Post by Karana Malora on Jan 3, 2017 20:29:06 GMT -8
Somewhere behind Daniel in the lounge, there was a thud, followed closely by a colorful curse and the whir of Astromech wheels on the metal flooring.
Malora, arms stretched to the limit wrapped around a crate that should have been too heavy for her to carry solo, scowled at the new dent she'd made with the edge of the box in the hallway wall as she stomped into the lounge, all storm clouds and frozen frowns.
R2-P47 trailed after her, silent as a grave. Counterpart_01 had been vocalizing most emphatically for the past forty minutes on the topic of Wade_Connors_01's departure, apparently an unexpected and upsetting event. Sensing her distress, Wrench had spent some time trying desperately to decipher exactly who she was speaking to, since they were alone and she didn't seem to be addressing him directly, nor was she using her comms, but he could not find an explanation. Counterpart_01's behavior since Wade_Connors_01's (she had given him a list of curse words and derogatory phrases to use when referring to Wade_Connors_01, but her phrasing suggested that it had not been an order), disappearance had not followed her normal patterns, and so R2-P47 decided after some confusion that his best course of action would be to simply be quiet so as not to interrupt her one-sided conversation but remain attentive and readily available in case she did have orders for him.
"Y'know, you comb half the galaxy for the better part of two years lookin' for a guy," the smuggler started again, plunking the crate down on the table with a little more 'plunk' than was needed. She yanked the top off, tossed it on the floor, and began unloading the boxes of stimcaf refills and ration packs in quick succession, slamming them unforgivingly on the counter-top, not quite seeing what was in front of her. "You finally find him playing gladiator for the Hutts, go through hell to rescue his amnesic ass—a metal bikini, people. Me. Again. Once on Varonat was enough, thanks. I had to get sold into slavery to get anywhere near him. I WAS FORCED TO WEAR EYESHADOW AND PAINT MY NAILS. They even made me comb my hair, like… I'm tellin' ya, it was hell."
She grabbed an armful of instant noodle packages and made for the kitchenette cabinet like she was on a timetable. "Although, I got to barbecue a Hutt, so it wasn't all bad. Anyway, so I lick boots to get him out of there—Oh, and get this, he doesn’t even LOOK like Connors anymore! At all!" she ranted, attempting to violently stuff the disorganized jumble into the small space with little success. "Nope. I guess Doctor FrankenGalen gave him the ability to spontaneously nip-tuck his face, so now, now Connors doesn't look like Connors, he looks like those square-jawed, shiny-toothed, makes-nine-figures-a-commercial male models for men's cologne, you know the type. But, hey, I found him! Ohh, I found him and I rescued him, and I tried, I really did. I even did a few jobs with him, made some extra credits, flew the skies, smuggled the smuggily goods, y'know. Thought it might jog his memory, make his adjustment back to normal easier. But nooo." Noodle packets seemingly threw themselves off their shelves, raining down around her every time she tried to shift things around to make room.
Wrench, seeing an opportunity to be useful, carefully plucked the fallen packages from the floor with his mechanical grasping arm and set them back on the table.
Mal had to push the cabinet closed with both hands, ignoring the crunching of crushed noodles until the latch clicked shut. "No, Gladiator Champ decides he doesn't want to remember, he wants his OWN life, this isn't for him, he needs space to…what was it…'rediscover himself'?" She snorted, batting hair out of her face as she leaned over the crate to scoop the last supplies from the bottom. "And then he just takes off in the middle of the night like he's got places to be, and leaves me in bed with a note, a NOTE! 'I'll find you when I'm ready.'" Grabbing the stimcaf cup refill container, Malora swept the small plastic cartons in with their previously dwindling supply and began stacking the few pieces of fresh (well, sort of) fruit she'd managed to snag at the market, tone darkening, voice rising. "Oh, when he's ready, huh? Right, because I didn't just blow years of my life working my ass off to locate him, to bring him back, to keep him safe, so obviously, I don't deserve a few damn weeks of his time. UGH! I should just… I hope he comes back here, I'll-- That stuck up, half-witted, over-muscled tank of karkin' ARROGANCE!!! @%#$!!!!"
A tense silence filled the lounge.
Malora stared blankly at the unripe, bruised manta pear in her hand as her emotions plummeted from their furious high.
Wrench rolled slowly towards her, letting out a short, sad, shakey little electric whooooing noise. He followed it quickly with a questioning warble.
"I'm okay, dude," she reassured him, resting a hand on his scuffed dome. "I'm okay. Just venting. Thanks for listening."
The droid stared at her. Confusion. Listening? So she had been addressing him?...
Tossing the fruit in the air, Malora caught it, took a bite, and sauntered towards the corridor where Daniel stood. "Logan," she greeted him with a casual nod as if he hadn't heard a thing, slapping him on the back in a friendly gesture. But he wasn't alone. The smuggler raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar woman in the white kimono, munching loudly on her fruit as she gave her a lazy once over. Liya's holomessages hadn't been terribly informative, and they'd stopped coming altogether a few weeks ago. "Where's Tawaza?" she asked Daniel with a full mouth, her eyes still on the woman. She leaned towards him a little. "And who's the skirt?"
| Daniel Logan | Galdaart Fel | Liya Tawaza | Wade |
Malora, arms stretched to the limit wrapped around a crate that should have been too heavy for her to carry solo, scowled at the new dent she'd made with the edge of the box in the hallway wall as she stomped into the lounge, all storm clouds and frozen frowns.
