Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!

They Shoot, We Skor

BIGFULBITE STATION
OUTER RIM COALITION SPACE
Fett hadn't reached for the grease pencil or the flyer, least not yet.

"Something like that." The Bounty Hunter replied, his helmeted head turning over his shoulder for the briefest of moments. Those Mandalorians and their chanting was never anything he found enjoyable, especially when they uttered the name of his pseudo-dead father. Yet, his head turned back round, "Know anybody that does?"

[member="Jorus Merrill"]
 
"That sounds kind of romantic." Loske observed about the traveling to travel. She was a hopeless romantic at heart. Spending years not knowing where you came from tended to prompt you to create stories to fulfill yourself. She released a whistfull sigh and sunk her shoulders with a skyward glance, repeating "Traveling to travel."

The sterile chamber, the free time -- [member="Magdalena Lethe"] was definitely rich.

"To be honest, nothing - I think I forgot...." it was a flaw. She had several, but her memory was painful. It was only recently that she knew why. Her head was so full of false memories that were not her own, that it was hard to keep track between what was real and false. For example, this scenario fo speaking with someone at a party -- she had personally only experienced it once, but her mother had done it so many times that it felt like muscle memory right to the point where Loske set her plate down and absently rubbed a napkin between her fingers. Mother's social side, father's appetite.

"Neat company too, they go boldly where no body else has gone. The...uhm.." there goes her memory again! She thumbed her chin in thought fo a moment "Galactic United..Information..." she dropped her hands into a shrug "I can't remember the last two parts of the name, but the acronym was GUIDE. Pretty clever."
 
The Sith Master of [member="Srina Talon"] was famished. There was something about spontaneous space whale copulation that really got the stomach growling. Not really. In truth, the last time that Darth Metus had eaten was well before the “festivities” erupted above Skor II. His original intent was to scarf something down when they were within an hour or so of their destination. A meal bar or something to that effect. However, that “plan” was effectively kicked square where the sun doesn’t shine - compliments of the First Order. That was the first surprise of the day, one that thankfully saw both he and his Apprentice emerge relatively unscathed. In fact, the only casualties suffered between the two of them were the droid escort they had brought along for the diplomatic journey.

Other than that, the true casualty was the First Order’s pride.

To be a fly on the wall of their battered and whale...spit...covered ships would have been a gift from the gods. Hell, Darth Metus would have paid good money just to intercept some of the comms. He would have kissed an Australi-okay no, it wasn’t that funny. But still.

So, in honor of the ridiculous come from behind victory earned by the Coalition, there was eating. Strange eating, mind. But eating nonetheless. Now, the good news was, it didn’t matter where in the Galaxy you went, alcohol was the same. That was a currency that even the most remote corners of the universe acknowledged. Despite being on the far side of civilization, the Sith was able to procure a canteen of tihaar from one of the greasier looking locals. His journey had seen him pass [member="Coren Starchaser"] for a moment, and he did see [member="Jorus Merrill"] across the room as well. After indulging in a hearty swig (or five) and praying to dear Kad that the owner brushed his teeth this month, he planted his bottom upon a log only a pace off from a modest blaze.

His apprentice was there, seated with her back against the wood. When he settled into place, the alabaster woman was being offered a skewer by one of the Squibs. A glance said that it was cooked. The smell said that it was cooked well. Darth Metus motioned for three of his own. And whilst Srina took a modest nibble of hers, he tore into the meat like a Mandalorian admiral tearing into an Imperial. If Darth Metus had eaten, he would have considered the meat to be above-average at best. But right now? He would have gladly paid the cook child support if they asked.

After chewing through the first skewer, he tossed the wooden remains into the blaze and worked on the other. Punctuating each mouthful with a chug of tihaar. He did pause his onslaught (and swallowed because Srina had a no-talking-while-your-mouth-is-full rule) before nudging her arm with his leg. ”Think we should stick around for a bit after? Or just head back?” he inquired, innocently gauging how much he could get away with drinking tonight.

If he were a decade younger and a decade less Sith-y, he could have gotten used to being around the Coalition. That’s for damn sure.
 
