Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Where Credits are King (open to all)

John Ash

Only by Fire do we become Ash.
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A shady bar like countless others on the moon Nar Shaddaa. A rodian worked the counter as twi'lek women in tight dresses worked the floor. Rough looking individuals of every race but human were all enjoying booze and dice and boobs. Music played over the speakers as inaudible voices tried to talk over them. It was noisy, rowdy, and reeked of booze. Why anyone came to a place like this was as mysterious as why the rodian working the bar only had one eye.

John was sitting at a table laughing it up with a group of the locals. The topic was the most petty thefts they had ever done. A pot had been formed and it was up to a plump quarren to declare the winner at the end. Everything ranging from stealing a handful of credits from one of the homeless to taking candy from a baby. By the end the winner was John himself and him robbing three McYodas in a row. And it wasn't for the credits, it was for the burgers. He chuckled as he pulled the credits towards himself.

A man in a duster walked up to the table as John began getting the credits put into his pockets. His face was covered by a helmet inside of a hood. The intruder just stood there until John finally looked up at him. He said in a voice that was muffled by the thing covering his head, " Are you John Ash?" John raised a brow as he replied back, "I am. What of it?" Before anyone at the table could react, the intruder drew a pistol and unloaded the entire magazine into John's chest. The human fell out of his chair to the floor dead as every voice in the bar went quiet. All eyes were on the scene in mild shock.

The intruder pulled off his helmet and revealed a face exactly like the man that just died. He held the helmet to his side as he said, " I'm John Ash. That man is just dead." He turned his back to the table and began to head towards the door out of the bar. The people at the table began to rob the still warm corpse on the floor of every item of value on it. He went out to the street and looked down ways. Today was a good day. That thief who had tried to kill a [member="Lady Kay"] was now dead and his identity was once more his own. He began walking down the path to his right. He could use a drink from a better bar.

[member="Anastasia Snow"] [member="Valkren Calderon"] [member="William Pike"]
 
Sergeant Valkren Calderon was in a tricky situation, being the NCO of a joint task force that acted as a QRF for allied factions and civilians in need had him juggling all sorts of paperwork before he could even put his own boots on the battlefield once more, paperwork that he hated to do. The Republic/Directorate special forces operator was no pencil pusher, he left that behind for the brass. He much rather prefer to be staring down his enemies only two-hundred meters away. However, he'd have to wait until the call before him and his team could jump back into action.

That's why he was here, on this slug-run world titled 'Nar Shaddaa,' savoring every last drop of whiskey he could get his hands on. The bartender having no problem providing the drinks to the young commando as Calderon was wearing neither Republic or Directorate colors, but in his simple civies. BDU's, a jacket, boots, and a white shirt underneath. However he had no problem displaying the dog tags that dangled from his neck and over his white shirt. The NCO of the joint-Republic/Directorate task force knocked back yet another drink, revealing a standard issued blaster resting in the holster on his hip as his jacket moved with the motion of shooting the drink.

"Another one, please."

He figured he'd be here for awhile until his training sessions with the new Marines and Tier-One operators would start, so he might aswell enjoy himself. His eyes wandered as the bartender filled his glass again with the heavenly liquid he had been shooting and sipping the past forty or so minutes, mainly to the cocktail waitresses that had been serving others' drinks in tight outfits.

He snapped out of his childish daze after the sound of a blaster unloading into some poor soul echoed through the boardwalk his bar was on. After a moment of silent listening from the young commando from Alderaan, he'd return to his drink. Blaster fire was common here, and there was no way he was going to let it ruin one of his few days of R&R

[member="John Ash"] | [member="Anastasia Snow"] | [member="William Pike"]
 

John Ash

Only by Fire do we become Ash.
There was a better place for drinks not too far away from the now blood splattered bar that John had just left. He could use a strong drink after ending the miserable life of a thief. There was plenty of things in life to steal; credits, ships, women. But there was one thing that someone should never take, another's identity. The moment that karker had stolen John's identity, and even gotten surgery to resemble his face, his fate was sealed. John was not a particularly blood thirsty man, but he wasn't about to let someone get away with ruining his reputation and hurting his chance at making credits. So nine slugs into the fool's chest was better than he deserved.

