Star Wars Intervention: Echoes in Eternity (An Original Trilogy Game; Always taking new players!!!)

IC: Havah Jeth
Aboard the Johhny Boy, Hallways

His helmet saw the Nagai and tagged him to a cross corridor before he did. Disturbing, and another sour note to his crumbling day.

Still he progressed as though the Nagai was not there, perhaps he wanted another training session. Sometimes those were highlights from his day that lasted nearly as long as the bruises.

Yet the Nagai merely decided to quip on his foot gear. "No, merely enjoying the best view on the ship." Slowing down a little he worked his mouth as though the saliva could wash away the strong flavor of wookiee wine upon his breath. "Enjoying the quieter ship?" he casually replied. He knew the fellow combatant didn't like it when the ship was cramped. Neither did he, it became all to easy to miss something deadly in the press and confrontations became blood baths with non-coms.

TAG: greyjedi125

 

IC: Winterkill
Aboard the Johnny Boy, Hallway

“Quieter?” Winterkill retorted with half a scoff.

“I can’t find a proper place for a decent work out.”

The nagai looked back towards the rec room and thought about mentioning that it must be ‘mating season’ on board once again, but decided against it. Once again, his inherent respect for mandalorians tempered his general opinion. His issue was not with Atin or the female pilot after all.

The trio walked in silence for a few paces before the dark haired flight lieutenant spoke again.

“Craci Prime. It could have gone a lot better.”

Dark eyes glanced over at the arkanian. If Winterkill wanted to say more, it wasn’t apparent. Perhaps he needed to gauge Havah Jeth’s mindset first. More to the point, Winterkill did not comment on the smell of wookie wine. Havah Jeth was walking in a straight line, so that was enough evidence that the arkanian was at least ‘sober enough’ to interact. The option to ask him for a training session however, was off the table.

A pity.

He still needed to blow some steam off. Perhaps the flight simulator could help, if just a little.


Tag: @Mitth_Fisto

 

IC: General Perez, Paragon
Location: Rhen Var


"General, now that this nasty business has been concluded, what say that you and I figure out how to get these supplies where they're needed? Also, I'd like to speak with Taller so I can deliver Pierce's message."

Perez nodded, "We can deliver the supplies. Finding Taller may be a different story all together. Last I heard, there was some ole' crazy mercenary in a hover chair collecting on bounties. If that be the case, it may take a bit. Last I heard, he's up by that Craci Prime mess near the Corporate Sector and I know anyone with any illegal ties are going to stay away from Craci Prime as much as possible, with a while Imperial fleet there and all. But supplies," Perez pointed to his left down the snowy mountain range, "Take her easy. The cross-winds can be a Sith down here. Not to mention the avalanches."


**********************

Outpost Nowhere, hidden mercenary base of operations on a snowy and icy mountain region of the planet of Rhen Var


It was said you never showed anyone your full deck. But sometimes it was useful in showing a good majority of your cards and leaving the poor buggers wondering terrified what the heck else you had in your deck.

So Perez took the good ole' line of "Here is my Boom Stick!" [1] approach to ward off any fancies of hostile take-over.

The Paragon dropped through the mountains and slowed, with front lights on, through a large cave entrance;soon, the for-profit former doctor was landing his ship in the Repair Bay intended for the Johnny Boy, several organics and droids alike running around preparing for the ship's arrival as several armed sentries roamed around the repair bay. The repair bay itself was massive, one of the largest features of the hidden underground base; 500 meters high, 700 meters wide, and 350 meters long.

The Major had arrived earlier it seemed and was marching their way with several troopers and base technicians with hover sleds.

"Over there," Perez said, pointing to a base technician waving two orange glow rods.


TAG Wildwookiee

 

GAME MASTER EDIT: I am editing myself. Don't do fun before college. Do college before fun. Wow, say that ten times! Anyways, I'm editing my above post because it sucks...and Sith said something so...edits here we come!

 

IC: Terrel Vacks
Port Town, Cloud City





Terrel shook his head and looked around, specs of flaming debris littering the ground, bodies flown around, droids shattered or otherwise broken in various ways, and the yells for help----the Average Joe smuggler helping a fellow in need to "heroes" trying to enter the burning store front in vain to rescue anyone---and the screams of pain. One Twi'lek nearby was holding a stump of a blown of left leg, clenching his teeth in pain, while another man lay closer to the store front then Vacks, his hands over a exposed torso of blood and insides. Then there was the snapped body in half over there, the headless body over there, the wounded in the face Wookiee over there, and the man over there who was being padded down with jackets to put out the fire all over his body. There was an astromech droid rolling around in a constant circle, repeating the same moaning statement, with half of it's dome missing.

Maybe Vacks should feel lucky, he figured, as he picked himself up, dusting off the glass and little bits of fiery debris mixed with store front debris from the explosion. Someone asked him if he was alright and he waved the concerned citizen away, feeling his had where he felt some warm blood rolling down the side of his head. Just a scratch luckily. His hands were cut up a bit by the flying glass. Vacks' training snapped into place and he started scanning the gathering crowd. But his focus was elsewhere, behind the crowd and up on the second level walkway behind them where more people were gathering. Often times, the bombers wanted to watch their work.

Sick people.

Vacks scanned the crowds and---there! A Farghul, dressed in highly priced clothing, was moving his way back from the crowd, a slight smile of pleasure on his face.

Terrel made his move, slipping out into the gathering crowd, but making a mental note where the Farghul was heading. From a distance, Terrel followed the alien as he decended from the second level down to the main level and made his way towards more "civilized" parts of Cloud City.

Well, well, Vacks would need to stop him before he got there. It was questioning time...and beating time.

Old and a drunkard or not, Vacks still had his soldier's pride and his experience and honor as a Merc. This was an odd move for anybody, taking out a criminal infested, low-end hole in the wall eating establishment. It simply didn't make sense.

Which also made it the perfect target.

So Terrel followed, keeping an eye on the alien and closing the distance quickly and quietly...


No Tag (unless for Tim Battershell ???)
OOG: First post can be found here: Jun 8, 2014 at 4:00 PM

 

IC: Atin Taab
Rec Room/Gym, Johnny Boy. Hyperspace en route to Rhen Var

Atin started running steadily alongside Masha on his own treadmill. His heavy boots pounding hard on the moving surface as he listened to her tell her story, such as it was. "Your old man could probably tell you better than I could. I don't see why he didn't."

Atin quickly regulated his breathing as he had been taught to by his father, but he did manage to let out a brief "Yeah well, in case you hadn't noticed, buir (father) isn't the most talkative sort." He inhaled. "Even with me." She continued on.

"After I woke up that Rodian was taunting me for what felt like forever..." Atin increased the speed on his treadmill, his armor plates began clanking slightly as he did so now. Still he managed to listen to the rest of what she was saying without much effort. It actually seemed all rather dull and straightforward. Not much had happened, which may have been why his father had sent him off when he asked about it. He didn't want to bother repeating a boring story.

"That doesn't sound too bad. You got to take a nap and also got to slot some bad guys." He checked the readout on the treadmill, he was going to need a few more minutes of this to get his heart rate up where he wanted it. "We were go, go, go the entire time we were planetside. Whiteshells, ESPOs, Rebels. You name it, we ran into it." He looked askance at her now. "It was a lot of fun."

