, quite possibly saving them if the First Order ever decided to try and collect on whatever debt they felt Fidelis - or as they would call him, FN-9114 - for his "desertion". For all they knew, he was simply a fetishist. A would-be toy soldier for the tyranny of the Supreme Leader. As for why only Captain Quinn knew his secret, it all came down to loyalty. She had offered him room and board. Shelter. And in taking him on as a medic, she had renewed his purpose. As far as Fidelis was concerned, it was only fair that she know just what she was getting into. And in not turning him away, she had secured the soldier's loyalty. And loyalty, as Fidelis implied by the name he'd given himself, was no small thing.

It was loyalty that motivated him to be the best he could be, all over again. It was loyalty that ensured he would give this crew all the care and expertise he gave to his platoon. And - in a roundabout way - it was loyalty that moved Fidelis to quietly scoop a bowl of chaka noodles into the waste on his way to the mess, where he would take his usual position standing near the doorway with his hands behind his back and his feet firmly planted shoulder-width apart, awaiting further orders.

[member="Irma Olanthe"]
[member="Lyla Quinn"]
[member="Meira"]

 

[Meira]

Cross-legged on the floor of her workshop, surrounded by piles of half-assembled tech and loose parts, Meira wiped a grease smudge from her face and barely even registered the captain's message. She was too busy trying to force a military grade power coupler into the civilian grade coupling slot of her latest project to bother with trivial things like taking on jobs and making money. With one last shove and a solid click, she forced the coupler into its new housing, and prayed that it never went bad. Cuz' it was never coming out of there.

That done, she set about replacing the casing components and returning the device to its fully functional state, replaying the message in her head while she did. Since she hadn't actually been paying attention the first time.

Oh...

Her head spun around to scan the workshop, searching desperately for the bowl she knew she'd brought down here with her.

Kriff.

She was on her feet, out the door, and bounding up the stairs without a moment's hesitation, racing to be the first one to reach the laundry room.

Too late. Double kriff.

The noodles were already resting comfortably at the bottom of the nearby trash bin. Meira quirked her jaw and let out a frustrated huff.

Kriffers. Couldn't wait five more seconds, could you?


She was the last to arrive to the crew meeting, stepping in and running her gaze over the other occupants.

"Irma."

A nod in greeting. She hadn't really known what to think about the other girl at first, or the fact that after more than half a decade on their own, Quinn had suddenly decided that they needed more crew. But whatever. This was Quinn's ship at the end of the day. At least the pilot wasn't an annoying kriffer. Yet.

"Medic."

This one, on the other hand, she knew exactly what to think of. Full-blown military motherkriffer. Probably first order, if Meira had to guess, but if he'd told Quinn she hadn't decided to share that with Meira, and Meira hadn't bothered to ask. She did get the feeling that he enjoyed shooting stuff entirely too much for a medic. Then again, the two things weren't exactly mutually exclusive...

"Cap'n."

The one person in the galaxy Meira could actually say she trusted. Not because she would tell her everything about everything and never kept secrets; no, that poodoo was for children. They'd been through hell and back together, and Quinn had seen Meira at her worst without batting an eye. That meant something to the girl, a helluva lot more than some juvenile friendship pact.

"Where's Sinya?"

As if on cue, the tall, lanky blackstalker sauntered through the door and behind the captain, preening itself on her legs before circling back around to Meira, who gleefully squatted down to scratch behind her ears.

"So what are we doing back here anyway? I thought that warrant didn't expire till next month?"

 

[Tin'tinag]

It seemed Coruscant was becoming Tins second home, between Jedi work in busting people and other forms of 'self-employment’ the mid upper level of the city planet where getting so familiar she rarely had to look at a map when navigating the someone what maze like environment. Is was not a bad life, she enjoyed doing her job and was good at to boot, smuggling good here and there, flying under the radar when needed, using her Jedi status to pass through if caught or questioned. Also, if she felt the crew she was running with was bad news, would bust them at the next star port. Though she would always wait until she had left their company for a decent amount of time before calling the authorities, left her with a clean bill when looking for a new crew to hang with and keep her little status quo a secret.

That was not so say she was always on the right side of the law, no matter how many training session she attends at the Jedi Enclave, how many reruns of the code and so forth Tin could not really escape her past life and still, when the money was right, enjoy a little Illegal business. "Well another day anther adventure awaits, I wonder what’s in store for me today, hmm last time involved a hostage situation, light machine guns, some random Mandalorian bounty hunter, so probably something a bit less lethal may be in store". Tin thought for a minute, before clapping her hands together, remembering the Trandosian she met of Na Shadda that one time, "Perhaps a traveling salesmen has stopped into today, they always seem have some fancy gadgets and interesting 'items' in stock".

