Private THE WAR HOGS - Episode One - "I Accept You're Resignation"

[Traden Avarice]

THE WAR HOGS: EPISODE 1
"I ACCEPT YOU'RE RESIGNATION"


BACKGROUND MUSIC: INSTRUMENTAL JAZZ

LOCATION: MOMMA A's HOUSE IN TYTHON

Traden's Attire: Casual

THE WAR HOGS:
Traden Avarice Phaineve Halseigh Dagmar Kortu Gorthalon (Other Character?) Mela Keiran Varn ​

"Traden, have you seen my special cutlery?" The older woman must have been in her early 60's, a true symbol of elegance and grace as she hurried around the storage boxes she had buried everything in since the last time they had been used. She had white hair done up in a bun, and was adorned with elaborate jewelry and probably a touch too much makeup for her age. Traden's mother was quite the busy bee, as was the norm for whenever Traden brought guests over. She truly had a high value for hospitality and presentation, something Traden must have missed in the genetics unfortunately.

However, one thing that had come through strong was his mothers passion for cooking. Traden had grown up in his mothers kitchen, and he was a very gifted cook… as much as he found himself somewhat embarrassed by that fact occasionally. And now he was preparing something extra special for the newly formed batch of War Hogs who had just survived their first assignment together against the Final Dawn forces stationed on Epock. This was a time for everyone to bond and get to know each other better. Some of them had been together for years… some for months… and some… hours. It was very important to Traden that they built a strong camaraderie amongst the squad, and so he had opened up his mothers home for everyone to enjoy a celebratory meal together.

And even as he continued to prepare the meal, completely missing his mothers calls for assistance, his heart was heavy with the reality of the truth…. The truth that vulnerability could be brutally painful… and that it made it that much worse whenever someone wasn't able to make it home after an assignment. It was more devastating to grieve for someone you considered family than it was a complete stranger.

Nevertheless, the force master knew that the cold and lonely road was not one that he cared to travel. And that… in the end… the lonely path would end up being more painful for everyone.

So let's not do that.

Finally Traden realized that his mother had been calling his name for some time now. He lifted his head, "Sorry?"

"…Where in the force are my spoons! My big serving spoons! I can't find them anywhere…" Her voice came across as muffled due to her head being buried inside storage containers in the other room. "We can't have a proper meal without my spoons!"

Traden chuckled as he shook his head, "I'm sure they're in there, mom. Oh… by the way… Bob will be joining us…" The shuffling in the other room immediately stopped, followed by her white head popping out through the doorway, looking suspiciously at Traden,

"You make sure that… um… what is it?"

"He's like a droid... without a body…"

"Well… You make sure 'Bob' minds his manners. Especially around Kita… I don't want her learning any more 'new words'…"

"Yes mam…"

__________________


Soft warm music played in the background, and the gentle light of real candles flickered and filled the living room with a relaxing atmosphere while a fire quietly crackling in the background. There were some horderves already set out, as well as a smallish selection of wine, liquor, and some other beverages. Everyone was expected to bring their own dish or dessert and add it to the growing spread of food. It was sure to be a fun and relaxing evening for everyone…

and hopefully… maybe... Bob would mind his manners…

For once….

 

[Phaineve Halseigh]

[Tython's Surface]
War Hogs: Traden Avarice , Dagmar Kortu , Gorthalon , Mela , Keiran Varn

---

Already, she'd begun to miss the claustrophobic corridors of the Fairchild, the swathes of machinery coursing along every bulkhead like metallic veins, the dim lighting that at times replicated her homeworld's own atmosphere. There was none of that here. Tython was so open, quiet, Green... Corellians were raised to be allergic to that color, raised to breathe smog and find comfort in the sounds of active fuel pumps. But Traden had invited everyone, and Phaineve had no intention of disappointing. Besides, no matter how repulsive Tython's landscape seemed to her, she was sure the others found it peaceful... refreshing. After Epoch and Coruscant, the War Hogs needed this.

Loud footfalls identified every step in her ascent, clanging in a rhythm that indicated no rush on Phaineve's behalf. She knew she'd be late to the gathering-- the captain had been characteristically adamant about staying behind to secure the Fairchild on her own. That had bought her at least twenty minutes of solitude, twenty minutes that after running every last-minute check was reduced to five. Five minutes, that were reduced to two when Phaineve finally grew to resent being trapped in a grounded starship with only her thoughts.

Ring... She scoured the edges of the doorframe before finally managing to produce a chime at the bell. Phaineve suddenly began to shuffle about; she'd never been particularly social, and it had taken far too long just to begin to warm up to the other War Hogs. Now she was expected to meet Traden's mother, waltz into her house, and not screw up one of the War Hogs' few reprieves from danger. She swallowed a lump; the muscles in her right hand began to tense up to reaffirm her hold on a well-preserved bottle of Corellian whiskey: Phaineve's own contribution to the party, and the last inhabitant of the captain's stash.