TAG: Heavy Isotope

---

IC: Beskaryc Taab
Nearing the bridge, Johnny Boy. Hyperspace en route to Rhen Var

Upon receiving orders from Al'Kesh, the rest of the security team had assembled in the armory and been given their equipment and assignments by Taab. The Johnny Boy wasn't a big ship, but it had enough little nooks and crannies aboard that a well educated spy could plant something relatively easily, and without notice. So they would be splitting up, mostly into two man teams though Taab would perform his part of the sweep alone. Two being teams were important, truth be told he didn't trust most of these folks farther than an ewok could throw them. If he did then there wouldn't be a need for this sweep. But he trusted himself and so he would conduct his scanning on his own.

Making his way forward to the bridge Taab hefted the scanner in his right hand. The one he was using had been refurbished by him just a few weeks ago. Other scanners were recently purchased (well in the past few years anyway) while still others had been complete rebuilds. Still they had all passed diagnostic testing and would aid the security crew in looking for listening devices, S-Thread trackers and the like.

“Security Chief Taab from Yav. Want any help on your security sweep?”

The words whispered softly in Taab's buy'ce (helmet). Standing orders were that crew not wear masks or buckets while aboard ship, and for the most part Taab abided by that. But when he was performing his duties he wore it religiously. It was a comfort and aid to him, and he was used to it in ways that he knew Atin never would be. Besides, it showed the general crew that he meant business. As for the Elf and his request...

"Yav, Taab" he responded curtly. "I don't give two shabs what you do." He paused for a moment as he thought quickly. The Commander really would be a benefit to the sweep, as XO and a long time member of the Mercs he knew the ship inside and out. Better than some of his security staff for sure, and possibly even better than Taab himself. Plus he had that odd ability to do what most would say was impossible. That always came in handy.

Taab knew that lesser men, aruetiise (foreigners) mostly, might be insulted by the offer of help from the XO, but Taab wasn't a lesser man. Hell those people would have probably "led" the sweep from the
armory and not gotten their own hands dirty. But that wasn't Taab either. The job could get done faster and better with Yav's help then it could without it. Still, there was no reason to come out and say that.

"I'm nearing the bridge to start my scans there. Join me if you want, your call. Taab out."

TAG: Sith-I-5

 

IC: Terrel Vacks
Port Town, Cloud City


Terrel was a man of focus---perhaps too much focus as he did not see a man now following him! But see or not, Terrel was a man on a mission: a man with the killer's eye. Just a few hundred feet before a double blast door separated Port Town. The blast doors were guarded by two Bespin Wing Guard and a protocol droid asking for identification, as the blast doors were left only partly open as to streamline the traffic into one line that the two guards could monitor effectively considering the recent blast. Once the alien reached the line of people, Terrel knew it would be all over! It was clear, whoever this alien was, he was a low-end thug, probably just some low-life scum looking for a few extra credits. His observation skills were lacking as Terrel sped up, used the crowd to his advantage as cover from the guards ahead, and sneaked up behind the Farghul and, with his walking stick, WACK! Taking the alien's feet out from under him, Terrel leveled into the man's left and drove him towards his right, into a side corridor and right past a passing cleaning droid. While some drew attention to the activity, it must of been normal around these parts and most went on.

Terrel propelled the sprawling alien to a wall, where Terrel used his superior strength and size to pick the alien up and shove him against the wall in the side corridor while, outside the main corridor, fire fighters and emergency medical personnel rushed past to the recent explosion.

"Who are you!?" Terrel breathed into the alien's face as he shoved him up against the wall a second time harder, "WHO!?"

The alien smiled and said, "Tsuiho!" and then bit down on a cyanide pill.

"No!" Terrel said, shaking the man, "No!"

The man smiled as foam started coming from his mouth, "Fire shall consume the galaxy! And be made a-new!"

Terrel held the man up against the wall as his body went limp, his life ending.

Suddenly a Bespin Wing Guard exited a refresher in the side corridor and looked at Terrel holding the dead man against the wall, "Hey! You!"

"Oh Sith!" Terrel said, dropping the man to the floor and running back towards the main corridor.

"Control! Control!" Terrel heard the Wing Guard saying into a comlink, "We have a murder in progress in Port Town, west side maintenance corridor! Pursuing dark skinned human male with backpack and walking stick back into main corridor!"


TAG Tim Battershell

 

IC: Aidan Dodd - Port Town, Bespin

Exfiltration had gone as planned. The unmarked 'Spec-Ops' ship had gone out on autopilot to just beyond the point where almost all traffic began their 'throttle-up' manoeuvre for the jump to Lightspeed, had started to squawk an automated emergency distress call, then had blown in spectacular fashion. Local, well connected, newsies had put out the information (quoted direct from the Planetary Authorities) that there were only small fragments left of her, fragments not large enough to constitute any hazard to navigation. Asked about the cause of the 'accident' those same Planetary Authorities said that improper maintenance or substandard replacement parts were both possible although "It is unlikely that we'll ever know for sure.". Suited me nicely!

A few days later, Blood Moon likewise left her berth and followed the same course - but without blowing up!

I set course for Bespin for a number of reasons, the most attractive being the fact that I'd never 'worked' there, or even been there before. It's also a known Shadow Port, alongside its other attractions of Gambling - including very high-stakes Sabacc - and Tibanna Gas mining. All of which make for a reasonably sized itinerant population; perfect for getting lost in.

My first jobs after landing were shopping for locally styled clothes, a pair of slightly tinted frame-lenses and some theatrical make-up; then a haircut in one of the most popular styles for humans. Both clothing store (an auto-tailor) and tonsorial parlour were very efficient and got a 'just-right' gratuity for their efforts. Fortunately Spec-Ops doesn't favour the 'bald' or 'stubble-cut' look for Operatives and (intending to 'Run' if the opportunity arose) I'd let my hair grow out during the course of my last assignment.

All this is 'bandit territory' SOP for Spec-Ops troops and since I've now 'Run', every place bar my ship has become 'bandit territory' as far as I'm concerned.

When I got back, I found that 'Passepartout' had 'flirted' his way into the Administrative Systems (he's a real smooth talker when he wants to be) and sliced me a legit local ID as one 'Aden Dobb', a 'go-fer' level bureaucrat in the Accounts/Audit Department. That's vague enough to explain my presence anywhere in Cloud City (except in the real high-ups' areas) but carries enough inferred clout to make low-level officials nervous about antagonising the holder. There are very few Sentients that can laugh off the implied threat of a full-depth Audit Investigation; the sort that finds any 'fiddle', however minor! The name is close enough to my own for me to respond to it and 'Passepartout' is always very careful to be a bit creative with the Birth-bytes.

I change into my purchases; a one piece business coverall and thigh length overjacket in a matching not-overly-noticeable colour (both of respectable cut, but with the overjacket cut slightly fuller; the better to conceal my small 'Verp' in a slimline cross-draw holster and my DC-17 Pistol as my more visible weapon) and the tinted frame-lenses. I also use the theatrical make-up to add a small streak of white into my hair (reminiscent of holos I've seen of Armand Isard). One might wonder why I am adding such a remarkable feature to an attempt at an otherwise nondescript appearance. The reason is that an observer would tend to concentrate on that when giving any description, whereas it can be instantly removed at need by one swipe of the solvent pad I've stowed in an inside pocket.

One of the disadvantages of Stormtrooper training is posture; the residual tendency to march rather than walk and stand ramrod-straight rather than stand casually or slouch. It took me a long time to get that Stormtrooper conditioning out of my system, so that I could move and stand as I used to without having to concentrate on doing it. However, I'm past that stage now, so I look just like anyone else when I go up to the Admin Levels to collect the plasticard version of my 'burner' ID.

