Sunbringer
Member
Gathering intel and evacuating a team from Kuat Drive Yards
Posts: 53
Affiliation: The Son of Suns
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Sunbringer on Dec 1, 2020 8:44:01 GMT -8
*Golden light from a desk lamp mixes with cyan bloom from digital displays in a small room. The color dyad carves shadows into the recesses of the young man's face as he stares at the screens with half-lidded eyes. Lips chafed and split hang limply on his face. Soft puffs of exhaled vapor periodically caress the creases along his mouth. His hands, emaciated, sprawl motionless; side-by-side on the tabletop like overgrown spiders. The stretched skin adorning them is rippled with the outlines of veins, tendons, and bones. The faint hum of electronics and the gentle wisp of recirculated air currents are the audible backdrop to this still life scene, only interrupted by the nearly imperceptible saccades as Bennett reads and rereads the words on the screen.*
*Just doing his due diligence concerning the legal intricacies of operating an LLC that employs collection professionals. Super simple stuff.*
*Bennett concludes that, with the appropriate language to this point in the establishment of bounty contracts, according to intergalactic legal precedent, damages incurred during apprehension or neutralization of a target are the responsibility of the promisor. The licit role of Verdant Star as merely a negotiating party alleviates the company from fiscal responsibility.*[/font] *he says in a raspy voice to the vacant room.*[/ul] *But lawyers charge retainer fees, and Bennett is trying to pinch pennies where he can for the moment.*
*He has already contracted construction agencies for the renovations. A benefit to his work experience in solar engineering is that he has had multiple opportunities to witness the quality of various companies, and he has made some informal contacts with employees merely by interfacing at the same work sites. It was not difficult to produce drawings and get the work started. The administration assistant position that he had advertised in Lianna's holonews publications was still vacant. But Verdant Star, LLC, does not formally exist yet, either. The business registration office had not finished processing the application, yet. Couple more days, Bennett figured, and then he'd give them a call. Once the business is legally recognized, everything else should begin to fall into place.*
|
|
Sunbringer
Member
Gathering intel and evacuating a team from Kuat Drive Yards
Posts: 53
Affiliation: The Son of Suns
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Sunbringer on Dec 6, 2020 10:48:48 GMT -8
[/font][/ul] *The fourth interview of the day. This one is a human adult in his mid-thirties. His dark brown hair is styled in a combed-back look with plenty of product to keep it in place. His face, undeniably handsome, has a bit of roundness to the cheeks, adding to the youthfulness of his appearance. A five o'clock shadow graces his jawline, and his eyebrows are raised in a much steeper angle than one usually expects from the general public.*
*The man is wearing a charcoal colored full-sleeve shirt, no buttons, over a light beige pant with pleat at the side of the leg. His shirt is emblazoned with a series of blocks, traced out with a zig-zag pattern, which alternate between gloss finish of the native fabric color, and matte black. As footwear goes, he is wearing a fatigued dark brown leather loafer pair, no socks. The sides of the shoes are stamped with a lightning bolt icon.*
*He frowns slightly for reasons not pertaining to being summoned, rises, and enters the back office of the Pinnacle Diner, where Bennett Voltar is seated behind a desk. Bennet stands, and extends his hand toward the new arrival, taking in the striking appearance unabashedly delivered by the fashion statement of this man.*[/i] limited liability corporation, and I'll be interviewing you today. Mister...?"[/font][/ul] [/i][/font] "Dav Rojos, well met, I'm sure," *he says in a gentle voice.*[/ul] [/font][/ul] *They sit. The expression on Bennett's face is difficult to read; he's not wildly impressed so far, or at least, good at hiding it if he is. Dav, on the other hand, looks somewhat uncomfortable. And Dav is not good at hiding it. The frown has not left his lips since arriving in the office.*[/font] *Bennett says. His tone is one of a well-rehearsed performer reciting lines - almost as if he's the one on audition here. A hint of grandiosity in his voice, and perhaps some weariness or disappointment in the edges of his cheeks.* "The Verdant Star is in the startup phase, and so what I am really looking for is a person with excellent organizational skills and the ability to operate in a transient environment while the business gets up and running. So, won't you please tell me about yourself, and how you fit the job."[/ul] *Dav nods, and opens his mouth to reply. He inhales slightly, then catches himself before he begins talking. For a moment, his eyes glance down at the desktop before restoring eye contact to deliver his reply.*[/i] meet the qualifications of the job. Verdant Star needs me in this position because, frankly, I'm the only person with an eye for anything worthwhile who is going to give this job a second thought."[/font][/ul] *Bennett's eyebrows come together slightly. The left side of his cheek tightens up a little, and, casting Dav an up-and-down glance, he replies.*[/i]... perspective."[/font] *He clears his throat softly, and continues.* "But just because you see things differently than other people doesn't mean that you are suited for this particular job."
"That is true, but that's because this is what the job is in the short term. You said that the environment is going to be transient - and honestly? I don't even know what that means. But I do know that if the organization is getting on its feet, then things are going to be changing, and," *His speech shifts from a low and quiet timbre to a higher-pitched, more voluminous feel.* "Whenever change is in the air, that means design decisions are being made. Judging by the look of things, that's completely outside of your talents."[/ul] *Before Bennett can catch himself, his jaw drops open in shock at the audacity of this man.*[/font] *Dav raises one eyebrow.* " - and besides, when the time comes for actual design decisions to be made, well, that would be a time when I would look into a consulting service." *Bennett hasn't felt flustered like this in a while. The feeling has shaken off the accumulated fatigue from the day's worth of interviewing.*[/ul] *Dav continues, barely missing a beat. He leans back, his nose wrinkling slightly, and he holds up one hand with index finger pointed upward.*[/i] one of the design consultants in this city. To do ANYthing. If I were drowning in the Lola Cranith and the Creative Director of Turner & Russo was on the shore across from me with a life jacket in hand, I'd start writing my will."[/font][/ul] *A look of confusion is struck across Bennett's face. He cocks his head at this new revelation.*[/font][/ul] *The expression slides from Bennett's face. Inside his head, the wheels are turning. He's definitely been caught up in the pace of Dav's reasoning so far, and his conversational pace. Yet, hazily, he seems to be grasping at the point that the conversation has drifted away from the main issue.*[/i] needs to take care of?" "Oh, I don't do any of that stuff."[/font][/ul]
|
|
Lucien Malvern
The Jedi Order - Ossus Jedi Conclave
Posts: 240
Affiliation: Jedi Lords/Ossus Jedi
|
Post by Lucien Malvern on Dec 14, 2020 15:05:57 GMT -8
As Sky City was being secured, further transports and starfighters zoomed over both Lola Curich and Lianna City. The ship of the Orion-class Battleship was seen covering up some of Lianna's sun. It was not a wedge shape vessel that usually spelled doom and brought fear, but the presence of an immense warship still made some people worry. However, things become somewhat confusing and elated when the banners of the Jedi appeared upon the hulls of arriving transports and upon the shoulders of troops. A cadre of Jedi nobility, led by Baroness Gawynn Vale, Admiral of Orion Squadron, were spotted disembarking off of one of the transports.
She had arrived with the 4th Ducal 'Infernus' Division, commanded by General Orrock Besh, which was set to be the garrison force till further reinforcements arrived. 13th Fiyarro Regulars were in transit from Serenno as a reserve. The 14th Regulars remained on the battleship, while the 15th Regulers went to secure the Spaceport of Sky City. The 16th Foot Guard were deployed to Lianna City alongside the Jedi delegation, led by Admiral Vale. She was to be greeted by representatives of both the local government, the security force, and the Sienar company.
=Gwaynn Vale= Gentlemen and ladies, I believe we have much to discuss.
The Admiral states to those who greeted her. There were some murmurs while others gave nods. From there, the various people headed for Lianna's City central administration building. The Jedi Lords came with quite the firepower, but didn't come as conquerors. They sought mutual respect and gain for both sides.
|
|
Sunbringer
Member
Gathering intel and evacuating a team from Kuat Drive Yards
Posts: 53
Affiliation: The Son of Suns
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Sunbringer on Dec 16, 2020 17:34:37 GMT -8
[/b][/ul][/ul][/font][/font] *Today is a sunny day on the planet Lianna. With bright sunlight, balmy weather, and a gentle breeze, who can blame the crowds of people out and about to enjoy this perfect midsummer afternoon? A temperate 23° with just enough shade is perfect pedestrian weather. The skies are gently accented with clouds. And battleships.*
*Bennett, like many others, is out and about on foot to make the most of the day. Just as so many others in the streetside crowd do, he glances up occasionally, using his hand like a visor as he squints up towards the sun toward the ships that hang in the skies. It's no use; they're too far away to properly ascertain the markings, and even if he could see the banners, he wouldn't recognize the symbols. It's no use; they're all the way up there while he's all the way down here, and even if he could pay a visit, he doesn't hold anything that could come close to being considered clout. It's no use; the government is full of people whose day job is literally to handle these things, and even if they fail miserably in their negotiations on behalf of Lianna, the changes that come with a different regime are virtually meaningless to the average person.*
*Bennett is just an average person, and while the changing of governments or the rise and fall of empires can make for a good conversation topic over drinks, the thoughts spent on that topic are their own reward with usually nothing more to gain from them.*
*Today is a good day. Battleships and portents on the horizon are not going to bring down Bennett's mood, because he had received notification from the business registrar's office that his LLC had been recognized. On top of that, he had just gotten off a comm call, having made an employment offer to the second-best candidate from last week's round of interviews (his top candidate turned down the offer due to having accepted employment elsewhere). She, in turn, accepted the offer, and so shortly Verdant Star would be welcoming the services of Mischa Pike. It's an exciting turn of events.*
*Bennett's constitutional comes to its end at the now-familiar former diner that serves as his headquarters now. He holds up a business card to a scanner, and in response the door slides open. He strides in with a springy gait, heading to the back office to begin filing some paperwork in preparation for Mischa's new employment contract.*
|
|
Lucien Malvern
The Jedi Order - Ossus Jedi Conclave
Posts: 240
Affiliation: Jedi Lords/Ossus Jedi
|
Post by Lucien Malvern on Dec 16, 2020 22:18:05 GMT -8
=Several days since the arrival of the Jedi Lord forces=
In galactic news, stock for Kuat Drive Yards has been upped by 12%. Business with the Imperials has been paying off, says Administrator Julian, successor to the late Administrator Voss, to HNN interviwers. Banking for Aargau is at an all time high and Hydian Way is said to be the most secure in the galaxy.