It may have been strange to see a Jedi at one of these questionable sale persons, but Tin'tinag looked anything but a Jedi. When not wearing her brown or black robes wore her old captain outfit, nothing fancy. An open jacket with a small black under shirt, a decent amount of cleavage showing for... reasons, jeans, head dress with her flying goggles and a utility belt. For all intense and purposes, she was your typical, slightly scantily dressed, blaster wielding, freelancer with also a light sabre on hand.

That may have cause a problem, but she could always just tell the story of being a disciple of Ren, is was not false in any way, she was for a short time the apprentice of Kyrel Ren, and said sabre was made during her time on Mustafa. She would just leave out the part of now being a Jedi, technically speaking it was not lying, "That's enough reminiscing for now, to the space port hooooo".

[member="Meira"] l [member="Irma Olanthe"] l [member="Fidelis"] l [member="Lyla Quinn"]

 

[Lyla Quinn]

"So what are we doing back here anyway? I thought that warrant didn't expire till next month?"

"It doesn't." She shot Meira a mildly concerned look as she closed down her datapad and stood in the middle of the small circle with a sign, other hand on her hip. "But the money for this haul was too good to pass up and the contractor asked specifically for us. All the same, we'll need to be more careful than we usually are. I'm not keen on sitting in a cell because you two," she said with clear, chiding looks at Meira and Sinya, "couldn't get along with the locals."

Sinya, who'd been begrudgingly enjoying Meira's enthusiastic ear-scratching, stiffened in sudden protest, shaking Meira's hand off and gurfuffing at the Twi'lek with all the uninterested disregard she could muster.

Quinn raised an eyebrow at the Blackstalker. "It definitely was that bad."

She slapped the floor with her scaled tail, movements quick and slight, a low, disagreeing whine in her throat.

Quinn balked at her. "You ate the Ambassador's prize tusk cat! And then you peed in his 'mystical' Fountain of Shiraya, we'll be lucky if we're ever allowed near the 500 Republica again."

The animal huffed, clearly thinking Quinn was overreacting. Sinya did her best to look bored but affronted, nipping irritatedly at Meira's hand when she tried to restart the scratching.

"Which means you stay on the ship this time," Quinn instructed her companion firmly, "in my room, doors locked for the remainder of this mission, are we clear? And Meira…" She brought the 'fiery commander' tone down a few levels, clearly torn between frustration and amusement. "…No bars, okay? And stay away from the Galactic Museum of Technology, you might know more than the guides but that doesn't mean we need to pick fights over what is and isn't proper techspeak." The Twi'lek bent over her datapad once more, scrolling, flicking the lists she'd compiled for her crew into their proper channels. "We do need a supply run, nothing super extensive but on the off-chance we do have a passenger or two, I'd like to be prepared. And I dunno about you guys, but I'm damn tired of gorram chaka noodles. If you would swing by the markets here, Meira, get us some real chow for a change, fruits, meats, vegetables, booze… and I have an order of Sinya's food ready for pick-up at Saal Batarro's. You, uh, might wanna bring a hovercart for that. And make sure it's just the regular cuts, not the premiums this time? Dropping a thousand credits at a meat shop is not something I want to repeat."

Sinya glared. Although it was always hard to tell if she was actually actively glaring or just existing. Her resting biitch face was pretty serious.

"Irma, go with her?" Quinn nodded at her pilot. "I sent you a separate list, shouldn't take you too long, and once it's done you two are free to enjoy the area for a few hours. I'll comm you when we're ready to go. Which leaves…"

She closed the datapad and gave the only man in the room a small, slightly apologetic smile. "Fidelis, you're on guard duty with me. Our contractor wants her own men to load the cargo, something about 'handling it' a certain way, and I'd like to make sure they stay where they're supposed to stay. You're off the hook as soon as the last one leaves my ship, though. I noticed we're a little low on a few of the medical supplies, and I have a contact in Midtown who's willing to, er…give us a discount on what we need. Stretch your legs, have a drink, no rush, but I sent you his comm frequency when you're ready to meet with him. Oh—almost forgot. And this is for everyone," she added, looking around at her tiny little 'family'. "I'm hoping to pick up a few passengers today. They'd be walk-ons, nothing's been set yet, but it's been a few weeks and our guest rooms are going to waste. You know the drill if we hook any. Their privacy is paramount, be nice but not too nice, and lock up anything you have out that you don't want them tampering with in the safe in my room. We good?"

Seemed so.

"Shiny. Now scatter, lots to do." With a nod, she ushered Sinya out of the galley and into her quarters, grabbed her gear and her blaster, locked the door, and headed down the landing ramp to wait for their contractor.

| [member="Meira"] | [member="Irma Olanthe"] | [member="Fidelis"] | [member="Tin'tinag"] |​

 

[Meira]

"The money's too good and they asked for us by name? Yeah... because that's not a trap."

She held up a hand at Quinn's unamused glare to forestall the chiding she knew was coming.

"I know. Get the supplies, get back to the ship, don't kill anyone. Got it."

