1,000 Points of Hate [PM for Invite]

[Cira]

Cira would come to a halt, her back turned towards him, fists clenched tightly under her cloak and her lips forming a straight line of growing frustration. He did this to her. Every time.

Every single time.

She wouldn’t turn around. Not yet. Frustration rose and crested within her. Why did he have to be so damnably cordial? He was far more easier to deal with years back when he was all crass and a pain in her arse.

Clearly the Jedi Order had turned him into blasted pillar of cordial patience. Ugh.

He was right, she was here to confirm something. Specifically, how in the blazes did he get the original mask? The one she brought back to him was a replica, yes, he’d confirmed it, but the logs at the library pointed firmly into Sarge’s direction as the original donor of the set.

Seconds would tick, and finally there came the question. “Where did you get it from?” it was a direct reference to the mask -- goodness knows she wouldn’t even mention the letter.

That would be pushed into the deepest abyss of her mind.

 

[Djorn Bline]

Finally, they arrived at the docks and the squadron began placing themselves in positions. But they weren't the only ones there. There was local police and ODF soldiers at the docks going to their positions, as everyone else was. However, Canal would not give orders to them nor receive orders from them. He was in charge of the Dreadguard squadron that was with him. The difference between them is that the DG were Fett clones who received ten years of training and were better breed than the ODF that were just recruits and didn't had that much training as Canal and his brothers.

"All right, men," he said to his squadron of twenty troopers, "this is gonna be easy. You see a hostile, you shoot it and ask questions later. And you will only receive orders from me or anyone one else like Noah, Ori, etc. Snipers, I want you to put your silencers on your OPSR-1. EODs, once you have a visual on the hostile ship blow it up with your rocket launchers. The rest, well, gun down the bastards with your assault rifles."

They then took their positions. A team of five snipers entered in some buildings nearby and had their rifles ready. The same went to a team of another five clones who had their heavy weapons ready. The other ten clones were using cargo, and their speeders as cover and were ready. They weren't sure if the hostiles would be coming their way but it was better than nothing.

 

[Ket Van-Derveld]

"The real trick, Marek, would be to get out of this building in one piece. There's always a reason I dock at this particular starport. Open air landing pads, heavy public traffic, and taxis waiting by the nerfload."



He knew that soon enough, little flags would be popping up all over official databases within Coronet. He'd have it no other way. After all, he thought perhaps Curupira would like to see her sister, or perhaps Mr. Cater himself might care to have a little chat. Who knows, perhaps even some of the Dreadguard who'd defected to the Protectorate might find them to say hello. The point was, for someone like Ket, it was all in the mystery. He enjoyed surprises, and not only was he guaranteed a few here, but perhaps even his beloved morsel or his apprentice might find one or two waiting for them. As Curupira's arm slipped with his own, he began to walk toward one of the many taxis waiting for fares. He waved his hand with a bit of a flourish, and the door to a cab popped open. Another man with a very skimpy clad woman on each arm began to try to enter it, when Ket's own free hand clasped his shoulder.



"Hey, listen up, pal. First come, first ser-"

"You don't need this taxi right now."

"...I don't need this taxi right now."

"You have a massive desire to hand your credit chit to my friend here."

"I...I want you to have this, you need it more than I do."



With that, the balding, bulbous lump handed a rather fat credit chit to Marek, and Ket nodded in thanks, laughing just a bit as he shook his head, helping Curupira into the cab. "They never cease to amaze me, the public can be so dammed gullible. Marek, would you kindly take that off our friend there. I do believe we've just funded our little night out on the town, hmm?" He kept his gaze upon Curupira, though. He couldn't help it, the little redheaded minx knew just how much he loved it when she dressed in leather. He savored the sight before climbing in after her. "Shall we?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

[member="Curupira Hawk"] [member="Marek Starchaser"] [member="Ayden Cater"] [member="Cira"]

 

[Corey's OOC]

He had forgotten for a few moments that Corellia was owned by the Omega Protectorate. And while Marek himself respected the group, they were supposedly at war with a government he was a part of. How he was going to get out of this one with his best face forward he had no idea. Still, he kept up with his Master and… well, what would that make Curupira to him? Regardless he was sort of third wheeled here. He’d figure it out.

There were plenty of women in the bars around these parts.

When the upstanding gentleman took a step closer to the cab that Ket was obviously claiming, Marek couldn’t help but let a grin creep on his features. Surely his Master wasn’t going to start a brawl in the middle of the planet right now. Right?

His grin turned into a smirk when the credit chit was being handed over. Taking the chit and pocketing it relatively quickly, an old habit from the last time he was on Corellia, he nodded. “Thank you, sir. Very gracious of you, now go enjoy your night.” The Starchaser nodded in the direction away from the cabs and down to the one establishment with its lights on.