Cathul and other senior officers inside the limousine were taken backstage, where a stage worthy of a Big-Time Hero of Beyond-Squib Eliteness was set up in the main theater of the casino. She was informed that the King was not available to attend in person, but that wouldn't deter her in the slightest. The crowd was about Squibs and whatnot, but she was informed of the acceptance speech's main constraints: not to exceed 45 seconds. Yet, the chief herald of the King was involved here, and the herald would mean to be the maître de cérémonie here. He would not be going to speak until she made it on stage, although she knew that it was just not the same to be talking through a CIC's console vs. face-to-face. She was no spokesperson but context was key to her as she knew the Squibs and other attendees - there just wasn't enough room for everyone that wanted in so the others had to be gambling elsewhere onsite - so that the herald would get underway and introduce her to the Squibs, many of whom wanted nothing more than a chance to see her in person, although not for the same reason people would usually want to see Twi'leks in person.

"Today, we honor admiral that fight One Order bravely; Cathul receive big-time honor for Therapy Command. She new Big-Time Hero of Beyond-Squib Eliteness" the Squib herald spoke in a solemn tone.
 
Poodoo: I never saw tihaar the same again since I helped Janick out on Asop. I'd rather not drink too much tihaar; I don't want to be trapped here any longer than I need to, even though I know the others can pick up the slack back on Akarui, she thought, while drinking a rather limited dose of tihaar from the tihaar bottle [member="Kaine Australis"] held from Vevut; despite the lack of tablespoons, she would have to admit that it was a nice break from a pretty harrowing tax season. But, despite the strong rubbing alcohol taste, Griet knew better than to think that all tihaar varieties were the same. They definitely weren't. Plus new faces that she only heard of by name arrived: [member="Koda Fett"] and [member="Darth Metus"]. And also [member="Loske Matson"], a name she only heard of through one of the surviving pilots that served the Alliance before being assigned to the elite unit garrisoned on Akarui; presumably a veteran of Directive 12. But it can't be Dividend: his fiscal information treated him as a sojourner and he was working on Manpha for all these years. But these bucketheads didn't seem to be deterred by her drinking tihaar.

"It's different from the Asobi 95% tihaar; however, I know not all tihaars age the same. I'd rather not drink too much tihaar and leave some for you"
 
"...Database Enclave," Magda filled in for [member="Loske Matson"] with a sideglance that would have been awkward if one could actually see her face.

She was stuck between being a bit flabberghasted that she'd run into yet another person who was tied to GUIDE and fighting the urge to turn around and very quickly walk the other way. Nope, I wasn't here. She never met me. I am not who she might have thought I'd be.

But walking away mid-conversation was rude to the point of something she couldn't fathom doing.

"That's very interesting," naturally Magda had no idea who Loske was or that she had, at some point, somewhat fullfilled a contract with GUIDE. There were simply too many names to remember and she had barely met a fraction of the faces that had come under her employment over the years.

"I founded GUIDE."
 
Whilst he hadn't participated in the fighting, he had come to get a gauge of these people. Since his last bit of time tied down, Alaric had been roaming. Finding old stories, and remembering them. Fighting in battles, and even just watching them. Some time had even been spent at a lyric college near Skor, being educated in prose and verse, meter and rhyme, and even the finer points of music composition. Though, to be fair, his instructors had seemed slightly off-put by the keening quality of a bes'bev at first. But the longer he spent here in the Outer Rim, the more at home amongst the Coalition he felt, and the more he realized that it was the deeds of the common man as much as the mighty that deserved his eye and hand. So, this would be his first steps into their circles, or so he hoped.

For the moment, he sat off to the side, watching faces and observing. He hadn't eaten, but not out of some far-flung moral compulsion. Rather, he just hadn't been dining on meat much of late, through a series of random chance. Hadn't sworn it off, but had begun consuming less of it. A good mug of dark ale sat in front of him, sipped sparingly, as he eyed those like [member="Kaine Australis"] and [member="Darth Metus"]. These men, and those like [member="Coren Starchaser"] and [member="Jorus Merrill"], shaped the ebb and flow of the galaxy by their mere presence and personality. Though some were coming to know his armor, and his face, none of them here would. Only pieces of his work had made it out of his ship and to be published.