The local HNN reporter stated as life in Lianna City seemed to go on with ease. Despite the presence of troops, from a foreign nation, little had changed, little had been diverted, life continued on as if nothing had happened. However, the populace was rather anxious. They were awaiting further reports on the tackles between the Jedi Lords and Lianna's leadership, both political and economic. Sienar's Executive and the local Magistrate of Lianna, along with mayors from the main cities, commanders of the garrison and security, and so forth attended these tackles that were being closely watched by the population and the news. Last major report was yesterday and people wondered if more came.
Rather suddenly, the HNN's usual reporting was interrupted by the team that was covering the talks. Two middle-aged humans, male and female, came onto the screen after the alert flashed across the screen of public and private viewscreens. The female looks directly at the camera as she begins to speak.
News from Lianna's Central Hall. We have gotten word of a pact agreed upon by the Jedi Lords and Lianna's leadership. We are about to connect to the view floor of the meeting where Baroness Gwaynn Vale, Admiral of Orion Squadron, on behalf of Duke Lucien Malvern, will speak, alongside Magistrate Kell and Sienar's Executive, Ierrax Sienar.
The image changed to an office within the Central Hall, the office of the Magistrate by the looks of it. There were a number of people in there besides the HNN news drones and reporters. Jedi nobility, Sienar elite, politicians, dressed military, and the likes that ruled, governed, and oversaw this planet. Behind a large desk, with a view of Lianna City, was Baroness Vale in the center with Magistrate Kell to her right and Executive Ierrax to her left. A gesture, unseen, was made as the crews got in order to deliver the news to Lianna. Admiral Vale stood proudly in her military uniform as she began to speak.
=Baroness Vale= People of Lianna, your patience has been most grateful. And your patience shall be rewarded.
She gestures, keeping focus on the camera drones in front of her, to Magistrate Kell, who stepped forward, followed by Ierrax who was gestured to next. The Admiral knew that the presence of these two would put the people's assurances at ease. There would be no dramatic changes.
=Baroness Vale= Through much deliberation, between myself and those who represent you, an agreement has been reached. The future of Lianna shall rest in the hands of the Jedi Lords. We shall protect you, ensure your prosperity, and expand your security. Lianna shall see the banner of the Jedi Lords raised and know that it is a symbol of hope, security, and greatness! In accordance with the treaty made, it has been agreed that...
From there, the agreement was laid out. Magistrate Kell was to take the office of Governor and finish his elected term as Lianna's political leader. The new government would include nobles, both force sensitive and not, and officials in order to represent the interests of the Jedi Lords. Lianna's tycoon, Executive Ierrax, was given assurances that Sienar's business would not be meddled with. All business would remain the same as before. A representative, from her company, would allowed a seat within the new government. There were further details, from there, such as the changes to the garrison, trade agreements, etc that would benefit Lianna and secure her place in the galaxy.
The news was met with those who were relieved to know that would continue onward, despite the change. Others weren't so happy. They liked their independence, but considering the presence of armed soldiers, they decided to not play with their own lives. There were likely those, among the disgruntled, who would seek to risk their lives however. It all depended on what came next. Nonetheless, Lianna was now a member of the Jedi Lords.
|
|
Shiirruk
Member
I am not pudding...
Posts: 53
Traffic Light: Yellow
|
Post by Shiirruk on Dec 30, 2020 3:07:43 GMT -8
An AA-9 Freighter Liner made its way down to the capital city of Lianna, docking at the spaceport to begin unloading its cargo, passengers bound, mostly, from Coruscant and the Core Worlds. Those seeking to leave the Core, hoping for a new life out in the Outer Rim, where opportunity was more plentiful; even if it was more dangerous. This was but one stop the ferrying company that ran the liners was making, Lianna already being a well established and developed world in the Universe, but still an important stop among the Perlemian Trade Route. As the passengers disembarked the craft into the city's spaceport, confidence men and sellers of useless baubles tried to persuade their credits from their pockets by claiming anything they could possibly want was what they were offering. Tourists and the gullible were an easy mark for a quick cred, as well as beings who did not handle confrontation well. One of these con artists, a wiry and tall human by the name of Aussan Kirbos, eyed his next victim: a well dressed Mon Calamari with quite the number of barbels on his chin and mottled skin, signifying advanced age, which was also a prime target. The Mon Cal was holding in one of his hands a metal briefcase, which was cuffed to the fish-man's wrist at the handle. Aussan had to act fast, or else he would lose this opportunity to his competition.
"Hello there! You there, with the nice suit!" The Mon Calamari stopped in his tracks, turning to see if someone was addressing him. Aussan smirked as he and the Mon Calamari the locked eyes. He was now his. Aussan nodded and waved the Mon Calamari over. "Yes, you, friend! Come over here! Just a moment of your time!" The Mon Cal looked around for a moment, as if confused, but altered his course to walk over to Aussan's little stand, which had an assortment of useless junk that he was selling at an exorbitant mark up. "How about a souvenir to commemorate your visit to the Rim?" The Mon Calamari swiveled his eyes to look over the items the human was offering. "Souvenir?" Aussan's smile grew wider and he nodded emphatically. "Yes, good sir! A souvenir to always remember your visit to the wonderful world of Lianna! Our people have a rich history of ship-building, as I know yours do as well. Perhaps a model ship to add to what I am sure is already an impressive collection?" Aussan took out a display case of ship miniatures, of all makes and models. "Well isn't that quite the selection! Is that a Naboo Royal Starship with real chromium plating? How did you find a model that rare? The Naboo guard their chromium quite jealously." Aussan bowed his head in faux humbleness, bringing his right arm diagonally across his chest to touch his left should with his right hand, in a sort of salute, looking up with a false look of sadness in his eyes. "We take great pride in our love of ships on Lianna, even those from other worlds. I am a collector myself, but I sadly must part with my collection to pay for my medical treatments." The Mon Cal stroked the side of his face with his free webbed hand in thought. "Medical treatment, you say? Well, I suppose if it's going to a good cause..." Aussan's eyes lit up as the old fish-man fell for his story, not even one of his best.
His elation was short lived, however, as a large statured mass of slime wearing a bandolier came to stop at the side of the aged Mon Cal. Aussan had never seen nor heard of any sort of species like this before, and at the spaceport he thought he had seen nearly every sentient race in the Galaxy. The Mon Calamari male looked to the Pulra and spoke to the creature with an air of familiarity. "What do you think? They do look to be high quality, and I know ships! I was once a Captain for the Navy, you know!" The head, or what Aussan assumed to be the head, of the living collection of goo, stretched down to closely inspect the cheap plastic ship figurines. From a vocoder attached to the alien's bandolier, which a small amount of its body was "plugged" into, a synthesized voice came out. ::It is too small to fly. You will not fit:: The Mon Cal let out a chortle at his bodyguard's apparent joke. "It's not meant for flying! That would be ridiculous. It's a collectible! You collect them! The assumed head of the Pulra retracted back from it's close inspection of the models and tilted to show its confusion. ::What is the purpose of collecting them?:: Aussan could not help but roll his eyes at the question, cursing his lack of control in the moment, but tried to cover it up by trying to explain the concept of collectibles to what was obviously a simpleton. Luckily the Mon Cal nor Pulra had seen the slip in his mask. Aussan didn't see a brain within the gelatinous mass, so its intelligence was suspect to him. At the very least it was naïve, at most just stupid. Either worked to his advantage. "You collect them to have them; to sell to someone else or to show them off to others." The Pulra extended it's head back down to re-inspect the models. Aussan began to sweat, as he feared the fake chromium colored reflective paint would be seen through. The attention of the slime creature could draw the Mon Cal's eyes to more closely inspect it as well, and then he would be caught. The Pulra's vocoder warbled out once more. ::So it is a status symbol?:: Aussan snapped the fingers of his right hand and gave the slime a finger gun sign, to affirm the stupid creature's deduction. "You got it, pal! You'd be surprised the amount of powerful people who collect these replicas. You'd be surprised the doors having such a rare ship can open."
The elder Mon Cal nodded in agreement, raising a webbed finger to interject an example of his own. "My brother once had in his possession a model replica of a Mando-Verpine Assault Fighter made out of actual beskar! He held many parties with that thing as the centerpiece! He had offers to buy it coming from a dozen planets in the Core! He used it as an in to some of the shipyard owners and had stock in four different ship companies! The old Mon Calamari trailed off a bit as he continued his story, as the elderly often do It's such a shame the Mandalorians killed him...Claimed the beskar was stolen, and that his certificate of authentic sale was invalid." The Pulra pulled back from its second inspection, remaining silent. Aussan could not getting a read on the alien's thoughts, as it had no features to watch, and he had no idea what any body language the slime gave off was positive or negative. He decided to try and push a little harder. "That's right! You could use it to get your foot in the door to an elite group of people!" Aussan stammered a bit as he looked down only to see that the Pulra had no feet, but shrugged it off. Surely even it understood a simple idiom? The Pulra's head cocked sideways once more as its vocoder translated inot Basic whatever constituted speech for the species. ::Why haven't you used the power of these models for yourself?:: The Mon Cal frowned at this realization, looking the Aussan questioningly. "Yes, why haven't you sold the model through an auction house or on the holonet? I'm sure you'd make much more quicker than yelling down bystanders at the spaceport."