It's when I'm on my way back that I hear the explosion, then see an alien heading in my direction. He's of a species I've never seen before, so I can't read the expression on his face - it could even be the natural, neutral facial appearance of that species. What catches my eye, though, is the human who seems to be trailing him. This being looks like he was caught in the blast, and very down-on-his-luck before that.... but it's the eyes that are the dead give-away. I've seen them before, got them myself, in fact (hence the tinted frame-lenses). They're the eyes of a trained killer!

Almost automatically I fall into backup, travelling overwatch, position and join the procession, moving as inconspicuously as possible. At the very least, the human might be persuaded to be hired as my local contact for a few credits. And if he is, in fact, trailing the living cause of that explosion he might need backup, sooner or later!

---

I've had plans go belly-up on me before, but this takes the prize!

The human I've been following executed a great take-down with a walking stick, yet and hustled the alien into a side corridor, obviously 'for a little talk'. Trouble is, when I get to the corner the alien's dead - by poison, from the signs - and a rent-a-badge exits a 'fresher at the most inconvenient moment possible, compounding his error by jumping to the wrong conclusion! That's a sense of timing and mode of thinking that would have earned him a round in the head, back before I 'reformed'.... still might!

I just have time to say "Blood Moon, Docking Slot 9374, Be there!" as the human comes up to me. Not wanting to break my cover - not yet, anyway - I get out of his way (just like a regular citizen that's stumbled on this sort of event) and prepare to intercept the rent-a-badge who's now panicking breathlessly into a comlink. With this one, I step deliberately into his path and say, pointing at the corpse, "That thing, whatever it is, is your bomber, laddie, poisoned itself rather than face capture. Saw the whole thing go down; followed it here from the blast site."


TAG: Intervention

 

IC: Mary Formal, Rachael Williams, Tayci Vao (npcs), Crew Cabin, the Johnny Boy corvette
Location: hyperspace towards Rhen Var


Mary Formal had decided to introduce some of her crewmates to some cultural ideas from Cifre - picnics, sleepovers, the like.

Crew quarters like hers had two bunks on opposite walls, and a fifth by the only viewport.

Furniture had been pushed aside so that a blanket square could be laid down in the middle of the deck, and was occupied by Mary clad only in a tan-frilled, violet silk teddy that she had picked up on Craci Prime; sitting opposite Taycie Vao, a green-skinned Twi'lek femme in a fetching white sleeveless outfit, cinched under her chest with a thin gold rope, that looked suspiciously like it was made from a bedsheet, while between the two, lay a pile of snacks and sweets that looked like it had come out of a vending machine.

Mary had explained that the collection had in fact been destined for an empty vending machine at a Craci Two medical facility, but she had intercepted the being who had come along to refill it, buying the contents of his trolley with some of the creds she had left over from shopping.

"Nice toga." Formal nodded, indicating the Twi'lek's outfit.

"Is that what its called?" Tayce exclaimed, turning to point excitedly at the third woman, a pony-tailed Rachael Williams, kneeling on the lowest of the two bunks behind her, in an over-sized white Umgul Classics Blob Race crew t-shirt covered in coloured shapes. "She saved my life! There I was in the hangar bay with my clothes missing, and all I could think was to comm Rache' from one of the side repair shops, and she came running with a bedsheet. Managed to smuggle it in past Ler, no questions asked. I couldn't think of any other women aboard that I could call, what with you, Masha and Wa Yay off the ship."

"What about that Ellie?"

Tayci sniffed. "Crewman Hart? She wants to be one of the guys so much, I'm hardly going to call that one to come see me naked. She'd probably take a still and pin it up in the canteen."

Mary fished into the pile of goodies, picked out an oblong item in a yellow flimsi wrapper, and tossed it over to Rachael.

"Thanks." The young engineer tore at the wrapper, "You shouldn't be hoarding this stuff, you know. The Cap'n thinks we haven't got any food."

"Even though I bought it with my own money?"

"She's got this whole, 'the Mercs are a family' thing going on," Tayc explained.

"Whatever we don't eat here and now, we can donate to the canteen. Or," Formal smiled mischieviously, "pass to the guys that we like."

"Well, Rachael has something going with that Kalka'tech. One of the Wooks."

The Arcateenian glanced sharply up at Rachael, who blushed slightly. "No way!"

"Yes way. We call them, the 'W Unit'."

Rachael explained, "Well, all we're really doing is reprising the Battle of Yavin. He gets to tell me, I'm heading for the target shaft now in Shryiiwook, and we take it from there."

"Must be embarrassing having to say, negative, negative, it didn't go in."

The trio cackled like witches, then Rachael regained her composure and shrugged, "Well, he has a lot of hair to see past. It's not easy. Hey!" She rolled up the wrapper, flicking it back across the cabin in mock revenge. "I'm a lot less than two metres across, I'll have you know!"

"And she's not ray-shielded." The Twi'lek put in. She looked pointedly at Mary. "And what about you?"

Formal raised a puzzled eyebrow. "Me? I'm not ray-shielded either."

"I mean, are there any crewmembers that have caught your eye? I know that the red security guy with the horns-"

"Zhoul Al'kesh." Rachael interjected around her choclime twist.

Mary could smell it's tangy sweetness from across the cabin. She made a mental note to avoid those packs.

"-yeah, him." Tayci picked a scarlet-packed item for herself from the pile, "I know he doesn't know what to make of you, Mary."

"Yeah." She allowed herself another smile. "Every time I see him in a corridor, I point down past him, and tell him, 'Jaffar. Cree!'"

The two other Mercs stared. "Why?"

"Dunno. It's not like I watched Starga-" She smacked the heel of her right hand into her own forehead, "Doh! Now I do. His last name. It sounds like something in a television show I used to watch. Private joke." She peered at Vao. "What about you, then? Who have you got an eye on?"

"Me? What makes you think I have anyone on the crew?"

"Oh come on." Mary sneered. "In the hangar bay with no clothes on?"

"I have no idea how I fell asleep or lost consciousness down there. Was probably the chill that woke me up." Tayci's expression turned sour. "Who would do that? Knock me out AND steal my clothing. It's sort of creepy." She visibly shuddered.

"Did you report it to the security chief?" Mary rolled her eyes, "No wait. He couldn't give two shabs, am I right? Whatever shabs are."

The Williams' offspring, silent for last few moments, chimed in with a suggestion. "You know, we should totally investigate this."

"What, the three of us? We could be like 'Charlie's Angels'."

The Twi'lek's already sour expression changed to look like she had found a worm in her sweet. "You mean Watertin?" She referred to the straggly-haired, smelly deck hand, Charlie Watertin, who sometimes helped out with security. "I don't mind the Angels bit, but why do we have to be his?"

"Hey!" Formal put up a finger to get their attentions. "He helped get a lot of us off Craci Prime. I won't hear a thing against the man...though you do have a point. Does he wash?"

knock knock

The sound came from the sealed door to the corridor, attracting everyone's gaze.

Mary was the only one of the three for whom this was her cabin. "Who is it?" She called, sweetly.

"Security, Ma'am. We're doing a sweep through the ship." Called the voice through the door.

"Another one?"

"Captain's Orders, Ma'am. Can we enter? We need to do a scan of the room."