"Sorry for being so late, folks," she said with an apologetic smile when the door opened and signaled her with a sudden gust of wind.

 

[Dagmar Kortu]

It was a rare day off from the long war against the Brotherhood, Traden spent the day bothering the team about a large get together. Dagmar preferred to sleep all day but Traden was insistent. Besides, it'll be good to get back to Traden's house again it was a lovely home and his mother was lovely as well. Dag wore his best clothing it was sent by his family back at Alderaan and entered the house. "Yo Traden!" Dagmar said entering the home. "I trust that the Turkey is being cooked by your Mom! The last time your ass cooked you nearly burned down my fracking house!"

His father blamed Dagmar for the burning and demanded he was one to pay for the damages even though Dag had nothing to do with it. A Kortu is responsible for their friends and all that. Dagmar saw Phaineve and gave a curt nod. "How you doing Pha?" he chuckled. "I got surprise for all of you later tonight! It's gonna shock the world!"

Oh he paid top credits for this moment, he couldn't wait to unveil after dinner.

Traden Avarice , Phaineve Halseigh , Mela , Gorthalon , Keiran Varn

 

[Traden Avarice]

LOCATION: MOMMA A's HOUSE IN TYTHON

Traden's Attire: Casual

THE WAR HOGS:
Traden Avarice Phaineve Halseigh Dagmar Kortu Gorthalon (Other Character?) Mela Keiran Varn ​

Traden heard the doorbell ring, but he was too preoccupied with finishing the final touches to the main course to go to the door.

"Mom! Can you get that? I'm almost done with this thing." He called out over his shoulder as he looked down at his masterpiece, a smirk spreading across his face in admiration at his work... and due to a hint of humor that he found in it. It was a massive stuffed pig, head and all, roasted to perfection. It would be his own personal contribution to the War Hogs dinner, but it lacked one final touch...

He pulled out a special searing iron from the drawer that he had designed which sported the War Hogs logo. He held the iron over the open flame until it was red hot, then pressed it against the rump of the pig as a loud hiss was released. When he pulled it away... behold... the war hogs logo had been branded onto the pig.

Perfection.

Momma A rushed over to the door, wiping her hands on her apron as she quickly looked herself over one more time in the reflection of a vase to make sure she was presentable. Then she opened the door and gave Phaineve Halseigh a big, warm smile and a squeaky and elongated "Hiiiiiiiii!" as she grabbed onto her arm and pulled her gently into the home. "Now whats your name sweetie?" She asked as she took the bottle of whiskey out of her hands and quickly walked over and placed it next to the other spirits. "Now you look like a pilot, am I right? Are you a pilot? Don't get me wrong, us girls can be whatever we want to be... shooting it up with the boys!" She crouched slightly and extended both hands outward in front of her with her fingers making the form of a blaster as she pretended to shoot both hands back and forth, "Pew Pew! Haha... umm... dearly goodness, this looks like the good stuff!" She said as she turned Phaineve Halseigh 's whiskey bottle to get a better look at the label. "Oh my! Well you do have a good taste when it comes to your liquor, sweetie! I think I might just... Traden! Would you like some Corellian Whiskey?!" She called back to Traden who was still in the kitchen as she pulled up three shot glasses and popped the bottle, filling all three without waiting to hear back from Traden, "What am I talking about, of COARSE he does! haha! That boy has never said no to a good whiskey!" She handed one of the shot glasses to Phaineve Halseigh , giving her a smile and a wink as she downed her own shot and put the glass back down on the counter.

"What was that?" Traden called from the kitchen. "Nevermind!" She called back, looking towards the kitchen, "Get yourself out here! You have guests to entertain!" Momma A then looked Phaineve Halseigh over, giving her a mischievous smile and a pat on the shoulder, "Well, you sure are a pretty girlie, arn't you!" She commented as the door opened, revealing Dagmar Kortu who waltzed his way into the home.

"Oh my! My favorite son is here!" She squealed slyly as she quickly walked up to Dagmar Kortu and gave him a peck on the cheek, then patted his cheek not-so-gently with the palm of her hand. She looked at him suspiciously as he mentioned a surprise that would 'Shock the world', her eyebrows raised, "Now you listen, honey buns... if you burn my house down with your surprise, i'm gonna shock YOUR world!" She then smiled, patted his cheek once more, and pulled him over to Phaineve Halseigh as Traden finally emerged from the kitchen.

