When were people going to learn you can't stop the signal, he mused to himself, as the hidden cable protruding from his sleeve quietly pulled data from an otherwise harmless looking refreshment dispenser. These weren't government secrets he was pulling. No plans for deathstars or fleet deployment strength. No biological super weapon nor some secret potion that could cure baldness and have you growing hair like a wookie in a matter of days... though admittedly that last one would be kind of cool.
No, just simple crew and passenger manifests mostly. Their rooms, their itineraries, what name rooms were registered to; though admittedly many of these people - like Patches himself - were probably using a fake. Nothing to high security. Sure, people valued their privacy and yes, a fine operation such as this one had firewalls, trojan horses and a litany of other checkpoints and security measures designed to keep peoples information private... but not the refreshment dispenser on deck 17, port side just outside... the umm... the place... near the thing with the... thingy...
You know, it occurs to me... he paused for a moment looking to his left, his right, a bit up, and a bit down, before finishing his thought, I have not the faintest sithspitting idea where I am. In fairness, this ship was impressive. One could spend hours, nay days admiring the fine craftsmanship, its many beauties and wonders. He thought he had heard someone over say the mouldings and railing are imported wood from Thyferra... whatever that means. Last thing the galaxy needed were crown moulding enthusiasts but everyone had their own kink, he supposed.
Patches was here keeping tabs on a few diplomats, updating some account information, and maybe glean a secret or two from a few noted dignitaries that were onboard. Politics was a dirty game, and many paid rather handsomely to know what their friends and enemies were up to. A fine vessel such as this hosed many nobles, all eager to suckle at the tit of luxury and culture. He wasn't there to interrupt or change their plans... just include himself in their plans... without them knowing. He did feel a bit naked without his blaster, but his best weapon had always been a datapad and his innate ability to defy the odds... or just wait for someone else to become a bigger target while he slips away.
A small ding from his datapad tucked away in his jacket confirmed the download was complete. He let out a subtle cough, removing the cable from it's port and tucking it away in his sleeve, before retrieving his now luke warm Corellian Coffee from the refreshment station. A small sip confirmed his fears; they had nailed many splendors and luxuries on this ship, but a strong, bitter Corellian Coffee was somehow not one of them. He might have shuddered a bit at the slight sweet note. No Corellian would own up to that, he mused to himself.
With a lukewarm drink in tow and one datapad full of suspects and targets, he surveyed... wherever it was he was... and made his way down the hallway to the first door on his right... or was it the second... he couldn't remember.
Map Patches... he mused to himself... next time say yes when they offer the map.
Marina DeVoe
asked if she was with child, accepting the hug while giving an embrace of her own. "Oh, come on. The Wookiees aren't afraid to hug me. I'm pregnant, not a Ghostling." The Knight practically glowed with the joy her unborn child brought her.