"Just a minute!" She sing-songed back to the person, pushing herself up off the blanket. "Is Chief Taab involved in the sweep, too?"

"Yes, Ma'am. He's probably somewhere near the bridge by now."

"Okay, give us a minute to get dressed." Neither of the two others budged from their positions, apparently content to be seen as they were, but that wasn't really the reason that the Arcateenian rookie pilot was buying time. She looked conspiratorially at Tayci and Rachael, lowering her voice to barely a whisper. "If Taab is elsewhere, we can get into the Security Office, get a look at the internal holocam recordings." She looked at Vao. "I assume you remember the time code for when you woke up in the hangar?"

"Of course."

"We're coming in, ready or not!"

There was the sound of metallic scratching from the door, and Mary just managed to drop into a cross-legged position on the blanket as the two security people charged in, blasters drawn.

Tag: Bardan_Jusik (in case you want to npc yopur Security pair. If you don't, that's fine too)

OOC: Many Thanks to Tracey Nguyen's vid for 2 Minutes Greek Goddess Costume, basically a toga from a bedsheet.

 

IC: Havah Jeth
Johhny Boy, Corridors

Blinking twice a ghostly side image from his helm was displayed of the Nagai. Winterkill had his own words to say, and from them he could tell much of his comrad. A part of him nearly wanted to say brother, and there was more truth to that then he dared to ponder too long. But if there was ever a fine thread that kept him here after the Captain left, it was no longer the money, that much now went without saying. And so he said nothing.

Then, it came up. Craci Prime. After action reports were always a down side to a mission, but after his time with a government operation the write ups took little to no time. Especially if you knew how to type through a fast forwarded recording of the operation while erasing it. Still it disturbed him a little, as it chipped away at the start of his day from a source he thought would be building it back up.

"Could of gone a little worse." he replied with a quirked eyebrow, but there was no pull at his lips.

Maybe he could instigate a duel at his quarters? They were nearly there anyway, and he doubted the conversation would drag on long.

TAG: greyjedi125

 

IC: Terrel Vacks
Port Town, Cloud City

Terrel blended in with the crowd just as quickly as he had came from it for the attack. Without the need to change clothes, Vacks used his years of stealth training and covert combat training to snake his way through the crowd, even as a dozen Wing Guards burst through the blast door connecting Port Haven to the rest of the city on the West side. The Wing Guard, some wearing riot gear, others hastily collected en-route from patrols, started fishing through the crowd of people, looking for Vacks.

It was too late, the former mercenary commando was already gone, disappeared down a turbolift shaft.

It seemed that the galaxy needed him again. He, once again, had a purpose.

He was a Merc. It was something you were born to do. It was something you died doing.

It was...you.

In the darkest depths of Cloud City, the drunk beggar was transforming into something...else.

---

IC: Refresher Sight-Seeing Wing Guard
Port Town, Cloud City


"That thing, whatever it is, is your bomber, laddie, poisoned itself rather than face capture. Saw the whole thing go down; followed it here from the blast site."

"Yea?" the Wing Guard said, a Stun Baton snapping to life from his belt, "That's not what I saw. Now put your hands above your head where I can see them!" the Wing Guard suddenly acknowledged two more Wing Guards come up behind the stranger, stun batons of their own snapping to life, "Your under arrest for aiding the escape of a murder suspect linked to a possible terrorist bombing of Cloud City. Last I checked, that's hard time in Kessel."


TAG Tim Battershell

 

IC: Aidan Dodd - Maintenance Corridor, Port Town, Bespin

"Yea?.... That's not what I saw. Now put your hands above your head where I can see them!.... Your under arrest for aiding the escape of a murder suspect linked to a possible terrorist bombing of Cloud City. Last I checked, that's hard time in Kessel."

"Imperial Special Operative's word beats a Local LEO's, laddie, and when I need to prove it I can! Plus interfering with an ISO is treason against the Empire; last I checked, that was a mandatory death sentence! One of you others get your Imperial Liason Officer down here, stat; then we'll see who gets arrested here today!"

I don't really want to declare my status like this; but there's very little harm in doing so - I've given no overt sign that I've deserted and can simply claim that I noticed that my 'issue' ship had probably been tampered with. At any rate, there's too much manpower around this general area for me to take on in a running battle. I'm good (better than these clowns), but not superhuman, after all.


TAG: Intervention

 

IC: Terrel Vacks
Turbolift shaft side mainatnce room, Port Town, Cloud City


MUSIC: Rambo II

Vacks was down to his basic under garments and his expanded backpack was sprawled open, revealing the contents of armor and weapons. It was basic Storm Commando Armor with several additions; first, both forearms had added black Mandalorian iron gauntlets, another addition included the Merc Symbol over the left breast armor, while another were two LL-30 Blaster Pistols in quick-draw outer thigh holsters. A holster attached upside down to his right upper breast plate carried a Combat Knife (the knife's handle was facing downwards for a easy withdraw) while around his right lower leg / ankle, he had a small holster carrying a Scout Trooper Blaster Pistol. Aside from the standard Storm Commando Armor supplies, any additional pouches carried a modified datapad that could link into civilian computer networks (a Slicer Chip was included in the datapad), two Fragmentation Grenades and a Stun Grenade, a Multitool (and Survival Knife and Survival Tool), and finally extra spare blaster packs. Finally, across his back, was his prized Phrik-made Katana sword.

He started putting on the equipment...


***********************

OOG: Tim, I am assuming that Cloud City has no Imperial connections (at this time in it's history), considering Lando's comments in ESB and what the Cloud City link has to offer. I may be wrong, but its the best I could find. Let me know if you find something different and I can alter my post accordingly.



IC: Refresher Sight-Seeing Wing Guard
Port Town, Cloud City


"Imperial Special Operative's word beats a Local LEO's, laddie, and when I need to prove it I can! Plus interfering with an ISO is treason against the Empire; last I checked, that was a mandatory death sentence! One of you others get your Imperial Liason Officer down here, stat; then we'll see who gets arrested here today!"

The main guard started laughing, "Boy, we haven't had any Imperials here for ages! So," the guard's face grew stern, "Hands up. Now. We can deal with Imperial entanglements later, can't we boys?" the guard nodded to the other two guards who smirked with confidence, closing in on the "Special Operative" from behind.


TAG Tim Battershell

 

OOG: Sorry for the late reply!


IC: Chief Medical Officer Russel Cook (Doctor)
Medical Bay, Johnny Boy


Cook nodded in agreement with the Ulrike, "Good indeed. Ulrike, I will release any further observations of Kannari. I am going to turn in for the night---err, morning. Problem with not sleeping. Jedi," Cook said, "Thank you for your efforts."

As Cook went to his office, preparing things for a few hours of sleep out of the office (for once), he made a mental note to connect with their former nurse, Natalie Cunnings. Ulrike was good, but just like with Cook, you could only pull so many 12 hour shifts 7 days a week before it caught up with you. And it would be nice, once in a while, to actually work with Ulrike on the same shift, so they could share medical notes in person on patients, instead of leaving sticky notes behind for each other.

With a nod to Jedi, Nurse, and Patient, Cook hurried off out of the medical bay before some galaxy-ending virus dragged him back into the medical bay.


TAG Sith-I-5, greyjedi125, Jedi_padawan_leigh

 

IC: Priest, Paragon
Location: Rhen Var


"Over there," Perez said, pointing to a base technician waving two orange glow rods.