She flashed a thumbs up at the captain as she turned and plodded out of the room, clearly not looking forward to the dreary chore set before her.

"Come on, Flightstick." Get it? Cause she's skinny? And a pilot? Nevermind... "You do the driving, I do the lifting. Know where we can rent a hauler to carry all this poodoo? Don't think the carts are gonna be enough."

She didn't wait when she got to the stairs. If Flightstick wasn't right behind her she'd just have to wait in the hold, but she could at least clear the carts off while she was doing it.


[member="Lyla Quinn"] | [member="Irma Olanthe"] | [member="Fidelis"] | [member="Tin'tinag"]

 

[The Girl In Green]

Irma had been making a point to stay inconspicuous, keeping her mouth shut and her back pressed against the galley wall until the mention of groceries. At that thought, though, she couldn't help but let a grin slip loose. Real fruit! She hadn't had a proper citrus in at least a month, due to all this damned warrant-dodging...Hell, if [member="Lyla Quinn"] hadn't sent her along on that errand she might have snuck off herself, just to make sure some made it aboard. As it was, she saluted brightly at her assignment--if not without some irony--and all but bounded over to where [member="Meira"] was already making her way out. Meira was all right, if a little...dour. Her tendency towards random nicknames spoke to some kind of humor underneath all the business, at least.

[member="Fidelis"] , on the other hand...

Irma sidled past the soldier, not even bothering to hide her smirk. "Have fun with the Captain, Harem Maaaaaaster," she said in a sing-song, letting a poodoo-eating grin be the last part of her the medic would see as she went out the door. Fidelis didn't seem like a bad guy, but so serious it was hard to to resist a poke or three. For the only man on a ship full of ladies, the dude was such a stick he probably would barely speak the whole time the two were alone. Maybe it was all the FO training. Did stormtroopers even get shore leave?

With the briefest of giggles, she followed Meira down the stairs, for once not taking the mechanic's brusque tone as orders. It seemed like a sound proposal, especially if they were getting enough food for themselves and passengers. No way Irma was carrying anything that large.
"I don't think so--last time I was here I was only shopping for one. But most bay directors will have that info," she said, briskly. The idea of having a crisp citrus in her hand was more than enough to help her dampen the sarcasm a touch. Not to mention, it was always a good idea to get on friendly terms with the hands that kept her flying. "Might be best to just go ask him first."

 

[Fidelis]

"Have fun with the Captain, Harem Maaaaaaster,"

Fidelis was every inch a soldier. But as Irma bounded off after Meira, his eyes twitched ever so slightly, begging to be rolled before the brain behind them put a stop to such unprofessional behavior.

Brusquely leaving the mess, Fidelis traced his steps back to his berthing area, unlocking the door and stepping into the spartan quarters. The contact was using her own muscle to move the goods into the hold, which meant that Captain Quinn had the home field advantage. If time permitted they could rearrange their ample supply of crates to form makeshift barricades, and if time was more of a factor then they knew the layout of the ship. Not that the odds of them trying anything were especially high; even in the best case scenario for them, the muscle would have their hands full with cargo in order to make entry into the hold, and Fidelis would have more than enough time to send plasma their way before they tried anything. To that end, he regarded the white armor breastplate on the far end of his berth as unnecessary. Between the unlikelihood of a firefight and the possible venue of such an event, broadcasting his past to a group of unknowns was a losing proposition.

The blaster rifle he had just finished cleaning, however, was a given. As was the small field medkit that Fidelis strapped to his belt. He wasn't going to be of much use if he couldn't patch a hole in someone long enough to get them to the shift's makeshift medbay. And he certainly wasn't going to be of use if he came unarmed. And since Captain Quinn was going to be doing most of the talking, Fidelis could afford to check subtlety at the door. There was no need for nice words of pleasantries from his end; he was there to make sure their contact loaded the goods as instructed, without any fuss or attempted hijackings. By letting them know that he was already packing a bigger gun than they could reach and train on him before he put them down, Fidelis was effectively ending a potential firefight before it started. Seizing the F-11D from the rack, Fidelis checked the gas canister one more time and folded the stock back. A simple step that greatly improved the weapon's accuracy. To memory, Fidelis couldn't remember a single time in combat anybody on his platoon had thought to do the same.

Fidelis took a final inventory of his loadout before stepping out into the corridor and making his way to the hold. Irma and Meira would likely still be preparing for their mission. He simply stood off to the side to let them work, awating Captain Quinn's arrival once again.

[member="Irma Olanthe"]
[member="Meira"]
[member="Lyla Quinn"]
[member="Tin'tinag"]

 

[Ghorua the Shark]

LOCATION: COCO TOWN, CORUSCANT
EQUIPMENT: IN BIO
CURRENT MOOD: PENSIVE

"//But why can't I come with you?//"​

Coruscant was Ghorua's home. As a child, Coruscant had struck him with awe. It was a gigantic city-planet, full of life, character, and a history of both light and darkness. He found it fitting that he had become much the same.