Aussan cursed inside his head. He had to be careful how he played this, or else he would lose his payday. His bottom lip quivered and his eyes watered slightly as he feigned a deep sadness. "I did have someone make me an offer, but their finances fell through at the last moment, so now I am trying to unload it as quickly as possible for my treatment." Aussan let out a fake cough and doubled over slightly, which caused the eyes of the Mon Cal to widen with worry. "You poor lad! How much for the Naboo starship? I'll take it!" His face hidden from view, Aussan's expression contorted into the ugly look of satisfaction for a moment, before he raised it again to look at the Mon Calamari with a grateful look on his face. "Whatever you think it is worth, I will gladly take...But the cost of my treatment is a thousand credits." Without so much as a second thought the amphibious humanoid offered up a credit stick, which Aussan accepted with phony gratitude. He plugged the credit stick into his datapad and read off the amount; just under seven hundred credits. With a gracious smile, the human handed over the forged replica of the Naboo Royal Starship in a square glass case. "You are too kind, good sir!" After taking the encased replica with a satisfied grin on his face, the Mon Cal nudged his Pulra companion. "I'd recommend getting the Nebula-class Star Destroyer replica. It's fairly rare as well. A good start to a collection." The Pulra remained still and quiet, as if pondering what action it should take. Aussan grinded his teeth as he forced a smile at the creature. After nearly an eternity, or what seemed like one, a tendril extended from the gelatinous mass and went into one of the pouches on the alien's bandolier, pulling out a credit stick. The vocoder spoke out once more. ::Is this amount sufficient?:: Aussan plugged in the slime's cred stick into his datapad next and scanned it. His eyes widened at the amount; over fifteen hundred credits! His hands shook excitedly as he pocketed the stick, and he lifted the encased miniature to the light turquoise colored goo creature. Small tendrils extended out from the Pulra's form and wrapped around the glass case holding the counterfeit replica and pulled it in towards the center of its mimicked humanoid shape.
The Mon Cal attempted to pat the Pulra on it's back in congratulations at the purchase, only to have his hand sink partially into the gooey mass of the alien. Withdrawing his hand, he shook it to try and remove the thin mucous coating that now covered it. The Pulra was unphased, and simply stood there awkwardly, unmoving. The Mon Cal cleared his throat and nodded his head in thanks to Aussan, the man who had just - unknowingly to them - swindled them. "W-well, thank you ever so much, young man! You be sure to pack up and head to the nearest medical center for your treatment! If you'll excuse me, I must be going. I have an important meeting to keep. Come, bodyguard. We mustn't be late!" Aussan bowed deeply in thanks, trying to contain the maniacal laughter that was welling within him, his eyes tearing with pure mischievous joy as the pair continued on their way. Where ever that was, Aussan could hardly care. He had made a killing off of them. Tourists...so easy. The Pulra engulfed the glass encased forgery of the Nebula-class Star Destroyer into the center of its mass, so all would see it's newly acquired status symbol. It floated around inside its gelatinous conglomeration slowly, like it was in a thick syrup.
|
|
Sunbringer
Member
Gathering intel and evacuating a team from Kuat Drive Yards
Posts: 53
Affiliation: The Son of Suns
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Sunbringer on Dec 30, 2020 19:39:54 GMT -8
[/b][/ul][/ul][/font][/font] *The stupefaction which had overcome Aussan Kirbos at the sight of Shiirruk is a common reaction that the duo face as they stride through the spaceport. Seeing a Mon Cal is in fact a bit rare on Lianna, not to mention the almost unheard-of Pulra. Add in that the Mon Cal fellow was sporting a conspicuous briefcase, and you've got a recipe to attract a lot of attention from passers-by. But in spite of the stares, they seem to be managing themselves just fine.*
*Bodyguard and VIP have found themselves in one of the less reputable spaceports of Lianna City. The ensemble of con artists speaks to that, but so does the rest of their surroundings. In addition to the flock of free-range merchants calling for attention to their wares, the adjoining lobby to the arrivals is, by design, a bazaar. Stalls line the walls, their trinkets and souvenirs on display, their silhouettes punctuated by block-aurebesh signs (no proper store names, mind you - just buzz word descriptors of what is for sale at each one). Look, over there -- cutting edge comlinks sold at bargain prices! The scent of deep-fried seafood, billed at the food stand as fresh caught from the Lola Cranith but almost certainly not so, hovers in the air overhead and permeates the space. Threatening to clog one's arteries with so much as a glance in that direction. The racket of the masses approaches that which you'd find at a sporting event, with significantly less of the entertainment value. Unless you're a people-gazer.*
*There's no shortage of shady clientele, either. Pickpockets and slicers, con-men and panhandlers, all out in force today just as any other. The worst of their encounters was the one with Aussan Kirbos, however. Panhandlers calling out for credits can be ignored, and would-be wallet-pinchers are deterred by two facts: that the Mon Cal's briefcase is chained to his wrist, and that it's impossible to tell where the Pulra is looking or if it even has eyes. Easier targets exist in this crowd.*
*As they're headed for the Mon Cal's appointment, they most likely will want to secure taxi transit. An illuminated neon sign overhead, arrows and all, point toward the taxi depot adjoined to the spaceport. On their way, a stretch of bulletin boards (how quaint!) can't be missed. It is wallpapered top to bottom with cheaply-produced fliers for local music events, eateries, miscellanea for sale, job adverts, numbers to call for a good time, yoga classes, and the formal notice to obtain approval prior to posting anything on the bulletin boards.*[/i], LLC Headquarters (Riverbanks District)~[/b][/ul][/ul][/font][/font] *Bennett Voltar gazes over the template for the monthly detail summary that Mischa had drawn up for him. In truth, he thought it was a really impressive body of work. The dossier was more than ten pages long, granted. But size doesn't count for much when organized on a holoprojector, and he appreciates how he can quickly tab between contract requests received, contracts fulfilled, licenses list (color-coded green for new arrivals!), and expense reports (well, he hates the expense reports section, but its importance is nonetheless understood). Thumbing over to the requests section, he peruses the line items. There had been more requests put in to Verdant Star than he had expected. Excellent news. Flicking to the licenses, he frowns slightly as he's reminded how there has been less interest than he had hoped for, but he and Mischa had agreed that investing in a job advertising campaign takes time to net results. Only two affiliates, so far. A student in the local district high school, Joshu Bemedd, whose parents had insisted on him getting a job for the off-semester seasons, so in Bennett's opinion, he can't be relied on too much. And a middle-aged mustachioed man sporting a proud dad body, Peter Wolfe, who saw one of the earliest versions of the Verdant Star's job ads and came in later that same day. He's got the spirit, but sometimes he's a little confused. Between these two average joes, Bennett wonders how the company had even managed to complete three contracts this month. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head.*[/font] *Comes the cheerful reply from the newly-renovated front room of the building.* "It's almost ten past five, so I'll be heading out. Do you want me to lock up?" "No, go ahead and leave it open. I won't be much longer tonight, either."[/ul] *He barely listened, and is still stuck there wondering how they'll ever manage to get some talent on the roster.*
|
|
Shiirruk
Member
I am not pudding...
Posts: 53
Traffic Light: Yellow
|
Post by Shiirruk on Jan 1, 2021 9:01:51 GMT -8
The Mon Cal grumbled as he searched his pockets. The Pulra and Mon Calamari were standing outside the spaceport, next to a modified EasyRide airspeeder taxi. The cabin had a roof built onto it, to protect passengers from the elements, and was painted bright yellow with a black and white checkerboard stripe across the side. A rather disgruntled Neimoidian was sitting in the driver's seat, annoyed at the delay. "I'm sure I had a credit chit somewhere. Where did I put it?" He adjusted the shackle on his wrist to better reach into the pockets on his left side. It would appear he had misplaced his extra credits, having given the bulk of his coin purse to a wonderful gentlemen in exchange for a rare model ship, which he was juggling with difficulty as he searched his suit for anything to pay for the cab who was requesting proof of payment up front. Dismayed, the Mon Cal shook his head, looking to his Pulra bodyguard. "What about you, my lad? You wouldn't happen to have any extra credits, would you? I'll be sure to get you back, on top of your pay." Shiirruk stood as still as a statue as it answered using its vocoder. ::It used the credits it had to purchase a status symbol:: The Pulra's body shifted as it extended a part of itself down to show the Neimoidian cab driver the class encased Nebula-class Star Destroyer replica model (forgery) within its body. The Neimoidian's mouth went slack slightly as he tried to interpret what he was looking at. ::Do you accept status symbols as payment?:: Exclaiming a curse in his native tongue of Pak Pak, the Neimoidian cab driver hit a big yellow button, which caused the open passenger door to shut and lock, preventing the Mon Cal and Pulra from entering. He yelled at the pair through a slightly rolled down window. "No credits, no ride! Beat it!"