Priest set the ship down as requested and this time he cut the engines. The ship began to hiss and pop as the built up heat began to dissipate into the atmosphere. Gesturing back to the Cargo area, Priest followed the General who was barking orders into his comm unit. Coffee remained in the cockpit, shutting down additional systems and beginning the post flight diagnostics, and to keep an eye on the ship. Not that he was getting a mistrusting feeling from the General, but there was still some residual distrust of anyone who had a military title. It was far too obvious that the organization that the Imperial Navy had and touted as being its strength was also a tool to absolve the people from the evils that they were committing. While the General was supervising the scanning and loading teams, Priest entered his cabin. While the room was small, the organization made it livable. The walls were rather sparse, no pictures of any family or friends...as most of them were dead now, and it was far too soon to be reminded of that travesty. Coffee would be watching the activity in the cargo hold, and would alert Priest via his aural and visual implants of any untoward activity, so Priest decided to take a few minutes to himself.

He removed his clothes and put them in the sanitizer, and hopped in the shower to wash the grime of the past few hours off his body. Strangely enough it had no effect on the grime of his conscience. He finished and went to his closet where he donned a thermal body glove, work pants and a shirt. He closed the closet and then keyed the pad next to him. The wall slid open revealing a larger room behind. The walls were lined with assorted small arms and armor sets. There were also assorted tools diagnostic equipment and ordinance, as well as a network closed computing system and an encrypted communications suite. The Galaxy was dangerous, and the Escort Shuttle had been designed to be both transport and fast fighter, and was outfitted to support a small 6 man unit. When Priest stole it, he had no idea of the value of the prototype until Coffee had the chance to break into her systems and subsystems. While three of the suits were standard Storm Trooper armor, there were several stealth, jungle, and cold weather models. Priest moved to the snow trooper armor, which he had covered with a light absorbing lacquer dulling the sharp Storm trooper white to a dull gray blue and donned it. With a barely audible his the seals engaged and the suits environmental systems engaged. He grabbed his pistol which he placed in his holster on his left thigh, and also a small holdout blaster which he tucked in a small recess in the small of his back, which he covered with his gunnmans' duster. Lastly he grabbed his rifle, which he slung over his shoulder. This 'Should' be a safe place, but his mother always told him that preparation could make all the difference.

Priest cleaned and closed up the armory. Placing his hat back on his head, he left the cabin. He walked back to the General, lit a cigarillo, and asked, "What now?"



TAG Bravo


OOC: Priest's rifle is a single shot carbine, much like the Remington Model 94 seen here:

 

IC: Aidan Dodd - Maintenance Corridor, Port Town, Bespin

"Boy, we haven't had any Imperials here for ages! So.... Hands up. Now. We can deal with Imperial entanglements later, can't we boys?

That does it for me! I've identified myself properly, probably gone slightly beyond where I should have in an effort to avoid a confrontation, but these self-important, power-drunk, vac-brains aren't listening.

I start to raise my hands, as the leader ordered, but then explode into action, relying on shock to dull their reactions. I move towards the one to my front, twist to avoid the possibility of a jab from the baton, block his right arm with mine, then change to grasping his forearm with my right hand. I pull on the forearm, assist it with a left-hand grab and pull on the back of his belt and twist to propel him towards the floor in front of his buddies.

My intention is to use this additional confusion to pull both my pistols; the DC-17 via a conventional draw with my right hand and using the high-elbowed twist-hand-draw action for the Verp, which is why I favour a cross-draw holster for it - so it's accessible to either hand.

As an immediate follow-up step, I intend to thoroughly stun the trio with the DC-17 as soon as it comes into line - indeed, I can hardly miss at this range - but I cannot afford to let them live now that at least one of them will have had a clear look at my face.


TAG: Intervention

 

IC: Refresher Sight-Seeing Wing Guard
Port Town, Cloud City


It had happened in a moment. One moment, he's getting ready to enforce the Wing Guard's authority with a stun baton, the next his stun baton is flying away from his hand and he's being thrown into his two other Wing Guards. Then he saw the weapon, but by then it was too late. The last thing he remembered was holding up his hand to somehow block the stun charge coming his way and his mouth snapping open in alarm as the stun blast hit his body. But by then, he knew nothing more.

Outside the corridor, the other Wing Guards had gained control of the bomb sight---with more of their kind showing up in force for security. Nothing had been found of the humanoid dark skinned murder suspect, but several Wing Guards were still vainly searching rooms, corridors, and turbolifts in pairs. Whoever it was and whatever had happened, the security cameras would have to give clues to. But for now, emergency crews put out the fires, helped the injured, and performed search and rescue through the remaining debris.

---

IC: Terrel Vacks
Some time later, Holiday Towers, Cloud City


A shower, a shave, and some cleaning up of the armor and Terrel Vacks was back in business. His backpack was long discarded, that piece of equipment a memory of a life that wasn't his to live. His Merc Jacket he gave to a homeless kid; he figured the Rodian boy needed it more then the suited Vacks did at the moment. Plus, as Vacks reasoned it, he would soon be rejoining the marry group of mercenaries.

Now in his armor, Terrel Vacks looked like any other bounty hunter or mercenary in the galaxy and if the Bespin Wing Guard had any sense about themselves, they left such men alone, because you didn't know who you else you would be dealing with later down the road. His body build still imposing despite the short retirement and even with his limp in his left leg, Terrel Vacks felt at home once again. Few people knew what the Merc Symbol meant on his chest plate, but as he worked his way through the crowds and towards Holiday Towers, plenty of people knew who the Mercs were. And there loyalists and enemies on both sides of the table there. But it was also the best source of information.

The Wing Guard knew that Holiday Towers was corrupt and they also knew better then to interfere. In fact, it looked like a few "off duty" Wing Guards were providing security outside the front doors leading into Holiday Towers. The three guards---a human, a Rodian, and a Twi'lek---all wore basic tunics with lightly added mercenary details instead of their Wing Guard uniforms. But Vacks knew most of the Wing Guard from his daily walks and he recognized them. It seemed that Jabba Desilijic Tiure was paying them well to screen for some private event. It was no small measure of scenery that there were no Bespin Wing Guards in the area either, just your idle civilian traffic as the sun started to set outside of Cloud City's windows. A single RA-7 Protocol Droid was standing at the entrance way to the Holiday Towers, screening guests through a approved guest list. One of the guards, the human, stood at the door as sentry while the Rodian was standing a bit off of the line with his back to the windows as he observed the entrance and the line of wealthy dressed guests stretching around the corner. The last guard, the Twi'lek, walked up and down the line, talking lightly with guests in line and keeping an eye out for any "out of place" problems in the line. Vacks soon discovered a fourth guard, a Duro, who was standing off to the far end as the line curved around the building. The Duro was trying hard to blend in with the passing crowd and for the usual civilian, he did. But to Vacks trained eyes, he was trying too hard and gave himself away.

Vacks made a straight line for the Holiday Towers' entrance, hoping to draw the attention of the guards with his armor and approach.

He did.

Vacks already had his right-handed LL-30 Blaster Pistol out in a quick draw before the Rodian was still getting his words out.

"Sorry sir, but this area is---AHHH!!!!"

The Rodian was on the ground, a blaster bolt through his left knee, and the alien holding it in pain. Vacks didn't fear any counter attack from the alien, he was a off-duty law enforcement officer getting paid as a thug and was hence playing the fence both money. He would want that money for the least amount of effort as possible, so getting killed for a job he really didn't believe in made little sense to his wallet.