He hadn’t really noticed Curupira getting into the cab and his attention was called back to the hear and now by Ket. “Let’s get going.” Marek grin, pulling the chit back out again.

[member="Ket Van Derveld"]
[member="Curupira Hawk"]
[member="Ayden Cater"]
[member="Cira"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Cira"]

There was several long seconds, that turned into minutes, as he seemed to contemplate giving her an answer. But in the end, she'd get one. As ever, it would be the truth. He'd never given her anything less than complete and total honesty.

A faint cluck of his tongue was followed by an exasperated sigh, as if he really didn't want to give her the truth but simply had no other option. "It was mine when I was a boy." He admits finally, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the edge of the door.

"You really should come in, darlin'." He says quietly, clearly not wanting to have this conversation in the hall. That accent was still there, quiet and reserved, not unlike the man standing in the doorframe just then.

 

[Curupira Hawk]

Her eyes darted to side as Ket began to persuade the stranger trying to take their taxi. With a bit of a smile hanging off her lips, Curupira listened it move on. Persuasion was always a fun one, the way people reacted to it, repeated the words. But the special punch had to be the part where he gave Marek his credits. When he was done, she finally burst into a small giggle as Ket commented. Gullible. "Always funny," Curupira added.

The redhead registered her mate making a comment about their night being paid for and let him guide her into the cab, climbing into it. Once inside, she took an additional step and positioned herself by the opposite window.

[member="Ket Van Derveld"] | [member="Marek Starchaser"]

 

[Seanna Vel]

Turning the the other shop on the other side to read old sign that had the old style letters as if its been there for a very long time. Spice World Cooking couldn't help but remember then what her grandmother wanted. Reaching into her pocket to pull out the very long list of spice that she had wanted. After all this was a good world to get these spices. Looking both ways before she darted a crossed the street. Finding it harder to be the little innocent girl that once lived to get up every day to started by milking the nerf for freshen milk for the breakfast then it was working out in the sun all day.

The bell was dinging as she enter it smell of the armor of many worlds of spices. Some smell so wonder then there was other like the ones the hutts like that had a way of turning one stomach. Walking over to the older lady that had been taking care of the store for years. After which time she started to gather up the spice by the bundle setting each in their own brown paper bags. After which time she had them all gathered up. One more thing she had to get that wasn't on the list this was for herself more then anything. Something she missed have the smell over. Going to where the salts where at with the different oils mix to the customers likes.

After she pay the credits that was due which wasn't that cheap she walked out of the place with the car waiting for her to take her where need to go drop these bags off at. [member="Ket Van Derveld"] [member="Curupira Hawk"] [member="Marek Starchaser"]

 

[Ket Van-Derveld]

Ket sat rather comfortably within the plush seats of the cab as it flew through the dusky sky of Coronet City as night fell upon them proper. He pulled from his inner jacket pocket a small, silver box encrusted with blood red ruby. Upon it, an embossed wolf's head, with ruby chips within it's eyes. He popped it open, and with a rather long pinky nail, took a scoop of the glittering pink dust within it, and snorted it with gusto. He clasped it back shut, placing it back in his pocket as he closed his eyes and shook his head a bit violently. Just as quickly, his eyes snapped open and he grinned like mad, the dull violet interior light reflecting off his canine teeth. He looked to Curupira, and his fingernails trailed upwards on her exposed thigh until it reached the hemline of leather skirt, and as his fingertips reached the supple material, his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. Oh, Ket Van Derveld was not kidding at all when he said this would be one hell of a night. For HIM. Curupira too. Marek, well, he would have to just find his own little slice of heaven. Or hell. Curupira could be both, and not many men had that luxury.

"Well, let's see, shall we?" Ket raised his hand just a bit, and the credit chit within Marek's grasp found it's way into the air between them, before sliding into Ket's hand. Counting it rather quickly. he grinned. "It seems we can be legal for quite a while. 1,675 credits. Oh, that poor man...When his escort's pimp finds out that there's no money to be found, he might be dead by morning." It was then that Ket produced an I.D. card from thin air. "But, I have a feeling that this might just be the ticket. A few tricks from a slicer friend of mine, and well, let's just say we shall be well funded for mo re than a single night. In fact..."

Ket called out to the driver.

"You there, driving this infernal hunk of durasteel and thrusters. Take us to the best place in the city for couture. I feel the need to buy my lovely little morsel here an even more heart stopping ensemble. And perhaps my young friend here can find something that makes him look less of a pauper? Hell, I think I might even get myself a new p air of leathers. Force knows 800 plus years takes it's toll on clothing." Ket then looked to Curupira and Marek once more, laughing.