"Oh my force, mate!" Traden said as he rolled his eyes in response to Dagmar Kortu 's comment on how his cooking had 'burnt down' his house, "For the last time, it had nothing to do with my cooking and more to do with you forgetting to take the plastic out of a brand new oven! You crazy wamp rat..." He said as he reached Dagmar and gave him a big bear hug. "Good to see you, mate." He pulled him back with his arms and ruffled his hair with his hand, knowing he hated it. But secretly?... he knew he loved it.

"Aie! Ladybird! Welcome!" He said, giving Phaineve Halseigh a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder, "Finally got you off that smelly ship! You know why it smells right?" Traden motioned towards Dagmar Kortu with his eyes. Mamma A handed him the shot of whiskey, "What's this?" Traden asked, bringing the shot up to his nose and giving it a sniff. "It's this fine ladies contribution to the night! Corellian Whiskey." Traden raised his eyebrow, taking a sip. "Oh force, thats good." He said, giving Ladybird a nod of approval as he raised the shot glass, then drank the rest of it down. The night was young, and now was as good a time as any to get the drinking started.

"I've got a surprise of my own, but you'll have to wait for dinner before you can see it. Speaking of... where is everyone else?" Traden checked the time, noticing that anyone who came now would be less-than-fashionably late. "Oh hey, did anyone bring Bob?" Traden asked.

 

[Monos]

THE WAR HOGS, EPISODE ONE
"BEHAVE YOURSELF, BOB"
TYTHON
Traden Avarice Phaineve Halseigh Mela Keiran Varn Dagmar Kortu

​

The chilled air of Tython rushed across the small Anzellan's face, whose jetpack roared on his back as he flew swiftly but steadily, high up in the atmosphere, scanning the serene land below in search of the designated meeting place with The War Hogs.

Occasionally performing spectacular barrel-rolls mid-flight to avoid hitting clouds of beautiful butterflies fluttering about, Mox was getting uncomfortable, as he should have been on location about forty minutes ago. Just as he was beginning to toy with the idea of bailing and not facing the awkwardness of such a huge delay, he suddenly recognized the cozy building nestled between two intimidating, yet awe-inspiring snow-capped mountains. Milky plumes of smoke rose from the house's chimney and the interior lights seeping through the large windows painted the surrounding snow to the color of a setting sun.

Since Mox was still a couple of clicks away, he needed only dip slightly to lock in on the trajectory towards the building. As he descended, the gradual change of temperature resulted in dew beginning to form on his welding goggles. Rubbing it a couple of times solved the problem, but the bottle of Calamari Xinphar that he had been holding onto since its recent purchase at the landing terminal slipped from his hand and launched into a spinning fall. With a click of a button on his wrist, the jetpack on his back fizzled out and the small creature dove for the only present he brought with him to the occasion.

Tearing through clouds, whirlwinds and currents, he plummeted increasingly faster, not once losing sight of the pink bottle. The ground was getting hazardously close, and he quickly reached terminal velocity. He held out his hand, grunting, cursing, now only inches away from the bottle that was dancing and speeding towards the ground.

Immediately upon contact with the drink, he instinctively clicked the switch on his wrist, igniting the jetpack's engine, wondrously taking a breakneck turn and whizzing away towards the War Hogs' refuge, dragging dirt and conifers as he darted along the surface, incredibly close to the ground.

Landing before the main entrance with the jetpack still in idle operation, he placed the chilled bottle that was almost half his size in front of the door, raised his closed fist to his mouth, cleared his throat, and knocked a short, playful melody on the wooden door. With another click, he blasted himself up to the chimney and slid down inside of it, simultaneously switching off his flight apparatus and hoping that his jolly entrance would distract those inside from his delayed arrival.

Finally sliding casually out of a rolling cloud of black and grey ash, he skidded to a halt, patted down his smoking cape, straightened up, took off his goggles, bowed politely and introduced himself in his characteristic, high-pitched voice. – Hogs of War, I am Mox. Present not fit chimney, is at door.
​

 

[Phaineve Halseigh]

[Tython's Surface]
War Hogs: Traden Avarice , Dagmar Kortu , Gorthalon , Mela , Keiran Varn

---

When Phaineve surveyed the newly opened door and the room beyond it, she caught no sign of familiar faces. It didn't appear the other War Hogs had indeed arrived before her, and Traden was nowhere to be found. What the captain did find, staring happily toward her, was a much older woman.

Then she opened the door and gave Phaineve Halseigh a big, warm smile and a squeaky and elongated "Hiiiiiiiii!" as she grabbed onto her arm and pulled her gently into the home. "Now whats your name sweetie?"