The elder Mon Calamari's jaw dropped at the perceived rudeness of the cab driver. "Good sir, I am on important business! Surely we can come to some sort of arrangement for payment after I have finished my business in your fine city!" The Neimoidian scoffed and dismissed the Mon Cal's suggestion with a wave of his hand. "The arrangement is you pay me, I take you where you want to go! You're broke! Go away! You scaring away my business!" The Neimoidian began to perform a shooing gesture at the duo now keeping him from gaining actual paying customers. The Mon Cal blinked and let out a huff. "Well, I never!" The Neimoidian, sick of the back and forth, turned the wheel of his craft to move it closer to the Mon Cal and Pulra to scare them into leaving. "And you never will again if you don't get lost!" The Mon Cal jumped back as the airspeeder jumped towards him to avoid being hit. Shiirruk was unphased and remained where it was standing. The airspeeder hit the Pulra's form, but the nature of its body only meant that the hull of the airspeeder sank into its slightly, his gelatinous goo conforming around the metal. Shiirruk's formed head appendage turned to the Mon Cal, who was in a state of shock and worry over his bodyguard being hit, though in truth Shiirruk was unharmed. The outer layer of the Pulra's body shivered slightly, but whatever it was preparing to do it did not have the chance. "I'm not going back to prison!" The Neimoidian yelled as he cut the wheel the other way, removing his airspeeder from the Pulra, who he assumed he had injured, and took off into the ecumenopolis's sky, lost among the hundreds of other airspeeders, never to be seen again. The Mon Cal, having jumped out of the way, ran to the side of his bodyguard to check on his well being. "My goodness, are you okay!? Did you happen to catch his taxi number? My eyes aren't as good as they used to be." Shiirruk's out layer of goo ceased its shivering and it's vocoder spoke to the Mon Calamari. ::It is unharmed:: The Mon Cal let out a harumph and shook his head at the conduct of the cab driver. The head-like appendage of Pulra turned to its client. ::How do you wish to proceed?:: The old Mon Cal lifted his right and shook his head slightly in defeat. "It would appear we are walking, my boy." The Pulra's outer layer again shivered in response, though whether this was a good or bad thing the fish-man could not tell. And so they began their travel into and through the city by foot, heading towards the Trade-market District, just south of the Riverbanks District. The Mon Calamari was almost certain that they would be late, and coddled the briefcase chained to his wrist protectively as they entered the Market District.
The pair would enter into the lower sections of the Trade-market district, the upper echelons of the cityscape's buildings and skyscrapers being out of their reach without an airspeeder. Open air markets and food stalls filled the area. The Mon Cal's stomach growled as his nose took in the wafts of cooked food. He had also noticed that his Pulra bodyguard had been...buzzing wasn't the correct way to put it. Twitching, perhaps? He was unsure what the slime alien considered food, but if it could smell it was no doubt tempted by the many scents of food being prepared. They were walking for nearly an hour, the Mon Cal speaking to his bodyguard in a reassuring tone. "Do not worry, lad. We are close. The meeting place should be just around here...erhrm...somewhere." The Mon Cal cleared his throat as he paused for a moment, trying to get his bearings. He turned around several times, scratching his head in confusion. "Was it this way?" Shiirruk remained silent as the Pulra awaited its client to make a decision. Its instructions were clear: Follow the Mon Calamari until he had delivered the briefcase to its destination and protect him in the case of any danger to his well being. Shiirruk had not been told where they were supposed to go, for the privacy and protection of whatever activities were happening. It had been told the term plausible deniability, but the slime was not entirely sure what these words meant. The Pulra's head appendage began to ooze a small thin strip of slime, as if it were drooling, as the smells of food drifted everywhere around it. It could pick up the microscopic particles that hung in the air in a process similar to osmosis, getting only a taste of what was being prepared nearby.
The Pulra's focus momentarily drawn from its charge, it did not notice the approach of several other sentients towards them until they blocked their path. One of the seven beings, a Rodian, raised his head in an attempt at a greeting, meant for intimidation. "You lost, gramps? Perhaps we could...be of assistance." The Mon Calamari blinked and then smiled widely, at least what was wide for his species, nodding as he spoke. "That would be wonderful. I seem to have gotten turned around. I'm looking for-" The Rodian interrupted the Mon Cal before he could finish. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. We'll be happy to help you get to wherever you're going. Just turn over that shiny briefcase, first." The Mon Cal frowned and raised his arm. He shook the chain slightly to show that he could not remove it even if he wanted to. "What, this? I'm quite sorry, but it isn't mine to give. I don't even have the code to unlock these cuffs. Couldn't get the blasted thing off even if I wanted to. You'd have to cut my hand off." The Mon Cal let out a laugh at his jest, the Rodian letting out a chuckle as well before taking out a vibroblade from his belt. "Now there's an idea. Grab him, boys." As the six other thugs ran towards the Mon Cal, who's eyes widened in terror, Shiirruk flowed like liquid from where it was standing to get between its client and the thugs. The Pulra expanded itself, growing into a monstrously large form, though it truth it was just stretching itself out and not gaining any mass. It's normally light turquoise color turned to a dark bluish purple. From its body emanated a menacing warning, creating by the Pulra itself. A hum-like growl that stopped the thugs in their tracks. "...RRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRR..." The gangsters looked at one another in worry, taking several steps back from the imposing goo creature. Several of them turned back to their leader to see what he wanted them to do. The Rodian rolled its eyes and yelled at his henchmen. "What're you doing?! Get the fish!" The gang members looked at one another nervously for a moment before one of them, a green male Twi'lek, took out a blaster pistol and took aim at the Pulra, firing off a round at the slime.
The red blaster bolt struck the gelatinous mass of the Pulra, but the energy dissipated, only leaving behind a burned area where the bolt had struck. The Pulra still stood. In disbelief, the Twi'lek let loose several more bolts wildly as the giant slime changed its shape. A thick tendril flew from the center of mass, striking the Twi'lek and the momentum taking him with it. The Twi'lek impacted a wall of a market stall, causing the poorly constructed structure to collapse. The tendril would remain, engulfing him in the dark colored goo, pinning him in place. The Twi'lek screamed as he struggled against the immense crushing pressure being applied to him as he lay helplessly on the ground. The low hum raised in pitch as the Pulra continued its attack. "...rrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrr..." It's body following the tendril, a majority of the rest of the Pulra's form followed, splitting off and enveloping the other five thugs, bringing them together to consolidate its form to make its grip stronger, who all began screaming as they struggled against Shiirruk's grasp. The Rodian dropped it's vibroblade in fear and took a few steps back instinctively before making a run for it. Shiirruk released the five now broken-bodied and unconscious thugs, lifting the Twi'lek that was within the wreckage of the food stall, and threw the being at the Rodian, causing him to fall under the weight of his injured minion. He would scramble to get the Twi'lek's body off of him as the Pulra approached its foe. The last thing the Rodian saw before his body was enwrapped and squeezed into unconsciousness was a Nebula-class Star Destroyer model floating past his line of sight.
The Mon Cal blinked, stunned at what had just happened and unable to talk. He blinked several more times as his Pulra bodyguard approached him, now back at its previous near-humanoid shape and size. The Pulra spat out several items that had become jostled from the clothing of the thugs while they had been inside the creature's slime body. The fishman stuttered for a moment before finally finding his voice once more. A-a-are you alright? You're shot." The Pulra shook for a moment before ejecting out what appeared to be scorched jelly, dead Pulra flesh that had been sacrificed to tank the blaster bolt hits. ::It has lost some mass, but it will heal in time:: The Mon Cal's face contorted in slightly disgust at the putrid smell coming from the dead mass of the Pulra. He hesitantly pointed in a direction. "I b-believe it's this way." The Pulra would remain silent as it followed the Mon Calamari, who stepped over the unconscious bodies of the gangsters to continue on his way.
|
|
Sunbringer
Member
Gathering intel and evacuating a team from Kuat Drive Yards
Posts: 53
Affiliation: The Son of Suns
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Sunbringer on Jan 3, 2021 13:02:02 GMT -8
[/i]~[/b][/ul][/ul][/font][/font] *Roughly forty-five minutes after they'd said their goodbyes for the evening, Bennett strode out of the front doors of the former diner. Tapping his encryption card to the badge reader, and entering a few digits on the attached keypad, he locks the doors and straightens up. He jumps, startled, when he turns around to walk toward his airspeeder. Standing just a few feet away, Mischa Pike has been watching him.*[/font] *She chuckles at Voltar's exaggerated recoil.* "Yeah. I thought you meant it this time when you wouldn't be staying much longer." "...yeah..." *He raises his right arm to the back of his head and rubs his nape abashedly, looking away at the streetlamp-illuminated sidewalk.* "I got a little distracted." "You always do."[/ul] *Bennett reestablishes eye contact, a slight frown pulling at the corner of his mouth. She, in turn, peers calmly back into his eyes. In the artificial light, her peach colored skirt arrayed with randomly-oriented salmon triangles shines brightly. A short sleeve blouse, white with vertical lavender bars, meets her waist with a golden belt clasped around it. Mostly pastel, Bennett notes. By contrast, he wears a button-up shirt, gradiated from black at the waist to lime green at the shoulders, with a matching black pair of pants in full-gloss finish.*[/font] *Mischa laughs again, fuller this time.* "No... I thought, since today is one month since the Verdant Star got licensed, that it would be nice to celebrate with some drinks. Call it a, um, business strategy meeting."[/ul] *Bennett allows a grin to slip onto his face. He had to admit, having a drink sounds pretty good on a midsummer's evening like this. The sun was low on the horizon, and there's no shortage of good bars to choose from around here (and everywhere on Lianna, for that matter). He could already imagine the savory taste of Boontaspice and fried chips washed down with a Corellian ale. Pub food and alcoholic beverages, what could be better?*[/font][/ul] [/b][/ul][/ul][/font][/font] [/font][/ul] *A stocky Liann man, looking to be in his late forties or early fifties by most Galactic estimates, calls out to the Pulra and Mon Cal as they start to head away from the scene. Wearing rainbow-colored cargo pants, and a tie dyed t-shirt emblazoned with the upraised-wing symbol some might recognize as Sienar Fleet System's classic logo (before their merger with Jaemus Engineering), he strikes a vibrant - yet short - figure. Not out of place, by stature and attire, here on Lianna. His jawline, drawn in a scowl that might just be permanently engraved on his face, is dressed with a few millimeters of salt-and-pepper whiskers. Blue eyes are deep-set and squinting; nose is blunt, pock-marked, and slightly too big for his face. His right hand rests on a RSKF-44 blaster pistol, worn openly on his waist. He walks past the pile of unconscious bodies, and glances down quickly as he avoids stepping in a steaming, translucent brown pile of goo.*
[/font] *the man barks.* "Fragging outlanders tried to rob you at blaster point. You - " *He points with his left hand, two fingers outstretched, to Shiirruk. A gruff, begrudging nod of respect accompanies his next words.* "You did good. Not scared of them, are ya? If you'd have looked like you were in trouble, I was half a second away from jumping in to help." *The man pats his blaster, keeping his hand resting on it after the second pat.*[/ul] [/font][/ul] *The man sighs.*
[/font] *He looks over his shoulder at the pile of gangsters, shakes his head scornfully, and then turns his head back to stare at the duo.* "Like I said, I saw the whole thing. The cops'll hear my side of the story when they get here. You defended yourselves like you had to. But if you just walk away now, well... that'd be a hit 'n' run, and if I know anything, I can tell you two aren't from around these parts, either. You'd be best to do the right thing."[/ul]
|
|
Shiirruk
Member
I am not pudding...