"Well, Coronet City is one of the more high end cities in the galaxy, hmm? Can't go on a wanton killing spree dressed like this, can I?"

Ket winked lightly, laughing all the while. He had produced a silver flask from the other pocket of his jacket, and uncorked it taking a swig. He offered it to both Curupira and Marek. This was going to be a fun night, no matter who showed up, no matter who might die at the end of his lightsaber.

[member="Curupira Hawk"] [member="Marek Starchaser"] [member="Cira"] [member="Ayden Cater"]

 

[Curupira Hawk]

Trace of finger on her skin made her look up at her under her eyebrows, her mind suddenly thinking the other two males present were a hundred percent surplus. She didn't speak though, just kept watching her mate, quietly enjoying her silent attention.

Once the credits were counted, Curupira thought it wasn't much however the thoughts vanished quickly as despite the money she was raised in, all in all Curupira didn't care about the credits all that much as long as she got where she was going. She wasn't going to say no to the idea of getting couture. "Yes, please!" She cheerfully replied. What? Just because she didn't care about the money, didn't mean she didn't care about clothes.

They couldn't go on a wanton killing spree dressed as they were? Curupira actually thought about it for a moment, glanced at Ket and then at Marek and shrugged. "We're fine, this will only be an improvement. The kid needs work though." It wasn't a harmful comment, at least not from Curupira's point of view and it also came out in a light tone of voice, of course she didn't think how the statement would be taken.

[member="Ket Van Derveld"] | [member="Marek Starchaser"]

 

[Corey's OOC]

Traveling with Ket and Curupira was definitely something different. Maybe it was the way Marek was raised, on the rim, and as a spacer, but he wasn’t used to traveling this way. In a group, in a cab, however. He had his ship, it got him where he was going and then he was off on foot, mostly. Unless he could steal a swoop or something. Paying to get places was not his typical fashion. But then again, this was all new territory for him.

Grinning as Ket spoke about the poor sap they stole the credits from, he couldn’t necessarily say he felt bad. It was a dog eat dog galaxy out there, and well, they were the ones with the ultimate power. And Marek was making sure to learn that power, the Sith power. It was survival of the fittest, and well, sometimes people needed to be cleansed to make way for the rest. Maybe that was why he was perfectly find with the Techno Union’s fascination with advancing droid technology.

Watching the card come out, Marek was doing his best to ignore the fact that he was invading personal time with his Master and his mate. And then it turned to shopping. Right, Marek wasn’t used to having the money he did have, and what he did have he put into toys. Of course, the position he had granted him impossibly steep discounts on his ships, upgrades and repairs.
“Right, yeah… uh…” He had no real reason to be looking so drab. “Might as well, yeah? Do Coronet right, after all.” That would make the most sense to him. Besides, if they did get into a scuffle, it’d be best to look the part of a Sith apprentice.

[member="Curupira Hawk"]
[member="Ket Van Derveld"]
[member="Seanna Vel"]
[member="Cira"]

 

[Cira]

Her head would swivel to stare at [member="Sarge Potteiger"] from under the depths of her hood. Glints of red hair could barely be seen flanking her face, but more importantly was the startled expression in her eyes.

"That's not possible. " she'd say quickly in turn. A denial. She was good at that.

At his urging for her to come inside, she obviously hesitated. He'd brought to focus the public nature of whatever kind of conversion you could call it, and a heavy sense of awkwardness would roll over her.

Stars, I am acting like a child, she'd muse internally, again a flare of irritation rising at that which she'd blame for the cause of it.

Her lips would purse. A foot would tap in frustration. And then the next few seconds would see the Lady Protector swivel on the balls of her boots back towards his direction. The faint wafe of citrus blossoms drifting past him as she entered the apartment in utter but purposeful silence.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

His head tilted forward a little, eyes looking at her as if to say 'you can't really believe it's not true.' He was, however, relieved when she turned around and returned, his large frame stepping out of her way so she could enter the condo.

Blinking momentarily at the citrus scent he was, by now, associating with her. Her posture was as rigid as ever, he mused internally, but at least she wouldn't be standing in public. Walking in behind her, he hit the power button on the holo while watching her, not wanting to be distracted from the conversation.

Ultimately, she'd find the condo nothing very special. An average sized, decently furnished city condo for a man who wasn't around too much but wanted something nice for when he was. The kitchen was separated by a bar from the living room and he motioned for her to get comfortable as he went to grab a pair of glasses.

"We both know..." he begins over the sound of glass on countertop. "...it's possible. The question is why don't you believe it."

He opened the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of pinkish tea.

