You Can't Hit What You Can't See [Stygium Raid]

[Ayden Cater]

Nar Shaddaa was the perfect planet for a bunch of ne'er-do-wells to meet up. With a population that rivaled Coruscant, almost all of which harbored illicit deeds or aims, it was a place easy to get lost on, or to keep from being found. It's location there towards the edge of the galaxy also meant that they were closer to their target, which meant they'd be together on one ship for as little time as necessary. He had figured out most of the details on what they'd need, how long they could be in the system, but he needed bodies, manpower. He did not have the vast resources to call upon as he once did as Lord Protector. Certain liberties had to be taken then.

That was why he had sent out the call to a few individuals. Roland had scouted the holonet for suitable candidates to help the Corellian undertake this particular raid. They would suffice. Either claiming an amount of the target good would satisfy them, or cold hard credits would. Some just wanted the challenge to break up the monotony of their lives. All he cared about was getting the goods he needed. And if that meant he had to sit in a salacious bar, inhaling all manner of narcotic smokes, watching the nimble dance moves of differing sentient beings, waiting for the rest of his little adventuring party show up... Well, Ayden grinned as he tossed a few thousand credit chits on the table and sipped at the glass of whiskey. He could live with that.

 

[Soon'tyr Wootton]

I don't normally take jobs that I don't know all the details for, but... the credits are too good to pass up. I don't like it, but I know that opportunities like this are rare. I just don't get why everyone wants to meet in a bar.

Getting in was easy, no one wants to really tell a big fuzzy thing with teeth and claws and armor 'no', which works out for me. Problem is - and I always forget this - bars stink. I try to explain this to humans and the like, but no one ever gets it. They smell bad. Smoke, alcohol, sweat, body fluids... It smells bad. I don't even get the benefits of it all hitting at once like a standard bad smell, it all differentiates in my nose and I hate it. Always with bars. Always.

Why can't it be in a park for once?

I make my way past the bar and I can see the back rooms the job listed as the meeting place when some Human idiot turns around from the bar and bumps into me, drink in hand. Now, not only do I have to deal with the smell of a bar, but now I've gotta smell beer for the next few hours wherever I go until I can clean it off my armor. Oh, great, now he wants to be mister macho and pick a fight. Lemme end that real fast with a solid snarl and...

Problem solved. Neat little trick. Doesn't work on wookiees though, figured that out quick. Okay, back room... This one? Looks like... Human, male. Sipping whiskey. Smells of leather, aftershave, alcohol... I think there's some oil in there, but not like motor oil. Kind of smells like the stuff we used to oil doors and accesses on the cargo ship back in the day. Spacer maybe. Smells a bit like iron as well, maybe durasteel? Definitely a spacer. Definitely a human. Odd feeling to him as well, but that may just be me.

I step into the little area and look around real fast. Looks like I'm the only one here so far, which is okay. I wonder if I'm the only one to pick up the job?

"Hear you're looking for help," Gotta keep it simple. I know I'm fluent in Basic, but the whole snout-language barrier thing makes it a little rough. After the eighth time someone asks me to repeat myself, I may as well give up and go to charades.

[member="Ayden Cater"]

 

[Meeristali Peradun]

It was his first time on Nar Shaddaa, and boy, could he look the part. He'd eschewed robes a handful of years back, for the most part resorting to wearing stitches that gave off the idea of either an off-duty military man or a farmer, of all things. These days, his clothing was hardly ever seen, most places he went, on account of armour. Today, he wore the air of soldier-gone-spacer, and the face of one that wasn't messed with if you were remotely bright - all he had to do there was not smile. The hard lines of his face, the acid marks from a hydrastaff on Manaan, and the perpetual 'little more than a five o'clock shadow' did the rest. The frown was only due to the unpleasant mélange of smells in this place, layers he could discern to a rather uncomfortable degree.

Getting in was hardly an issue, a few words that were terse at best, a grunt, and he passed to the within to dodge bodies and drink (briefly grabbing the 'tender's attention to acquire a bottle of nondescript ale) to find the back room that contained whosoever it was that he was supposed to meet. Wrenching the cap off the bottle, he entered some scant moments after the Shistavanen, and approached the table, stopping dead in his tracks for a shred of a second when he saw who it was.

Sure, he'd never met the man in person, but anyone that hadn't been under a rock knew of the former Lord Protector. It would only be a larger realization if he knew at all that he could draw a line from this man to another man, one that had trained him and his brother-in-arms some in the nuances of armoured combat. He tipped the bottle to his mouth, taking a gulp.

"Heard the same thing," he said, orange eyes slipping sidelong to the real furry guy, tail flicking in a subtle way, then back to the man in the yellow hat, "I'm Peradun."

He slipped into a chair, his large frame making the thing creak, and continued pulling from the bottle at a measured pace.

[member="Soon'tyr Wootton"] | [member="Ayden Cater"]​

 

[Elanor Wraith]

Education wasn't always obtained in a classroom. Elanor, who had spent more than her fair share of time in and around classrooms, knew that well. Elanor, who had imagined that her career in engineering would involve many more well-lit laboratories and such, was learning currently that maybe she didn't know things as well as she generally thought. Case in point, she was standing in a smoky bar/club/thing, getting a mild contact high from all the nasty junk in the air and trying not to stare at the 'exotic dancers' twisting and writhing. Poor, underprivileged women in need of compassion and assistance, but not pity, Elanor decided. Not that it was her place to get involved with the affairs of the 'entertainers'. She was here to learn from, to observe, and assist, her boss.

