Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The Godfather [Jorus]

Fondor orbit

Sarge sighed, laying the sleeping baby in a crib that was set to the side of his living room. Jorus had, rather cheekily, made him the godfather of his love child after that wild night on Zeltros, and so that meant that, sometimes, Sarge took care of the little shitling whenever Jorus had to do anything that you wouldn't have a baby along for.

Things like murder.

Or smuggling.

Or three-ways.

Stepping out of the apartment and locking it as quietly as possible, Sarge sighs and wraps himself up in his cloak. Jorus was supposed to arrive on the habitation sphere shortly, so hopefully the baby would stay asleep until he got back.

Probably one of Sarge's best kept secrets was that he was amazingly good with kids.
 
Smelling of syrup, gunpowder, fish and wet dog, Jorus stumbled down the hallway with a beskar shotgun as a crutch. He hiccuped drunkenly and ricocheted off a wall -- lurching straight into the invisible Sarge. His hand snagged on the cloak, and he jumped about ten feet.

Well, it felt like ten feet.

"Don't fething do that to me, bro. I've had enough bad surprises tonight. Selonian in heat. Odd ideas about 'payment in kind.' I had to use the shell gun, or she woulda..."

He lost his train of thought.
 
"I wasn't doing anything - you did it to yourself.", came the sarcastically dry response. Jorus should have known better, clearly. Sighing, he pushed his cloak out of the way and dropped his hood, giving the man a concerned look.

Alcohol reeked off of him, although it was hidden behind gunpowder and a myriad of other unpleasant smells. "Not into the cat-folk, I take it?" The man chuckled, his grizzled visage as happy as it typically was whenever Jorus was around.

Something about the man just brightened his day. "C'mon. Let's get you some water and a place to sit." Wrapping his arm around the Warden's shoulder, he whisks him off and back to the apartment.
 
"More like otter-folk." The habitation sphere had room for...limited personal allotments of space. From the door, Jorus tossed the shell gun onto his bunk and leaned over the crib. Mara Merrill, age ten months, half-Zeltron and all awesome, snored gently. He left her there and picked his way back across the smallish room with limited amounts of success in the stealth department. Very limited.

"But I got it, bro. I've got coordinates for the Graveyard of the Dragons."
 
Sarge eyed the baby, who stirred at Jorus' romp, although a muted 'shhhhh' from the ghost soothed her enough to make sure she wouldn't wake. "The what now...? Krayt Dragon Graveyard...?" He'd heard of that, but not the Graveyard of Dragons.

Perhaps they were the same thing.

Perhaps not.

Maybe Jorus would actually fill him in instead of being drunk.
 
"No, no, no, uh..."

He ushered Sarge out of the cabin and closed the door almost all the way. For a long moment, he blinked at nothing, and then he was back.

"Bro, you know krayt dragons are smart, right? Like, not people-smart, but they'll trick ya pretty good. Well, they're the kids of the kids of the kids of the mutant kids of Duinuogwuin. Star Dragons. Me and Chloe used to talk about'em all the time -- she met one once. They're smarter'n most. Fly through space. Organic, uh, organs, for floating. Hovering. Feth."

He facepalmed himself awake.

"Natural repulsorlifts, internal cold fusion organs -- and they can go to hyperspace without a ship, bro. They know exactly where they're going. It's like I can do, kinda, when I guess a hyperspace course. If there's anyone who can teach me to do it on purpose, whenever I want, I could take Gypsymoth anywhere.

"Uh. I'll back up. These Duinuogwuin, they go to a hidden world to die. The Graveyard of the Dragons. It's one of the big ones, the big finds. It'd be legendary. Hic. Literally."
 
Sarge blinked. He went to say something, and then blinked again. "Let's go back. You lost me after cold fusion." The soldier was a whiz with handheld weapons and guns, and all but a patron saint of sniper rifles. But science was something he'd never grasped, and Jorus knew it.

He was just too drunk to dumb it down for Sarge. "You're telling me you found the graveyard of things that can just....", he made vague motions with his hands to mimic something spiriting away into the night, "...go wherever the feth it wants through hyperspace with no hyperdrive."

"A literal creature that just traverses the galaxy... by itself. No ships. Nothing."

Shifting his eyes one way, then the other, he scratched at the right side of his beard.

"Are you fethin' bonkers?"
 
"It's for real. 'Bout sixteen thousand years ago, the Duinuog-whatsits ran into the Republic and, I kid you not, went to war. They hid from Palpatine 'cause they do it with the Force. 'Bout one-third of'em can use the Force, from what I hear, or maybe they all can and 'bout one-third can learn powers other than jumping to hyperspace. Or maybe that's biological. But feth, bro, I don't even care about that. I just want to know how they know what direction to go."

A drip of slobber parted company with his lip.

"There was Jedi Duinuogwuins, bro, a couple of'em. Most of it got lost in the Dark, but Chloe, she's met one, long ol' time ago. And people still remember stories. Dragons in space. Ain't nobody forgetting that one.

"'Sides. I've got coordinates to something."
 
"We'll check out the coordinates...", he says finally, resting a heavy hand on Jorus' shoulder. "But bro, seriously, Palpatine died like, 800 years ago. Not sixteen thousand. Unless you mean they were still alive and went into hiding when he came about. I can't tell, you're drunk and rambling."

Motioning towards the door, he shakes his head. "Get the baby. Let's go. Can't leave her here... unless you've got another babysitter?"
 
"Naw, Chloe's busy. Aaaaallways busy."

The Warden hiccuped.

"Tell you what. Go get some rest an' I'll get packed. Meet me at Gypsymoth's hangar in like, uh, 'bout five o'clock t'morrow morning. Or six. Ish."

He stumbled back through the door and was unconscious approximately half a second before his head hit the pillow.
 
Screaming baby under one arm and shotgun under the other, Jorus plodded up the ramp and into the '929. The next half hour was a blur of rearranging, packing, programming, preflighting, clearing, paperworking, not-puking, apologizing to Sarge and rambling about Duinuogwuin.

At last, Gypsymoth pulled out of the hangar.

"I never asked...you want some breakfast? I've got ribenes and, uh, ribenes. And beans. And, uh, baby formula."
 
"No, Jorus. I want you to be on time.", he retorts sharply, giving the man a death-glare that would melt the hull of an AT-AT if it actually had any sort of killing power. "Let's just go to these coordinates so I can laugh when it turns out to be the location for some restaurant at the end of the universe."
 
"Wait, I told you a time? I knew I was late but I swear I didn't tell you a time. Freaking Selonian and her freaking..."

Grumbling viciously, the Warden slipped the chip into Gypsymoth's navicomputer. The computer whirred and spat, and Jorus leaned his chair back.

"I have no idea how good this data is. She explained it. And that's...well, I do not remember that any more than I remember telling you I'd be here by a certain time. I blame the Selonian."
 
"If we wind up in a star I'm going to kill you." Most useless threat of all time. "And yeah, ya told me 0500, and ya didn't show up till, well, much later." Giving him a curious look, he turns to face Jorus with an amused expression on his face. "Did you make a litter of Half-Selonians, Jorus?"
 
"Problems? Well feth -- we've got a long trip ahead, and the kid's asleep. Tell me of these problems. Give me some vicarious jollies blended with a thorough appreciation for my own de facto celibate lifestyle."

Jorus only used big words when mocking someone a little. It is known.
 

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