Private A Rebellious Proposition

[Traden Avarice]

​

Location: Porgbilly's Cantina - Table 15
Attire: Standard
Tag: Soan Antares

It was a dreary night in Coruscant. Dark. Clouded sky. Rain patted against the walkway as people quickly made their way through the weather with heads covered. Traden’s face lit up with an orange hue as he pulled on the cigarette in his mouth, then it grew dark again as he pulled it away, letting out a steady stream of smoke as he walked at a brisk pace across the way. He held a hooded cloak down over his head as he did his best to keep himself out of the elements, his feet sloshing though the flowing waterlines that formed randomly throughout the street as he approached some old and rather shanty cantina.

Traden paused, lookin up at the neon sign as it flickered due to signs of neglect.

“Huh...” He commented to himself at the rather peculiar meeting location. He had been contacted anonymously about a unique opportunity and position of leadership of some kind within a rather discrete venture. He knew no details, but upon inquiring with a superior, they seemed to have some level of suspicion as to what it was regarding… and so they had encouraged him to meet the anonymous contact and to see what it was all about.

And so he obliged.

He stepped in through the entry of Porgbilly’s Cantina, taking off his soaked outer garment and shaking the residue rain off, then hanging it alongside the other garments already hung against the wall.

As his eyes observed the scene, the sound of quiet jukebox music played in the background as some patrons chatted nonchalantly amongst themselves at the bar and tables. It was not busy by any stretch of the imagination. Traden looked around at the tables until he found what he was looking for…

Table 15.

He grunted and muttered something inaudible to himself as he ventured past the other patrons and slowly slid himself into the table, raising a hand to signal a waiter.

“Brandy.” He said flatly, his eyes scanning the room to try to determine who the contact was exactly as the waiter scurried back to the bar. He had simply been given a cantina name, a table number, and a time.

As the leader of the notorious War Hogs unit for almost a decade now, he was not inclined to believe that he would actually take up the offer... especially if it meant abandoning his squad. But here he was...

Let's see where this leads.

 

[Soan Antares]

Soan sighed.

The waiter's reaction had been too obvious. Hurried steps, that nervous edge to his voice, and that obnoxious sweating that suggested strain greater than his working conditions would account for. An amateur could have done better, but, on short notice, this cantina had been the only available location in the SIA's repertoire that fit the bill. Imitating a waiter, cook, or cantina patron, though more difficult than one might initially think, didn't take much prep to come off as convincing, and, to Soan's relief, hadn't proven too great a challenge for the handful of agents participating in this OP.

Placing the cutlery he'd been poking the sludge that passed as food with neatly on either side of his plate, Soan stood from his table. The target had arrived and it was time to work, not criticise fieldwork. Table 15 stood close enough to the door to seem, tactically, like its placement was tactically safe, but it was also placed deep enough into the cantina to require a commitment to come in. He exited his hiding spot and walked the few steps to the handpicked table where the target sat, deliberately coming from the side, and traced a finger over the empty chair, inspected it, and flicked away whatever got caught on his glove.

"Evening," he said.

Soan's well-maintained pea coat, tie, precise hair-cut, and white gloves hardly fit in with the leather jackets, heavy-duty trousers, shaggy hair, and prominent blaster holsters of the other patrons. He stood out like a freshly shined chromium against the grime and dirt durasteel around him.

"May I?" He asked, glancing at the empty chair.

Traden Avarice​

 

[Traden Avarice]

​

Location: Porgbilly's Cantina - Table 15
Attire: Standard
Tag: Soan Antares


He was definitely a rather collected type of individual… not the kind that Traden was often surrounded by. His eyes tracked the man as he inspected the seat, it becoming rather apparent that this was the contact. Traden motioned towards the seat with his hand, a rather somber expression settled evenly across his face.

“It’s your table.” He stated matter-of-factly. Traden raised his hand and nodded a simple thanks to the waiter as he took hold of the glass of brandy. The waiter seemed to pause for a moment longer than expected, causing the force master to look up at him with an inquisitive expression,

“Yes?”