 

[Cira]

Mahogany highlights danced in Cira's rich auburn hair as she passed beneath one of the beams of overhead lights, the heavy hood sliding back to fall lightly around her shoulders. A curt glance would be sent over to [member="Sarge Potteiger"] 's direction, the woman deciding to not take an offered seat. Instead she stood, back straight, cool and distant as ever with a hubris-tic edge of a well educated woman who was more than happy to be contrary to his explanation.

Those gold eyes would narrow into thin slits, watching him as he oh so casually poured the tea. "Do we?" she'd counter. "And just why would it be possible then?" Her tone was cool. Clipped.

Her torso would twist to face him, her chin slightly lifted in defiance. Why was everything a battle between them?

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Looking up as he set the pitcher carefully on the counter, black gaze lingering on the challenge of her chin while the faintest of smirks appeared on his lips. It was, however, offset by a hardening of his eyes. She was so stubbornly ornery at times, but then again so was he when the mood struck him.

Pushing a glass to the other side of the bartop to get her to move, hopefully, he set one hand palm down on the counter so he could lean forward even as he took a gulp of the sweetened peach tea. "I believe you are well aware of my age. I've mentioned it before. I was also Force-Dead for some time."

He shrugged. "That should make it more believable than not."

A gulp was taken from his glass, even as he watched [member="Cira"] for a reaction.

 

[Cira]

There was the soft graze of the glass sliding across the table as he slid it at her direction. For the moment, she didn't move. His answer made her lips purse in a hint of displeasure she was trying hard to keep hidden behind her mask.

The content of his letters came to the fore of her mind then. Mentions of a time before the Gulag plague. A time describing a galaxy she once knew. Oh there was no denying he'd been Force Dead; he'd appeared in her office lacking any semblance of the Force, her powers unable to affect him directly save by utilizing his armor to cause him harm, specifically with a Force choke.

Scientific theory would nag at her to come up with a hypothesis and then take what evidence she has in order to prove that hypothesis. Yet as much as her curiosity would buzz about her head, so did her desire to keep those specific doors padlocked tight. Sometimes not knowing was the safer option. The more rational option.

Her face would turn away, presenting him her profile as she set her attention to the large transparasteel windows before her. It would drift from the view, to the spartan furnishing, back to the window again. Nothing out of place.

Not surprised.

"Then why are you still here?" would come her next question, gold eyes turning to lock upon black thereafter. "You are not a long lived species."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

If there was a time to see the gears turning in her head, it was then. It was likely a look she wore whenever she slipped away to do studies, if that's what she did when she slipped away. One could never peg exactly what it was she was doing.

Perhaps - no not perhaps - that was certainly how she liked it.

Wetting his lips, head tilting before he cast his gaze downward to the countertop, he gave a slow exhale. Again, he didn't want to divulge. But it was just so hard to deny her. But for now it was just about him, and he could answer those questions.

"Cryostasis does wonders for you ability to live." He says quietly. He'd spent a grand total of about 14 years over the last few centuries out of his sleep, and most of that had come recently when the galaxy had established contact with itself again.

"But you're right. We are not. Typically."

 

[Cira]

Her head would cant slightly to the right, studying him with her narrowed gaze. A mirror to the exact studious method one Tali Vas Andromeda wore over four hundred years ago.

But he wouldn't connect the nav points on that.

"Cryostasis?" her mind would flood in mental calculations. So he confirmed his species isn't a long lived one. Which meant that if cryostasis was involved...

"For how long?" came the next question. "How often?" and the next.

And then the kicker.

"Why?"

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Of course, naturally, she was going to play twenty (thousand) questions. That was to be expected. When she was curious, she had to know... again, not unlike him. This was getting a bit weird for him, admittedly. Questions got under his skin. Her questions were no exception.

But he could answer them without sounding or appearing miffed, and that's what he would do.

"Over the last four hundred years." Was the first answer.

"As often as necessary." He shrugged, taking a gulp of his tea.

"Because it's hard to constantly find good help."

 

[Cira]

Cira took a step closer, her movement silent as a prowling Bha'lir. The latter answer brought to mind conversations with Ayden in the past. Years ago.

When she dubbed Sarge as Ayden's 'Pet'.

"For Ayden." it wasn't a question as much as a statement. Her hair would lightly sway as she took another step closer.

"And now?" another layer to peel back, another facet to study and analyze. Would he go back to the icebox for the Lord Protector?

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"For Ayden." He echoes.

But now...? That was a good question. Ayden had no need for him to be frozen, so he wasn't. Would he go back...? He wanted to say no. But part of him said he'd do it if he had too. Why did this feel like a test of some sort?

Was there a right answer to this?

Damn woman.

"Can't answer that, I don't think. Depends on the situation, really."