Several squib had gathered earlier, asking about the strange armor. It was obviously scales of something, shaped into more traditional Mandalorian plating. The backs of said scales were sheeted beskar, the scales themselves a deep emerald green and brilliant citrine green that shone and glittered almost like crystal. One approached him now, and gestured at the bound hide bundle sat next to a mythosaur bone tipped spear at his side. Smiling, he took it up, and nodded to the squib. Hardly could the scruffy giant of a man refuse their earnest enthusiasm, even if one had tried to chomp on his helmet earlier to see if it were real, almost breaking off the mythosaur tusk he used as a crown-horn.

"Another measure, then? Aye... A tune made for some lads I marched with on Tatooine, during a hunt... "

Lifting the bes'bev to his lips after unrolling it, he began to play in a haunting tune, armored foot stomping to the ground in a rolling time. A few ears might realize echoes of traditional Mandalorian war chants and dirges for the dead, and others might just wonder at the noise the instrument produced.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cd2RZjVv8Lo&feature=youtu.be
 
Dragons123.png


Location: By a random fire pit - leaning against a log, sitting with [member="Darth Metus"].
Srina didn’t interrupt her Master while he devoured his purrgil as if it were going to run away full speed. This beast was dead. Very, very dead. The silvery woman took her time, choosing little birdlike bites, versus the wolfish gobbles of the man beside her. Truth be told, she was surprised he’d left her alone by the fire pit. Even to get alcohol. The Sith Lord was becoming superstitious in his seat of power and seemed to believe that if they parted ways, even momentarily, one of them might wind up dead.

Usually, in this irrational fear, she was the casualty. He found it unbearable.

Some part of her wanted to be annoyed by it, considering her experience in war, but most of her simply indulged it. It was nice to be cared for without question. Even if she complained, teased him, or told him that he worried too much. He was always there for her. No matter what, no matter who he had to go through, or even if he was across the galaxy. At least, if they’d been trapped in this mess, they’d had each other. Not that the Jedi Coalition and their Rainbow Squad wasn’t a delight…

To be honest? They just weren’t droid enough.

The snowy-haired apprentice realized with a start that she had been spending far too much time in Confederate space if she was actually bothered by the loss of their Magnaguard. She had grown fond of them, in their nightmarish, red-eyed splendor. Most said they didn’t have much of a personality to speak of but the Echani disagreed. Some of them stood out. Especially, the ones that hadn’t had a memory wipe in a while. “Should we try and find the rest of our droids before someone tries to sell the parts?”

If they were hocking bodies then it didn’t seem out of the question for their departed droids to also be on the chopping block. Their memory banks were programmed to wipe clean once grievous damage was sustained to protect the nation, but still, Srina felt a little strange just leaving them. Dread Queen, Droid Queen, same thing.

Primrose lips formed a pale smile when she felt [member="Darth Metus"] force himself to swallow his food before speaking. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”, she commended softly, knowing, all the little things he did or didn’t do because it subconsciously drove her up a wall. He asked if they ought to stick around and her smile remained. Of course, she knew why he was asking, and she shook her head slowly in amusement. “I think the Ministers will forgive our tardiness if we explain what happened. We can stay for a moment, however, I would suggest finding out what the Coalition needs to help repair this mess.”

There was a nasty bit of damage around the Palace and more than a few bodies that needed to be buried. She didn’t know numbers, however, most people didn’t turn down full battalions of droids to do the heavy lifting for them after surviving something that could have easily gone sideways.

The fire crackled and popped, casting shadows, but Srina simply remained where she was. She was comfortable with the earth beneath her and Darth Metus within reach.

“You did say you wanted a vacation, Master.”

The moonlit woman breathed smoky air, the scent of cooking meat, and exhaled slowly. It was only then that she found a pair of familiar eyes skirting past her person. The crowd hid many faces, some known to her, some not, but this one was a surprise. Her head tilted as she surveyed the older warrior without shame. Echani eyes were sharp, concise, and Srina had learned long ago how to read a room full of unknown elements. “…Kaine Australis of the Mandalorian Empire is present.”