He was burning his way through a cigar that looked and smelled like a single puff would kill her, and if she wasn't already aware of [member="Ayden Cater"]'s credentials, Ellie would have likely thought him to be some sort of pirate-spacer-soldier-of-fortune ruffian she'd be better off avoiding. The kind of man who ate tin cans for breakfast and washed them down with industrial solvent

Sitting a few seats down from the meeting, Elanor checked and re-checked her tablet as a pair of men made their appearance - cross-referencing the 'guest list' she'd tried to obtain from Roland. Sitting in front of an untouched beer, Elanor finally managed not to stick out quite so much by striking up a spirited conversation with one of the dancers on break - a woman who'd assumed that Elanor was here looking for somebody or a job. It helped to pass the time until Ayden had need of her assistance; if there was one thing that Ellie could do, it was happily chatter with an absolute stranger.

 

[Hira Mitsae]

[SIZE=10.6667px][member="Ayden Cater"] | [member="Soon'tyr Wootton"] | [member="Meeristali Peradun"] | [member="Elanor Wraith"][/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Nar Shaddaa wasn’t exactly his scene. Sardun might have had the rough edges, the gruff expression, the fiery gaze and big sword strapped to his back, but that didn’t do anything for the ‘holier than thou’-expression that was almost permanently edged into his gaze. Every step he took he pissed someone off just by looking at them in a way that made them feel like he was pitying them. [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]It's like he knows he's better than you, but doesn't look down on you for it because he knows it's not your fault.[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] But Michael managed to get to the bar without getting into a fight. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Mostly because of his frame, height and those amber eyes that seemed to be burning at its core. All that luck ended the moment he stepped [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]into[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] the bar though. A Cathar got into his face, the older man could smell the lingering scent of booze on the feline’s breath.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]Rrmmmm, not the r-right place for you, mister man. Why d-d-d-don’t you run back where you came ffffffrom?[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Sardun sighed. In any other portion of the town he would have tried to make nice. Maybe do a threat or two to get the feline off his back, but it was clear that the alcohol levels were too high to really do this any other way.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]His movements blurred.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]"[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]A moment later a flying cat could be seen through the bar, before crashing behind the bar. This did not gain as much attention as you might think. Mostly because flying sentients were not a rare occurrence when alcohol got mixed with a high level of territorial instinct.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]With that finished Michael shook his head and wandered over to the table with the other gathered people. Most of them seemed to have already arrived.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“Sardun.” he supplied once he got there, before settling down in one of the chairs and waving over a waiter for the stiff drink.[/SIZE]

 

[Razelle Breuner]

After maybe thirty minutes of watching some guy drink to himself in silence, Razelle Breuner quietly decided that enough people had gathered around the man her contact had described that they weren't just a setup. Too much capitalist idealism in one place, not enough poorly concealed paranoia to be a trap. She stood from her booth, several meters away but well within line of sight of multiple bar entrances and the table her Mr. Johnson was sitting at, and made a point of finishing her smoke on the way over.

Ever-paranoid as all frak, her eyes scanned over each of the people gathered around her friend with the frankly quite attractive stetson. If they were going to last long in this kind of life, they'd be sizing her up the same way, and each other. All it took was one bad job to send you to an early grave that no one remembered with no word to your loved ones. Johnson himself was old, bitter, smelled of whiskey and cigars and leather. His coat was too thick to get a good look at any weapons he might have been carrying, but chances were his neck was just as vulnerable as anyone else's. Ridgehand strike to the trachea, open palm to the nose, grab forehead, slam against the edge of the table. Three seconds, maybe.

The second to arrive had been a canid. Tall, male. Built like a tank, alert to his surroundings. He might be able to smell the wild on her - you could wash the scent of winter off of you, but no amount of scrubbing could cleanse the feral from your soul. Chances are, though, that would just make him take her more seriously. Approach...heavy blaster shots at medium-close range, eight meters optimal. Aim for legs first, shoot out kneecaps. Multiple rounds to center of mass. When stunned, approach from flank with pivot kick to temple, cut throat with knife. She made sure to stay a healthy distance away from that one.

Number three was a humanoid booze hound. Working with Sith for decades had given Raz plenty of practice in picking out the subtle silhouette of a concealed lightsaber. She put up a mental block of heavy emotions immediately. Mostly lust, since it was probably her most natural mental state. She could throw in some guilt if they started to get any ideas. Plenty of that. Force users were tricky, and she wasn't packing grenades. Best to avoid conflict altogether. Second-best to goad the canid into attacking, then hitting him while distracted.

The fourth was what looked to be a kid. Whatever. If she was here, she'd take care of herself or she'd burn out. Not Razelle's problem. She wasn't with the group or speaking to anyone, but her attention kept drifting over towards Mr. Johnson, so chances were she was either affiliated or an obstacle to be removed. Either way, Raz glanced back to her every once in a while as she approached, and made sure to angle herself so she wouldn't have to turn her head to do so.