The human was next, drawing a DH-17 carbine into his hands as he rushed from the sentry position, already alerting someone inside the Holiday Towers of trouble via his wrist comlink. But his approach was likewise slowed by a blaster bolt in the right knee, crumpling the man to the ground. He, however, was a fighter and with a snarl, propped himself up to fight, but Vacks simply placed a well-placed shot into his gun hand as he marched forward, the DH-17 flying away and the hired thug gripped his half blown off hand with his left hand, he himself grunting in pain.

Terrel had never stopped walking up to this point and even when the Twi'lek came at him with more time to prepare, Vacks simply snapped to his right in a swirl---avoiding the string of blaster bolts ushered his way from the alien's DL-44 Heavy Blaster Pistol---and coming out of his tactic, had his left-draw LL-30 out and he himself on a knee, as he delivered two bolts to the alien, one from the left pistol that drilled itself into his right shoulder and a bolt from his right draw pistol that drove itself into his knee. The double punch tactic had the alien on the ground in pain.

The Duro, hoping to support his comrades, had a CDEF Blaster Pistol out and was charging up the line of scared and scattering wealthy citizens when Terrel, who as walking again, signaled for the hired gun to put his blaster down and put his hands up with his right blaster pistol. The Duro did just that, dropping the pistol and backing up, hands up.

Most of the wealthy citizens in line had scattered, leaving a dozen or so terrified citizens stuck in the gun battle by the front door.

"Please!" a wealth Twi'lek businessman said, "Don't hurt us!"

"Get lost," Terrel ordered, hos voice coming through the Stormtrooper filter a such, to the terrified group of civilians as he holstered his pistols and neared the front entrance. The Twi'lek nodded eagerly and with his fellow businessmen and women, scurried off. Soon, only the four guards remained, laying in various forms of pain or, like in the case of the Duro, standing there with his hands raised in the air.

Terrel heard something and then, drawing his prized Phrik-made Katana sword, had the weapon arms sliced off of two Gamorrean guards with battle axes as they emerged from the entrance way. Both guards squealed in their native language, each holding stumps of arms and staggering around in pain.

Terrel walked past them and into the Holiday Towers, his sword already put away. As he entered, two more Gamorrean guards tried to stop him, but a kick with his good leg to the throat of one and the slapping down with a closed fist of the other one's battle axe folllowed through after the spin with a elbow to the back of the head, put both guards staggering around. The on-going party inside the Holiday Towers was still on-going, not disrupted by the security issue outside. But, when one of the guards stumbled into a wealthy human female who cried in disgust, the loud music came to an end, as did the socializing, as all eyes suddenly turned to Terrel Vacks as he marched down the center isle and to the central bar, where none other then Bib Fortuna himself was standing with several other ranking Jabba officials and guests.

"The bombing," Terrel said as he came to a stop in front of Bib, "Who did it?"

"How are we suppose to know," Bib countered in a supreme sense of entitlement, "The Holiday Towers is an establishment for legal business----ooooooh, ouch, wait---"

WACK!

Terrel had forced his way into Bib's social club, grabbed the man by the neck and had then slammed his head into the bar counter, "Answers you worthless piece of air before I start cutting to find those answers!" Vacks had his combat knife out and to the man's throat and slammed the Twi'lek's head into the table a second time to make a point, "NOW!"

"What is it with you!" Bib managed through clenched teeth, "You retire from mercenary work Terrel and you go around beating up your friends?"

"Friends is stretching it, Bib. Associates more like it. Taller only dealt with your kind when we had to."

"Our kind?" Bib replied in a smirk, "Thinking a bit too much of yourself lately, Vacks? Last I heard, the Mercs were on the wrong end of a butt-chewing by the Empire at Port Haven."

"That was five months ago," Terrel said, pushing harder on Bib's head into the table and bringing the knife closer to the alien's throat, "Things change. Answers, now."

"The name is Car'leck. We helped him with forging papers to get onto Cloud City a month ago. He did a few jobs for us prior, we helped him with his only request other then a paycheck. You know, doing business on a legit level."

"Business of killing innocents now in Port Town?" Vacks replied.

"We never were told what he wanted to do! You know us, Terrel, we did our checks! We had our people do their homework! Nothing came up on him other then running from the Empire on a few mishandled shipping documents at local space ports. Ya know, the average spacer wanting to make a few credits extra off each load because their employer is too cheap to pay them! He just got caught doing it! We got nothing! I swear, nothing! And that's saying something to get past OUR contacts!"

"It sure is, isn't it?" Vacks said, releasing Bib's head and putting his combat knife away.

Bib got up and did a signal to resume the music. Soon, the music was playing again and people were talking, like nothing had ever happened.

"You know," Bib was saying, "Its going to cost Jabba some credits to repair the damage you've caused him tonight. This was a benefit dinner for one of our newest 'charity events' for misplaced children in the galaxy."

Vacks nodded as he and Bib walked through the resumed event of higher end wealthy citizens, two of Bib's closer associates following close behind with hands on their blasters ready to draw, "Yea, right. Charity event in raising illegal funds to run another one of Jabba's criminal games to make more money. What does he need the money for now? Paying off Imperial officials closer to the Core Worlds to increase his Spice smuggling?"

Bib laughed, "I wish it were that simple. If it were, I'd sleep better at night. So tell me, what's bringing you out of retirement? It can't just be the bombing today, can it?"

Terrel shook his head, "Why Port Town? Your killing your own kind down there! A higher up hotel or business, I get it. It makes the galactic news. But Port Town? It'll make Cloud City news for three seconds, if their lucky. It doesn't make any sense."

"So you want to be the hero and save the galaxy with the Mercs, then?" Bib said, smiling.

"Well you won't," Terrel said.

Bib smiled, "Mr. Vacks, Jabba chooses to make money off the stupidity of others. If the galaxy burns, that's their business. As long as Jabba has his wealth at the end of the day, he could care less who is running the galaxy, much less if their killing each other or not. Just get Jabba his money before you die and he is happy."

Terrel nodded, "I see."

"Despite," Bib rubbed his head, "You trying to hurt me and injuring my pride in front of some of Jabba's associates, let me give you some advice. As a friend, from one low life scum bag to another," Bib smiled as he ordered drinks from another smaller bar off to the side for the two, "Don't go putting your head where it doesn't belong. Your likely to not come back out with it."

Terrel tensed up and he scanned the room, his hand going for his sword.

"Not here," Bib said, shaking his head when Vacks' hand reached the hilt of his sword, "We'll call it a misunderstanding. Stop now, Vacks. And go back to the crap-hole down in Port Town you crawled out of. It'll be safer there, trust me. I can't promise you your safety after tonight. So please," the bar tender put both drinks in front of him and Vacks and Bib took a shot of his drink right away, putting the drink down, "Get out now. The game has changed," Bib nodded one of his human guards forward, "Eric here will show you your way out, through the backdoor, to avoid any further unfortunate entanglements. Have a good day, Mr. Vacks."



************************


Back Service Corridors, Holiday Towers


"Eric" disappeared behind the closing door and the two Gamorrean guards grunted as they tightened their grips on their battle axes as they flanked the service corridor back door. Terrel turned from the security key locked door and guards and started marching down the pipe linking, garbage littered, and broken equipment graveyard of stuff through the back service corridor to the Holiday Towers. The corridor would lead him back to the commercial business turbolifts and then to wherever he needed to go from there in Cloud City. Which, Vacks was thinking, was away from Cloud City and towards the Mercs.