John walked into the new bar and walked up to the counter. The place was like any other in Nar Shaddaa, rough looking crowd and barely dressed women walking around. He went up to the counter and looked over his selection of drinks. Whiskey, rum, beer, vodka. Same old drinks that had been around since he was old enough to get away with drinking, not that Nar Shaddaa had much of a drinking age. He sat down as he caught the barkeeper's attention. He said, "Whiskey. Pure stuff, not watered down." He got a nod in response and glanced to next to him to the man sitting there. He studied him a moment before saying, "Soldier?"

[member="Valkren Calderon"]
 
Sergeant Calderon glanced over to where the voice sourced from, halting his motion mid-way of shooting his drink. He'd offer a nod before finishing the motion, grimacing as the shot did not go down as smoothly as he had hoped.

"Sergeant Valkren Calderon, Republic Commando, and Directorate Special forces..Third ID." He raised two fingers in the air, signaling the bartender for yet another drink to come with his new friend's. Usually it was practically treason to leak information about what exactly the tier one operators were to civilians, especially on a place such as Nar Shadaa..But with the current situation that the Directorate and the Republic were both in..Made for a dicey situation with plenty of grey areas.

He'd look over and glance at the new faces' appearance, attempting to guess his own occupation. He could only figure a couple jobs that this duster-sporting man could take part in..Cargo hauler, smuggler, bounty-hunter, mercenary? He decided to go for the most simple approach, him being the captain of a ship possibly.

"Spacer?" He questioned the new face as the bartender came about with a new glass for his friend, and a bottle to fill Valk's own glass.

[member="John Ash"]
 
Nar Shaddaa was a great place for work, a bounty hunter could spend their whole life here and never run out of jobs. Anastasia and William had not been here nearly that long, but there were plenty of prospects for them to look into, even better was that all of the bounties they were looking into were bad guys, since Anastasia won't kill just anyone. The only problem was the number of jobs available, they needed to find a place to sit down and sort through and pick out what bounties to take.

Walking a short distance ahead of his partner as he usually did, William came across a bar that seemed not entirely too shadey, at least a good enough place to sit for a while; he would look back to his partner for her approval, only to walk in once he received it. There were two individuals who didn't seem like regulars outside of the pair who just entered, they sat next to one another at the bar, William would make note of their presence without really looking in their direction as he passed them heading towards a table in the back. "Want a drink while we're here?" The man would ask his partner as he took his seat.

[member="Valkren Calderon"] | [member="John Ash"] | [member="Anastasia Snow"]
 
Anastasia took careful note of all the hooligans and half-dressed around her, she didn't like to think the worst of people but bars such as this usually had some sort of trouble always brewing. William wasn't typically the one to lead them anywhere and he did await her approval, yet this place doesn't hold well in her gut. Pushing aside her current state of unrest she agreed to the drinks William suggested, "Yeah, lets get something while we're here. Maybe just a water for me, I don't want to feel fuzzy in a strange place." Anastasia waved down a woman in a skin tight dress over whom she assumed was a waitress as that seemed to be their uniform and ordered some drinks.

After their drinks arrived Anastasia looked past the fore-front of their view to the bar where she noticed two men who didn't look like they belonged. "Will, does anything seem off to you about the two at the bar?"
 

John Ash

Only by Fire do we become Ash.
The guy wasn't rude or anti-sociable. Good. Soldiers tended to be a rowdy when they went to bars and picking fights was their way of having fun. That wasn't so much a problem on other worlds were the crowds were more civilized, but here on Nar Shaddaa it was. People just wanted an excuse to pull out a vibroknife or blaster on someone else. John was glad to see it wasn't like that for this one. The mention of being from two different groups caught him a little by surprise though. The Republic was finished after the whole Mandalorian Crusade against the core campaign that happened awhile back and the Directorate tended to be less showy in their involvement with stuff. How a guy was able to be a part of those two was interesting, even if he had no plans to explore the subject further right now.