Posts: 53
Traffic Light: Yellow
|
Post by Shiirruk on Jan 6, 2021 5:26:06 GMT -8
It took a few extra shouts from the Liannese man to catch their attention over the hustle and bustle of the city, but the Mon Calamari man was the first to stop and turn around. He looked confused at first, but the realization of the need for authorities made him a visibly nervous. His bulbous eyes darted around to scan the area for any police airspeeders incoming. Shiirruk has stopped the same time as its charge, its head-like extremity inverting into its central mass to come back out the back to "face" the Liann man. "P-police?" The Mon Cal stammered as he adjusted his grip on the metal briefcase manacled to his wrist. "Well, you see we're already running very short on time, good sir. I have a meeting I must make, very important business. We've had to walk from the spaceport this far, and my feet really are quite sore from the journey." The Mon Calamari raised his free hand up, pointing at the air with a gasp to show he had an idea. He patted the light turquoise mass that was the Pulra with a reassuring nod. "My bodyguard could stay behind. My stop is right around the corner, over there." The fishman pointed to a seedy looking cantina who's neon light flickered on and off. The name of the cantina read, "The Wasted Zelosian." Shiirruk turned itself slightly to get a better view of the sign over the crowds of people between them and the cantina. The Mon Cal continued speaking to the Liann man. "I'll be right over there, and he...erm...it can stay here to explain to the police what occurred. They can find me in the bar if they need me." The old fishman fanned his face with his free webbed hand, panting slightly. "I really must get some water in me as well. All this walking and excitement sure does dry one out."
Without really giving the Liannese man a chance to object, the Mon Calamari man made his way through the growing crowd of people stopping to see what was going on. The Pulra remained still, extending upward slightly to watch its charge from a higher view as he entered into the cantina. A portion of the Pulra's mass extended out to form another head like appendage to give the Liann man something to look at as it's vocoder spoke out. ::It is from a world very far from this one:: The Pulra extended a thin pointed tentacle from its main body, the outer goo stiffened to make it a prehensile piercing weapon. ::It could end them:: Ending the thugs' existences was beyond an easy task to cull those that did not work for the good of the whole. To most that would sound like a threat. To Shiirruk however, those that were a detriment or drain on the collective's resources existences were forfeit. Those that did not cooperate were enemies to the whole's ability to survive. ::That would ensure they do not take away from the collective's resources. Medbay space would be saved:: The Pulra's outer layer of goo shivered as it heard sirens approach, an air-ambulance and air-police cruiser.
The ambulance circled overhead while the police cruiser landed. The crowd that had gathered hastily moved to make room for the descending airspeeder. Two police officers hopped out and one began moving the crowd back, tossing down a hologram projector from which sprang a scrolling 'Police. Do not Cross' border. The ambulance set down not long after, now having enough space, and the paramedics began checking vitals of the unconscious thugs, loading the most injured one into the back of the vehicle. Overhead, two more ambulance and three more police cruiser airspeeders were beginning their descent to help with crowd control and the injured. The other officer from the first cruiser approached the Pulra and Liann man. His right hand on his own blaster ready to draw, while his left hand was outstretched in a gesture meant to calm the situation. "Changeling, un-form the weapon!" The Pulra paused for a moment, confused, before it shivered once more. Complying, Shiirruk retracted the spear-like tentacle it had created back into its body. The officer breathed a sigh a relief but kept his hand on his blaster. "Changeling, assume your natural form and remain in it until we have released you from our investigation and custody. Is that understood?" Again the Pulra complied, shaping itself into a tall humanoid form with two arms, two legs, and a head like appendage. It was not its natural form, technically, but it found that humanoids found it to be the most comfortable to deal with. The officer removed his hand from his hip holster and took out a datapad. "Okay, good. Now let's get down to business." As the other police cruisers and ambulances landed and from which paramedics and more officers exited, they would begin performing their duties. The officer with the datapad would try to ascertain what had occurred, collecting statements from the Liann man and the Pulra. "What happened here? Which one of you is responsible for this?" The Liann man pointed at the Pulra, who remained still and unmoving. The officer nodded and slowly approached the two beings to begin his interviews.
|
|
Sunbringer
Member
Gathering intel and evacuating a team from Kuat Drive Yards
Posts: 53
Affiliation: The Son of Suns
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Sunbringer on Jan 8, 2021 17:24:39 GMT -8
*The Mon Cal utters his excuse, and runs off. Seeing that the bodyguard would be left behind to give the testimony in his place, and the destination was given, the older man gives a single grimacing nod and does not try to detain the fish man. Once he disappears into the crowd, the Liann turns to the Pulra.*[/font] *The old man chuckles.* "I wasn't saying they forfeited their lives, weren't you listening? If they died 'cuz of self-defense, that's a different story. But you were tough enough to put 'em down, alive, so now they have the right to stay alive. Unbefitting punishment to their crime if you were to kill 'em now."
[/ul] *The police and medical vehicle sirens echo above them. As the professionals disembark to execute their respective tasks, the man slides a little closer to the Pulra. The interviewing officer approaches.*[/font][/ul] *The Liann points at Shiirruk, but it's no mere point-with-an-index-finger gesture. His right hand is now off of his blaster pistol, and he brings it up to shoulder height in an inwardly-traced half-circle. Fist clenched, thumb jutting out, locking in place with a flex of a bicep that is just a few years past its prime. The hint of a smile tugs at one side of his roughly carven mouth.*
*Duly, the policeman approaches. Badge number krenth-seven-one-six, nameplate emblazoned 'Tpr. Korey Stal-Vox,' mid-twenties by normal human standard, more than a few inches taller than the Liann man, brown eyes and matching hair color underneath his hat, clean-shaven and thinner than most police, he slides out a datapad and begins a new investigation file with a well-practiced sequence of taps.*[/font] *He juts his chin up, indicating the Pulra.* "Got any ID on you?" *Beside him, the Liann man was already rummaging in his pockets to pull out a heavily-worn wallet from which he procured an identichip. Shiirruk does the same, procuring a surprisingly pristine card from his bandolier belt. It projects a hologram image featuring an image of himself and relevant data text.* ::This was acquired on Coruscant.::[/ul] *The vocoder crackles as the creature hands it over to the officer. Korey hesitantly reaches out toward the appendage, and lifts the chip with thumb and forefinger, being careful not to touch the jelly-like flesh of the Pulra. He slides the card into a receptacle on his datapad, copying the data files.* [/font] *He says, withdrawing the identichip and returning it.* "Why don't you tell me just what happened... here."[/ul] *Arm outstretched and palm up, he sweeps out the now-vacant area where the bodies had been. The Pulra remains still and silent for several moments, as if its attention was elsewhere, though as the creature had no eyes it was impossible to tell for sure. Finally, its vocoder again comes to life, speaking for the alien.* [/b][/font] It was protecting another from attack. It was successful.:: *Motionless, and with emotion hindered by the mechanical nature of the vocoder, it is impossible to discern the pride swelling within Shiirruk at the successful execution of his duty to the Mon Cal. Korey's glance flicks over to the man beside the Pulra.* "Protecting this guy? They attacked you two?" ::No. Another.::[/ul] *Shiirruk's head-like protuberance turns toward the Liann and tilts before returning to its original position. At the mention of a third individual, Korey frowns.*[/font] *He curses beneath his breath and rubs two fingers over the bridge of his nose, looking down.* "OK. We'll get to that in a minute. So these seven guys attacked you and the other guy. And they all wound up like that? Can you describe in greater detail how that happened?"[/ul] *The replies from the Pulra come with substantial pauses in between. Lianna police training includes a two week module on cultural sensitivity. One question on one of the tests was about language barriers. Korey thinks back. He clearly remembers seeing the question on the screen, but does not remember what he put down for that one.*[/b][/font] It is charged with protecting another one. He ordered it to remain here to speak to the authorities so that he would not be late for his purpose. They impeded the progress to the destination of its charge, and moved to take by force when they were not the intended recipient. One fired at it. ... It incapacitated them in retaliation.::[/ul] *The answer of 'it incapacitated them' was not only unhelpfully vague, but in Korey's mind, also unsatisfying. How could this creature take on seven other beings after having been shot and carry out its duties in such a way? But, he decides, the level of answer being given didn't justify interrogating any further. He'd like to get on with it.*[/font] *Korey tries to maintain his decorum, but the impatience is starting to bite at him.*[/ul] *This question is met with a long silence and complete stillness from Shiirruk.*[/b][/font] It was not told for certain the final destination, but it watched its charge entered a nearby establishment.:: *Shiirruk lifts an arm, pointing to the Wasted Zelosian. Korey's gaze follows, and he nods.*[/ul] [/b][/font] It must be reunited with its charge to ensure his safety. That is its current purpose.::[/ul] [/font][/ul] *While not exactly satisfied with the answers he's received from Shiirruk, the policeman turns to the Liann man. Taking the ID card, he addresses him while inserting it into the reader on the datapad. The man's data file is projected out from the screen, which the police officer glances at before resuming his questioning.*[/font][/ul] *Geoffrey nods.*[/font][/ul] *Korey is still a little perplexed by the strength required for Shiirruk to perform such a feat, and his confusion is noted by an upward twitch of the right eyebrow. But, having pulled on that thread of questioning to the Pulra, and having gotten nowhere, he decides not to pursue it further. He glances over his shoulder toward the strobing sign for the Wasted Zelosian. An internal debate overtakes the man. A few moments of silence pass, and then he turns back to Shiirruk and Geoffrey with a barely-audible sigh escaping his nostrils.*[/font] *He taps his datapad indicatively.* "- and those will be kept as evidence according to official procedure. The unofficial report for this incident is #10378842, which you can find by number on our public database in the next half hour. When I finish the paperwork on my end, the unofficial report will be formalized under the same number. None of your personally-identifiable information will be made publicly available. With that, unless there's something else you want me to do for you, we'll take the rest from here and you can be on your way."[/ul]
|
|
Shiirruk
Member
I am not pudding...