Lucky number five had just caused a big stir at the front of the bar. Another Jedi. She assumed he was carrying a lightsaber without really much of a lengthy scan. Two Jedi and a monster. If this went south, her best option was to cut and run. Without heavy ordinance or explosives, she'd be at a major disadvantage. She made sure to keep her Woebringer holster unfastened, but keep her hand clear of the handle. Made it easy to draw, but didn't give the impression of overt violence. Hopefully this was on the level, otherwise her life was about to get much more interesting.

By the time she made it to the table and angled to have a view of all five and the door, her cig was burned out. She dropped it and stepped on it with one boot, taking her position and crossing her arms to affect a willingness to defend herself. She didn't really look at Johnson when she spoke. "Motley-ass crew you've managed to dredge up. Just how far above our weight class are we punching?"

 

[Ayden Cater]

[member="Soon'tyr Wootton"], [member="Elanor Wraith"], [member="Michael Sardun"], [member="Meeristali Peradun"], [member="Razelle Breuner"]

"That remains to be seen." Ayden smiled utterly nonplussed as he looked around to those assembled before him. Wide range of talents, lot of ground they could cover at any moment's notice. Already he was taking stock of immediately apparent talents and leanings, devising combination tactics to be employed out in the field. It wasn't too hard to identify two of them as Force-users. They would add a great deal to what was within the realm of possibilities. The last two, the glowing-eyed man and the woman with a mouth, were the two he was most wary of. Centuries of practice meant that he betrayed nothing in his face that was not part of mask, but they were the two 'loose cannons' so to speak. If he could keep them in line, he was sure they could handle any physical problem that arose. If they got out of hand though...

"I'm not one for long speeches these days, so I'll get to the point." There were many who knew him who would have excepted a rather long, drawn out speech; more carefully crafted ideas and facades. "I have a long eye and a list of things I need doin'. To do 'em, I need more hands than I got. So consider this first job here a test. Pass to my satisfaction and I'll offer you more jobs. Each one will be more lucrative than the others before." Curiously, if anyone had preternatural hearing and had studied his voice at length, there was something there in his voice that had been absent in years past. But everyone else would simply hear the expected Corellian drawl and faint amusement.

"My assistant here," he nodded to the relatively out-of-place girl alongside him with a tilt of his hat, "put together a list for me of talents to suit my needs. Here at the table we've got just about every skillset to cause all sorts of trouble." Tracking, charm, face, slicing, brute force, tactical force; there really wasn't anything they couldn't get done, at least on paper. "Miss Lawson does good work. She has a keen eye for this sort of thing." Even if Ayden was a well-known face, he wasn't entirely without heart. The girl was here to learn, and part of that meant learning to keep her name to herself or those she could trust. Since they were not known quantities yet, no trust. Unless of course she decided to be careless. But then that would be on her.

"The job is simple, a blue milk run really. There's a planet on the edge of the galaxy, Enigma Prime. Preliminary scouting on my part shows there to be minimum security presence in the system. Less than a hundred thousand souls on the planet. Your job is going to be getting some of this." He took out a box and set it on the table, opening it with a press of a stub on its edge. Inside was a small, palm-sized crystal. "Stygium. Get more units than I need and I'll see to it that you each get a percentage. Sell it, use it, smash it; I don't rightly care. Lethal force is authorized, but only if necessary. I'd rather not call down any undo attention or heat on our operations this early. There will be more than enough time for that later on if you each continue to succeed and impress."

Leaning back in the seat, Ayden pushed the rim of his hat back to look at each of the members at the table in the eye. "So are you in... or out?"

 

[Elanor Wraith]

At the sound of her assumed name - something that Ellie had decided was unequivocally awesome and badass - the glorified intern turned her attention away from the stripper she was sharing a laugh with at long last. Which was a shame, because she'd been enjoying furtive laughter about the general show-offiness of Force Users in the Galaxy and speculating quietly about what they might be compensating for. 'Miss Lawson' flashed the group the eager grin of a young professional at the group, keeping a tight enough grip on her datatablet that it might as well have been a weapon.

Heck, it basically was. Aside from learning what lessons Ayden had to teach, Elanor was also here to serve as a less direct and obvious link between the grizzled spacer and Roland. Secret-keeper Lawson. The Professional Alibi. It was so cool, really, it almost offset how nervous the vaguely-illegal nature of this undertaking was. Elanor was no huge stickler for the laws of nations that couldn't stand the test of time, but there were some things that were doubtlessly, inherently evil in spite of their motives - murder, theft, torture. A raid combined the first two, and sometimes dragged the third along for the ride.

But if there was one thing a historian understood, it was that 'evil' was typically decided by whoever had actually won a conflict... and that any degree of understanding required one to study and understand both sides of an issue. Most importantly of all, Elanor understood that she was here to serve as Ayden's apprentice of sorts, and if doing sketchy things in shady cantinas was what he wanted of her, the money was too good to turn her nose up at for something as malleable as moral objections. Like any other lesson, she had decided to throw herself into whatever had been asked of her and sort out the implications later as a subject of her personal studies. Maybe she'd put her questions into a memoir, or write a paper? Under a pseudonym, of course.