TAG Tim Battershell

 

---

IC: Bree (nrc), Anoat Revenue Service offices, Bespin Cloud City
Location: Anoat System


Bree had been in sight of the glased revolving doors of her workplace, hands filled with tall coffeine cups for her and the being who shared her corner of the Operations and Logistics office, when she had felt the shudder through the huge mining platform, triggering a double hand spasm that exploded a dual fountain of hot brown beverage over her uniform tunic.

What the blazes? What the frag was that? She thought, annoyed.

Moments later, when she had reached the freshers on her floor to clean herself up, the comlink on her belt, which she had set to scan the security freqs, bellowed, "Control! Control! We have a murder in progress in Port Town, west side maintenance corridor! Pursuing dark skinned human male with backpack and walking stick back into main corridor!"

Port Town. Why am I not surprised?

Shaking her head, Bree pulled a wad of absorbent flimsi out of a wall dispenser beside the sink, and proceeded to dab at the worst of the damage that she could see in the mirror.

Tag: no-one

 

IC: Masha Tinovorsh
Rec Room, Johnny Boy

"That doesn't sound too bad. You got to take a nap and also got to slot some bad guys," Atin Said. "We were go, go, go the entire time we were planetside. Whiteshells, ESPOs, Rebels. You name it, we ran into it," He looked over to her, "It was a lot of fun."

Masha had indeed noticed temperament of the Elder Taab, his straightforward approach was admirable though. He vaguely reminded her of the instructors she had back in the Officer Cadet Academy on Danoor. "I wouldn't call being knocked out by some kind of gas a nap," she began her breathing exercises taking longer breaths than necessary, she had been meaning to get a hold of an altitude mask to help her training, breathing under heavy maneuvers put strain on her old gravity generator making the techniques necessary in and out of atmosphere. "But, sure, that sounds fun," she said, her tone of voice going flat again. "We offed the lot of them, I made sure of it."

She began to run faster. Shouldn't have said that...

This cycle was getting tiresome, the last few ended up the same way; sleepless and agitated. Atin's arrival was welcomed, she didn't talk much to the crew, aside from Ellie and a few of the other mechanics that worked on her ship. She looked at her chrono, blast it -- it's been that long since I've started? she thought. She had been taking her frustrations out on that bag for longer than she thought... Just like the last nights.

Being back in the sky would do her a lot of good.

TAG: Bardan_Jusik

 

IC: Aidan Dodd - Maintenance Corridor, Port Town, Bespin

One thing to be said for all that training and the life I've led for the past few years; it certainly doesn't produce cream-puff weaklings! Result, the three rent-a-badges are sprawled on the floor, out cold.

Neither the brief scuffle nor my weapon's fire seem to have attracted any unwelcome attention. Stun blasts are more of a 'sizzle' than the 'pow' of normal Blaster fire and a lot less noticeable. Comparative silence is virtual aurodium in the Spec-Ops business!

Nevertheless, I use the 'fresher doorway to keep out of line-of-sight from traffic in the main corridor while I put in my carefully-aimed 'certainty' shots with the Verp (an absolutely silent weapon). I'd hoped that I'd have no more need to liquidate inconvenient witnesses like this once I left Imperial Service, but such doesn't seem to be my lot in life. With them unconscious, at least there's no physical or mental suffering involved. Just a instantaneous transition of status from stunned to dead.

It will be obvious that they've been killed by some form of Slugthrower, maybe a good pathologist will even think of a Shattergun, despite 'Verps' being on the rare and exotic side, but there's no way to link the killings back to any particular Shattergun. Now for the 'Clear Datum', 'Exfiltrate' and 'Go to Ground' parts of this unplanned exercise.

'Freshers are an Infiltrator's friend. Power can be conducted in from whichever level it's located on, as can a piped liquid supply, but waste needs a minimum gradient to flow freely; and for convenience, the waste is usually arranged to flow more-or-less straight down in a multi-level construction. At the same time, the large pipes intended to take the waste from 'fresher-blocks to disposal/recycling area need to be accessible for repair (in case they spring a leak) or unblocking - soap and fat are the primary causes of that.

Therefore, an Infiltrator can often take advantage of a ready-made, and usually disregarded, route from one level in the construction to another. It can be smelly, yes; it's almost always filthy but it's covert. Best of all, the access points only sport the simplest and flimsiest of locking devices; intended more to prevent younglings getting inside than for anything else. The only potential problem is the possibility of emerging into a block dedicated to femme-only use. If occupied, that's always liable to cause a major commotion!

---

I emerge into the block on the next level up. The decor and facilities are reassuringly male or mixed, so no problems there and, thankfully, no one seems to be 'answering the call' at present. I move into a stall to get rid of the flimsi-roll wrappings I've wound about my hands and lower arms like bandages to lessen the clean-up problem, properly cleanse my hands in the place provided then move back into the stall to remove and re-reverse my overjacket. It could have been worse, but I'll need to put my new 'business attire' through a sanitizer-cycle or two before I can wear it again. It looks presentable enough to get me back to my ship, though.

Despite having given the 'down-and-out' my ship's name and location, I'm confident it'll still be there. 'Passepartout' has a way of putting automated lock-slicers and lesser slicer droids into a recursive loop if they try cracking security measures he's watchdogging. If an intruder breaks in by force, he'll find none of the ship's systems will respond to him. 'Passepartout' will immediately cancel anything an intruder does, and has a variety of hiding places, Notwithstanding his abilities, he's not a large Droid by any means, nor does he look like a run-of-the-mill Slicer Droid.

Nevertheless, I make a quick comm call to 'Passepartout' briefing him in and telling him to keep his sensors peeled. I've no wish to walk unknowingly into an ambush, I'd much rather spring one on others. One piece of excitement's enough for today!

---

Home at last! It took me longer than expected to find a piece of familiar territory to re-orient myself at, then progress was much quicker. I cleaned and serviced my Verp even before changing back into my jumpsuit, so to have it handy. My 'business attire' is in the sanitizer and I'm currently cleaning and servicing my DC-17 pistol.

I'm not expecting anything to happen immediately, and 'Passepartout' will give me some advanced warning, but if that 'down-and-out' was as down-and-out as he appeared, he might be tempted by the prospect of getting his hands on a ship if he feels the urge to vacate the area. I've got the better part of a week left on the docking fees, and not much else to do now I have to consider my cover as blown, so I may as well wait to see if he bites at the tempting bait!


TAG: Intervention

 

IC: Mahaben
Johnny Boy, Med Bay

The former Jedi managed a nod at the retiring doctor. From what he could see, Dr. Cook was definitely in need of rest.

“Thank you for your efforts.” The doctor said as he departed.

“I’m at your service.” Mahaben reiterated, before focusing back on his patient.

The cathar was beginning to run a fever as her body labored to rid itself of the toxins. Kannari winced due to the onset of discomfort, but it was soon to pass. Mahaben doubled his efforts to stabilize her biological responses and soothe her. This was a ‘normal’ response after all, given the nature of the treatment.

“She’ll be perspiring a lot more from now…” Mahaben advised the nurse.

The miraluka was grateful for Nurse Ulrike’s aid. Whether she knew it or not, her presence alone was a boon to the process at hand.

“Good news is, this is proceeding a lot smoother than I anticipated. It should not take as long as I predicted. My apologies for the miscommunication.”

