Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 19, 2017 19:19:20 GMT -8
STUD made note of the usual price along with the name of the person he would be dealing with. Since he didn't need a runners cut, it would become a profit towards his freedom. He gave a beep of understanding, before taking the cart and heading off. No one gave him a second look, as he walked the streets. His size alone was enough to ward off any undue attention. It was a few moments later when he traversed the few decks and arrived to the rear entrance of the meat shop in question. He gave a couple hard knocks on the door and waited
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on Jun 23, 2017 16:24:57 GMT -8
==Doc Chop SL==
<<106 PP; S18 Sector, Skip One>>
The scaled snout that poked out of the small slot in the door was distinctly non human. Beyond that though it was impossible to give any details as they were still hidden behind the very solid door.
-Rez
Whass that? Who you? Whass you want?
The corride in question was what amounted to a back alley in the mixed up tangle of the asteroid. For the moment it was otherwise empty, but it was not somewhere a person would want to spend any great amount of time.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 30, 2017 7:42:31 GMT -8
As soon as the slit opened, STUD began scanning the life form. Formulating notes on the creatures biology. The door did impede his sensors a little, though he was able to get more of a view of what was just beyond the slit. Once his scans were done, he processed the creatures questions. He responded in his usual bassy binary tone. He stated his designation as DD-STUD and that he was here to sell a supply of exotic meat
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 30, 2017 8:31:56 GMT -8
Dax, a thin and gangly Rodian, is playing Pazaak with Ethan Lurov, a human with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, when a Weequay and a Sullustan enter the hangar bay. First to spot the Weequay and his companion, Dax offers the duo a friendly wave with one green hand as he cheerfully tells Ethan, "Your turn to deal with customers."
Tapping his cards on the table and then setting them down, Ethan sighs with theatrical weariness as he says, "No cheating while I'm gone now, and then groans as he stands and, putting on a winning smile, strides over to greet the Weequay and the Sullustan, extending a hand for a shake as he says, Well hello there fellas! What can I do ya for?"
The Sullustan, Ngozi, having been designated as the one to do the talking, shakes Ethan's hand as he says just as cheerily as Ethan's greeting, "Well, we're looking for ships to move things from one place to another of course. Leaning in as though to confide a secret, he tacks on unnecessarily, The, um, sorts of things that one really wouldn't want to be caught picking up or delivering, if you catch my drift. Winking, the Sullustan stands up straight once more as he goes on, Heard Draykon and his people were the kinda people to move things like the things we wanna move about yon and hither without getting caught, so here we are to arrange just that sorta moving about."
As Ngozi chatters, the Weequay, Kuruk, keeps silent with his wrinkled hands in his rumpled flight jacket's pockets as he glances around the vicinity casually; doing his best to commit the layout to memory while looking for any other personnel or obvious security measures visible. The handheld portable scanner in one pocket of Ngozi's flight jacket, set to detect lifeforms, droids, vehicles, weapons, and power generators, will add to what can be seen, helping plan the assault on Draykon's little operation here Ngozi and Kuruk are here to gather intel for.
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on Jun 30, 2017 19:48:31 GMT -8
==Doc Chop SL==
<<106 PP; S18 Sector, Skip One>>
Rez snorts at the squealing, it sounded like a droid. Unfortunately Rez didn't understand binary hash. There were other uses for lost droids though.
-Rez
Ssssqueaky little droidsssss. Losss your masssser have you? Donna worry, Rez will make you ssssafe.
He was already thinking about who he would pawn the droid off to. He was pretty sure there was a droid market by the name of Reynolds nearby. He could probably get a good price for it there. He burbled with laughter as he unbolted the door & hauled it open.
-Rez
Come in Ssqueaky.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jul 9, 2017 9:49:09 GMT -8
STUD would have sighed if such a function existed. Of all the life forms on Skip One, he'd been sent to deal with one of the rare few that did not understand binary. There were other ways to communicate, provided the organic work place was equipped with a screen and data port. He pushed the cart inside as the butcher opened the door. His sensors were already scanning and processing the room. It wasn't long before he found the device he needed.
He turned upon the creature then, his mechanical hand reaching out and gripping it around its throat. Without stopping, he dragged the creature across the room to the computer set up. His datajack extended from his free hand and he hacked into the system, opening a text to speech program. He adjusted the system to approximate his deep voice I am not lost organic! I am here to do business! Understand?!
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on Jul 9, 2017 19:30:17 GMT -8
==Doc Chop SL==
<<106 PP; S18 Sector, Skip One>>
-Rez
Ssqueaky has a strong grip.