"Oh. Um. Phaineve-" Her startled response was cut short as the woman effortlessly removed the whiskey from her hands, and with a terrifying level of agility guided it toward an assortment of other spirits. She stood still, in utter bewilderment as her strange host slipped a shot glass into an open palm. When Traden had invited the other War Hogs, he didn't mention- His mother... The realization dawned on her that this shockingly energetic old woman was... "Oh. Um. Thank you. So you must be-"

"Get yourself out here! You have guests to entertain!"

Phaineve recoiled as the woman's voice exploded in the direction of the kitchen; thankfully, her grip reflexively tightened enough to suspend her glass from an otherwise untimely end beneath her. Disoriented, but with a crisis averted, the captain turned toward the door as Dagmar Kortu meandered inside.

"How you doing Pha?" he chuckled. "I got surprise for all of you later tonight! It's gonna shock the world!"

"Can't wait..." At the appearance of a familiar face she managed a small smile, catching sight of Dagmar's quick nod and responding in kind. "Nice to see you, Dag," Phaineve added, and quickly gulped down her shot glass at the same moment Traden's mother rushed toward the newly arrived guest. The whiskey had a numbing effect on her tongue that quickly stung at her brain and allowed her to process their opening interaction. Then it was gone... the odd beauty of Corellian Whiskey was that its taste was painfully short-lived.

She turned around, again, and sent a smile in the way of another familiar face; the War Hogs' squad leader came waltzing out from the kitchen, and before she knew it, he'd wrapped Dagmar in a long hug. Now things were starting to feel normal, though she couldn't decide if that had been another effect of the alcohol.

"Finally got you off that smelly ship! You know why it smells right?"

Before she could be allowed to process that latter thought, Phaineve found Traden already in front of her. She seemed stunned at first, taken aback by the major's comment on a dropship that had ferried the group to every conflict she could remember. Then her face suddenly alighted with a grin. "I'm not sure. But it did smell a whole lot nicer after you left." Phaineve let the remark sit a few seconds longer, before filling another shot glass with the opened bottle of Corellian whiskey and raising her glass alongside the squad leader's. She began with a short sip, as if to question her own tolerance after the earlier shot.

Before Phaineve could bring the glass to her lips for a second time, she caught Traden's voice sounding a question.

"Oh hey, did anyone bring Bob?"

"Oh yeah. Erm. That was me," Awkwardly, she set the shot glass atop a cabinet to starboard of her, and from the side of her belt drew a modified holoprojector. Before the captain could begin fumbling for the devices power switch, it came to life on its own and sent a sudden rush of electricity through her hand. The metallic box clattered to the carpet bellow as a screen of blue erupted from its center, static-filled dots of light eventually sharpening and bringing the shape of a figure into view. "Bofasd-- Bo- BOB!" Phaineve yelped, gripping her hand to quiet any lingering pain from the sting of electricity. "Gahhhhh..."

"I've been cooped up in that awful box you made for wayyy too long. You're lucky I held out as long as I did!" The A.I snapped back. BOB's holographic manifestation appeared to cross its arms in annoyance.

"Shut it, you little- Well. Wellll- There he is!" She hurled a sharp whisper at the others; though the pain had quickly subsided, the anger and annoyance had refused to die. "I'm going to go get some fresh air. Don't wait for me." But before Phaineve could cross the threshold of the front door, the exhaust of a jetpack began to approach her. When she pushed the door open, her eyes scanned the empty horizon in surprise. Only when her confused gaze began to lower did she catch sight of the Anzellan standing in front of her.

Hogs of War, I am Mox. Present not fit chimney, is at door.

"Hi.." She quickly forgot about her promise to the others, and turned around to face them again. "I'm just going to lie down... I think I need to sober up..."

 

[Zav Traros]

Zav rolled through the residential district in his repulsorcraft on his way to his first meeting with the crew, he eyes giving occasional glances to the map loaded on the vehicle's display screen. He was already running rather late, having lost a substantial bit of time due to an error in the system. Or maybe the navigation systems didn't update, and were referencing an old and obsolete map. Whatever it was didn't matter; that connecting street the route relied on wasn't there, and Zav had to double back to take another one in.

Zav found meeting at the residence strange; he'd expected the meeting to happen on the base, and he had to ask twice before he accepted it. He'd met teammates before in barracks, briefing rooms, and spaceports; even outside the building once because the Captain was late and had the keys with him. The man was dressed well, but casually; with brown slacks and a buttoned dull-yellow shirt. He'd never had these sort of meetings at someone's house before, much less the house of someone's mother.

It was odd, but definitely not unwelcome. Once he'd unpacked his gear into his new quarters, Zav was starving, and the idea of a good home-cooked meal sounded far more palatable than whatever the mess hall was serving.