The man had been studying him over and it seemed he came to the conclusion that John was likely a spacer. Not accurate, but also not inaccurate. He pushed back his duster to reveal the flexarmor plates of the armor beneath. He said as he did, "Not exactly." He let the leather fall back into its earlier place as their drinks arrived. His whiskey was set down in front of him in a shot glass. Not exactly the size he had wanted, but he hadn't been specific on that detail with his order. He picked the glass up and held it up. He said as he looked to the soldier, "To the Republic. May she get some rest at last." He then downed his shot, savoring the burn as it went down.

A little rude there with that statement, but he wasn't one to mince words. The faction needed to go away after everything that had happened. Every company was scared to set up shop there and no one felt safe after the series of lost invasions and barely suppressed rebellions at the end. Maybe one day it could pop back up, but not in the form it had been there at the end. He noticed that two new people had entered the bar. A man and a woman. The woman seemed to be looking at him. Likely his appearance was why. He looked back to his new soldier friend and waited to see what kind of response he got back. He was still feeling a little antsy it seems after killing that thief.

[member="Anastasia Snow"] [member="William Pike"] [member="Valkren Calderon"]
 
Valkren's mind suddenly raced with thoughts of the Republic and it's faithful soldiers at the strangers statement, before clearing his head by responding with the same toast that he offered. "May she finally rest." He'd lift his glass in the air, before shooting it once again, shaking his head quickly to escape the burn. He was accustomed to whiskey, but it had been quite some time since he'd had the time to drink to get drunk like he was at this moment. He'd lift two fingers into the air, signaling for two more on his own tab. One for him, and one for the stranger. The man was truly still a stranger to the Sergeant. He could only assume he was a bounty hunter or a mercenary, or some sort of the kind due to his grade of armor the man had beneath his duster. Impressive really, being able to stay in that, even in a bar. Valkren had spent his fair share of time glued to the inside of a full-suit of armor, so he took whatever time he could out-of-uniform.

"And may she rise again.." He'd mumble to himself, playing with the empty glass before him as he waited for the bartender to come back around. As he did so, he'd look over his shoulder at the two newcomers, before looking over to his new drinking companion. "Seems like we've attracted some admirers. Think it's good attention this time?"

He said this purely from experience, having attracted attention from a multitude of thugs and mercenaries alike in bars the same as the one that they sat in now, especially due to his prior service. He had run into a mix of past foes that he had either escaped the grasps of, or quite the opposite, both scenarios usually ending up with someone's body smoldering from a few blaster bolts. It's another thing he enjoyed here; In Republic and Directorate space, you can't just shoot anyone you wish..There are regulations and rules of engagement on wether a living being should be put down or not..Him and his team have always delt with said rules.

But here, here it didn't matter. Not a single soul cared who lived or who died. Terrifying, in truth.

Just the way the special forces like it.

[member="John Ash"] | [member="Anastasia Snow"] | [member="William Pike"]
 
Being in areas like this was starting to become common. As Priscilla's eyes rolled back into her head, glancing at the people around her, a frown slowly developed on her face. Not of sadness, but this area could be upgraded extensively if she was in charge. But that wasn't what she was here for, at least not yet. Entering the bar, Priscilla was clearly dressed differently to her usual white robe, wearing more casual gear today. Nothing fancy, a burgundy jacket with some trousers.

As she entered the smell of alcohol almost overwhelmed her senses as she approached the bar, slightly dazed and stumbling, attempting to adjust to the new surroundings. The bartender didn't look have bad either, but again, she wasn't here for that. Yet

Poking [member="Valkren Calderon"] on the shoulder, forcing her face to look concerned while not actually being concerned was easy for her at this stage.

"Would you know where commerce guild is around here? I'm a very busy woman, looking for very busy people."

After asking this question, she sits down at the bar, ordering herself a glass of water, and patiently awaiting his response.

[member="John Ash"] [member="Anastasia Snow"] [member="William Pike"]
 
Laira made her way through the Nar Shaddaa cityscape, her ship parked in a poor spaceport for the time being and her cargo offloaded for E-8 to clean. Livestock wasn't what she had expected when she had agreed to transport three tons of unprocessed foodstuffs, but the pair of live Nerfs had done a number on her cargo bay. E-8 had somberly agreed to shovel the mess into the fuel converter and wash it down after some convincing and a few threats to have him replaced and stripped for parts. She could wipe his memory and put him back to the factory standard, but in truth, she enjoyed the little bit of company from the little Droid while she was travelling. Gar'rekr wasn't much of a talker and there wasn't space for the Basilisk droid to sit up in the living module with her.

