The Rime of the Ballin' Mariner

[Hannibal Oryen]

MARAMERE
POINT MODIE

How an island had come to be made entirely of stygium was up for debate. By all accounts, it didn't make sense. Few things in this galaxy did. Just because it didn't make sense, however, didn't mean that it couldn't be exploited. Hannibal often found that standing around trying to figure out how the roses had grown where they did (or if it were at all reasonable that they grow in the first place) left little time for smelling them. In this case, standing around trying to figure out why this chunk of land was made out of stygium would be a waste of time when they should have been drilling as much of it out of the ground as they could.

He should have been on Csilla perfecting that new droid brain. But boss-man Gerion Ardik quickly found that a restless Hannibal was not a very cooperative Hannibal. Given that this company's success was based on his own damn designs, he could afford to be recalcitrant from time to time.

"Fine. There's some mining that needs to be done on Maramere." The Umbaran had said. "Go make sure the Vong or Retail Caucus or some other asinine entity doesn't show up."

"Swiggity swoot, I'm outta here, ya mook." Had been Hannibal's reply.

Hannibal chartered the first shuttle he could off of Csilla and to Maramere. After landing in the capitol city of Point Modie, he was to make his way to the docks. Hegemonic Automaton had already amassed a sizable battalion of mining and security droids, as well as one of those AN1 Recycling droids. They were good at processing materials. The unfortunate part was that they couldn't just fly in and land on the island. For reasons that were readily apparent, that would have been too dangerous. What they would instead have to do is charter an actual naval vessel (like, water, navy- Hannibal didn't even think they still made those) and hire a bunch of Mere to navigate them through the treacherous Haunted Straits.

All in all it had the makings of a solid plot that would carry on a dev thread for stygium.

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

The Mere placed himself strategically between Hannibal and the gang-plank, making entrance to the ship impossible. Mere were funny looking Aquatic creatures with orange faces, blue bodies, and featureless white eyes. Like most aquatic races, their skin was almost always some kind of slimy. This particular sailor looked disgusted with Hannibal's presence and looked between the Fondorian and the clipboard he was holding several times before speaking. "You're the Oryen guy?"

"Yep."

Stelio, the Mere in question, pursed his lips as if in consideration. After a moment his purple tongue ran over his lips and it appeared he made a decision. "Well, technically speaking, I don't have you on my list."

It only took Hannibal a moment to realize just what reason there would be that he wasn't on 'the list.' Gerion had probably called ahead to take him off of it, just so he could return dejected to Csilla. As if that would work. He was Hannibal friggin' Oryen. Maybe he didn't bounty hunt and kick ass as often as he used to, but he could stow away on some mook ship just fine. Especially if it was staffed mostly with these weird fish dudes and droids he designed himself! He clenched his repulse-hand and prepared to sucker punch Stelio, but reconsidered when the Mere started talking again.

"But one of my mates called in sick, so I'm gonna need to replace him. Can you navigate?"

"Tch. 'course I can navigate." Hannibal, who could not, of course, navigate, replied.

Stelio studied the Fondorian for a moment, decided he was clearly lying, but decided to bring him aboard anyway. He stepped to the side, gesturing up the gang plank. "Welcome aboard, then."

Hannibal tugged his cap smugly and made his way up the plank. Despite his augmented cybernetic eyes, he failed to notice Stelio's malevolent smirk as he followed him up.

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

After unpacking his belongings in his appointed lodgings, Hannibal went above deck to stroll around the ship. It certainly was no Bright Star cruise liner. It was a big, ugly, blocky cargo ship that smelled a little too much like fish guts. Leave it to Hegemonic Automaton to spend all that money on the droid mining crew and then charter they biggest, lousiest vessel they could get their grubby robotic hands on. Hannibal had put up with worse conditions. There was that time he was marooned on Raxus Prime. Or for smells, the time when that Ugnaught he captured for a bounty purposefully defecated in his own pants and started smearing it around his cell. That had been the reason restraints were installed on his old ship.

That was all behind him now. No more crappy Ugnaughts, no more junkyard diving with beautiful scavenger dames. Just him, some droid engineering, and right now a ticket aboard the S.S. Smells Like Mere Spirit to stygium island.

This had better be worth it.

A horn blew once, twice, and then three times as the crew wrapped up preparations. There was a gentle lurch as the ship began to exit port, groaning with effort as it entered the open sea. Come to think of it, Hannibal didn't think he had ever been on a water-ship before. This was an entirely new experience for him. It struck him as odd, how advanced technology often led to the death of more traditional things. When was the last time he had seen an actual book? Half the galaxy probably had abysmal handwriting. It made his stomach churn. No, wait, that was actually the motion of the ship that did that. Hannibal put a hand to his chest, only to subsequently pull himself up so he was half-over the railing, vomiting his breakfast into the ocean.

A bunch of sailors were laughing behind him.