It was also a sign that he'd come quite a far ways. A colleague Zav had yet to even meet was inviting him to meet his mother. Signing up and making the cut had won the respect of a man he'd yet to meet, and spoke to the trust already earned in the position. Zav trusted those he fought beside with his very life; but there was definitely a shortlist of which ones he'd trust to meet family.

The Major was clearly a welcoming and hospitable type. And Zav was currently the late type.

Meandering down the streets, Zav finally approached the house and brought his craft to a stop outside it. Once parked, he brought the tray of baked potatoes he'd brought with him; one of the few things he could cook without messing up. And he did a pretty good job of it; they were loaded with the works. With the tray in hand, he briskly made his way to the door where he rang the doorbell to be let in.

Once inside, he made his way over to the remainder of the crew and announced himself upon entering the room.

"Zav here; I just joined up. Regrets on being so late and everything; just finished unpacking and had some issues finding my way over." He gave his introduction, appending an explanation for his late arrival along with it.

"Also – gotta say, you got a real nice place here. And ain't nothing like your mother's cooking, huh?" Zav added, having a look around. His assumptions weren't wrong, the place was real cozy and the scent of food wafting through the kitchen was mouth-watering.

 

[Traden Avarice]

LOCATION: MOMMA A's HOUSE IN TYTHON

Traden's Attire: Casual

THE WAR HOGS:
Traden Avarice Phaineve Halseigh Dagmar Kortu Monos Mela Keiran Varn Zav Traros ​

Traden scrunched his face in seeming pain at Phaineve Halseigh 's comeback that it was him, in fact, that was the source of the smell that haunted their beloved dropship,

"Oh Kriff! Say it ain't so!" He joked. Then he quickly brought his arm up to subtly smell his armpit, double checking that he did, in fact, smell somewhat decent. Not terrible… thank the force.

He grabbed the bottle and helped himself to another shot while Phaineve Halseigh clumsily activated Bob. He rolled his eyes at Bob's remark about being holed up in the box for too long.

"Bob! Just be glad I let you back into my mom's house after last year. Speaking of which…" He pointed his finger at Bob, a stern expression on his face, "Behave yourself, Bob."

"What ever could you be referring to? I am always the epitome of sophistication and class in everything I do. Now, if I could shove all of YOU in a box for hours on end, I wonder how bloody good natured you would be... Barbarians, I swear…" Bob rolled his eyes and crossed his holoprojected arms in displeasure.

"Hey Bob… want a drink?" Traden offered teasingly as a look of mock surprise covered his face, "Oh, wait… I forgot! You don't have a body, do you… my bad…" Traden smirked as he took a drink while Bob raised his head and glared at the Jedi Guardian,

"Oh that's soooo funny. Your soooo mature. You'd better be glad that I don't have a body on behalf of the ass-kickery I would dispense upon your sorry soul."

Traden nodded, giving Bob a cheers as he raised his shot glass to him. "Always a pleasure, Bob."

"The sentiment is not returned, Jedi."

Traden looked at Bob for a moment, beginning to question the A.I.'s programming.

Just then a sound came rattling down the Chimney, causing quite a bit of curiosity and confusion to the group. Traden reached for a saber that wasn't there right before a small creature bumbled out of the chimney stack. Immediately Traden glanced over at his mother nervously, wondering how she would take the ash and soot exploding into the living room.

She gave Traden big eyes as she pointed a cautious finger at him, "I'm going to go watch my holo-drama now… you all had better behave yourselves, you here?" With that she glanced back at the dirty chimney and "tisk'ed" with annoyance as she departed.

Traden, grateful that she had left so as to not witness anything else that would likely happen that night, turned and gave the new guest a big smile,

"Mox! Ever hear of a door, mate?" He laughed loudly as he raised his glass towards Mox and introduced him to the other War Hogs, "This here is Monos . He's an assassin, and a kriffin' good one. Welcome to the War Hogs!"

He turned to Phaineve Halseigh who was at the door, making some ridiculous comment about needing to lie down, "Whats that? Come now, you just got here! Hey… would you grab Mox's present since you're at the door?" Traden downed another shot, enjoying the slight buzz he was beginning to experience. Ah yes… these gatherings were always better with a good buzz. Takes the edge off and really lets everyone let their guards down and enjoy themselves.

Just then another guest was at the front door. Traden had not actually met the man in person, but he instantly recognized him from his military profile.

"Aie! Zav is it? Welcome mate! Everyone, this is Zav Traros… a gifted grenadier and general bad-ass… from what I hear at least. Good to finally meet you... Welcome to the Hogs!"

Traden had been busy scouring the GADF databases looking to beef up the crew since they had lost 90% of the War Hogs in the catastrophe that was known as the decimation of Coruscant. Usually he was quite intent on meeting with new recruits in person before approving them, but he didn't have that luxury at the moment. They needed to get battle-ready for what was surely coming down the pike, and they needed it ASAP.