She ducked into a shady little dive bar that looked like it was a better place to get stabbed than get a drink and made her way to a table in the back pretty quickly. A Theelin in a tight cocktail dress walked over before Laira could even get comfortable in the chair, leaning over the table with a smile. "What can I get you sugar?"

"Oh, some jawa juice would be nice. Thank you." She dug in a pocket and found a credchip for the waitress and stretched her arms across the table, popping her back and pulling the muscles taunt. Normally she would have worn something plainer, but being on the Smuggler's Moon, she had decided to wear her armorweave underneath her trousers, shirt, and vest just in case. Her father and mother had told her stories about this moon, and what had happened to them here when they had had guards around them.

After stretching out for a second she glanced around the room at the others in the bar. A lot of rough looking individuals around with nary a law-man around. It was Nar Shaddaa alright.

[member="Priscilla Genesis"] [member="Valkren Calderon"] [member="John Ash"] [member="Anastasia Snow"] [member="William Pike"]
 
"We don't have bounties on them, so they're not our problem." William would say to reassure Anastasia, although they did seem out of place here, it was Nar Shaddaa, nothing was ever in place anyways. The man would then order himself a water; he hadn't had a drink since they met, and wasn't changing that pattern anytime soon. If anything were to happen, intoxication would help him protect his partner, and considering where they were, anything could happen.

William began sorting through the bounties; gang members, slavers, other hunters, the list seemed endless. They might end up staying here a while depending on how things went. While he browsed another woman walked in heading towards the guys at the bar. Then another entered and sat by herself. A lot of individuals here who don't fit the crowd, the pair of hunters included. William couldn't help but imagine what might come of this, glancing down to make sure his weapons were accessible just in case things turned bad quickly. "So, where do you think we should start? Or rather, I suppose, who should we start with?"

[member="John Ash"] | [member="Valkren Calderon"] | [member="Anastasia Snow"] | [member="Priscilla Genesis"] | [member="Laira Vereen"]
 
Desmond C'artyom's shuttle landed with a hiss. He had been aboard your average planetary transport. While his new rank in the Imperial army warranted an increase in luxury, his status in the Imperial Intelligence dictated otherwise. So, he watched as a wide array of aliens and others descended from the shuttle to join the throngs in Nar'Shaddaa's streets below. Desmond was one of the last off the vessel as he nodded to his two body guards to join him.

He seldom went anywhere without them. Especially on a mission like this. His prior position as an intergalactic burglar might have placed him on a few people's bad side and the Smuggler's moon had victims of his in abundance. So, he carefully left the confines of the shuttle with a watchful eye and his head on a swivel.

He walked through the crowded market place and was assaulted by the smells of a hundred different cultures. Merchants peddled their wares and attempted to get his attention with petty tricks meant to capture the eye. The dregs lined the sewers with bowls. Begging for food or a little spare change. Des threw a little money into a bowl and was immediately attacked by a large group of poor sods who thought he might have more to spare.

It seemed like an hour before Desmond was finally able to get free of the tramp’s clutches and when he finally did all the money he was supposed to use to hire a mercenary had been significantly diminished. Regardless he was hoping a silver tongue and the promise of wealth to come would be enough. He made his way out of the market and into the red-light district.

Neon lights all over illustrated dancing women and spoke of heinous acts most foul. Small holograms depicted what one could expect inside and Des nearly feinted at some the acts depicted. It was enough to make a Chiss turn red! After some searching he finally managed to find one of the more decent bars.

He entered the pub and was not disappointed. He scanned the bar carefully in search of his prey. Gammoreans, Duros, Noghri, and a plethora of other aliens sat at their booths or tables in search of a decent drink. It wasn't late enough for them to begin fighting, so Des thanked the force for small mercies. Scantily clad serving women wandered the bar racing tankards to and fro. He eyed one, but thought to himself ​Business before pleasure. Then he spotted a rather hard looking woman who seemed easy on the eyes and decided mayhaps he could juggle the two. "Go find something too do boys," He said to his body guards.