Having pulled her attention back to doing her job, Elanor took her place beside and slightly behind Ayden with a straight back, raised chin, and something approaching an aloof and 'cool' expression. Basically, how someone might expect a corporate assistant to work if they'd only been involved in criminal activities insofar as watching Factual Crimes Holotapes and heist films.

 

[Razelle Breuner]

Oh geez. Now that was a helluva payday. Stygium. She could use a few to make herself some proper armor, hawk the rest through a secure channel to pay Fable back for supporting her for however many months. Then the promise of future work...this might be what she needed to get back on her feet. Of course, to get to that point, she'd have to navigate a conversation with Mr. Johnson.

"It's never a blue milk run," Raz replied with a bitter frown. There was always something they weren't telling you, or something they didn't know. Nothing ever went according to plan, so part of the plan usually included what to do when the plan inevitably went to crap. "But yeah, I'm in." Considering how most of these assembled vagrants and ne'er-do-wells seemed to be firmly of the head-busting type, chances were their team would otherwise be sorely lacking in a ghost. Fortunately, Razelle could rise to that challenge.

Establishing that the girl was a secretary didn't make her any less of a threat until proven otherwise. And even then, Raz had once gone months under the assumed identity of a physically incompetent legal agent so she could be in a better position to cut loose ends. Exactly nothing was stopping Lawson from secretly being a space ninja, but with two Jedi and a dog monster in her immediate vicinity, she had much more visible threats to worry about.

Not to mention the dawning realization that she might have been the only person in the room who knew how to operate without raising security alarms halfway across a major municipal. That was going to be...fun.

 

[Hira Mitsae]

[SIZE=10.6667px][member="Ayden Cater"] | [member="Soon'tyr Wootton"] | [member="Meeristali Peradun"] | [member="Elanor Wraith"] | [member="Razelle Breuner"][/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Ayden Cater was known to him. The Lord Protector of the Omega Protectorate. There had been a few of those, but really only Cira and Cater were relevant in the grand scheme of things. This didn’t seem like Cater’s MO though. A big talker, strategist and someone who liked to operate from the background whilst his operatives did the work for him - it didn’t seem like his thing to come out here and roll around in the dirt of Nar Shaddaa with the rest of ‘em. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]So something changed.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Part of him wanted to figure out what exactly. The old part. The part that had cared about people, their motives and things like a good [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]cause.[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] But then the dominating part that just didn’t give a shet anymore doused it all in cold water. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Not your problem, Sardun. Let it go.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Then there was the unexpected appearance of Stali. His eyes briefly flashed across his appearance. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Seemed to be healthy, well-fed, bright eyes and brighter goals. Did Michael at least some good, meant that not everything he touched had went to shet. But once the drink arrived he stopped covertly inspecting his old padawan.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Maybe he should have said something. But it didn’t seem like Stali recognized him. [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]Not surprising, few people would with a face like this and a signature twisted like that. [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]So why make a fuss about it? Why a ruckus amidst the strangers?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Naw. Better let it die there. Boy had enough weight on his shoulders [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]without[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] an old Master returning disgraced and fethed.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Then there was the dog. [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]A dog.[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] Who could talk. The former Jedi shouldn’t have been so surprised. Not with the things he had seen, at least. In the end it mattered little; as long as the canine was capable in his job, it would be all well. Lawson was a decor piece. No fighting skills to speak of, young eyes filled with hope for a better tomorrow and an artificial expression that was supposed to give people the idea she knew what she was doing.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]Then there was Razelle. And [/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px]that[/SIZE][SIZE=10.6667px] was a tough nut to crack. He would need a while to sort out the conflicting scents he was getting from her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6667px]“You only need me, or are ya signing up the Helldive Company as a whole?” maybe they had been interested in his specific skills. Maybe they wanted access to the Helldivers. He wasn’t sure, so better ask before ending up with your tool in your hands. [/SIZE]

 

[Soon'tyr Wootton]

Milk run. Right. I've done plenty of those kinds of jobs. They're never that easy. Something always goes wrong or someone always withholds information. Still, though... I can't really pass up on this one. I know how valuable stygium can be. Definitely worth the risk if we can pull it off.

"I'm in," I say. I know my voice is a bit gruff, but I can't help it. Basic was not designed to be spoken by beings with muzzles and snouts, much less elongated jaws.

I scratch a bit at my ear, a mild thing of mine that I can't help and refuse to acknowledge, if I'm honest. The newcomers intrigue me and not because almost all of them are human. Humans are everywhere and I've found that even when you attempt to avoid them, you still run into one or two. They're kind of like the galactic version of a cockroach or mynock. They go anywhere and everywhere they can, even the places you'd think they couldn't.

The first one seemed simple enough, but definitely caught my eye when I realized I had the sudden urge to growl at them. Smells... Definitely smell fur and dander, some soap... beer... Felacatian if I had to guess. Explains the reaction somewhat.

The next one was a typical human, nothing special. At least, nothing outwardly special other than being hairy, even by Human standards. He feels... odd, though. Right up there with the guy doing the hiring. My guess... Maybe it's that Force thing I'm picking up. I'm getting that off of maybe half the people here, even the Felacatian. Are they all Forcers? I'll have to be cautious.