The Herglic had grown up in it's bowels, walked it's streets, hunted it's darkest corners. He understood Coruscant on a deeply intimate level, as one might regard a close friend. All the same, he was not in the best mood.

His latest bounty, a spice smuggler by the name of Orin, had slipped through his fingers yet again. He'd already tracked the Vodran to two other planets before Coruscant, but somehow, he'd been tipped off each time Ghorua was close, and turned tail. The Bounty Hunter quickly realized it was because of his ship.

The Jawsome was an amazing star yacht, with some top-quality weapons systems and shields, but being a successful bounty hunter gave one's ship a sort of notoriety. Somehow, Orin had found out the Shark was after him, got a hold of the Jawsome's transponder codes, and fled the planet as soon as Ghorua arrived. He needed a new approach.

And that meant he had to leave his adopted daughter behind.

"//I'm sorry, Minna.//" Ghorua walked along the street, clad in his heavy armor, quite the sight. He was a tower of white duraplast, speaking through his helmet's comms to the little Human girl. "//I have to go quietly. That means no ship, and I'm not taking you into a strange smuggler vessel.//"

"//Fine.//" Minna sounded angry, but Ghorua could hear the concern echoing his own. "//Be safe, Dad.//"

The comms clicked off.

Ghorua walked around the Airhub calmly, observing the different ships, looking for one that wasn't a complete hunk of garbage, but simultaneously not too conspicuous. It was a delicate balance, one Ghorua couldn't afford to overlook.

Almost immediately, the newly-arrived shape of the Areta caught his eye.

- [member="Fidelis"] - [member="Irma Olanthe"] - [member="Meira"] - [member="Lyla Quinn"] - [member="Tin'tinag"] -

 

[Aryn Teth]

Aryn Teth

---

​

---

CoCo Town, Coruscant, Corusca Sector, The Core Worlds​

Interacting With: [member=Dewbacca], [member='Fidelis'], [member='Irma Olanthe'], [member='Meira'], [member='Lyla Quinn'], [member='Tin'tinag'], [member='Ghorua the Shark']​

​

Coruscant never quite seemed to change. Thousands of years of wars, changing hands, even the four hundred year darkness and as Aryn walked the busy walkways of the great Ecumenopolis he figured it could have never changed once in those many past millenia. There were still many things which hadn't changed, certainly - the Jedi being one of them. Yet another frustrating meeting with the council at the Coruscant temple had done little to dissuade Aryn of that thought, nor had it done any wonders for his opinion of the world. He supposed in a way it came from his upbringing, being raised on the Carrion, such great cities almost felt wrong, and entire planet with no real wildlife or plant life just felt unnatural. Still, Aryn knew well the importance of Coruscant to the Alliance, and to the galaxy as a whole, and so, his visits became increasingly frequent, especially as the man was left with far less time to himself, and far more in service to the Alliance and the Jedi.

Hearing the growls and roars of an approaching Wookiee through the crowd behind him, Aryn smiled and turned in the direction of Dew, watching as the Wookiee urged his way past a few protocol droids a little rougher than was appropriate. getting around had been a little more complicated since Dew had joined with Aryn, his starfighter only fit himself, and a destroyer was just not convenient for travelling unofficially, and so Dew had been tasked with finding them some suitable transport off-world. Finally, Aryn had been able to get some time for himself, and finally figured it was time that he returned home.

Aryn had not been to Eriadu for many years, since leaving, the galaxy had swept him up and kept him away through war, conflict and all manner of distractions. With one more great war on the horizon, he figured it had been about time to finally head back. "Work something out for us, big guy?" Aryn asked idly as he reached his hand out for the datapad proferred towards him, taking it as he looked over the ship that his Wookiee friend had found. Raising an eyebrow, he flicked his gaze up towards Dew once more, before looking back to the datapad. "The Areta? What a hunk of junk!" Well, what good ship in this galaxy wasn't a hunk of junk?

 

[Koda Fett]

Dewbacca​

---

---

---

​

---

CoCo Town, Coruscant, Corusca Sector, The Core Worlds​

Key - <*words*> = Shyriiiwook​

Interacting With: [member="Aryn Teth"], [member="Fidelis"], [member="Irma Olanthe"], [member="Lyla Quinn"], [member="Tin'tinag"], [member="Ghorua the Shark"]​

​

Being a Wookiee off Kashyyyk was much harder than it looked. When on Coruscant everything was big, but not in the same way, the buildings dwarfed him and near nothing was made from wood, bar a few unique items. Crowds were as intense as they were diverse, but luckily for him they were easy to make their way through. Nobody wanted to be trampled by a seven and a half foot monster, and those that didn't get out of the way were rudely shoved aside. Manners weren't Dewbacca's strongsuit, no, not yet. For now he just traveled alongside his Jedi companion. Fortunately for him being with Teth took him to many places he never even dreamed of going too, case and point being the Jedi Temple. Though if they they wanted to go anywhere anymore, they needed a ride.