Her words to her Master were informative and precise. Likely, redundant. She might have held keener visual acuity but between the two of them, he was the former Mandalorian, and a Sith Lord. Srina held conflicting images of [member="Kaine Australis"]. On one hand, she remembered him clearly from a wedding she had been invited to by Rex Taff. He’d been kind to speak to her while she did her best to imitate a wallflower. Social situations like that left her at a loss. He’d been welcoming. Dare she say humorous? A small pang ran through her heart at the memory of her subsequent departure, but, that was where her impression changed.

The second impression arrived through the eyes of her Master. It was incomplete but the hard words that had been traded none too gently on Mandalore lingered in her mind. She could see and hear events through Darth Metus on occasion—like watching an old holovid. Sometimes the connection was too vivid and even more bled through their Force Bond, such as pain, and anger. Srina had not been physically present but she might as well have been standing right beside him.

What did it mean to find this man amongst their allies?

Not long ago she would have scoffed at the political side of things, but now, it was something she couldn’t avoid. For the time being, she let it be. This wasn’t their space. It wasn’t their rules or their world. She didn’t understand, not yet, but answers would come in time if she held patience.

Not to mention, someone else popped up on her radar. He was a master of evasion, wonderfully lucky, and notorious for surviving. She'd helped drop a building on him.

[member="Koda Fett"].

Silver eyes narrowed briefly. This was a strange, strange place.
 
Starchaser was finally getting his head clear. Were they eating… whale? He wasn’t too sure, but he didn’t want to think that far, or in depth about what was going on. They were in the Skor system still, and the First Order was repelled. That was, really, all he knew. He could feel familiar signatures around. He made his way towards the bar. “That purgill?” He asked to the ‘tender who nodded.

Maybe… not. He nodded and just got his drink, chilled, and high octane. Something to put him past almost losing his Chief of State and a damned city from some bombardment. Were the First Order lead by childish acts, the same way its predecessor so many centuries ago was? He could only surmise yes. He could see the likes of [member="Darth Metus"] and [member="Srina Talon"] around, and knew that [member="Rekha Kaarde"] and [member="Jorus Merrill"] were nearby, if only he looked for them.

Grabbing a drink, he got up and made a nearly bee-line for the pair from the Confederacy. The pair were Sith, but they were welcome by the Coalition, and had been there when Coren needed assistance. “You two heading to your space soon?” He tone was… well it was odd, on one hand, Coren could all but taste the Sith influence, but on the other? They were here fighting the enemy.
 
Koda Fett said:
BIGFULBITE STATION
OUTER RIM COALITION SPACE


Fett hadn't reached for the grease pencil or the flyer, least not yet.

"Something like that." The Bounty Hunter replied, his helmeted head turning over his shoulder for the briefest of moments. Those Mandalorians and their chanting was never anything he found enjoyable, especially when they uttered the name of his pseudo-dead father. Yet, his head turned back round, "Know anybody that does?"

[member="Jorus Merrill"]
"Sure. I think the kid's got something going with the Queen of Naboo." If them appearing together in public at the race was anything to go on, at least. "He's also got this very cool stardrive that he licenses through a bunch of different manufacturers. Follow the money, there you go. Simple enough."

Pencil, flyer, eyebrow. I'd feel bad, but shipbuilders and queens could take care of themselves, and Meyer had always struck me as in need of a little deflating. Plus I really, really wanted a [member="Koda Fett"] autograph.
 
"It is a great honor for me to be bestowed the decoration of Big-Time Hero of Beyond-Squib Eliteness. May the deaths of Therapy Command not be in vain, may future generations of Squibs remain free from the Imperial heavy-handedness"

If Cathul receiving the decoration of Big-Time Hero of Beyond-Squib Eliteness was intended to be a morale-boosting ploy, then whatever survivors of Therapy Command were left after the battle in orbit was over, would realize that it was well-deserved, regardless of whether or not they were, in fact, attending the ceremony inside the Casinoscam. However, it was a painful reminder of the price that fleet paid in battle for ensuring the Squibs' safety. Yes, Therapy Command was one of the most iconic fleets in the light-sided world, across former GA space, and certainly on Skor. Just that the symbol of a Big-Time Hero of Beyond-Squib Eliteness was otherwise rather unoriginal: it was just a similar medal to any grand-cordon decoration, because the title of Big-Time Hero of Beyond-Squib Eliteness was, in fact, the highest decoration awarded on Skor II. It was, once again, her time in the limelight, and may the heroic sacrifices of the fleet - and of other fleets - be remembered, and not only by Squibs, but also by other parties that stood by the Alliance-in-Exile, such as the Confederates.
 