The one human's assistant didn't seem like much. A quick glance told me all I need to know. Hair care products, soap, perfume, some residual machine oil. Not enough to denote actual hard work, but just enough to tell me she can work something like a datapad or maybe simple equipment. All in all, harmless. Granted, she seems like she'd be popular with Human males and the domesticated animals they keep and, for some reason, I have the urge to have my ears itched now. I'll put that down to homesickness and move on.

The last human... Maybe human? Smells not quite human, but not really not a human. We'll go with mostly human, I guess. The mostly human female... Smells like hair products and soap, but from what I've seen of human females that's pretty much the standard. Also smelling... oil. Weapon oil. And carbon residue. Ozone? She makes the hair on my spine prickle, too. She bears watching. Lots of watching. I don't know if anyone here has their own rules, if any, but this one seems like her rules change, if they're there at all.

She has one thing right, though. This is one hell of a motley crew that's gathered, and that's not because we have a Felacatian in the mix either.

[member="Michael Sardun"] [member="Razelle Breuner"] [member="Elanor Wraith"] [member="Ayden Cater"] [member="Meeristali Peradun"]

 

[Meeristali Peradun]

He'd felt the eyes on him... not that she was trying to be subtle, but he knew when he was being watched before it was apparent. Let her assume what she liked. The walls here, or anywhere they were going, weren't bound to be ten-foot thick, and he was deceptively quiet of step, for his size. Still, she had a look to her that made him consider what it'd be to roll her over a few times, but this was tempered nowadays by a commitment that involved a woman, children, and a good deal of what that usually detailed. Never stopped him from thinking about it, when something crossed his vision. That was just instinct. The enduring drive.

Quietly, he drank from the bottle, not too fast - it wasn't often that he drank at all - and though he didn't spare the man a glance, he knew Sardun when he smelt him. No matter what changed, there was always that unique, olfactory something to each person that wasn't so easy to foul up as a presence in the Force, but his thoughts were in a similar vein: why a ruckus among strangers? So he said nothing, nothing it would be for now.

When it came around to him, he leaned forward and levelled his citric gaze at the man in the hat, coming off of a drag from the bottle, "I'm in," the rumble came, before he settled again into the back of the chair, keeping calm, collected, and controlled. Sure, there was a canid in the room, and that'd raise any felinoid's hackles, but he wasn't a kit. There was a lot he learned to control over his thirty-ish years, but even so, nature was a queen to subdue. All in all, it put a little edge on his demeanour.

[member="Soon'tyr Wootton"] | [member="Michael Sardun"] | [member="Razelle Breuner"] | [member="Elanor Wraith"] | [member="Ayden Cater"]​

 

[Ayden Cater]

[member="Soon'tyr Wootton"], [member="Elanor Wraith"], [member="Michael Sardun"], [member="Meeristali Peradun"], [member="Razelle Breuner"]

Ayden sneered derisively at Sardun and chuckled darkly. "If I wanted disposable sacks of wasted credits and miserable failures, I'd have outsourced this job to the Republic." After making sure that everyone had their upfront credit payouts, Ayden also distributed encoded instructions to them that would lead them to a particular hanger on the greasy moon. "You have thirty minutes to gather anything you want or need. If you're not on the ship at that time, then you'll be left behind."

Throwing back the rest of his whiskey, Ayden gestured to Elanor to go ahead and follow him out. Once they got out of the noxious cloud of narcotics and life mistakes, Ayden let loose a series of coughs he had been holding in. "Not exactly the best place for one's health, but appearances are a necessity in these parts." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask and drank from it. Shuddering, he gave a refreshed sigh and put it back into its hiding place.

"You did well by not reacting any, Miss Lawson. Corporate affairs might appear more civilized, but you'll find that many dealings between corporate powers are not wholly unlike the sorts you saw in there." As always, there was a point and a reason to the things that Ayden did. He knew that this was probably not the kind of action and lifestyle that Elanor thought she'd get when she signed up to be his assistant / apprentice. But then again, whether she knew it or not, she'd probably get a better understanding of corporate politics doing this. And if she was lucky she'd pick up a few handy life skills in the process.

"Go ahead and get back to the ship. I've got a couple things to see to while I'm here on the planet. I'll be back before the time limit's up." With his signature grin, Ayden turned and almost immediately vanished into the crowd. Getting back to the ship should have been a simple task, but then again this was Nar Shaddaa. Time to see how she dealt with being dropped into the deep end without warning.

Meanwhile Ayden ducked into a shady shop after making sure that Elanor didn't try to follow him, which of course meant it looked utterly normal and at-home amidst the myriad of junky shops on Nar Shaddaa. A chime rang as he opened the door, alerting the owner to his arrival. As soon as the door shut behind him, Ayden locked the door. The owner, a black-eyed Rodian, came around the corner obviously expecting another easy sell. As soon as it set eyes on the Corellian though its expression fell. There was a snap-hiss as Ayden activated his lightsaber, bathing the room in a silver glow. "Let's have a chat, shall we?"