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

As soon as Hannibal had finished ejecting his breakfast, he turned around to face the sailors that had been laughing at him. The Fondorian glowered, glaring at the bunch and wiping a stray bit of half-digested food from the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist. Hannibal freakin' Oryen didn't take kindly to this kind of tomfoolery- not at the expense of his very prestigious person. Or maybe it had been prestigious at one point, but since he'd let being badass take a backseat to forging a galactic legacy of designing ultra-badass robots... Well, it didn't matter. He still had his fancy cyborg gimmick.

"You mooks got a fethin' problem?" He called out. "Chatterin' like a buncha dumb broads."

All at once the derisive laughter coming from the group ceased and turned into disconcerted murmurs. Hannibal had stalked over to them, cracking the knuckles of his repulse hand. As he got closer, he soon found out that they hadn't gotten nervous at the prospect of being on the receiving end of Hannibal's fists of fury. Once he was in range, most of the sailors sort of skirted out of the way, leaving a clear path between Hannibal and the biggest, most muscular sailor of the lot. This Mere was probably the most muscular of the lot, standing at least a foot taller than the rest of them. The distinct aura of a sailor who had endured so many fights they weren't even worth counting. The aura of someone who could probably give Hannibal a run for his money in the art of badass-itude.

"You got a problem with women, pal?" She asked.

Hannibal paused for a moment, appearing to consider this question. He glanced at the surrounding Mere from the corners of his eyes. Then he brushed his upper lip with his thumb and nodded shortly. "Maybe. 'r maybe I just gots 'a problem with th' ones 'at look like the ass end of a Rancor."

A collective ooooooh rose up from the surrounding Mere. The beefcake sailor, the lady of the hour, rolled up her sleeves in preparation of the walloping she intended to dole out to Hannibal.

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

She swung her first like a club for the side of Hannibal's head. But cyborgs, retired or not, are always faster than ugly Mere chicks. The fist swiped harmlessly through the air where Hannibal's head had been, just as he ducked low and then vaulted forward for a tackle. Unsurprisingly, she was as solid as she looked. At Hannibal's pushing, her feet began to skid back a few inches, but eventually she managed to dig her feet in good. Now at an advantage, she shoved Hannibal off of her. The Fondorian staggered back a few steps, then had to backpedal a couple more as she came at him like a bat out of Corellian hell.

Hannibal barely had time to put his arms up, absorbing a bunch aimed for his face. He had to keep giving up ground to avoid having his gut smashed in by her continuing barrage of fists. Damn it all, is this how Hannibal died? Clobbered to death by a freaking fish-woman? And not even the hot kind with just the tails and the humanoid top-halves? Not that there was anything to be done with them, considering... Well, now's not the time to get into it. He weaved around another punch aimed for his face, then delivered a quick one of his own. Her head snapped back as the repulse-hand. Hannibal didn't pursue her any further, largely because blood was already running down her face, out of her nose, after that one.

"Ooooooh" went the crowd once again. Had none of these other clowns ever punched this broad before? From what he heard from those mutterings, her name was Jazana. And from just looking at her, he could see she was pissed now. So pissed, in fact, that she whipped out a blaster pistol and trained it on Hannibal.

The Fondorian reached to either side of him, indicating he was unarmed. "You, uh, wanna call it a draw?"

She fired.

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

Hannibal gasped, clutched desperately at the air about him, and sat straight up in his medical bed. The medical droid on duty observed this action and made an astounding medical observation. "Patient has regained consciousness." Hannibal's instincts told him to punch the droid into scrap and use it to bludgeon that droid and use it as an improvised weapon to turn Jazana into a fish fillet. However, reason took over when he realized his gut still hurt from where she tried to gun him down. That queen! Bringing a pistol to a match of fisticuffs... Where did she get off?

"Please lay back down. You're injured."

"I'm a cyborg. I'm fine, jerkass." Hannibal swung his legs off the bed and set them down on the floor, only to find his stance wobbly and uneven. He nearly tumbled over, but keep his grip on the bed for support. "How long as I out for?"

"Two days."

"Two days?"

"Affirmative." The droid replied. Hannibal couldn't quite wrap his head around that. He'd taken blaster bolts to the gut before and didn't get all coma-y because of it. The fact that he hurt didn't make any sense either. His pain threshold was higher than most rancors at this point. But the droid continued to elaborate. Something about an Ion pistol being the weapon utilized against him. It probably scrambled his cybernetics and his brain. What kind of a karking sailor carries around Ion pistols? Questions for later. Right now he wanted his pants back. Hospital gowns didn't look good on him.

"Where're are my threads?"

"Excuse me?"

Hannibal rolled his eyes. Why did so few people understand his hip lingo? "Clothes. Where are my clothes."

"Oh. Right this way." The droid said, teetering off and allowing Hannibal to stumble after him.