After being met with distaste after offering the only suitable ship in a long time, he turned his head away, speaking frustration that only seemed to be an angry roar to those that walked by, but after the time they spent together, Aryn had managed to pick up on what he was saying, "<There's nothing else.>" But before the Jedi could even say anything, the Wookiee was on the move, fairly certain that he would be followed. In the direction of the Areta's landing, that's where he was headed. "<Can you contact them from there?>" He asks, motioning towards the datapad as he briefly turned to face the human.

 

[Tin'tinag]

The space port was but a bit away, within eye sight, but it was probably a good idea to stop by the street markets before winding around people’s ships in hopes of a special good merchant. Besides, it was nice to have a sample of the fresh produce brought in from other planets, being a huge skyscraper, metal amalgamation Coruscant did not tend to have a lot of food produced made on world, most coming from nearby planets. Today day it seems Tin was lucky as the market place seemed to have fresh stock in, the street stalls packed with good from around the core world, and right a good amount of people looking to buy as well.

The market crowed ranged from your everyday people looking for a change of food, those more affluent in on the city planet in search of the most expensive and delectable good, to your average freighter crew stocking up on supplies before their next voyage. With this amount of people about the place was reasonably noise from the hustle and bustle of customer and vendors, though not enough to overpower a normal conversation. "So many choices so little time, and only so much I can carry, maybe just pick up the usual and a treat while I'm at it, maybe pick up a little work while I'm at it".

This also presented an opportunity to hunt for a new crew, of experience was anything to go by when freighter crew came in to do business the captain and the hired muscle would be off doing deals, which usually left the pilot to do the shopping, since they would have the best idea of how long the trip would be. She knew at least on other crew member usually accompanied them, sometimes it the mechanic, other times it was the crew medic, but whatever the case she was looking for a duo with one dressed like a pilot.

while wanderings past the local stalls Tin kept an eye out for anyone of that description, hoping to make a sublet meeting, instead of just plainly walking up and asking to join, hmm maybe pretending to be a passenger would work to? It’s not like she was able to just jump in her Star Fighter and go where ever, that would raise questions back at the Jedi Enclave, and she had yet to get enough cash to re-buy another ship of her own. "Yess, that will do nicely".

[member="Ghorua the Shark"] l [member="Fidelis"] l [member="Irma Olanthe"] l [member="Lyla Quinn"] l [member="Meira"]

 

[Kip Ridel]

Have you never seen anything so marvelous as a stage? Whispered the soft, sultry voice of a woman of an age long past. Yet the memory of the touch of painted lip to the rim of his ear haunted Kip still. If he could only draw in a deep enough breath, he could almost taste her sweet fragrances once more. In slow motion, the words repeated, with each puff of air following every word making the microscopic hairs on his ears and the nape of his neck stand on end. Funny how the heat of another’s breath could bring such chills.

Time sped up as the curtain rose and the show began. A dazzling display of lights and sounds brightened the senses, speeding up his heart. The show, the voice whispered again as a perfect set of teeth entrapped the lobe of his ear, piercing skin before soothing with the gentle tip of tongue, ...is not the stage..

Location: CoCo Town, just outside of CoCo District Theater
​

Lights. Sounds. Action. This was not the star performance in the Grand Coruscant Theater. No amount of beaurocratic wealth could ever amount to a performance so grandiose as the center of commerce. Here, on the battleground of supply and demand and in the shadow of war, is where partnerships are made and where promises are broken. Where alliances are formed and where enemies swear oaths of vengeance.

Where most would hear a jumbled mess of sounds, all speaking over each other in sharp and dissonant tones, Kip Ridel hears a symphony. And oh, how he loved the music. He listened to the rhythm and tempo. He picked out the soloists. But most importantly, he watched as the instruments followed their respective section leaders, who took their queue from the maestro itself.

Bantha steak is up ten percent this quarter
I hear the Mandalorians have seized key middle-rim supply routes
Duralium is hot! Sell! Sell! SELL!”​

“The show is not the stage...” Kip sighed as he glanced down at his gloved right hand. It was clutching a hand rail, but he could feel the synthetic middle and pinkie fingers losing grip as they trembled violent. A familiar shooting pain spread up his arm. It was a dull, dry pain. He kept a straight face and simply focused on his breath while the cybernetic implants attempted to reconcile and recalibrate.

The twenty nine year-old man stood on a walkway overlooking the district. He scanned the crowds intently as he attempted to grip the rail more firmly. To most of the vendors and consumers below, the handsome man in the long graying brown coat was simply a tourist; a transient figure here for the sights and maybe a cut of action from the whirlwind of commerce. But to some, the man staring at each of them with a calculating gaze was the Ambassador - the eyes and ears of, well....someone important.