He approached her table and overheard her order a juice. She appeared Mandalorian, but Des was unsure. He needed to find out without offending her Mando pride... So, he devised a small plan. "Mind if I sit?" He asked as he pulled the seat out and sat down anyways. He grabbed the serving wenches arm before she could race away for the woman's drink "A Tihaar for me," He said purposefully mispronouncing Tihaar then released the woman's arm. He looked away from the bar wench and eyed the girl across from him mischievously "The names Desmond by the way," He said as he offered her a hand.

[member="Laira Vereen"], [member="Thraxis"], [member="Lark"]
 
A black mass approached by Desmond's side. His glare watching everything as it slowly scoped every crevice and shape of the ship with ire. Though in truth this was nothing more then some fanciful act, beneath the veneer of the mask was a near asleep Zeltron, his eye's lazily hanging open as he scanned around, looking for any booze he might be able to confiscate, though with a mournful sob, hidden beneath the mask he was unable to find any worth the effort.

Then came the hiss, the ship's metal body slowly descending on Nar Shadaa, the lights, the vibrancy, and the criminality that had managed to worm its way into every crevice made it nothing short of an unnatural splendor. Then came the unwanted riff raff, most were criminals who failed to make it big, others were just homeless people on the wrong end of the galaxy. Slowly the group managed to slip and slide through the mass, but as fate would have it, Desmond was more an idiot then he was generous. Thraxis eyes widened, his head turning behind him as he heard the rattle of credits, his mouth hung ajar as he heard the clamor, the cries and echoes of the homeless as they descended like fish to the sea.

Thraxis became a flurry, his hand pushing out a path for Desmond, only to be shown an even larger act of generosity, depositing all the money he brought with him in a failed investment. It was like watching someone try to deal with the homeless problem the same way everyone else tries to solve the problem, by throwing money at it. As he watched chaos slowly descend upon Desmond, Thraxis removed himself from the infighting of the Hobo Fight Club, something that he would have to see if Desmond would invest in at a later date and watched as slowly he pulled himself out, a poorer man who had gained not a thing to his name except the man who would one day fund, Hobo Fight Club. As Desmond hoped back on the move Thraxis took back to following him, his eye carefully watching his hand in case he decided that maybe the Local Hutt's could use some charity.

The neon flashes, the seldom clothed women, and the intoxicating scent of Alcohol that tainted the very air drew Thraxis all about, his mind struggling to find fixation on his job of just keep Desmond alive. Then came the all too tantalizing words, Go find something to do. The words echoed, almost crying out for a night on the town, the scent of booze the first thing to draw his attention as he slipped away in almost an instant, heading straight for the Hutt that had taken this bar for his own. With the snap of the fingers a Familiar Gammorean came up to his side, carrying beneath one of his meaty arms a large Keg, "Ahhh, Thit, been a long time. How has the family been." Thraxis inquired as the Gammorean was taken aback, his head shaking back and fourth before returning to his senses.

"Thraxis? Didn't expect to see you here. Family has been pretty good. Hey, how has Ugg been doing?" The Gammorean responded, glee lacing his voice as he wrapped his free arm around Thraxis shoulder, the Hutt raising a brow at the unexpected familiarity between a drone and a stranger. Though its attention was drawn elsewhere, scanning the room for any hospitable, in Nar Shadaa, it was the nice ones who were up to something malicious, something this Hutt had seemed to have realized long ago.
[member="Desmond C'artyom"]
 

John Ash

Only by Fire do we become Ash.
Soldiers. John had wanted to be one when he was younger, to follow in his father's foot steps. He was being groomed to become an officer in military school, but then it all changed with the One Sith suddenly attacked. Coruscant was lost as the Republic failed in its duty to defend its people from the Sith. And it had failed John as well. His mother was dead due to the incompetence of those in charge, and his father was left so badly maimed that he was unable to find proper work after. Him and the other students from the military school were nearly sold off as slaves, but only Lady Luck had seen to it that he didn't end up a slave that day. So now after all of these years struggling to survive on Nar Shaddaa, John didn't exactly care much for soldiers.