Now that he was inside the door, it was obvious that Rez was a trandoshan.
-Rez
SSqueaky is here to deal? What doesss Ssqueaky have on the table?
It was fairly obvious that despite the droid's grip on his neck, Rez wasn't worried in the least about the droid. Of course, he also had one hand tucked up under his apron, where it was out of sight.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jul 27, 2017 10:16:46 GMT -8
The communication barrier had been broken at last. But STUD did not loosen his grip any. Trandoshans were one of the most well known slaver races in the galaxy. His data banks were already briefly filing through the historical records of their Enslavement of the Wookiee homeworld. Returning his processors back to the job at hand, he motioned the Trandoshan's attention toward the cart. The translation software started working again One hundred and fifty pounds of humanoid meat. All yours for thirty credits per pound. With no idea how much the former middleman charged, STUD was left to only make a calculated guess of how much he should aim for. The more he made, the sooner he could gain his freedom
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on Jul 27, 2017 17:01:12 GMT -8
==Doc Chop SL==
<<106 PP; S18 Sector, Skip One>>
There was a hissing sound that could very well be laughter.
-Rez
SSSS. Brasssh little ssqueaker aren't you? What racce?
While the Trandoshan still wasn't putting up a fight, he did have one hand out of sight.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Aug 28, 2017 10:29:30 GMT -8
STUD released his grip on the Trandoshan and let the creature go and examine the meat for himself. Meanwhile, STUD installed a software patch into the system, which would allow him to wirelessly interact with the translation program. In real time, it was barely a second. It was an extremely lightweight addition. His datajack retracting from the terminal, as he then followed the Trandoshan over to the goods he had to sell Prime Corellian Male. Condition is optimal.
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on Aug 29, 2017 18:15:25 GMT -8
==Doc Chop SL==
<<106 PP; S18 Sector, Skip One>>
Having been released by the droid, Rez heads over to the crates, being sure to continue facing DD. With one hand still hidden in his apron, he pops the top on one of the crates. What followed was a minute or so of poking prodding & even tasting the contents. After that he settles down to ponder for another moment.
-Rez
Thirty far too high for thiss quality. Twelve.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Aug 30, 2017 10:55:26 GMT -8
Had he been designed with a face, and the motors to produce expressions, he might have made a look of offence. Instead, he waved his arms at to the side, in an open gesture, producing a frustrated bassy whistle. Twelve credits did not leave him much leeway. two hundred and forty credits was a good start towards earning his freedom. But he was certain he could get a better deal. The translation software chimed in again a few seconds later The meat is of high quality, and well worth three times that. Twenty credits, and you'll get first pick on the next delivery. STUD wasn;t entirely sure what he meant by that, but his databanks indicated that such terminology was used in many business deals such as this
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on Aug 30, 2017 11:34:27 GMT -8
==Doc Chop SL==
<<106 PP; S18 Sector, Skip One>>
There was a hissing laughter, as Rez waved his free hand toward the droid.
-Rez
You are new to thiss. That isssn't how this is played. I don't know you. You don't know me. Fifteen, no more.
From his body stance, the reptile was being cautious. However, he was still a hulking brute of a sentient & likely already had a weapon in his hidden hand. There might not be law as such this far out, but there were still rules. A newcomer to the game showing up out of nowhere would be treated with heavy suspicion until they had proved themselves to a few others.
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Liya Tawaza
The Unfair Advantage
Posts: 772
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Liya Tawaza on Sept 22, 2017 19:46:01 GMT -8
Many hours later, The Red Cred broke from hyperspace right smack in the middle of the asteroid field known as the Smuggler's Run. Little had changed aboard The Red Cred, however. All three of us continued to find excuses to remain aboard the bridge, staring as the mottled nothing of hyperspace became starlines, and then asteroid lines, and then humongous death rocks lurching and twisting all around us. The only different was that I now sat at the controls, the byproduct of a lengthier than usual negotiation with Karana. Eventually, 'control freak pseudocaptain' had won out over 'separated lover high on pure adrenaline' and I had scored the dubious responsibility of navigating the approach to Skip One without getting us all killed.The only comfort I could take during our white-knuckled ride through the asteroids was that if we died now, it was undeniable galactic poetry that we would perish right back where the search for Fel had begun, after hundreds of days, thousands of leads, and uncountable bajillions of miles traveled. But there was no further space for my mind to wander. If it had, it would have remembered how I hid The Bronze Star on one of the Skips, or the brawls we got into at the Red Shift, or the adventures aboard Oz's floating city. But none of that nostalgia could be allowed in right now. Even a momentary loss of focus meant death. "The Red Shift, huh? Better strap up. Yes, even you, Daniel." Normal protocol was out the window, all that mattered was what would get us to the meeting as fast as possible. That was why my armor kit and a few extra weapons were waiting where I'd thrown them in a corner, after running below decks to retrieve them six hours early. Checking the controls one last time, I jumped from my seat, removed my gunbelt, and started hastily pulling armor plates on over my clothes. It wasn't normal bridge etiquette, but no one gave a womp rat's behind right now. |
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Johnathan Castle [Retired]
The Organization
Machines got ta talkin'. I got ta listenin'. Ever since then, I've been fixin'.