Traden reached out a firm hand to Zav Traros in greeting, "Gotta say, those potatoes look kriffin' excellent." He motioned with his hand towards a place where he could set down the tray of food next to the rest of the grub.

 

[Dagmar Kortu]

"Yup!"

Dagmar sat on the table placing his feet up. "Nothing more like some good ol mama's cooking right Trav?"

The Sniper sat down on one of the seats placing his feet on top of the table. "Hey can anyone fetch me some wine?" Dagmar chuckled. "Specifically some Blossom Wine? I could use a taste in beverage?"

Zav Traros , Traden Avarice , Mela , Phaineve Halseigh , Monos

 

[Keiran Varn]

LOCATION: MOMMA A'S HOUSE, TYTHON
EQUIPMENT: A PLATE OF THE FINEST NUNA LEGS
TAGS: Traden Avarice Dagmar Kortu Phaineve Halseigh Zav Traros Monos

​

Keiran brushed passed an unsuspecting Duros as he dashed down the streets of the Tython Residential District, praying he didn't drop his plate. Lateness. He'd always been advised against it, by his parents, by the Jedi, by the Alliance. And here he was, late to a function which he had really been looking forward to. There were multiple avenues of blame the silver-haired Jedi could have taken. Faulty chronometer?

At least he was on the way now. He halted at a crossroad, a repulsorcraft zooming past and obscuring the other side for just a second. Down to the left? Up to the right? In a split-second he bolted down the left, dodging a street vendor and hopping over a box of holo-crates. Almost there... In the distance the padawan caught a glimpse of the large structure that was Momma A's house. Only a bystreet away.

His Master knew that he was coming and the whole unit was expecting him, and so this was bad form. Keiran stopped at the door, panting heavily. A light breeze went around, almost knocking him off balance. He took a hand to the wall to steady himself before ringing the doorbell.

"Hope...I'm..not..late." He managed through laboured breathing.

 

[Monos]

THE WAR HOGS, EPISODE ONE
"BEHAVE YOURSELF, BOB"
TYTHON
Traden Avarice | Dagmar Kortu | Phaineve Halseigh | Keiran Varn | Zav Traros

​

"Mox! Ever hear of a door, mate?" He laughed loudly as he raised his glass towards Mox and introduced him to the other War Hogs, "This here is Monos Monos . He's an assassin, and a kriffin' good one. Welcome to the War Hogs!"

– Yes, Mox come to assassinate you, haha! – He looks around to see his jest not landing quite as planned. – Just joke! – A dismissive hand gesture. – Or is it? – He chuckles and slides out of the jetpack on his back and places it next to the nearest wall, while also taking off his weapon belt, to signal that there, in fact, is no ill will towards the others on his part. He lays the weapon belt on top of the jetpack, as well as his ion torch, welding goggles and smoke grenades. A Jedi is present as far as he could gather, and those people seemed like a trustworthy bunch to the small Anzellan; and that was assurance enough for him. And although his jetpack is a part of who he is, by no means is he defenseless without it.

Mox finally turns away from his pile of gadgets on the ground, realizing all too late that this wasn't the kind of interview he imagined as he had arrived in full battle gear. However, the cozy atmosphere warmed his heart, a feeling that he rarely felt in his life. And when this little Anzellan feels happy and comfortable, he can become rather impulsive; which can devolve into fun, off-the-rails situations. Just as he was about to do the rounds and introduce himself to the present company one-by-one, a knock on the door distracts everyone from his awkward striptease moments ago. – Nice! Distraction successful! – He thinks, as so far nobody seemed to have commented on his late arrival. Soon, a second knock came, most likely an additional guest.

While the others are dealing with the new arrivals, he sneaks away, climbs the table that has the liquors stacked on it and pours himself a tiny amount of the lightest liquor, the shot glass almost appearing full size in his hands. As he's sitting on the side of the table, swinging his legs, he recognizes a jukebox in the corner, playing soothing music. A curious thought springs into his mind, and a half-smile appears on his face. But it can wait for now. There he sits, reading the body languages of the guests from the sidelines - a favorite pastime of his.​

 

[Zav Traros]

"Yup!"

Dagmar sat on the table placing his feet up. "Nothing more like some good ol mama's cooking right Trav?"

Dagmar ceartainly agreed, which was met with a muted chuckle by Zav. It was a pretty good atmosphere here, he couldn't deny that. The house was a pretty cozy looking place, as laid back and welcoming as he'd imagined. He'd already had a good feeling about the crew when he got the position weeks ago, and seeing them in person really cemented the impression he already had of them. This looked to be a good crew – the type he could count on having some good times with.