It was no use explaining that, part of the reason for this was not only the cathar’s exceptional health and physiology, but his own, stronger connection to the Force. He had failed to make mental adjustments for this. When he had first performed this feat, it was during very different circumstances and many, many years ago, and he himself labored under the same affliction.

“How are you holding up?”

The doctor was not the only one who was fatigued, from the looks of it. In his short time with the nurse, Mahaben had learned that she was made of sterner stuff.

After all, she was an active Merc, and quite a capable one.

Tag: @Sith-I-5, @Jedi_padawan_leigh

---

IC: Winterkill
Aboard the Johnny Boy, Hallway

“Could have gone worse.” Havah Jeth replied cooly.

Winterkill regarded his fellow Merc's expression, but he could hear his meaning in his verbal delivery. They had not died. That was more than enough.

The Specter and the Spook walked for a few more paces in silence. The sound of Havah’s magboots marked the rhythm of their procession, even with Havah’s droid in tow. Winterkill didn’t trust himself to ask about Tiaca without giving away his displeasure. So, he tried something else instead.

“Do you plan to collect the bounty on the Jedi?” the nagai finally asked, slowing his pace.

“Before Chief Taab does, I mean….”


Tag: @Mitth_Fisto

 

IC: Havah Jeth
Johhny Boy, Corridors, second level

The silence drew in a lingering moment. A moment of processing as many knew, it was common to those who had to live or die by not only their deeds but their words with each other. Where having ones back meant not only surviving, but saving each other often in a willful manner.

So onward his magboots clanked unceremoniously upon the walkway, none would likely assume he was the possessor of these noise machines. Still it was what it was, luckily the early hour meant there were not many around to see him be so uncharacteristically noisy.

Then it ended. The question was laid out that brought him up short mentally. He kept walking without replying for a moment, the last steps to his room where he began entering his code without care of Winterkill watching before bending down, raising his helmet, and letting the iris scanner finish before opening his door.

"I am not here for the money. . .well just the money." he simply stated. Turning his head he gazed a little softer at Winterkill before stepping into his room. To his eyes it was as if the room was lit with a limited spectrum bulb, but he knew to those that could not see into what was known as the Infra-Red spectrum his room was pitch black. There were no windows to the stars of space, no outward light beyond what spilled in from the hallway.

Sitting down Pic unassumingly came in and began to help him remove the mag boots and put on the regular armored boots.

"As for Tab. We have his son, if all else fails. So I don't see an issue."

TAG: greyjedi125

 

IC: Terrel Vacks
Docking Pad 97, Cloud City


Transportation. That was the key as night started to descend in fullness over Cloud City. The outside civilian traffic died down to, restricted to the evening party goers in over-paying hotel rooms. But down here, on the landing pad area, you saw a handful of couples' in hand walking about to get some fresh air or your average space dog finishing up things for the night around his ship with a bottle and a smoke on his hand. Wing Guards walked about to, but kept to themselves unless they were needed. Aside from that, the docking pads were empty and it gave one a lot of time to think as a slight, but steady wind, blew over Cloud City from the air currents this high up in a planet's sky.

He had no credits, no one would recognize him from the chaos earlier in the day at Port Haven because of his new (old) gear and helmet on, and he had no ship. So he would have to find one. So Terrel started looking among the lighted landing pads off to his right, spying their ship models. A ship model said a lot about a person's lifestyle. Among the normal everyday freighters and transports, one ship did stand-out: a GAT-12h. Military ships like that one didn't belong out here all by themselves, which put that ship probably into the hands of either a mercenary or smuggler.

While Terrel rarely took his helmet off, he thought so for this encounter. He needed a ride, not an excuse to get shot because he looked like a Stormtrooper.

Taking his helmet off, Vacks started approaching the ship, hoping someone was paying attention on exterior holo cameras or other security measures. If not, he would simply knock. Lights showing through the ship's viewports betrayed someone being in there...


TAG Tim Battershell

 

IC: General Perez, Paragon
Location: Rhen Var


Perez watched the last of the hoversleds take the cargo away as he stood at the bottom of the ramp.

"What now?" Priest asked as he came to the bottom of the ramp, lighting a cigar.

"That's up to you," Perez replied, "We could sure use help around here until the Mercs get back with the Johnny Boy. Heck, the DD always needs someone to man a Quad. And when the JB does get back here, they could sure use help. But, I also understand that mercenary work may not be your calling and we can always keep you on speed dial for supplies I reckon. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you want a job, your welcome to one. If you don't, we understand all the same. Smuggling gives you more freedom these days anyhow. I can offer you a cup of caf for your efforts with that Supplier guy and thank you for your help, then you can be on your way if you don't want a job?"

Perez hated playing recruiter. That's why the military suited him so well: he never needed to "sell" the job to anyone, he just gave people orders and they had to follow them. Or go through a court martial for disobeying a superior officer, the choice was theirs.


TAG Wildwookiee

 

IC: Commander Yavscout, Deputy the Astromech, Commander's Ready Room, the Johnny Boy
Location: Hyperspace


Yav leaned in towards the speaker for his console commo board, elbow on the table, pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger, awaiting Taab's pleasure.

"Yav, Taab, I don't give two shabs what you do." Was the security chief's curt response, drawing a knowing smile from the elf; he raised an eyebrow towards the droid, "I'm nearing the bridge to start my scans there. Join me if you want, your call. Taab out."

Yavscout leaned back and stood from the chair. He was in his Jod Go Team, the semi-armoured spacesuit, with gold-coloured breast, arm and leg armour plates. His helmet was nearby.

Ostensibly, it was a defense in case there was a problem that could kill him, such as a hull breach due to ship attack, but being in hyperspace, if anything did occur, he would be as fragged as the rest of them.

The elf had suggested that he didn't need to wear protective clothing if that was the case, but Deputy had countered that he wasn't having the elf sitting there in the altogether, so ****** well get dressed.

[You need to teach him some respect.] Was the droid's opinion of Taab's response. [Slap 'im.]

Yav eyed the droid. "You know you don't get my job if he kills me, right?"

[A droid can dream.] Deputy blooped.

"You mean plot."

[Charbote, chabotay.] Potato, potahto.

"Go into the corridor and keep an eye out for Taab. Give us a whistle when he turns up. I just need to prepare myself, and do the food and drink thing."

As the droid left the room, Yav memmed Skin of Steel, Spirit of Wolf, Dexturous Aura, Summon Food and Summon Drink.

He buffed himself with the first three, to better deal with things if anything went awry. You never knew with the Mercs, and credited the Skin of Steel as to how he had survived Boba Fett's explosive dart and the somersault into the ornamental fountain on Cadomai Prime.

The last two, which allowed a druid or a ranger to create from thin air, a plate of black-crusted Elven Bread, actually more a scrumptious sponge cake inside the crust; and a glass globe of clear sweet water.

Being magically-created though, there was a flaw with each, when the creator fell asleep or unconscious, the items dissipated into thin air.

The Mercs' recent issues with consumables, affecting their food and drink as well as their medical supplies, meant the elf had had to dust off these two staples, which he had not had to use for many years.

Yavscout cast the spell which created four plates of the Elven Bread, and a couple of water-filled globes, then exited his ready room to step out onto the bridge, where the early morning shift turned to see him.
He waved, told them what he had left in the room, and stepped into the corridor to join Deputy in waiting for the Mandalorian.

Tag: Bardan_Jusik