In truth, Kip enjoyed both opinions. He preferred the freedom of transience, but enjoyed the perks of notoriety. And those who knew him, did so with a silent regard. Perhaps a shift in tone, either to appear less illegal or more, depending on whether they were looking for less suspicion or more business.

One such change in step was a particularly portly Jablogian carrying a locked crate labeled “Areta” under one arm. He had been glancing over his shoulder for the last several blocks, but it had grown increasingly nervous as it passed the overlook. One quick glance and it caught the icy blue eyes of Kip, whose grip tightened on the rail. While a sinister smile played across the handsome man’s face, the rotund creature took off as quickly as his legs would allow.

Kip tugged at his hand gripping the railing. It continued to shake violently, but the cybernetic fingers gripped tightly as they continued their recalibration process. “Come on...” he muttered quietly to himself. “Let....go.”

With a roll of his eyes, he gripped his wrist with his other hand, feeling it tremble, too. The shaking fingers of his left hand worked their way to the robotic digits of the right, getting a weakened grip. He applied some pressure to the hinges, temporarily freezing the digits before they extended fully and locked into a stiffened position. “Good enough.”

Pressing both palms to the rail, Kip leapt, sweeping his legs over the rail before dropping down onto the pathway below the bridge. His legs hit with an impact that sent an unpleasant shock from the sides of his heels up through the back of his calves. “Ugh,” he grunted out, “The vids made that look so much easier.”

To the merchants and buyers who had stopped their dealings to stare at the madman, he flashed a very classy smile and offered a wave from his stiffened hand, “Having a good day, everybody? Great. Fantastic. Keep doing your thing and don’t mind me.”

He began to run but quickly stopped short and glanced behind himself, “Oh, and uh...steer clear of the bantha steak.”

With another cheesy grin, Kip took off after the Jablogian.

 

[Lyla Quinn]

"Now hold up, I didn't agree to that!" Never words you wanted to say (or hear) during a pre-arranged contract meeting. Quinn dropped her datapad into her small leather cross-body rucksack lest she be tempted to smash it over the woman's head and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning on one hip as she fixed Petra with a peeved expression. "The deal was non-sentient cargo only, not 'cargo and three of my men'."

The thin human looked unconcerned, almost bored, motionless as a statue in her spotless grey servants robes. Petra looked down her nose at the obscenely colored alien in front of her, voice laced with mild disgust. Why the Master had chosen this tart creature to transport his offerings for The Contrive, she couldn't understand. "We see no difference there. They are all cargo to the Great Ravaeli, and as such will be included in the load."

Quinn bristled a little at that, her lekku stiffening the slightest, but she hid it with a salty smile. So that's the game, huh? She couldn't afford to lose this job, the pay was too good, but she'd be damned if she let a breach like this go without some kind of consolation prize. "Oh, sure, they will. Just tack on an extra, say… seventeen thousand upfront."

Petra was prepared.

"Each."

Never mind. The Master said she'd try to squeeze what she could out of the arrangement, but that was a ludicrous demand! In truth, the credits were not a problem, they'd easily make back what they gave to the alien Quinn. But his instructions had been clear: the cargo MUST be aboard 'The Areta'. She just had to be careful she didn't spook the female captain. Luckily, she'd started at a high enough price so they could haggle properly without too much suspicion. "Seven thousand."

"Fifteen." Quinn's gameface fell into place.

"Nine."

"Fourteen."

"Ten."

"Fourteen."

"..Thirteen for each, and a box of the Esteemed Ravaeli's finest Durian dreamberries."

She pretended to think it over. "Done." It was the berries that really sold it. "I'll update the log. Pleasure doing business with you." Durian dreamberries were a rare and expensive delicacy, difficult to grow correctly and dangerous to screw up, but always in demand. Giving a whole box away was…not a common practice and the warning bell in the back of Quinn's head rang a time or two, but thirty nine thousand credits on top of the original price? Not something she could ignore.

Speaking of ignore, Quinn stole a look at the small but ornate transport car parked just outside the Airhub, the one Petra had exited. There was a flash of white hair and bronze skin in the veiled compartment window. 'The Master', she figured. And that made Petra the go-between. Having a courier finalize business in the contractor's stead wasn't unusual, especially in her line of work. Anonymity was crucial for some, helping higher profile clients maintain their image and giving those that didn't want questions asked a sense of security. But this one rubbed her the wrong way. She'd seen how Petra looked at her, heard the superiority in the woman's voice. It was far too familiar a way for Quinn, and the longer she looked at Petra, the more she felt like poking the proverbial reek. "Hot tip for the future, by the way. If you're gonna alter the deal after everything is signed, sealed, and delivered?" The Twi'lek handed her datapad to the human, all saccharine smiles. "Don't. Or open with a compensation offer. Otherwise, it's bad form."