But with all of that said, this guy wasn't all that bad. He was putting all of John's drinks on his tab and it was a sin to pass on free alcohol. It even happened to be one of the few punishable crimes here on Nar Shaddaa as well. So John was going to over look the soldierly duty the man clearly held for now and just let things go as they would go. Part of that seemed to be looking back at the woman and the guy he had glanced at before because of the soldier's words. He studied them for a moment before turning his attention to the shot of whiskey that was placed before him. He said as he picked up the glass, " Bounty hunters most likely. Probably scanning for bounties in the crowd." He then downed his shot after.

A new arrival suddenly popped up and began asking questions of the soldier. John looked at who it was and was a little surprised by the results. They were a young Pantoran woman. Short one at that. She was asking about the commerce guild which only lead to plenty of questions to pop up in his head. He said as he turned towards her, " You are in the wrong place girly. Commerce guild is in the wealthy section of the city. The section with the guards and turrets."

" This is just one of the many entertainment districts, and not safe for someone like you." John said as he studied her over more fully. " The Commerce guild should have had a special docking area for you and a guard assigned if they were expecting you. Are they expecting you?"

That might have sounded a little rude, but politeness around Nar Shaddaa usually meant someone was up to no good. John knew she could handle some rough words though if she had made it this far without being mugged or worse. How long things would stay that way was not certain however. Best this young woman got to where she was going as quickly and quietly as possible. The Commerce guild only dealt with more influencial or wealthy individuals, and even a rumor of a connection to them was like throwing chum into the water.

[member="William Pike"] [member="Priscilla Genesis"] [member="Valkren Calderon"] [member="Anastasia Snow"]
 
The Sergeant cocked a brow as he was once again mid-way through taking his next drink. Another distraction, another minute taken away from his precious R&R time on Nar Shaddaa. He was halfway on his way to scold the newcomer that interrupted his peacefulness after he had his interactions with his still stranger-of-a-friend, John. As he turned, to his surprise, he'd be met with much more pleasant of a sight for a Nar Shaddaa bar.

He changed his posture almost imedietly after the sight of [member="Priscilla Genesis"], motioning to ask her what she was doing here, before being cut off by her inquisition about the Commerce Guild. Curious, to be looking for something so prestigious such as the Commerce guilds, yet presented in a common manner with the basic civilian clothing she was sporting. Strange, if she was looking to make a deal then she was certainly not looking to impress upon any new faces in the guild, but the same couldn't be said for Valkren.

"Well it's not here, miss?.." He'd trail off slightly after politely answering her question along with John, hoping she'd answer his obvious inquiry about her name. Either if she answered his question, or did not give him the answer he desired, he'd still respond once again.

After his friend replied inbetween the question, he simply looked down to the water that was placed before her. It was strange to see so many people come into these places, only to order a water. He'd switch his gaze over to John and the several empty glasses about them, then back to the water and eventually back up to her. "You sure you want to drink that?"

To be honest, the young commando from Alderaan felt safer drinking the liquor here on Nar Shaddaa than the water.

[member="Thraxis"] | [member="Desmond C'artyom"] | [member="William Pike"] | [member="Laira Vereen"] | [member="John Ash"] | [member="Anastasia Snow"]
 

Lark

Saint of the Damned
Lark walked silently besides [member="Thraxis"] and [member="Desmond C'artyom"] through the misty night, neon lights reflecting off the amorphous vapor. Beggars pathetically held their hands up in prayer-like gestures, begging for money or scraps of food. Desmond threw some coins their way, showing more generosity than the planet had seen in all it's history. Lark kept his black hood up, the only thing people would see if they gazed into the darkness around his face were his hellish orange eyes.

The trio eventually made their way into a bar, it was always a bar. Thraxis lit up in delight when Desmond gave them free reign to do as they pleased, and he instantly left to acquire some alcohol. What opposites, they were. The two were temporarily serving as Desmond's bodyguards, and where Thraxis was wild and more carefree, Lark was quiet and methodical. But both of them were dangerous, the perfect pair of people to be watching your back.

The bar was crowded with all sorts of people, and everyone here knew it. They all eyed each other warily, a lifetime in areas like this would keep you paranoid. Lark made a quick motion to Desmond, signaling that he was going to scout out the surrounding area. But he'd be nearby in case anything drastic occurred.