Posts: 53
Traffic Light: Yellow
|
Post by Shiirruk on Jan 8, 2021 23:25:45 GMT -8
After returning its identy chit to the bandlier pouch it had retrieved it from and answering all of Korey's questions, Shiirruk's vocoder remained silent as the officer spoke of judges and numbers that it did not understand. Nor did it care to. The current tall form it was in reassuming its statuesque activity as the officer continued on regarding procedure and protocol regarding the case involving the Pulra. The Pulra's stillness persisted after Korey had stopped talking, as if the slime was again pondering a response, before the alien began walking away without its vocoder even offering up so much as an utterance. Shiirruk walked through the police tape hologram barrier, the crowd of onlookers clearing a path for the lumbering light turquoise mass of goo, a slightly look of frightened worry on several of their faces as the Pulra had approached them. Their fears were calmed as it continued past them, going in the direction of the entrance of the Wasted Zelosion to find the Mon Calamari that had said he would be within. One of the bystanders standing at the police tape barrier waved a hand in front of his face to disperse whatever horrendous smell was offending his nostrils. The man gagged and pointed at the discharged mass of the Pulra that now sat on the ground, dead and giving off an intense aroma of said death. The once bluish gelatin-like flesh of the slime had turned black and brown, and was bubbling slightly as gasses escaped from the inside of the globs of dead matter. "Crink! Somebody get rid of that stuff! It reeks!" As the stench reached others' nostrils they too began gagging in response. Several ran off in an attempt get fresh air free of the fetor of the dead mass.
Inside the Wasted Zelosian, the elderly Mon Calamari and three humans, two male and one female, were sat in a booth together. The humans were all sat across from the Mon Cal at the table, one of whom seemed rather nervous as he watched the outside through the glass viewport to his right. The anxious man nudged the center-sat female human, who's posture was straight and her eyes staring intently at the fishman. He spoke to her in a worried tone. "B-boss, I don't like this. Maybe we should call it off? There's a lot of cops out th-" The man turned to face the human woman and fell silent as he saw her glaring daggers into him, out of fear for what would happen if he continued speaking. The woman's expression returned to a neutral stare as she turned back to Mon Cal, giving a feign smile. The Mon Calamari squirmed in his seat at the look, unsure of what he had gotten himself into. He clung to the briefcase sat in his lap beneath the table, but he did not speak. After several more minutes of intimidating silence, a datapad that was laid on the table between the group beeped. The human woman's slid the datapad closer and looked over the information scrolling across the screen, smirking smugly as she read. After taking out a small code cylinder from the side of the datapad, she spun the tablet around and eased it towards the Mon Cal man, indicating to the screen with her index finger. The fishman cleared his throat and leaned down to get a closer look at the display, as his eyes had trouble reading the small letters. The woman began speaking as he looked at the datapad's screen. "As you can see, the credits have been transferred to your nephew's account and the codes have been transmitted to us. If you would be so kind..." The woman turned her hand over to hold it out to the old Mon Calamari, who was still bent over the tablet trying to make out what was on the screen. He blinked a few more times before looking up and seeing the woman waiting for him. "Hmm? Oh yes, of course. If everything has gone through."
The amphibian lifted the briefcase which was still shackled to his wrist and set it on top of the tablet. The woman grabbed the fishman's arm and turned it slightly to expose the port on the cuff, inserting the end of the code clinder into it. A small indicator light flashed red several times before turning green and the handcuffs unlocked. The Mon Cal man took back his now unbound arm and massaged his wrist with his other hand. He seemed rather happy to be free. "Happy to be done with this trip. Though I do enjoy a nice ride in a starliner. Not like the good old days when I was a captain of a ship; but just getting the chance to be aboard a ship again, and not cooped up in that blasted nursing home, is worth it. I would've made Admiral and been in command of a fleet of my own by now, if it wasn't for all the politics with the upper ranks. They trumped up some jargon about my mind, but I know they just wanted me out of the way for some senator's buddy." As the Mon Cal continued speaking, the third human, a large brutish looking man who had remained silent this entire time, stood up and took hold of the briefcase, sliding it to the edge of the table and opening it after getting the other shackle out of the way. He looked over the contents, from which a golden light shone onto him. He nodded in approval to the woman as he shut the case and stood off to the side in preparation to leave. Satisfied, the human female stood up, causing the still rambling Mon Cal to sputter to a stop. "Oh? Leaving so soon? I was enjoying our chat." The woman brushed her hair over her shoulder and put forth another fake smile, though her eyes were cold and there was a veiled ruthlessness behind them. "Yes, I am afraid our business is concluded, though I enjoyed our time together." The woman looked to her more skittish associate, who took out a cylindrical credit chip and passed it to the Mon Cal man. "Your compensation for delivery, as well as that of your bodyguard, who I assume is outside."
The Mon Cal perked up and nodded emphatically as he took the credit chip. "Bodyguard? Ah, yes. Good lad. A bit odd, though. Never seen anything quite like his kind. But he is good people. Well...it...and not sure person is the correct word. If it wasn't for him, I would have been up to my neck in trouble. Took out seven thugs outside, don't you know? All by himself. I could have taken them, of course, if only I was twenty years younger!" The Mon Cal snorted a lugh and slapped his knee. "Did I tell you I was a captain in the navy? Had my own ship, too! Those were the days! Protecting worlds, looking off into the great dark void of space, really helps a man think. And the uniform...well...the ladies lov-" It was at this time that Shiirruk entered into the cantina, and upon spotting its charge began making its way over to the group. The Mon Cal stopped his yammering and waved over to the Pulra, who did not ackowledge the gesture. The woman's eyes narrowed, as she tried to get a read off of the blob-like alien, and there was a glimmer of interest in the creature given the fishman's account of his abilities, but it would have to wait. They had business to attend to. "Over here, my boy! Come over and say hello to these fine people! Friends of my nephew. He's quite popular, even outside the Core. He has so many nice friends." The woman raised her hand slightly to interrupt the Mon Cal. "Give your nephew my regards when you return to Coruscant. Tell him I will be in touch." The fishman's eyes widened and he laughed again, looking to Shiirruk to brag. "Hear that? 'I'll be in touch.' My nephew is a lady killer. Always has a dame hanging on each arm, and even more fighting to be!" The woman's lip twitched and her eyes flashed with anger for a moment in a loss of composure and she turned to walk away, followed closely behind by the two men. The Mon Cal, not noticing her look or exit, continued guffawing. Eventually coughing slightly and having to take a sip from a cup of water on the table in front of him.
He coughed again to clear his throat and gestured for Shiirruk to sit at the table across from him. "Sit, lad! Sit! Let us celebrate for a job well done! It's on me! Ehem...Waitress!" The Mon Cal raised his hand to flag down a service droid. The Pulra slid into the booth, sitting where the three humans had been moments ago, and a WA-7 waitress droid rolled over to the table. The Mon Cal immediately began ordering. "I would like a Bahmat steak, medium rare, with a baked potato; fully dressed with toppings. My friend here..." The old Mon Cal paused as he tried to think of what it was that his companion ate. "...Uhm...lad, tell me, what is it you eat?" Shiirruk's vocoder came to life for a moment to emit a single word. ::Food:: The fishman's eyelid narrowed slightly in confusion, and he nodded, unsure how to proceed. "I see..." There was an awkward pause at the table, lasting nearly a minute before the amphibian man perked back up and turned to the droid waitress. "Tell you what! Give us one of everything! How about that?" The Mon Calamari rubbed his hands together as the droid let out a simulated sigh and rolled off to put in the order to the kitchen. Not long afterwards the droid would begin ferrying plates from the kitchen to the two's table. As the Wasted Zelosian was mostly a drinking establishment, the eating menu was not all that comprehensive. Still, it was quite the amount of food to be prepared for two beings, as what it lacked in diversity of food it made up in quantity, as well as grease. After all, if you served your customers enough food it would help soak up the alcohol and that would keep them drinking longer. The Mon Cal's order was set before him and he began to cut into the steak. He nodded to the Pulra and pointed at the number of plates that were beginning to pile up on the table in front of it. "You'd better dig in before it starts to get cold. Try a bit of everything and tell me what you like!" Words the Mon Cal would regret saying, as small tendrils shot out from the Pulra's body and began picking up plates and inserting them directly into itself.