Posts: 157 
Affiliation: Draykon Crew Mechanic/Bartender Extraordinaire/Organization Mechanic
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Johnathan Castle [Retired] on Oct 1, 2017 8:02:48 GMT -8
Castle woke with a start. Having long since recovered from his escapades within the Red Shift, he was now working as a temporary bartender along with a seedier than normal looking Rodian. Despite the Rodian's seedy nature, he was good at making drinks. And since Castle was partially to blame for the events that had unfolded, and he needed the credits, working as a bartender was something that kind of fell into his lap. As with most odd jobs during his down time, he didn't particularly enjoy it. He'd rather have been pulling wrenches and spanners on some boat off in the middle of space somewhere. It paid better and allowed him to travel. But such was the way. Swinging his feet off the cot, Castle's bare feet touched the cool, polished rock floor. Standing up and stretching, he rubbed his eyes and ran his left hand through his shaggy hair as he made his way over to the refresher. He was due to work in an hour and he didn't want to be late. Once he was cleaned up enough to what he considered acceptable, a black t-shirt and a rough pair of jeans, Castle slipped his durasteel toed boots on and left the little domicile he was calling home for the time being. The one advantage to having friends in high places around here meant he was always guaranteed a room at next to nothing for rent. Which was beneficial to him right now. Castle made his way out of the housing complex and followed the main concourse to the Red Shift...
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Rash Forn
Member
Posts: 9
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Rash Forn on Oct 14, 2017 18:03:32 GMT -8
The Shistavanen hated deep-space travel. Especially when it consisted of navigating an asteroid field. Being in an inherently hostile environment that could kill you, compounded by apartment-or-better-sized rocks, which oddly enough ALSO wanted to kill you, didn't improve his mood. But this was the price you paid if you wanted to visit the Smuggler's Run. Well... part of the price you paid. Rash credited the tramp freighter captain's datacard with C5500, which was a damn lot to pay to come somewhere so, frankly, dumpy. Sure, it was where he was almost assured of finding work with a crew eventually, but did smugglers have to pick such a hole to hang out in? Would it have killed them to throw a coat of paint on the place?
Collecting his meagre belongings from the belly of the Jenet Captain's Quadrijet Spacetug, Rash Forn moves off into the interior of the cold rock that is Skip One, seeking a place to have a drink, and expand his horizons.
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Trent Weston
The Organization
Posts: 169
Affiliation: These guys
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Trent Weston on Oct 14, 2017 23:22:33 GMT -8
The Midnight Shadow entered Skip one and landed on the first available landing pad. Trent was always impressed with this place and how it came to be but he never understood with all the illegal activity how it didn't implode upon itself from infighting. "Here we are. Anything you need from me Captain?"
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Rash Forn
Member
Posts: 9
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Rash Forn on Oct 15, 2017 6:36:13 GMT -8
The Shistavanen watched as a Wayfarer-class vessel entered one of the mag-seals. It wasn't terribly close by, maybe 500 yards distant, but Rash couldn't help but see it. The Skip was basically one massive hangar, and every time a vessel entered or exited, the wind patterns shifted as pressure re-equalized. At the far end of the Skip, massive, ancient fans spun, circulating the stale air. One of four was currently running, and at least one of the fans looked as if it hadn't spun in a very long time. Forn's fur whipped around his ears, and he tied his black mane back into a loose ponytail. Not too many Wayfarer ships out there anymore. Only a few of note that he was aware of. Might be worth keeping an eye on. He shifted his path, turning away from one of the ramshackle bars that dotted the deeper recesses of the hollowed-out asteroid, instead, turning back toward the landing field, littered with the corpses of derelict ships. It was one of these vessels he climbed into, entering an ancient VCX-1000-class light freight hauler via a gaping hole in her aft section, and climbing to a good vantage position, ten meters above the floor of the hangar, where the Shistavanen found another gaping maw where a bulkhead had once separated inside, from outside. This afforded him a good view of the landing Wayfarer.