He walked back out of the bar, he had never felt the consuming desire for alcohol that so many others did. Instead he walked through a small alley, away from public view. He kept his blaster rifle underneath the loose coat he wore slung across his back, only a keen eye and the right angle would allow someone to see it. And even then, such weapons were not uncommon here. He scaled the building to his right, the handholds he could find were a bit slippery, but he had plenty of practice climbing when he lived on Myrkr. He reached the roofed balcony a few stories higher, and was rewarded with a perfect view of the area. Cloaked in shadows, he crouched by the railing, placing his rifle in his lap, keeping a watchful eye on those in the bar.

[member="Valkren Calderon"] [member="John Ash"] [member="William Pike"] [member="Laira Vereen"] [member="Priscilla Genesis"] [member="Anastasia Snow"]
 
Her face would scrunch up confused as she received the reply. Not one she expected in the slightest. As this happened, she would remove the robe covering her face and show [member="Valkren Calderon"] an official looking document, with various signatures at the bottom.

"Priscilla Genesis - Pantoran Royal Trade Councilor - Princess of the Pantoran Throne"

"Obviously I wasn't expecting to be around these parts. I'm Priscilla Genesis, now it would be handy if you would inform me of where the Commerce guild is. Right. Away."

[member="Lark"] [member="John Ash"] [member="Thraxis"] [member="Desmond C'artyom"]
 
GC-98 walked into the bar, statistics suggesting it was slightly safer than the other few along the road. Slightly. He had arrived from helping a shipment deliver to this planet, which he had learned was called Nar Shaddaa.

Wanting to find something to do and escape feeling useless he entered the bar hoping someone would need assistance of some kind or another. He analysed the room before walking up to the bar. He did not sit down, and instead stood behind those sitting at the bar, once again scouring the room. Social interaction dictated, he knew, that if you were near the bar you were more important and therefore more likely to be deemed 'exciting'. GC stood there looking suspicious, though his intentions being innocent.
 
The Sergeant spun on his barstool to face toward the newcomer, before taking his hands away from his liquor drink to receive the document she presented. His eyes went wide as he saw her official title, switching his gaze from the document to [member="Priscilla Genesis"], then back, repeating this process several times over.

This was truly strange, a Pantoran princess ending up in the slums and entertainment district of Nar Shaddaa.

"You must have taken one hell of a wrong turn, my lady." He'd state as he displayed the name on the document to [member="John Ash"], before handing the document back to herself. He spoke with alittle bit more respect, even at his buzzed state, now knowing who exactly he was conversing with. He decided not to call her by her official title, due to that being a risky move in a place such as this. Many lowlifes and thugs looking for a way to make a quick and easy buck, even if that meant the kidnapping of royalty.

He'd look out to the exit, before back to Priscilla. "You'll probably have to take a cab past the market districts like my friend here said. Once past then you'll meet with several guards at the station for the wealthy district." Then once more, he'd study her. The robes were constricting his vision of many of her features, but he was mainly looking for a weapon on her person. To be in this section of Nar Shaddaa and not armed was asking to get mugged, or killed..

"If you need assistance finding it, I'm sure I can be a worthy escort."

[member="GC-98"] | [member="Priscilla Genesis"] | [member="Lark"] | [member="John Ash"] | [member="William Pike"]
 
As [member="Valkren Calderon"] was speaking she a grin would slowly develop as she bats her eyes, and looking down but her eyes still looking upwards towards him.

"Well I'm sure I could get there safely, but a strong man such as yourself would be a great asset in assisting me. Ever since my fa-.. nevermind. Anyway, bar-tender, do you by chance have a number for a taxi service I could utilize? I'm sure it would be of great help."

"Uh uh... yeah miss. Are you here to arrest me?"

He would take a piece of paper from under the bar, scribbling down a few numbers on it then handing it to Paris, nervously.

She would laugh as he said this.

"Why certainly not. I hope you don't think I'm some sort of stone-cold killer."

She would giggle quietly to herself before swiftly saying to Valkren

"We should leave soon. My father does not like me returning late, and my escort informed me I must return within the hour. Chop chop"

She would gesture to him to leave, along with her partner as she exits the door.

[member="GC-98"] [member="Lark"] [member="John Ash"] [member="William Pike"]
 

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