BIGFULBITE STATION
OUTER RIM COALITION SPACE

"Hmph." The Mandalorian uttered from beneath his helmet, an almost sly smirk appeared too. The Queen of Naboo? It almost sounded too far fetched to be true, but it was always worth looking into. If someone was in with Planetary Royalty, it was certainly going to prove difficult to stay under the radar- Or so Fett presumed.

His gloved hands reached out in that moment, grasping a hold of the pen and the paper. As his head dipped down, his hands began to print his signature, Fett's voice spoke once more. "The name of the hyperdrive?" The Bounty Hunter asked.

[member="Jorus Merrill"]
 
BIGFULBITE STATION
OUTER RIM COALITION SPACE

A certain kind of side-eye, or side-visor, resembling look found itself on Jorus. Almost disbelief in that moment. At least he has branded his name, if successful it'd go on long after his death. Not many could say that.

Ultimately, Koda returned to signing his name. The paper that possessed his autograph - the only one in existence - had been handed back to Merrill. His grease pen, too.

A nod was offered to Jorus, but it was then that the Mandalorian turned away, delving deeper into the station. He still had to receive his payment, after all. Merrill had certainly been helpful. Shouldn't be surprised if Fett showed up asking for more in the future.

[member="Jorus Merrill"]
 
Better believe I stowed that autograph and got some ribs. Then, well, I wound up tinkering with something.

"...and bam."

I slid out from under the hologame table. The display futzed a bit and kept doing it, but a little wonky static never hurt anyone. The controls lit up. VOID COMMODORE 7, they said. Nobody's idea of a high-end fleet combat simulator, but the VC series has a great physics engine. Things play out pretty much like they should.

A bit of a crowd was coming together. The spaceport's bar had plenty of people in search of entertainment.

"Anyone want to give it a try? Can take two to eight players, hop on anytime." I set it for default fleets for all players: one Star Destroyer, one light carrier, two frigates. The holoships blooped up as rounded pastel blobs surrounded by little V-shaped starfighters that were supposed to be TIEs.

I picked one of the basic maps: a flat section of a gas giant's rings. Passing through the ring would hurt my carrier and frigates a little, and hurt my fighters a lot. There wasn't much to this map, but its simplicity was part of the appeal. I'd start below the ring's flat plane. Whoever joined the game next would start above it and a good bit away, outside weapons range. They'd have the same fleet I did - one classic ISD, carrier, two frigates, total of ten generic TIE fighter squadrons. Not super realistic, but fun.
 
There were two things I never turned down, food and money. I would have added sex to the list but there are a few things even I won't take for free. I sat at a table in the back, the haze of smoke mingled with a smell so deep in the fabric and structure of the place you could only hope that it was something safe but I wasn't gonna turn a black light on anything.

I wasn't at Skor for the fight. You may wonder why I would show up now. Me too. But the truth was that [member="Koda Fett"] was here and that meant the only competition that stood between me and paying rent was right here in the room with me. Incentive? Sure. There were other bounties here too. Was I gonna try and take one? Yes. But food comes higher on my list for a reason.

I looked at the mound of wings and half gallon of beer sitting infront of me and decided I should order seconds now so they would get there by the time I was done with the appetizer. After that I'd use my one and only skill. Punching people with faces in their...faces.
 

Vaudin Miir

Planetary President of Iktotch
What does a recovering alcoholic do at a bar full of people drinking? Vaudin asked himself that over and over as he waited near [member="Joza Perl"]. He hadn't told her how worried he had been about her, but he figured she either knew already or she would give him the business for sitting around while she was in actual danger. The urge to get well and truely drunk was stronger with every unspoken thought.

The furry blue bastard behind the bar asked him what he wanted and he looked around for [member="Jorus Merrill"], and then he looked at Jozie. Was a drink worth the disappointment, regret, and shame? Probably. Was it worth that right cross from the gorgeous pink woman that still tolerated him? No, no it was not.