Petra, moving for the first time since leaving her carriage, motioned silently to the men gathered by the mountainous collection of cargo near the transport and took the datapad with a look that could freeze water on Tatooine. "Yes, I suppose your kind would know all about bad form," she said crisply, eying Quinn up and down with a sour, pinched expression before signing off on the new contract.

The tips of her lekku flushed a light silver, but Quinn held her tongue, trying to focus on the piles of cash she was basically stealing from these racist bastards. As satisfyingly good as the comebacks lining up on her tongue were, she couldn't risk her professional reputation, especially with private contractors. It wasn't just her on the chopping block, it was her whole crew, and she couldn't do that to them.

"It's done," Petra sniffed, handing the datapad back. "The credits for the additional 'cargo' have been transferred to your account and our men will begin loading immediately. You'll be paid in full upon arrival on Nar Shaddaa, once the cargo has been inspected for damages, of course. The Generous Ravaeli's dockhands will remain with the cargo at all times, do not interfere with their operations, I assure you they'll not cause trouble."

Quinn's eyes just about disappeared behind her exaggerated grin. She gave the frigid woman a slightly condescending pat on the shoulder and swept her other hand towards the transport in a grand gesture of 'Please Get The Kriff Out Before I Deck You'. "Would you please give the Great Ravioli—"

"Ravaeli." Petra shrunk away from her, adjusting her robes in a flurry of movement as she brushed at the area that had come into contact with Quinn's fingers.

"—my heartfelt thanks for choosing 'The Areta', and assure him his cargo is in good hands. I'll be sure to contact you when we reach Nar Shaddaa, we will be on our way as soon as the cargo is loaded, thank you very much, see you next time, goodbye now!" she called as she all but steered Petra the first few feet towards her transport, waving as she hurried into her seat and the cab pulled away. "Sanctimonious biitch," Quinn breathed through clenched teeth as the grin fell from her expression. Definitely not the encounter she'd been hoping for, but it sure paid for its insults.

The Twi'lek took a stabilizing breath, her lekku relaxing into their usual positions draped over her shoulders. "Alright, we're ready to load!" she called as she turned back 'round and headed back up the landing ramp, poking her head into the hold to find [member="Fidelis"] . Quinn looked less than happy. "And surprise! We've got three of their men coming aboard as well. Apparently, they're to stay with the cargo at all times, so keep an eye on 'em but give them their space. You take this end, I'll take the ramp, looks like a big haul but we've got plenty of room. Try to get them to leave some walking room!" she added over her shoulder as she strode back down the ramp, datapad out. The loaders were already rolling carts up the gangway, heavy with cargo. Most were large crates, extra padding for stability with a dark grey metal casing underneath, but there were a few smaller boxes scattered among the load.

Shifting through her apps, Quinn stood to the side of the ramp and tried to look available despite having her nose in her screen. There were a handful of people (of hugely varying shapes and sizes) moving around nearby, and her adds for wanted crew members and passengers had seen plenty of activity the past day. Hopefully, she'd 'hook' something.

A shadow fell across her. It took a fair bit of control not to step back a few paces as the massive armor-clad being ( [member="Ghorua the Shark"] ) moved down the main walkway towards her. She tried not to stare. The Twi'lek tucked her datapad under her arm and shaded her eyes as she craned her neck to look up at the 'faceplate', a small smile on her face. "Need a ride? Won't find one for a better price this side of town."

| [member="Irma Olanthe"] | [member="Meira"] | [member="Kip Ridel"] | [member="Dewbacca"] | [member="Aryn Teth"] | [member="Tin'tinag"] | [member="Saul Ferasi"] | [member="Veera"] |​

 

[Ghorua the Shark]

The ship was the perfect balance of functional and junk.

Ghorua had seen a few YZ-775's in his time. They had a certain reputation about them; one of the heaviest-hitting light freighters you could ask for, even if they were a bit of an old model. In underground circles, they were cited as one of the better options for smugglers and criminals to ship their products without harassment, and survive any harassment thrown their way.

Ghorua remembered when he and his father used to fix up old ships. The old man had let him work with a 775 weapons package for his birthday. It was one of the Shark's better memories.

Ghorua's helmet tagged the Areta, performing a quick HoloNet search. His HUD opened a small dossier of the ship, as well as the last-known owner. A picture. Sun-kissed peach skin, lekku, a chit-eating grin. A list of known runs. Security footage.

It took Ghorua a moment to notice the real deal had stepped up to him.

The behemoth that was the Shark looked down as [member="Lyla Quinn"] looked up. He examined her stance, her eyes, her statement, before responding. His Voice Disguiser deepened his words, making the robotic rumbling almost painful to the ear.

"I suppose you could say that." Ghorua took off his helmet with a k-chunk in the middle of his sentence, restoring his voice to it's regular deep vibrato, and revealing his face. He was quite the sight, to be sure. 10'5'', with a mouth full of sharp, serrated teeth. But his eyes, his endlessly dark eyes, held a spark of humor.