 

[Elanor Wraith]

A motley crew, indeed. Being how they were in dangerous strokes with dangerous folks - presumably - Elanor took it upon herself to sharpen her deductive abilities. She wasn't experienced, and nearly everyone present looked like they had some serious degrees from the School of Hard Knocks, but Ellie liked to think of herself as fairly intelligent. Perhaps what she lacked in seasoning could be made up for in enthusiasm? If nothing else, the guy with the glowing eyes seemed to have no small measure of enthusiasm of his own; throwing around cats and, well, being old and possessing grizzled eyes seemed like the calling cards of a Force User. Risky business, that. Her limited experience told Elanor that Force Users could run the gamut from sagely to screwball with little indication of which side they favored - and worse, they slid up and down that spectrum with hardly any warning. She made a mental note to steer clear of the grizzled guy, or at least to stay on his good side.

Then there was the handsome guy with the orange eyes. He seemed notable primarily in that he was handsome, in Elanor's opinion. Some people wore scars well, it was a simple fact of life, and tall-and-broody wore them very well. Another person that Ellie decided she wanted to stay on the good side of, even if for different reasons.

Even just by sight, Elanor knew that the woman with 'skeptical' written all over her face likely absorbed information better in her sleep than Ellie did by trying; she had never seen somebody who'd so clearly refined Being Unimpressed to an art than Miss Merc. If nothing else, it was something of a relief to know that she wasn't the only woman involved in this operation, but Elanor doubted that Miss Merc really cared all that much for such a trivial detail.

A canid metahuman broke up the human homogeny, though he - it? - likely he, didn't seem all that different aside from that fact. No glaring eccentricities, a general air of 'been there, done that'. Maybe he had an enhanced sense of smell, that'd surely be a boon in the quest ahead. If nothing else, a different perspective was a boon in nearly any endeavor. It was quite possible, Elanor realized, that she was missing out on some vital information simply because she had no idea what a dogperson's body language should be like. Maybe that'd be a boon as well? She didn't have long to dwell on it, Ayden made for the door and motioned for Elanor to follow: the young scholar wasted no time in hustling out of the bar on the heels of her mentor, tablet in hand.

Once he'd apologized for smoking (which struck her as a little funny) and issued some words of wisdom regarding the importance of such meetings, Elanor nodded her understanding and replied with a bright smile. "Understood, sir - I'll keep that in mind." Tension, small shows of power to establish a stronger negotiating position, utilizing disparate talents to accomplish a singular and likely crucial goal? Sounded like an important sort of lesson to learn! Though it might have been easier to just say as such without the risk (or inherent weirdness) of taking one's PA into a sketchy cantina, Ayden Cater seemed the sort of man to prefer practical and object lessons. The kind of professor who taught by doing and letting one fail, rather than assigning reading. She could appreciate that. "I'll head to the Starfall right away." The promise was delivered needlessly, (as where the hell else would she go?) but was there nonetheless. Let it be a testament to her resolve to do well, to an instructor who had already faded into the crowd. Nertz.

It was a good thing she'd paid attention to the way they'd gotten here, at least a little bit. It was a bad thing that Nar Shaddaa was one of those places in the Galaxy where it wasn't exactly safe to be a young woman on her own with little more than a token blaster on your hip. That this was a sink-or-swim test didn't even occur to Elanor; it was much easier to assume that Ayden actually did have business to take care of and was under the assumption that she'd be able to handle herself at least as far as the hangars. And why shouldn't she? People did it all the time.

Mustering her courage, Ellie pulled a simple hat on and then turned it around so the brim faced backwards - hoping that she'd present a lower profile that way, or maybe just because wearing a hat was something that competent and successful people did. That done, tablet snugly under the arm she wouldn't use to draw her blaster if she actually needed to do so, Elanor set off into the crowd with a carefully measured, neutral expression. Being beneath notice was the first step to not being noticed, right?

Thankfully, Elanor managed to make it back to the Starfall without much incident. She'd gotten a little lost - no more than a couple of minutes - but had made that time up when a suspicious glare from a pair of wandering men had sent her power-walking as fast as she could without breaking into a jog. Thankfully, she hadn't had to use her blaster; a blessing indeed, considering she'd only ever shot it once, and that was at a target. She'd bought a used weapon so it might look like she'd used the thing more in the hopes that a weathered blaster might serve as a deterrent where her slight frame would not. Having arrived safe and sound at her destination, Elanor stood by and waited for the rest of the group - whichever of them had decided to join Ayden's endeavor - so she could welcome them to the ship personally and point them towards the areas they could access. Common areas, quarters, that sort of thing.

 

[Razelle Breuner]

It would have been pointless to try to sneak away. Jedi and a dogthing that could smell and hear better than probably anyone else in a two-block radius? She'd be lucky to get more than five meters without drawing attention by guilt or suspicion. Instead, Raz clipped her holster shut again and walked out the front door. The barkeep gave her a glare, but this was Nar Shadda. It wasn't all that uncommon for people to leave a cantina in a similar state of inebriation with which they had entered.

Raz's gear - all of her gear - had been relocated from the Faux Pilgrim to a Nar Shaddaa safehouse a couple of days before the meet. It was within walking distance, and she took five leisurely minutes to lose all potential tails before she finally started on the course to her little hideout. From the outside it was a low-income trashy apartment with surprisingly good locks, no windows, and reinforced walls. On the inside, it was...a low-income trashy apartment. Raz triggered a signal from her datapad, though, and the false walls separating the kitchen, the bedroom, and the main room folded away to reveal a hidden armory like an action holovid.