"Juma juice." He said with a frown, "And anything edible to keep my mouth from making words to the wrong folks."

"You gotted it, Admiral." The suddenly not such a bastard of a bartender said with a smile.

He lifted a long lean leg and plopped himself on a bar stool and decided he would just let everyone celebrate while he kept his mouth shut, his belly full, and his head down. Lessons in manning, volume one, page one.
 
Every one of her family that had been present on Skor II had been accounted for. [member="Zef Halo"] had been no worse for the wear, a bit black and blue but retained his typical old man grumpiness. Her daughter had been less lucky—bloodied and bruised with half of her face bashed in. After the relief of seeing her daughter alive, her anger boiled rapidly at what had been done to her. Broken bones, black eyes, lost teeth. She’d tried to get Yula to describe her opponent, but all she’d get out of the girl was a shrug and a vague description of some armored individual that could have fit a thousand men and women. Though the damage was not permanent and she’d recover in her own time, something seemed off about Yula, something haunting in her eyes that made Joza’s stomach twist and squirm. Yula wouldn’t elaborate. Bandaged and all, she was somewhere here tonight and Joza would give her the space she needed.

[member="Vaudin Miir"] had survived too, another aspect she was surprisingly thankful for. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her somewhat estranged husband—she was never the marriage type—but there was something in her that made her more abrasive to the Iktotchi man. Maybe it was the jarring realization that she had developed legitimate feelings for someone outside of her biological family. Self preservation and all that.

“You can have a drink, you know.” Peering up from her datapad, she gave the gunslinger a raised brow. Not at the prospect of him drinking, but hearing him being called Admiral seemed out of place for the aloof pilot. Guess I’m married to an Admiral. That musing was weird. “I won’t be upset.” She dipped one of the skewers of meat into a bowl of sauce that had gracious been provided by a vender across the way. The purrgil meat was likely to be the same thing Vaudin would be served.

She drew in a breath. “I am glad you’re not dead.” There was that matter-of-fact tone. “I heard you were in the palace during the orbital strike.” What a terrifying feeling that had been. What a terrifying feeling that must have been for him.
 

Vaudin Miir

Planetary President of Iktotch
The Iktotchi sat stairing at his oversized hands as they ringed the Juma juice in a loose grip. He was kicking himself over not being more than a royal babysitter. He could have helped Yula, he could have helped Jozie. He would have even helped crotchety [member="Zef Halo"] if he would have had the chance. But did he? No. He was busy sitting in a box with [member="Jaius Sovv"] watching over a king. And then the Worst odor went and shot the box. Probably a typical reaction if they can't get in a box.

*What good are big hands if you can't use them to hold onto what matters to you?* he mused silently. *Not a damn bit, I guess.*

He was usually drunk and half naked by now, instead he was wearing his usual faded clothes. If his Vice President were there she would have had him in full presidential monkey suit. Good thing the old hawkbat wasn't there. One of the GA folks had said he could wear a Navy uniform, but he had opted out of that too.

His musing and general beating himself up halted abruptly with the sweet sound of his wife's voice. Her permission for him to drink was a kindness he hadn't expected. It raised a lot of thoughts and feelings he had thought his years of drinking had killed dead. The funny thing was about it was now that he was sober feelings had gotten a whole lot sharper and he knew it. He wanted to say he loved her. He wanted to snatch her up in his arms and tell her he was glad she was ok. There were a few more things that line of thought brought to mind, but he didn't do those. Instead he reached over and put his hand on her arm gently.

"Thanks, Jozie." He said still resigned to not drink. "I'm glad you're not dead too."

His head screamed 'I love you, you pink pain in the ass.' But his lips just turned up in a lopsided grin as he moved his hand back to his cup and shook his head at his own stubbornness.

His plate came and he looked at the Purgill meat. What a weird galaxy. He stabbed a fork into a piece and eyed Joza's sauce then that grin came back.

"Jozie, what the hell is that!?" He said as he pointed the opposite direction and then shot his meat for the sauce. He had to keep appearances after all. Wouldn't want folks thinking he'd gone soft.

[member="Joza Perl"]
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Top Bottom