R2-P47 trailed after her, silent as a grave. Counterpart_01 had been vocalizing most emphatically for the past forty minutes on the topic of Wade_Connors_01's departure, apparently an unexpected and upsetting event. Sensing her distress, Wrench had spent some time trying desperately to decipher exactly who she was speaking to, since they were alone and she didn't seem to be addressing him directly, nor was she using her comms, but he could not find an explanation. Counterpart_01's behavior since Wade_Connors_01's (she had given him a list of curse words and derogatory phrases to use when referring to Wade_Connors_01, but her phrasing suggested that it had not been an order), disappearance had not followed her normal patterns, and so R2-P47 decided after some confusion that his best course of action would be to simply be quiet so as not to interrupt her one-sided conversation but remain attentive and readily available in case she did have orders for him.
"Y'know, you comb half the galaxy for the better part of two years lookin' for a guy," the smuggler started again, plunking the crate down on the table with a little more 'plunk' than was needed. She yanked the top off, tossed it on the floor, and began unloading the boxes of stimcaf refills and ration packs in quick succession, slamming them unforgivingly on the counter-top, not quite seeing what was in front of her. "You finally find him playing gladiator for the Hutts, go through hell to rescue his amnesic ass—a metal bikini, people. Me. Again. Once on Varonat was enough, thanks. I had to get sold into slavery to get anywhere near him. I WAS FORCED TO WEAR EYESHADOW AND PAINT MY NAILS. They even made me comb my hair, like… I'm tellin' ya, it was hell."
She grabbed an armful of instant noodle packages and made for the kitchenette cabinet like she was on a timetable. "Although, I got to barbecue a Hutt, so it wasn't all bad. Anyway, so I lick boots to get him out of there—Oh, and get this, he doesn’t even LOOK like Connors anymore! At all!" she ranted, attempting to violently stuff the disorganized jumble into the small space with little success. "Nope. I guess Doctor FrankenGalen gave him the ability to spontaneously nip-tuck his face, so now, now Connors doesn't look like Connors, he looks like those square-jawed, shiny-toothed, makes-nine-figures-a-commercial male models for men's cologne, you know the type. But, hey, I found him! Ohh, I found him and I rescued him, and I tried, I really did. I even did a few jobs with him, made some extra credits, flew the skies, smuggled the smuggily goods, y'know. Thought it might jog his memory, make his adjustment back to normal easier. But nooo." Noodle packets seemingly threw themselves off their shelves, raining down around her every time she tried to shift things around to make room.
Wrench, seeing an opportunity to be useful, carefully plucked the fallen packages from the floor with his mechanical grasping arm and set them back on the table.
Mal had to push the cabinet closed with both hands, ignoring the crunching of crushed noodles until the latch clicked shut. "No, Gladiator Champ decides he doesn't want to remember, he wants his OWN life, this isn't for him, he needs space to…what was it…'rediscover himself'?" She snorted, batting hair out of her face as she leaned over the crate to scoop the last supplies from the bottom. "And then he just takes off in the middle of the night like he's got places to be, and leaves me in bed with a note, a NOTE! 'I'll find you when I'm ready.'" Grabbing the stimcaf cup refill container, Malora swept the small plastic cartons in with their previously dwindling supply and began stacking the few pieces of fresh (well, sort of) fruit she'd managed to snag at the market, tone darkening, voice rising. "Oh, when he's ready, huh? Right, because I didn't just blow years of my life working my ass off to locate him, to bring him back, to keep him safe, so obviously, I don't deserve a few damn weeks of his time. UGH! I should just… I hope he comes back here, I'll-- That stuck up, half-witted, over-muscled tank of karkin' ARROGANCE!!! @%#$!!!!"
A tense silence filled the lounge.
Malora stared blankly at the unripe, bruised manta pear in her hand as her emotions plummeted from their furious high.
Wrench rolled slowly towards her, letting out a short, sad, shakey little electric whooooing noise. He followed it quickly with a questioning warble.
"I'm okay, dude," she reassured him, resting a hand on his scuffed dome. "I'm okay. Just venting. Thanks for listening."
The droid stared at her. Confusion. Listening? So she had been addressing him?...
Tossing the fruit in the air, Malora caught it, took a bite, and sauntered towards the corridor where Daniel stood. "Logan," she greeted him with a casual nod as if he hadn't heard a thing, slapping him on the back in a friendly gesture. But he wasn't alone. The smuggler raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar woman in the white kimono, munching loudly on her fruit as she gave her a lazy once over. Liya's holomessages hadn't been terribly informative, and they'd stopped coming altogether a few weeks ago. "Where's Tawaza?" she asked Daniel with a full mouth, her eyes still on the woman. She leaned towards him a little. "And who's the skirt?"
| Daniel Logan | Galdaart Fel | Liya Tawaza | Wade |