Grabbing one mobile locker, two duffels, and some cargo vests and utility belts, she started stocking up on everything she'd need for both hard and soft jobs. For soft entry, a hand torch, sensor bug, silent pressure det charges, a decent comm spoof program she'd managed to beat out of a programmer last week. Plenty of other alternatives, too. A Harpy rifle for long-range target elimination, a slughthrower for close work. Even if their firepower was uniformly inferior to a proper blaster, they had the unique benefit of being truly suppressable with a combination of barrel extensions and sonic dampeners. Multi-spectrum goggles would have been nice, but she didn't have the need for them like normal humans...or the disposable income to get a pair on the cheap. Smoke grenades, because there were few things that couldn't be solved by a smoke bomb when you could see in the dark and your enemies couldn't.

For hard entry, solid medium armor. Duraplast plating with an underwoven blaster mesh. Standard frag and flash grenades. Two BTI-CC13 rifles, two Woebringers, enough power packs for both. She would've preferred having a few more high-power options, but chances were the three human assault engines would be able to handle armor on their own. Precision long-range elimination and target selection would probably be more what she'd be expected to handle, which a standard assault rifle would be perfectly capable of on its own. Just in case, she grabbed a holo targeting scope and tossed it in with the rest.

...And because she didn't trust her Jedi allies any more than her others, she packed a couple of plasma grenades and grabbed a concealable sonic heavy pistol. A good scattergun, too. She had a couple of BTI-CES Retaliators sitting around, and a spare power pack or two just for them. Couldn't be too careful.

Utility. Armored databracer. It took her a few minutes to swap all of her programs over, but being able to access your computer with one hand and resting easy in the knowledge that it wouldn't be destroyed by random acts of violence was worth it. Two knives, no less. Whether or not you needed two was irrelevant. If you didn't bring a backup, something would happen to your first. Throat comlink and earpiece, because hands-free communication was sort of important. Razelle packed everything up in her bags, put the guns and armor in her locker, and hoisted all of it with the semi-herculean strength of someone who had done this pretty frequently.

When she arrived at the Starfall, she spared only a moment for vague surprise before charging up a boarding ramp. It'd been a while since she'd been on anything larger than a passenger freighter. Whatever. She dropped her locker and bags in the front room and found somewhere to sit nearby, waiting for someone official to show up. Normally, a ship like this would already have basic gear, but Raz didn't trust her employer to carry more than the very basics. While she waited, she considered lighting up a stim stick, then trashed that idea. She'd need a decent few hours of sleep if she wanted to be at her best.

It'd also make it easier to watch the entry ramp for whoever hadn't arrived yet.

 

[Hira Mitsae]

Sardun shrugged. Had seemed like a reasonable question, but apparently Cater wasn't in the mood for 'em. He looked over as first Cater and his assistant left the room, followed shortly by the paranoid soldier, the dog warrior and the left only one Stali and one Sardun sitting at the table. Shoulda known that it would end like that. Sardun wasn't in a hurry and the familiarity radiating from Peradun made him realize that some things never changed.

One of 'em was Stali's ability to disconcern things through the smallest details.

"How ya been, Peradun?" his eye never left the glass. It kept on studying it as he brought it to his lips, took a taste and put it down on the table again.

He wasn't a fan of making a big deal outta things. They hadn't seen each other in a few years. His former Padawan probably thought him dead.

It was all in the past.

[member="Ayden Cater"] | [member="Soon'tyr Wootton"] | [member="Meeristali Peradun"] | [member="Elanor Wraith"] | [member="Razelle Breuner"]

 

[Meeristali Peradun]

He finished off the bottle, standing it like a forgotten soldier on the tabletop when he was done, the shuffle of others leaving drawing no discernible measure of his notice; nearly all of them escaped the edges of his awareness in short order, and those that didn't... well, it was none of his business. Settling back into the seat, his gaze went sidelong to the only man who had tried to any degree of remote success to be a stable guide for his path, then returned to looking at nothing more than the wall behind where Cater had been sitting.

"Busy, Sardun," he rumbled, arms folding across his broad chest, "You know how it is."

No 'so... vong, really?', or anything else; even the differences in him now were no matter, without the details, the why, the motivations. The past was the past, his ability to affect it being nil. No bitterness, not a sliver of hurt geared towards him for vanishing. He'd wondered, heard what he heard, but that he found his own way was how it had always been. The one thing most valuable thing the other man at the table had shown him was that he didn't have to discard one mote of what he was before he'd become Jedi, and without that one thing... he didn't want to consider how different his own life, let alone the scope of the galaxy, would be.

"You look old."

[member="Soon'tyr Wootton"] | [member="Michael Sardun"] | [member="Razelle Breuner"] | [member="Elanor Wraith"] | [member="Ayden Cater"]​

 

[Hira Mitsae]

A snort followed.

"And ya look like a model. Nobody's perfect, lad." but the expression softened just a bit. If only a touch. Even with just the two of them on at this table it didn't change the fact that they were in the heart of Nar Shaddaa. Some might be able to travel the depths of it without much worry or concern, but Sardun wasn't part of them. Seedy places he might have visited, but his youth hadn't been spent here and that's what ya need to be relaxed here.

An upbringing amidst the filth, villainy and scum.

He stood up after a moment or two, gesturing for Peradun to follow him. Ain't no time to wax around all poetically about the past with drinks. That would have to be done on the ship or preferably after the mission.