He put on his macro goggles, and pulled a closeup of the ship's bridge into focus, and opened a smaller compartment in his shoulder bag, pulling out some jerky.
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Karana Malora
The Unfair Advantage
I don't believe in a no-win scenario.
Posts: 246 
Affiliation: The Fel Crew (Unfair Advantage)
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Karana Malora on Oct 15, 2017 11:41:45 GMT -8
Many hours later, The Red Cred broke from hyperspace right smack in the middle of the asteroid field known as the Smuggler's Run. Little had changed aboard The Red Cred, however. All three of us continued to find excuses to remain aboard the bridge, staring as the mottled nothing of hyperspace became starlines, and then asteroid lines, and then humongous death rocks lurching and twisting all around us. The only different was that I now sat at the controls, the byproduct of a lengthier than usual negotiation with Karana. Eventually, 'control freak pseudocaptain' had won out over 'separated lover high on pure adrenaline' and I had scored the dubious responsibility of navigating the approach to Skip One without getting us all killed.The only comfort I could take during our white-knuckled ride through the asteroids was that if we died now, it was undeniable galactic poetry that we would perish right back where the search for Fel had begun, after hundreds of days, thousands of leads, and uncountable bajillions of miles traveled. But there was no further space for my mind to wander. If it had, it would have remembered how I hid The Bronze Star on one of the Skips, or the brawls we got into at the Red Shift, or the adventures aboard Oz's floating city. But none of that nostalgia could be allowed in right now. Even a momentary loss of focus meant death. "The Red Shift, huh? Better strap up. Yes, even you, Daniel." Normal protocol was out the window, all that mattered was what would get us to the meeting as fast as possible. That was why my armor kit and a few extra weapons were waiting where I'd thrown them in a corner, after running below decks to retrieve them six hours early. Checking the controls one last time, I jumped from my seat, removed my gunbelt, and started hastily pulling armor plates on over my clothes. It wasn't normal bridge etiquette, but no one gave a womp rat's behind right now.Malora shot up out of her seat, half wondering when the last time (if there WAS one) anyone was actually this excited to set foot inside The Red Shift's grimy walls as she fastened her gun belt over her hips, hurrying over to the controls near the navigation. "Don't sweat it, Logan, it's just for show," she said as she brushed past Daniel, clapping the man on the shoulder as he fumbled a little with his own belt. She'd lent him one of her lighter blaster pistols, quick and easy to draw, fast on the laser spray, decent for the less inexperienced in close combat. Hopefully, he wouldn't need to use it. "I'll soak up the extra bolts if it comes to that," Mal muttered, leaning over the holo station and working quickly. She'd already given Draykon the green light before arriving at The Skip, and another one when they'd dropped out of Hyperspace… and a message or three somewhere between the first and last asteroid, but another 'Hey, I'm here and on my way,' couldn't hurt. Mal debated taking Wrench with her, but decided against it in the end. It was never a good idea to leave your ship completely unattended on The Skip, no matter how well-secured it was. When the last clip was clipped, buckle buckled, and strap tightened, the trio scrambled down the landing ramp and made for The Red Shift with haste, hopes high. |
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Rash Forn
Member
Posts: 9
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Rash Forn on Oct 15, 2017 12:23:43 GMT -8
He watched, as, from the belly of a much larger, much older, much more neglected ship, three sentients descended. Ripping off a piece of jerky, he gnawed and crushed the tough meat between powerful jaws, and watched as the brunette led the way, turned back, beckoning the others to follow, then ran on ahead, before repeating the process. The second in line, armoured, cautious, martial, followed at a steady cadence. The third fumbled and followed, barely keeping pace, looking at this and that, only tearing himself away from an old tug or ruined starfighter when the brunette called to him, then huffing to catch up. Rash was intrigued, but held his place. These were the first smugglers he had seen since his arrival.
Sure, there were low-lives, deck-hands, drunks, burn-outs, thieves, and worse than that. But these were smugglers. There was no question. It was in the way they moved. Carried themselves. The way people watched when they passed. In certain circles -- places like this, 'Shaddaa, the Underworld of Imperial Centre -- folk like that were high class... it's just everywhere else they get treated like low-class boot scrapings.
He watched as they left, headed somewhere... but nowhere far. There was nowhere to go in this rock.
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