As if to imitate a gaping maw, Shiirruk's gelatinous form split open to pile into itself all of the different dishes, closing after each plate was fully inside. The Mon Cal looked on in surprise and shock, mid-bite of his own food, as the fare slowly dissolved inside the Pulra's body, which was fully visible to him as well as anyone who happened to look in the direction of the slime creature. Sucking, sloshing and squelching noises were audible from the Pulra eating, drawing the attention of a few curious patrons, some of whom turned away with disgusted looks, others who watched in disbelief. The fishman continued watching on in near-horror as an immaculately clean plate was spat out from the Pulra back onto the table, only to be dumbstruck once more as the same process started all over again with the next plate, and the next plate, and the next plate...
|
|
Sunbringer
Member
Gathering intel and evacuating a team from Kuat Drive Yards
Posts: 53
Affiliation: The Son of Suns
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Sunbringer on Jan 29, 2021 20:12:43 GMT -8
*The Wasted Zelosian wasn't quite the destination that Bennett had had in mind. Lola Gida this isn't, and yeah it's bad luck to go on a first date there ("oh," he thinks to himself, "but this isn't a date") but there are good bars in Riverbanks. Didn't have to come this far south just to get to a watering hole. The Trade Market District has never been Voltar's favorite place to go. Always seems like you're one wrong glance from a nasty run-in with an unsavory type. And the food you're bound to find here is surely underseasoned and probably on the cusp of its expiration threshold. Rumor has it that the kitchen staff, when it comes to TMD restaurants, gets sent out to do the rounds of the market stalls a half hour before the dinner rush starts; the best prices are then, after the food's been reconstituted for presentation purposes and sitting out in the sun and air for hours, but before it gets thrown back in the preservers for tomorrow.*
*But, this is where Mischa insisted on going. Said her college cadre used to come here every Tuesday night for the inking specials. Bennett hasn't seen any tattoos on her, though. Wonder why that would be.*
*They walk into the bar through a manually-operated door; wooden, with a frosted-glass pane cut right out of the center of it. A wooden floor laminated with peeling varnish and riddled with stains of untold age and questionable origins creaks beneath their feet as they cross the threshold. The walls are brick, but painted mortar and all with such a thick allocation of white paint that it is difficult to identify the material beneath it. Like the floor, stains and chips and discolorations abound. Thousands of patrons have taken it upon themselves, over the years, to contribute to the decoration of the whitewashed walls with a scribbled signature here and a scrawled dirty joke there. The space is illuminated by a haphazard mix of neon lighting and incandescent bulbs - neon lights for the various brand signs that the Wasted Zelosian has accumulated over the years, and antique filaments in the wall fixtures. The seating is all wooden, as well - this place feels like a tinderbox ready to go up in flames if someone were to just think about striking a match inside it. Not accurate, but it feels that way.*
*Bennett takes note of the occupants. A server droid with an expression that just looks like it's going to fall off any second now from weariness. A bartender with a half-shaved head and brighter-dyed red hair than he has ever seen before in his life, currently shaking a cocktail. A broad-shouldered man seated at the bar, disproportionate in his chair like a six-year-old sitting in a seat made for three-year-olds. Off on one side of the room, a quartet of aged ladies, hair colors ranging from blonde to platinum, giggle and banter over their glasses of wine. And on the other wall, sitting in a booth that is too large for the two of them, is a pair of aliens. One is a Mon Cal and the other is some inscrutable jelly creature. The latter is the one responsible for most of the noise being generated, as plate after plate of food is being sucked into its body and unceremoniously ejected (licked clean) back into an ever-growing stack of empties on the tabletop before them. Every now and then, the droid comes by to bus away a stack.*
*That's a strange sight. Bennett finds Mischa's arm and gently presses his elbow into it, trying to get her attention so that he could point it out, but she's already fixated. Leaning like a sapling in a stiff breeze, taken aback at the spectacle. Bennett accidentally makes eye contact with the Mon Cal, and, ashamed to be caught staring, hurriedly pulls Mischa away and hustles to take the closest seats - bar stools. Her momentary trance interrupted, Mischa snaps back to reality with a valiant attempt to strike up the conversation she'd practiced in her head before actually arriving here.*[/i] remodel?" "That's, uh... that's right, now I remember. That style also had a lot of mixed media, but I thought I remember it being more about the metal-wood interfaces than wood-brick." "Yeah, they took some liberties here for sure, but it's still just so appealing." "What did we wind up going with for Verdant Star, again?" "Taris post-modern style." "Right, because of the stripped down aesthetic." "Exactly, yeah!" "Evening folks, I'm Vox."[/font] *A pair of menus slaps onto the bartop harder than it needed to, one menu apiece, interrupting the chatter. The redhead bartender finished the cocktail just seconds ago. The fruits of her labor are a newly appeared glass filled with neon-green elixir and ice, looking like a baby-sized cup in the bear paw of the oversize man who grips it.* "Something to drink before we look over the menu?"[/ul] *The words, 'Malastare-style black ale' were on the tip of Bennett's tongue, when a particularly loud CLANK emanated from the table where Shiirruk was in the process of consuming. Seven pairs of eyes turned in that direction. The big man just quietly lifted the glass to his lips and made a significant portion of the drink disappear.*
|
|
Shiirruk
Member
I am not pudding...
Posts: 53
Traffic Light: Yellow
|
Post by Shiirruk on Feb 3, 2021 22:49:36 GMT -8
The Mon Cal man's already bulbous eyes continued to grow as he watched his Pulra bodyguard continue to devour plate after plate of food. It was a surprise to him that the kitchen could even keep up, though he supposed that was probably due to the flash frozen and reheated nature of some of the cuisine; being cheap bar food that is. "Good gosh! Where are you putting it all, lad?" Shiirruk paused its feast and set the plate it had brought halfway towards itself. The vocoder speaker crackled as it translated the fine movements of the tendrils within its casing. ::It needs to replace the mass it lost in the fight:: The fishman stammered a bit, flustered and embarrassed at what he took as a guilt trip from the slime being. Though in truth it was merely the Pulra answering the rhetorical question without understanding it was a such. The Mon Calamari man shook his spoon in the direction of the Pulra as he spoke. "I am quite sorry you got shot for me, but you knew what you were getting into when my nephew hired you." The amphibious being sputtered for a moment. "At least, I hope you did. You never told me how you knew my nephew, did you?" The Pulra answered matter of factly. ::It did not:: The Mon Cal gestured with his hands for the slime to elaborate. "And? How did you meet him?" Shiirruk remained still for several moments, as if trying to contemplate how to properly answer. ::It was in an establishment on Coruscant, but larger:: The story ended there, much to the Mon Calamari's annoyance.
"Not a very good story-teller are you, lad?" There was no answer from the Pulra's translator. The Mon Cal waved his hand and sighed to dismiss the conversation. "It's alright. Finish up though, if you would. We have a return flight to catch soon." Emboldened by the deadline to finish the vast amount of food before it, Shiirruk continued devouring every molecule of food before it, even louder than before. It was soon after the increase in noise that the WA-7 waitress droid returned to their table. Balancing on its drive wheel, the service droid leaned down slightly to address the Mon Cal. Sir, there's been some...complaints...as to the noise coming from your friend here The Mon Cal's eyes widened and he huffed at the droid dismissively. "He's enjoying his food. He earned it. In the line of duty, in fact! How many beings do you know that can take point blank blaster shots and live, without body armor? Let the man...erm...well...I'm not sure if you'd call him a man...but let him eat, darn it! When I was in the Service-" The waitress droid raised a hand to stop the fishman from continuing on a pointless argument. It's out of my hands, sir. We can't sell anything if your friend here is scaring off all our customers with the noise. No one wants to eat when what they're hearing makes 'em want to throw it all up. How about I get you two a check and a to-go bag?
The Mon Cal rolled his eyes and nodded in agreement, knowing it was pointless to argue at this point. The amphibian produced a credit stick to give for the bill, which the waitress droid inserted into a slot on its chassis to process. The photoreceptors on the droid changed to red as it processed the payment, and it handed the credit stick back. You're a few creds short, dear The old Mon Calamari frowned, confused. "What do you mean, short? That's impossible!" The WA-7 shook its head a I'm not going to argue with you, sir. You're about thirty credits short. You had one of everything, and your friend here sure did eat it one of everything Shiirruk had stopped eating at this point, listening to the exchange. The translator on its bandolier lit up as it interjected. ::It can help pay with its wages:: The WA-7 held out a hand to accept the credit stick, but the Mon Cal hesitated. He leaned over the side of the table and spoke in a hushed tone. "You don't understand, lad. We went through a whole credit stick. That means that all the credits we have between us are the ones on the stick meant for you as payment. That's not enough to get both of us back to the Core, even on the cheapest transport." There was silence from the Pulra as it processed this revelation. There was a simulated sigh from the WA-7 droid. If you can't pay I can always contact the police The slime being's vocoder crackled once more. ::That will not be necessary:: The head-like appendage of the Pulra turned to the Mon Cal. ::It is still bound to get its charge home. Use the credits. It shall stay here and find an alternative::
"I-i can't do that, lad." The amphibian stammered, touched but confused at the gesture. "You don't know anyone here. I don't think even you could make it somewhere with nothing." The outer layer of the slime's jelly-like flesh quivered, in the closest equivalent to a laugh as its species had. ::It has done so before. Several times. It will be fine.:: Gratefully nodding, the fishman handed over the credit stick intended for Shiiruk to the droid. After processing the rest of the payment, a paper receipt printed from a slot in the chassis of the droid, which it set on the table the two were sat at, with the credit stick. The Mon Cal took the credit stick back and pocketed it, bowing his head to the Pulra once more. "I will not forget this kindness, my boy. My nephew is sure to pay you back, once I tell him what has happened." The Mon Cal cleared his throat and took a sip of water from his glass. "But what will you do? You'll need credits, and a place to stay. And food. Goodness, help anyone who gets in between you and food!" Shiirruk was quiet for a long period of time before answering. ::It will find work. It has many trades that it was picked up since it left its homeworld:: The old Mon Cal shook his head, not to dismiss the Pulra's claims, but just out of unsureness. "Well, if you need a reference, I can stick around for a bit. I can even try and call my nephew over the net to try and get this cleared up, but he always ignores my calls."