The Herglic rested his helmet under an arm, leaning it onto his hip. He took a deep breath in through his blowhole, enjoying the scents of the area. It was crowded, but for whatever reason, the masses of CoCo town residents gave him a wide berth. The Shark's weapons jingled in the slight breeze. He was armed to the teeth, both metaphorically and literally. He needed to be, it wasn't as if the Bounty Hunter was short on enemies.

"Ghorua the Shark," he extended his massive hand to the Twi'lek to gently shake. He was well aware of his strength, as well as the gravity his name held in seedy circles. A coy smirk played across his face. "Who do I have the honor of addressing?"

Of course, he already knew.

- [member="Kip Ridel"] - [member="Tin'tinag"] - [member="Irma Olanthe"] - [member="Meira"] - [member="Dewbacca"] - [member="Aryn Teth"] - [member="Fidelis"] -

 

[Meira]

"Thirty creds for the hour. That's the best I can do."

"Please, girly. That'll barely cover my overhead, let alone the service fee."

"Look, boy," He was probably in his sixties, judging by the wrinkly skin (or maybe all Weequay looked like that), but he'd called her girly, and she couldn't just let that stand. "You can let it sit here for the next hour collecting dust, or you can take our credits and get it back fully charged and none the worse for wear." He was about to kick them out, but his ears perked up at that last bit.

"Fully charged, you say?" Power wasn't cheap down here, and he knew for a fact the hauler was nearing quarter-charge as it was. "You got yourself a deal, girly! One hour!"

"Bloody kriffin' stupendous. Keys?" He dropped them into her outstretched hand and turned to head back to his chair, earning himself a stiff middle finger at the back of his head when he did.

"Kriffer." Thankfully, she waited until they were outside to insult the man directly, then tossed the keys to [member="Irma Olanthe"]. "We got an hour. How good are you at driving one of these things?"

 

[Zef Halo]

What a piece of junk.

Saul's first thoughts upon the sight of what was supposed to be 'The Areta'. His new, possibly, employment. The former naval officer stood watching the goods hauled within the Corellian ship, all of it very familiar to the man but so distant at the same time.

Loading and unloading ships had been a daily sight during his service for the One Sith Navy. Granted, they were much bigger and...newer than this but times change and the Tetan had to adapt.

Giving a glance at his datapad and at the twi'lek close to the ramp, Saul braved the steps towards the captain before a massive figure in full armor went right by him and approached Quinn leaving Ferasi standing on the side of the conversation that the Herglic started. Posture erected, a good/bad habit from his service, the navigator stood a few feet besides the two politely awaiting his turn to introduce himself.

For all he knew, the captain might've already smelled the scent of a job candidate.

In range: [member="Ghorua the Shark"] | [member="Lyla Quinn"] | [member="Fidelis"]​

​

Not In Range: [member="Irma Olanthe"] | [member="Meira"] | [member="Kip Ridel"] | [member="Tin'tinag"] | [member="Dewbacca"] | [member="Aryn Teth"] | @More?​

 

[The Girl In Green]

Irma had been sitting back since they had disembarked, letting Meira handle the negotiations lest she insult the man into not letting them use the hauler at all. While the two had bickered, she'd watched idly as several...flavorful characters slowly but surely made their way towards her ship. There was the well-dressed dude with the sour expression, the perennial smuggler combo of human-Wookiee, and a massive hulk that...Star's End, was that a Herglic? If that thing got on board, she was definitely going to have to adjust her live load projections for takeoff. That puzzle alone was enough to keep Irma's attention until Meira turned to her with the keys in hand.

"We got an hour. How good are you at driving one of these things?"

"How good can I drive? Mecha," she said, her smile finally turning genuine as they slapped into her palm, "There ain't nothing with an engine I can't drive. We'll be there in six minutes."

She clambered up the hauler and vaulted herself into the main seat, letting the mechanic make her way into the back. Before starting the engine, however, she took a second to review the map. It'd only take her seconds to find the fastest way to the fresh market from here, but first she needed to spot the intersection that would put them out next to the produce. Those citrus were calling for Irma Olanthe, baby, and there was no way she was letting anything else on the list take precedence.

If the hauler had wheels (and a more powerful drive), it would have spun them to squealing on their way out of the Bay, towards the market--and, unknown to them, to intersect a certain Jablogian. In the meantime, there would be a few minutes of something Irma was not very good at: small talk.

"So....um. Yeah. Blackstalkers as pets. That's sort of weird."

 

[The Girl In Green]

In Range: [member="Meira"] [member="Ghorua the Shark"] [member="Kip Ridel"] [member="Dewbacca"] [member="Aryn Teth"] [member="Saul Ferasi"]

Not In Range: [member="Lyla Quinn"] [member="Fidelis"] [member="Tin'tinag"] [member="Veera"]