Such wasn't always the case. In his decade-plus career as a marine, he'd known a lot of senior NCO's and officers who were jaded and dismissive, seemingly trapped in a career they no longer valued. They weren't common, but they were certainly around and nothing killed morale like an enthused leader. The observation had always made him a bit apprehensive about climbing the ranks; with responsibility comes headache, and the higher you rise the more the ache. Maybe he'd have taken well to it after all, maybe he wouldn't. Zav didn't know. He did know he loved his specialization as a grenadier, and so a corporal he remained.

Why trade a job you do like, for one you might?

The type of leader that caused him worry however, was a type that Traden was clearly not.

"Gotta say, those potatoes look kriffin' excellent."

"Got everything on 'em; Sour cream, green onions, chives and three kinds of cheese. Got bacon and ground beef to sprinkle on top too." Zav replied with a smile, setting the tray of piping hot potatoes down on the empty section of the table Traden gestured towards. As soon as he did, he turned around at the sound of Keiran's introduction, and panting breaths of air.

"Hope...I'm..not..late." He managed through laboured breathing.

"Hah, well, at least I'm not the only one late!" Zav remarked, extending an arm in a welcoming gesture towards the new arrival. The guy had been in far more of a hurry than he'd been. Zav didn't like being like, but Keiran must absolutely loathe it; he looked like he'd run the whole way.

"Name's Zav Traros; I just joined up. Great to meet ya." he added, flashing a cordial grin.

 

[Phaineve Halseigh]

[Tython's Surface]
Traden Avarice , Dagmar Kortu , Keiran Varn , Zav Traros , Monos

---

She observed the tiny alien in dead silence. Phaineve's eyes flickered the moment Traden proclaimed the Anzellan to be an assassin, and a good one at that. Then her face flushed with a sudden burst of thought; if Mox were to sneak up on her, she'd be none the wiser. And, as if he'd managed to infiltrate her mind, the tiny alien spoke:

– Yes, Mox come to assassinate you, haha! –

The captain gulped, though she knew Mox hadn't been genuine; soon after, the Warhogs' guest confirmed his lack of intention to cut her down where she stood. Or not, he'd felt the need to add. Combined with the generally unfamiliar terrestrial setting surrounding her, Murgle's morbid introduction left her rather unnerved. She knew she was overreacting, but she couldn't help feeling... Gahh. A grumble perforated her thoughts; she was once again made aware of the world around her. Phaineve sidestepped the Anzellan, careful to not make contact with any of his equipment, and lifted a bottle of Calamari Xinphar from the ground. Might be poisoned, but here we go... She returned inside and set the glass down with the rest of the liquor.

Turning around, Phaineve discovered that she'd spent more time than she felt navigating to the shelves. Already, two new arrivals had already joined the Warhogs inside; Zav Traros and Keiran Varn respectively. She planted a foot forward, drawing herself a fraction closer to the entrance and sending a friendly wave toward the two and continuing the rest of the way. "So, Varn, how was the commute?" Phaineve regarded the panting jedi, the initial shocked experienced on arrival having worn off, and allowing a comfortable amount of sarcasm to break from the captain's mouth. With a refreshing chuckle, she lifted her glass of Corellian whiskey from the cabinet it had previously been stowed atop.

Then Phaineve froze in her tracks, again. Scanning the space around her, the captain found no sign of the "kriffen' good" assassin, Mox Murgle.

Dear gods. This was a mistake. "Oh, hey. Has anyone seen that Anze-- Mox?" she asked, simultaneously trying to drown her nervousness with a shot of liquor.

 

[Traden Avarice]

LOCATION: MOMMA A's HOUSE IN TYTHON

Traden's Attire: Casual

THE WAR HOGS:
Traden Avarice Phaineve Halseigh Dagmar Kortu Monos Mela Keiran Varn Zav Traros
TAG: Soan Antares ​

Traden chuckled at Mox's joke about assassinating everyone as he took another sip of that absolutely fantastic liquor. Upon meditating on it's qualities for a moment longer, he turned back to Phaineve Halseigh , shaking his head and closing his eyes with delight,

"Kriff girl… I'm going to start raiding your stash now…. Whenever you get this stuff? Just order double… You're now my supplier. Thats official." He said it in all seriousness.

He turned to Monos , "Well, if people start going missing, you're my first suspect, Mox!" He said, slightly louder than he needed to with the alcohol beginning to settle in a bit.

Traden then turned to welcome his good friend and Padawan, Keiran Varn , as he entered. Traden's heart instantly felt a level of heaviness due to the fact that they both were still in the middle of wading through some challenging waters, a reality that was triggered primarily by him sharing some choice words with the circle and then promptly walking out of the New Jedi Order's recent gathering on Tython. He felt a sense of guilt, knowing how his own actions had affected his friend. He immediately walked up to him and gave him a big bear hug, not saying anything for a moment.