[member="Ayden Cater"] | [member="Soon'tyr Wootton"] | [member="Meeristali Peradun"] | [member="Elanor Wraith"] | [member="Razelle Breuner"]

 

[Meeristali Peradun]

Nobody called him lad. Not anymore.

Couldn't dally too long; chuffing at the 'model' comment, he rose from the seat, and it groaned in relief at being unburdened of his solid mass. He wasn't following the darkened master out of obedience to a gesture - no. No, that was a suggestion, that beckoning, one there was no point in not taking. They were both here for the same thing, and both keen to leave for the same reason - Nar Shaddaa itself - and for different reasons entirely. The myriad offense of scents was barely within tolerance, almost bad enough to make him want the clean structures that were Sullust's underground apartments again, but that side of the coin where the environment was so sterile could be nearly as offensive.

Nothing more would be said for now, between them, about them. When the pair passed by a deep, dead-end alley, Peradun slipped off into it, and the next thing known was he was on the roof of one of the buildings, slinging a bulky duffel over his shoulder, and exiting the roof in a drop that made the vicinity shake when he impacted the ground; he fell into step alongside Sardun again, and they made way to the Starfall.

"Armour," he said by way of explanation, as they turned a corner, "and such, if you must know."

How it remained untouched was the part he left unmentioned. He adjusted his carry of the duffel, then shot the white-haired, glow-eyed former master of his a scrutinizing look, then looked back to the way ahead.

"Good to see you again, Sardun."

Barring all else, it was the truth. The rest of the trek from the bar to the ship was mostly silent only in terms of the silence between them - Nar Shaddaa never slept, and if he had to stay here, he probably wouldn't sleep either. When they got to the ship, his eyebrows rose. It was one of the damn sleekest things he'd seen in a long time. He glanced at Sardun, then shrugged and boarded with the guy. He didn't know what to expect, save that this gig wouldn't be boring.

[member="Soon'tyr Wootton"] | [member="Michael Sardun"] | [member="Razelle Breuner"] | [member="Elanor Wraith"] | [member="Ayden Cater"]​

 

[Soon'tyr Wootton]

Oh, great. Hired on, then told to be someplace in thirty minutes... Okay, this looks doable. Not hugely happy with the roundabout poodoo this job has, but at least I can swing by my room and grab my things.

I don't bother saying anything as I leave. The spacer who's hiring us doesn't expect it or care, he left immediately with his assistant who looks like she'd be good at ear scratching... Okay, definitely putting that train of thought down to whatever someone was smoking on the way in.

The rest don't care if I say anything, they either left or did their own thing. Plus, there's the whole issue of being in a bar full of smells I would really, really rather not be around. Two and two equals not sticking around.

Getting back to my room was easy, it wasn't far. Not even five or ten minutes of a walk, less than that if I ran it. I don't have much, really. A few sets of clothes, some toiletries, maintenance supplies for my armor and weapons, and one or two luxuries. Admittedly, I did happen to compress and steal one of the pillows from the bed and looted the bathroom of soap, shampoo, and conditioner, but who doesn't?

Getting to the ship was easy enough. I could smell the spacer and his assistant easy enough, though oddly enough I couldn't pick up the scent of a cigar or anything of the like. Maybe he smokes rarely? Was it for show? Probably for show, I figure. Someone like that doesn't need something like tabac to calm his nerves and I've noticed humans tend to posture quite a bit, so showing the wealth and business orientation of a cigar makes some sense.

I spot the assistant easily enough, she's standing politely and patiently by the boarding ramp. I ignore the urge to tell her how much of an easy target she is and move on up the ramp. I smell the one not-quite-human female is already here well before I spot her watching the ramp. I don't bother acknowledging she's there or trying to say hi. She knows I'm here, I know she's there, and we both know we knew the other was there before visually seeing each other. Waving or greeting would just... not make sense. I think it's a non-human or not-quite-human trait in common. Maybe. Or maybe I'm just me and she's just odd. Could be a lot of things. Either way, she's all edge and blaster barrels and I'm all... fur... Which reminds me, why don't humans have fur? They look so... cold without it. I mean, yeah they have that fur on their heads and some males have it on their face... but it doesn't look warm... Odd.

The other two, the Felacatian and the other human male were there already. It's kind of funny, really. I had the shortest distance to go, yet I'm the last one to show up. Either way, I drop my rucksack in the appropriate spot and take a seat. The smells are interesting enough to distract me while I wait, so that's something. Smelling something like... Oil. Grease. Iron and steel, obviously. It is a ship, after all. Ozone, though that could be Ms. Not-Quite-Human in the corner. If edge had a smell, she was it, honestly. I give another curious sniff and can't help but feel my ears prick up slightly. I smell food. Smells like... cheese... pasta?... No, not cheese, more tart and tangy... Definitely pasta, though... No, wait... still smelling cheese, but the pasta and tangy smells are stronger, which usually means more plentiful or not sealed... And... meat... Tangy, pasta, meat, cheese... Spaghetti?

Oh, I hope they feed us...

[member="Meeristali Peradun"] [member="Michael Sardun"] [member="Razelle Breuner"] [member="Elanor Wraith"] [member="Ayden Cater"]