Faction Troubles with a Tank - Open to GA and Jedi

[Myiche Duloras]

GALACTIC ALLIANCE BASE ON ARBEGARDO RAE - 0900 Hours
Another plume of smoke spewed forth from the depths of the tank, completely blindsiding Myiche and making him stumble backward, coughing and waving his hands in an attempt to fan the black cloud. "Ah, piss! Kark!" Myiche sputtered in frustration through bouts of furiously hacking up the tobacco particles that clung to his throat, from the cigarette that he had consumed earlier as his glasses were clouded with black smudge.

The smoke eventually dissipated, scattering into the atmosphere. Myiche cleaned the smudge off his glasses and stomped forward towards the tank. He slammed the open maintenance panel shut with a great fury, the old metal hinges groaning as he did so, and kicked the side of the tank as he angrily hurled insults at the vehicle, as if it could hear and understand them. "You old piece of metal shit! Fuckin' work!" Miyche yelled at the immobile machine, it not attempting to make any response to his great furor.

So Durolas, how goes it?"
A voice from behind him said. Myiche's eyes widened as he was hit with a combination of emotion; fear, anger, and most of all: great embarrassment.

Miyche wheeled around to meet the piercing blue gaze of his Rodian commander,

Jeasoui. Myiche quickly stood at attention, statue-stiff, and moved his hand up to the brim of his hat in a salute.

"Sir, I was just... it was-"

Miyche sighed deeply, he figured he might as well tell Jeasoui what was really going on.

"This tank is a nightmare sir. I've tried everything, I crossed wires, tried to slice into the vehicle's programming even though I am not a slicer by any means, hell, I even whacked it with my wrench a few times. But nothing works. Unless you can get more repairmen, this tank is not going anywhere anytime soon, sir."

The words seemed to spill out of his mouth in a flurry of verbalization, but he new that his superior still understood despite Miyche's perceptible frustration and anger that muddied his words.

"Normally, I would just say screw it and have another tank commissioned, just have you give up. But these aren't normal times, and we need all the tanks we can get, so I'll try and get you your extra hands."

The superior calmly said.

"You will sir?" The tanker said, relief clear in his voice.

"I will try."

"Thank you so much, sir."

The commander gave no further acknowledgement than a nod, and he turned and walked away.
Michye spun back around to face the mechanical beast, and he slumped down in a fold-out chair he had set up for himself, and cracked open a beer in the seat's cupholder. Now he had to wait..

 

[Ezekiel Graenge]

"Earth Rocker"
Myiche Duloras
​

The first sound that might have alerted Myiche to the approach of someone was a faint rattling. It was about thirty minutes after he'd requisitioned assistance from his Section Commander. As an individual ducked his head through the half open bay door of the motor pool it became quickly clear what was producing the sound. A slender looking man with unruly looking red hair came sauntering in, cigarra clutched between the lips of a grease stained face. The large durasteel toolbox in his left hand rattled noisily with his steps. It looked like it was in dire need of repainting -- the protective coat was flaking off along edges, revealing the gleam of bare metal beneath. He walked with a pronounced swagger, probably due to the thin mechanical prosthetic that his left pant leg was tucked into the harness of.

He didn't look like the professional sort at all. Just wore a baggy pair of cargo pants with a tank top that probably used to be white.

Trailing him was an ancient looking astromech droid. It was completely spherical in design, and buzzed along on a repulsion drive rather than tracks, a faint glow coming from it's underside. The upper half of the sphere looked quite similar to an R series astromech, rotating and twisting to take in the motor pool with it's singular ocular sensor.

"Sup." He said in a smooth voice, setting the toolbox down as he looked down at the tanker, sighing. He took a good look at the tank. "So what's wrong with her?"

 

[Westenra Mina]

Wearing: Jedi Guardian Catsuit

Armed with: Blood Sister

Current Configuration: Melissa Io (See Bio for details)


She and the rest of the Io Sisters had been forced to publicly denounce Laertia Io. They had been asked to denounce Laertia by Laertia herself, who hadn't wanted to drag them down with her, once she began fighting the NIO.

Melissa and her sisters had learned a brand new form of emotional pain in the act...

Publicly denouncing her sister had left deep wounds in all three of the specially coded copies of Westenra Mina. They had been praised by other members of the GA for doing so. Every time Melissa received such praise she wanted to strangle the person giving it. Instead, The Io Sisters kept up the act, even though the desire to kidnap and feed on the ones who had praised them for denouncing Laertia was almost overwhelming.

Melissa had grown rapidly disenchanted with The GA and their backing of the NIO (Just running into one of their stormtroopers had cemented her mistrust at their fanaticism). She and her sisters barely cared if it survived anymore. It had become almost nothing but another feeding ground to them, no matter what good they did for it, which in of itself had lost its appeal. The temptation to absolutely betray the GA was growing. But they hadn't quite reached it yet.

Melissa had been doing work as a Jedi Knight on Abregado-Rae, avoiding contact with others, giving fake smiles and being fake polite. Inwardly, she knew their allying with the NIO would bite them in the ass. She was just waiting for it to turn sour. Her programming was in conflict. She wondered why she was trying to protect them. Wondered what the point was when it forced her away from her sister. But Laertia wanted it that way.

This busy work hadn't come without opportunity for fun though.

She'd get herself a smitten private (when no one was looking, of course.) and then non-lethally fed on his psychic energy. She was an Android Vampire, you see.

An Android Vampire that could fake a Light Side signature convincingly enough only a few Jedi perked their eye brows at her strange aura. Yes, this is nightmare fuel, in case you are wondering. No, she totally wasn't keeping score (She totally was).

It hadn't taken much for Melissa to woo him (She hadn't used her current form, to throw off any authority on her trail). Her pheremones were military grade chemicals. He'd agreed to meet her in secret, outside the base once he was off duty. He had waited fifteen minutes before she had snuck up on him, paralyzed him, than fed on him before treating the wound with Bacta and leaving him on a deserted street with no camera coverage, a beer can in hand. He wouldn't even remember running into her.

The tall blond woman with gorgeous features in a black and blue armored Catsuit had then spent the day functioning as normal, helping soldiers train to fight adepts (keeping her reactions as like those of a Force Adept as possible to avoid suspicion). But then they requested support for a broken down old tank. Melissa had volunteered, in case an extra hand was needed.

She had headed to the location in a speederbike, with a number of high grade tools and repair parts in tow. She didn't understand this need to fight the Sith with a much more dangerous enemy on the horizon. Was it really that personal for so many. They had been murdering each other for decades. The Bryn'adul were disrupting that. That alone should have been reason plenty to momentarily set aside differences...

She wasn't sure what sort of damage to expect, so she had brought a number of parts just in case...

"Hi." she called out, getting off the bike, forcing herself to be the helpful Jedi Laertia wanted her to be, begged her to be what she couldn't be at the moment. She didn't want to help these people anymore, but she did so because she loved Laertia. "Tank broke down? Will jumper cables help?"

Myiche Duloras

Ezekiel Graenge