He then pulled away and gave him a solid pat on the back, "Good to see you, brother." He said in a lower, warmer tone. Then he smirked, "Uh… Yeah… You're definitely late mate! Haha! All good though... you didn't miss anything important."

He was not only referring to the meal, but also to the possible transfer that the two of them had processed in depth together. Traden had been approached and recruited by someone for an important position within the Rebel Alliance… but it was off the books, meaning that he would need to officially resign from the GADF. Traden would not go unless all of the War Hogs went with him.

They were his family, and he was fully committed to them.

Traden had hinted to the whole team, including the new recruits, that there would be a big decision for all of them to make tonight. He had processed it at length with Keiran Varn already, both of them deciding that no matter what, they would stick together, whether that meant joining the Rebel Alliance or continuing on in an official capacity within the Galactic Alliance. Despite the mess that happened at the Nexus on Tython, one powerful and positive thing had emerged from it… And that was deep clarity regarding their resolute commitment to each other.

Traden gave him a knowing nod, then turned back to the others, looking at them one by one. He knew, no matter what, that they had a difficult journey ahead of them. He nodded to Keiran Varn and Phaineve Halseigh with a smile as she engaged him in conversation, choosing to walk back into the kitchen and check on his most fantastic roasted pig.

"Ah, yes…" He said with admiration and pride at his work, pulling the tin foil off and beholding it in all of its glory. It looked absolutely mouth watering.

 

[Monos]

THE WAR HOGS, EPISODE ONE
"I ACCEPT YOUR RESIGNATION"
TYTHON

Appearance.

​

Downing the third shot of Calamari Xinphar, the small Anzellan turned back with a sour frown to lift up the bottle that held the pink liquor with one hand. The label said in the finest print possible: "not recommended for sentients smaller than Ewoks." – Just … great. – He muttered under his breath, setting the bottle back down among the others. He turns back towards the team and waves to the new arrivals one by one, yet even he knew that it was difficult to spot him while surrounded by bottles his own size. As he lowers his arm, he stares at his gloved palm, realizing for the first time that he is beginning to feel tipsy.

A master of reading body language, Mox recognizes the hurried sighs Traden wishes to hide between his replies to the guests and suddenly feels a rush of empathy for the host of the night. Whatever the thing is that weighs on the man's soul, Mox likes to brighten people's moods. It is simply in his nature. The idea from before re-emerges in his mind and an honest smile creeps onto his face. Still standing on the table with the liquors, he quickly turns back and counts the remaining number of empty shot glasses prepared for the guests. Stroking his chin, he formulates his grand plan in seconds.

He first digs into his leather vest's inner pocket that houses his personal datapad. Flicking it on using the analogue wheel on its side, the older, slightly bulkier model buzzes to life, the customized home screen greeting him with the regular phrase: "Rise and shine, scuttlebutt!" Holding his datapad in both hands, he faces the jukebox across the room, and with a couple of clicks, he wirelessly integrates his personal playlist into the list of tracks queued on it. Some would say "wirelessly integrate" is just a fancy term for "hack into," but the Calamari Xinphar just sweeps that thought away immediately. He looks up, waits for the current track playing in the background to wind down and makes a final click, whereby an upbeat track suddenly paints the atmosphere with brighter, livelier colors.

Taking a hold of the moment and the sudden shift in mood, he shuffles swiftly next to the empty shot glasses laid out neatly on a tray and with a genuine smile on his face, still on top of the table, raises his voice to match the increased volume of the music. – Mox know you boys girls not, and legs too short to run around room! – He performs overly dramatic gestures with his arms, pointing at things around the room that have nothing to do with what he says – a vase, a fly swatter, the floor, a wooden beam. – Come! – He picks up and throws the first empty shot glass towards Traden Avarice in a slow, predictable, ballistic arc. – Let's have drink together! – He throws the second empty glass towards Dagmar Kortu sitting on the couch. – And two for you, big bois! – The two glasses fly one after the other towards Zav Traros and Keiran Varn , spinning graciously through the room. – Last one for you, gorgeous! No poison, promise! – Mox launches the last shot glass towards Phaineve Halseigh , along with a thumbs up and a wink. – Gather round! Let's a-toast! Clink-clink! – He beckons everyone present to come to the table, where he at least feels a bit taller.

A chaotic move indeed, but he took special care to arc the objects in a predictable manner. He spins around and grabs the liquor that appears to be the most popular among the close-knit group, namely the bottle of Corellian Whiskey. He cannot lift it with one hand, so he drags it with both hands and sets it down in front of him at the edge of the table, ready to pour out the shots for the guests.​