|
|
Sunbringer
Member
Gathering intel and evacuating a team from Kuat Drive Yards
Posts: 53
Affiliation: The Son of Suns
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Sunbringer on Feb 6, 2021 15:18:51 GMT -8
*The source of the disturbance is, of course, the Pulra, continuing to put away food like it's his job. Perhaps that is literally somewhat true. Bennett and Mischa turn their attention back to the bartender. Like many members of her profession, deflecting impatience is a well-honed skill. In fact, even the droid's programming is an intentional feature of the atmosphere. Like a 'good cop, bad cop' routine, but with demeanor in dealing with patrons. She's learned how to keep the tips substantial.*[/font][/ul] *The majority of Lianna's foodstuffs are imported. There's a niche market for various microfarming and fishery operations, but the overwhelming majority of real estate on the ecumenopolis is devoted to industry, refining, machining, production, and economic structures. Agriculture is best left to the agriworlds. But that means that most of the food one encounters on Lianna has been subjected to some form of preservation or other, and so Lianna cuisine compensates for this by over-seasoning their food by comparison to planets that can procure fresh vittles. When it comes to bar food, where quality is of secondary concern no matter what culture you're from, maybe it doesn't come as much of a big surprise. But even the gourmet dishes on Lianna are like that. Some media scholars have suggested that the impact of Lianna cuisine on unprepared palates has a contributing effect on its surprisingly scant tourism industry.*
*At any rate, Mischa and Bennett are well aware of what's in store for them on the fried-nuna plate. Vox returns with two brimming pint glasses and pops them onto coasters with built-in cooling plates in front of the pair.* [/font][/ul] *And then it's back to conversation between them. Mischa lifts her glass for a toast.* [/font] *A clink of glass and a swig from their vessels.*"I don't want to talk too much shop, Mischa, we get to do plenty of that around the office. I'm more interested in your story." "Uh huh?" "Yeah. Now you graduated a couple years back from LALC, right? What was campus life like for you there?" "Oh, yeah. LALC was a good school. I got my degree in business admin, which you know, but LALC is best known for its polysci and finance degrees. It's good, though, and I mean as long as it's accredited I think that where you got your degree isn't as important as getting real world experience. My parents live in Northwest, though, so I stayed on campus all four years. I'm really glad I did, because it was right by Capitol Square and we could walk around in between classes. ...well, actually, we had to, since the campus buildings were all leased spaces. So there'd be a couple floors in like, one of the skyscrapers that the academy had contracted from whatever company owned the rest of the building, and that would be where we had our classes. That was a pretty cool set up, though, because then when I wanted to do my internship in third year, I had already met a bunch of people who worked at Fleichmann Associates and they really helped me get in." "That does sound like an interesting set up for a school. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do when it comes to real estate in the middle of the city, huh?" "Yeah, definitely. Your school wasn't like that, though, was it?" "No, I was at the Cloud City campus. We just had one huge tower. It's been a couple years, so I don't remember exactly, but we had something like five thousand floors. They told us the number at orientation, but I forget. Anyways, they always told us that was why we had a leg up on the central campus." "Oh, is that what LACC told you? Ha ha!"[/ul] *A pause while they both take a drink of their beers. A gentle grin from one to the other, and a wipe of the mouth as Bennett realizes there's a bit of ale lingering on his lips. The fade of conversation as they can't help but overhear the slightly-too-loud Mon Cal as he engages in negotiation with the server droid and addresses his friend.*[/font] *Raised eyebrows and deeply downturned smiles that seem to say, "not bad," is their reaction to the proclamations of the fishman.*"Hear that? Don't get in a bar fight with that guy." "Don't think I'd want to. How would you even go about throwing a punch at that thing?"[/ul] *And then, as the plate of nuna tenders is slid between them, trails of aromatic vapor rising from the deep-fried goodness before them, and a flight of dipping sauces placed alongside, their attention turns to eating. And a bit of inconspicuous eavesdropping, because how often do you see a gel creature and then hear that it can get shot and suffer no ill effect? Bennett and Mischa overhear the issue of the insufficient credits and the meal balance. Mischa glances at Bennett, but spotting strangers a few credits isn't quite the way of the Liannese. Especially not for outlanders. And in any case, without their intervention, the party seems to resolve the issue between themselves.*[/font][/ul] [/b][/font] It will find work. It has many trades that it was picked up since it left its homeworld::[/ul] *This is the part that really catches their fancy. Credits? These two know of a way to make credits. Especially for a creature with such apparent versatility and durability.*[/font] *Quietly uttered between the two.*"I'll go chat them up when they're getting ready to leave." "I'll come with."[/ul] *And so they continue to eat their food and drink their beverages. Bennett finishes his dark ale before Mischa her double white, but both order a second pint. They continue to chat idly, keeping an eye on the Mon Cal and the Pulra. A short while later, the alien folks appear to be preparing for departure. In turn, Bennett casually stands from his barstool, with Mischa following suit. They make their way to the booth occupied by the offworlders. Bennett inclines his head by way of greeting.*[/i], LLC, and my associate, Mischa Pike. It just so happens that I've got an opportunity for an able-bodied individual to earn some money."[/font][/ul]
|
|
Shiirruk
Member
I am not pudding...
Posts: 53
Traffic Light: Yellow
|
Post by Shiirruk on Feb 7, 2021 23:55:16 GMT -8
The eyes of the elderly Mon Calamari seemed to glaze over as the two humans approached their table and introduced themselves. His mouth hung open ever so slightly, as if he was about to speak, but nothing but a small stammer came out. Without acknowledging the Mon Cal's stupor, though not out of malice or lack of caring and instead lack of understanding, the designated head portion of the Pulra's mass shifted to turn in the direction of Bennett and Mischa. The vocoder on the blob's bandolier switched on to translate the input from the cilium that connected Shiirruk to the device. ::A convenience. This one is soon to be without employment:: The Mon Cal seemed to snap back to the present, letting out a throaty laugh and gesturing to the pair of humans with a webbed hand, speaking the the Pulra. "The Universe has a way of sending you exactly where you need to be, my boy! I think the Jedi call it the Farce, or something. Let me do the negotiating..." The Pulra remained silent as the Mon Cal stood up awkwardly and did an even more awkward half bow to the two Liannese humans.
"I am Captain Qob Nolumdi, retired. This fine..." The retired Mon Calamari Captain half turned back to his bodyguard, waving his hand at the gelatinous alien, speaking in a harsh whisper. "...Don't be rude, lad; stand up and be respectful!" For a moment the Pulra did not move from its seated position. It did not understand how remaining seated would be considered rude, but decided to comply. The ooze-like sentient seemed to flow out of the booth of the table into a standing position, to stand head and shoulders over the other humanoids it was before. It imitated the half-bow it had seen Qob do. Clearing his throat, Qob Nolumdi continued speaking. "...This fine creature is Shiirruk, a...uh..." The fishman's eyes widened as he abruptly stopped speaking again, confused. He turned back to Shiirruk. "I am terribly sorry, lad, but I never did ask...What are you?" The Pulra's vocoder chirped back almost immediately, though the answer was not very helpful. ::It is Shiirruk:: The eyes of the retired naval captain narrowed and he nodded his head, as if he had gleamed some unspoken, hidden knowledge from the translation. "Of course you are, how silly of me!" He turned once more back to Bennett and Mischa. "How rude of me! Sit with us! Let us drink together!" The Mon Cal gestured to the booth they had just gotten up from, sitting on one side and flagging down the waitress droid again, to order more alcoholic beverages. "Let our new friends take that side, lad. Sit over here with me." Complying with the instruction, the Pulra moved a portion of its mass in the direction of the seat, so as to avoid anyone having to move out of its way, and flowed like a viscous liquid in the air from where it had just stood to the booth, reforming itself as it had been when it was sat not a few minutes before.
"As you can see, he is a changeling, and quite a gifted one at that. I'm not sure what species he is, never seen one like him, but it seems that it's as easy as breathing, which he doesn't seem to do..." The old Mon Cal blinked, confused by his own statement. "Do you breathe, lad?" Qob waved dismissively at his own question, not that the Pulra had made any move to answer. "Bah! What matters is he is quite talented. My nephew said he found him in the Coruscant Underworld, in some cantina, eating from a bucket of slop! Can you imagine!?" Qob slapped the table and guffawed at what he thought was hilarious anecdote. He leaned in over the table, raising a finger up into the air. "My nephew has a good eye for talent, being a talented young man himself. Never have I felt more safe travelling from the Core, here to the Rim. That's a long way to travel for a man of my age! And not to mention how those rapscallions we ran into just outside!" Captain (retired) Qob leaned back in his seat, sighing heavily. As if on cue, the WA-7 waitress droid rolled by, dropping off four drinks. The two before Bennett and Mischa were repeats of their previous orders: a Malastare-style black ale and a Tufar To-Go Double White. In front of the Mon Cal and the Pulra were two glasses of Savareen brandy. The Mon Cal took his in hand and sipped it. Again sighing, this time in satisfaction, he continued. "I never had any children myself, so my nephew is like a son to me. I got caught up in the military, made a career out of it, before I got pushed out...Politics...hrmph...You know how it is." Shiirruk mimicked the actions of Qob and lifted the drink with a newly-formed appendage. Lifting it close to it's flesh, as if to sniff it, jerking back a bit as it caught the aroma of the alcohol. Still intrigued, however, the Pulra dipped a small amount of itself into the glass to suction up the beverage.
It quickly learned this to be a mistake, as Shiirruk seemed to convulse, the area of its mass around where the alcohol had been ingested turning nearly translucent instead of the normal pale turquoise blue. An incomprehensible noise emitted from the alien, though the vocoder was unable to translate whatever was said. It let out a beep to indicate an error before Galactic Basic came out. ::Translation unknown:: The Pulra hastily sat the glass back onto the table, and seemed to fold in on itself to protect the damaged mass, pulling it into the center of its body and replacing it with healthy tissue. The fishman patted Shiirruk on the back, his arm getting stuck a little each time as it impacted the surface of the gelatinous form of the Pulra. "Can't handle your liquor, lad? It's alright. Drinking isn't for everyone. Now where were we?" The Mon Cal's eyes lit up as he remembered what they were talking about.
Qob Nolumdi began to recount the tale, with much embellishment and exaggeration, of how Shiirruk had stood up to the gang of ruffians that had attempted to rob him en route to the cantina, not mentioning the package he had delivered to the unknown third party.
|
|