The waiter quickly apologized for his disturbance and shuffled away. Traden furrowed his brow at the interaction, turning back to the clean and well kept man who was now before him.

“So, who are you then... and what is this about?” He asked plainly, taking a sniff of the brandy to check its quality, then a sip.

He was sporting a loose, long-sleeved white cotton shirt and jeans, not nearly as sophisticated a presentation as the gentleman in the pea coat and tie. Traden’s long, damp hair clung to the sides of his face, his gaze piercing and focused. He was a man of action… a divergent Jedi Guardian who favored getting the job done…. doing the right thing when it mattered most…

He was a force master who had grown frustrated with the New Jedi Order and the squabble of opinions that always seemed to lead to more indecision and inaction. While not necessarily stepping down from the order, he had surely left a notorious impression on the circle due to his not-so-subtle opinions that had been voiced at their last gathering.

At his core, he wanted to make a difference where it counted. He wanted to fight for a brighter future for his daughter… to see her be able to grow up without the constant worry and fear of impending darkness and insecurity.

That was his central driving motivation… His guiding star within the thick darkness of this distorted and perverted galaxy.

 

[Soan Antares]

He gave a slow nod and glanced at the waiter, who, fortunately, was leaving. Once they had some privacy, he slid the chair out from the table. He sat down, pulling a dataslate from his coat pocket as he did, and tapped the power button. The display lit up, casting a faint blue light on him from below. Tiny letters reflected in his glasses.

"I apologize for the secrecy," Soan began, adjusting his glasses, "but I needed to know word wouldn't spread. With the matter we'll be discussing, a stray word overheard by the wrong ear can carry far-reaching consequences."

One side of his mouth curled into a dry smile.

"Comes with the territory."

Soan set the dataslate down on the table, right before him, and leaned on the table, crossing his fingers.

"You could say I'm here to hire you," he gave another small, more genuine smile.

Traden Avarice​

 

[Traden Avarice]

​

Location: Porgbilly's Cantina - Table 15
Attire: Standard
Tag: Soan Antares


Traden looked down towards his glass, nodding slowly with a frown etched across his face. His squad, the War Hogs, had most assuredly earned themselves quite a powerful reputation… even beyond the GADF. It was not the first time that someone had attempted to recruit him and his team into the private sector, which is what he was beginning to assume this was all about.

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment towards my reputation, but I'm a soldier for the GADF. Me and my squad are not guns for hire." He took another drink from his glass and set it down on the table, looking back up at the man with a rather stoic expression. "We don't fight for money… we fight for what we believe in." He tapped his finger rhythmically against the table as he awaited a response from the man in the pea coat. Was he representing a mega-corporation? Or possibly some high-profile security detail? Whatever the case, Traden had assumed that he wasn't buying what he was selling.

 

[Soan Antares]

"I am aware. Your rise through the GADF's ranks remains quite exemplary, and your service record indicates additional training that would prove quite an asset. I assure you that your goals are more closely aligned with mine than a first glance might reveal. The cause, you'll find, should prove more than agreeable," Soan said.

He adjusted his glasses.

"Political affairs in the galaxy have shifted quite dramatically following the assassination of New Imperial Regent Irveric Tavlar. The late regent of the New Imperials worked closely with the Alliance. His successor, one Rurik Fel, head of their Force Order the Imperial Knights, has taken the, ah, throne with the polar opposite approach. This new regent has dissolved most, if not all, of his predecessors' treaties, including the Bastion Accords and the New Imperial's Triumvirate with the Galactic Alliance, destroying an Alliance of over half a decade in a matter of days."

The New Imperial's policy of isolationism and antagonism towards outsiders had since entered the popular news world as the Iron Curtain.

"Beyond the dissolution of one of the most stabilizing alliances the galaxy has seen in decades, this rather reckless abuse of political power has had many other far-reaching consequences. Among them, we count a series of reforms and political campaigns that very much threaten the security of the Core directly."

Traden Avarice

​