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Hazel couldn't be sure she agreed, considering she had rather few people around to call friend, but it was always easy to spot a thirsty patron. The woman returned his grin in kind and settled into the vacated spot of the booth, "You needed a new drink. I'm better off not drinking alone. I think this works out for both of us."
"Name's Hazel," she said over the din of the bar fight. Somewhere off to her right she heard the sound of a table breaking and knew, without a doubt, she'd made a wise decision to sit this one out. "Whyren's, when it's available and I can afford it, but tonight it's Ranger's Select."
Top shelf around these parts, but middle-rung in places of higher rapport. Either way, it would do. The dent it put in her evening's budget told her so. She poured out a healthy measure into each tumbler and raised her glass to him, "Skol. Is this your crew taking things to a ten?"
As the woman settled into the booth, the Echani raised and placed his dominant arm across the back. Casual as ever. Though he kept tabs on the war unfolding before them. For now, it still remained "not his problem", but all it took was one stray bolt for the situation to change.
"It sure does. Glad you came by." he said, eyebrow raising every so slightly as a beskar-clad warrior dropkicked a Rodian. It was surprising how quickly the bucket-heads could move despite their armor. When Hazel spoke again, Var returned his full attention to her.
Her taste? Expensive. She had an eye for the good stuff, at least as far as swill was concerned. "You've got fine taste as well." he remarked, reaching for the bottle. His own tumbler was filled and he took it in hand. "Corellian Whiskey when I'm this side of the Rimma. Can't beat it. I will take Ranger's Select any day as a backup."
His glass was raised in tandem with hers. "Here's to you." he began, before knocking back a swig. "And to answer that question...well, I'll use this term loosely. A few of them are co-workers. Same employer, way different departments."Another swig."Tonight they were supposedly giving us off. Guess this is how they chose to spend it."
Another chair went flying. Var was surprised there were any left to fling at this point. "How bout you? What brings you to this way?"
"Mm," to the Corellian Whisky, "haven't had that in a long par-sec."
Hazel took to her tumbler with a touch less haste. She'd found mellowing on her drinks instead of knocking them back like she used to - like he presently was - left her in a better state at the end of the night. Lead to less repeat nights of the same. A remnant side-effect, however unintentional, of her forced detox not so long ago.
A night off. Now there was a novel idea. She smirked into the amber liquid, side-eyeing the man before easing into the back of the bench. Didn't seem to mind his arm being where it was.
"Hell of a night off..." someone's helmet went tumbling across an open expanse of floor. At least, she thought it was someone's helmet. The potential for it to be someone's head was considerable.
"Mundane merc business. I have a regular client in the neighborhood that I run special transports and cargo for. On my way to Roon, then who knows. Might pick up a job or two in the area. What's the market for work look like around here nowadays? Last time I flew these parts, Moross was chasing Vong out of wild space."
"Stingy as ever, love... don't change a bit," Judah said as he placed his lips on the Zeltron's forehead.
It was an odd relationship the two shared for certain. Never once did Judah ever think they could be more than what they were. She wanted her freedom, needed it, but at the same time there were moments when they needed each other. The partnership had worked well, and since the death of his wife, Judah found less reasons that he needed avoid the purple haired vixen. Lesan was free spirit of his own, no longer tied by any Jedi order. They were all far too political these days, or straight up evil. Judah just wanted to help people, even if his methods were a but unconventional and definitely unorthodox.
His eyes landed on a table where one Kiff Brayde
was seated. Others had arrived, and Judah smirked as he brushed Magena's arm.
"There," he said with a fun tone in his voice. "The Corellian may prove a challenge, but the others, easy marks. We will have the credits we want in no time."
With a familiar swagger, Judah walked over to the table and took an open seat. His eyes met the Corellian's as he offered a nod to the dealer.
"I'll keep that in mind - in case there's a next time." came the Echani's reply.
Compared to the warring sods parading in front of their booth, the mercenary was welcome company. Var was currently not opposed to the idea of bringing the bottle should their paths cross again. Clearly, his pacing was far swifter than his company when it came to consuming the swill. Where she seemed to savor every sip, Var ran through his glass and set it upon the tabletop.
Just as a satisfied exhale tell from him, a helm went tumbling across the floor. The Echani chuckled. Hell of a night off she said. "You can say that again." His words were punctuated by the shaking of his head. "Can't say I'm not entertained. Drinks and a chimp show?"
His hands collided in a mock slow clap.
After his antics, he nodded along as she spoke about work. His eyebrows raised at the mention of the old Crusade. Hadn't heard that name since his final days on Eshan. He was a wet-behind the ears, mama's boy back then. Not a drop of blood on his hands. Now? He reached for the bottle."Business is booming for mercs." he began, refreshing his glass slowly. "Especially in the Knights. Cataclysm hit us hard. And while the top brass is happy to carry on like we're not down more than half our people, the smart ones are getting contracted help on the bigger jobs."
He tapped his temple absently. Indicating just how smart he thought he was.
"If you give me your deets, I can give you a holler when I'm on the next job. Assuming I can afford you, that is."
Laertia had sworn not to actually serve Darth Metus. She wasn't a Knight Obsidian. She had defected to the CIS because she supported the idea of every side uniting to fight the Bryn'adul. She had been pouring her efforts lately into just that. If only the Jedi didn't want to fight both.
That was why she couldn't support them. Not anymore. Their history with the Sith blinded too many to the fact the Bryn'adul's actions made them far worse than any Sith, who could be dealt with and would always prove a hazard. But if the Bryn'adul were not stopped now...
Laertia wasn't a member of the Knights Obsidian. Yet here she was, doing volunteer work. With Nine's own monster, Vera.
Laertia hated Vera. She hated her the instant Vera had refused to disclose what she knew about why the Amalgam was obsessed with Maple and herself. Her hatred of Vera had grown worse after she had been put through on Kar Shian, forced to endure the reveal that The Amalgam had been Ursula Sandraven all along from the lips of The Amalgam herself.
Laertia didn't voice or express it openly, as doing so would risk antagonizing her new Patron, Nine Lives. Vera knew that Laertia couldn't risk antagonizing her Mother, and also knew Laertia absolutely hated her. Uncharacteristically for Vera however, she had not capitalized on this, and even she wasn't sure why...ordinarily she would have delighted in toying with her. But antagonizing someone just didn't seem to hold the flavor it once did.
Plus...Vera couldn't help but remember she was a relative. She definitely hadn't seen that coming. She might have been slightly less mocking. Slightly.
Vera watched as Laertia silently piloted the deadly warship, currently resembling an athletic, curvy Chiss with red hair in a white metallic catsuit with exposed arms. Laertia's jaw worked as she felt Vera's smile over her shoulder.
"So, Laertia..." the Android asked. "Have you been enjoying your new citizenship as a member of the CIS?"
"Enjoyment as a citizen isn't one of my prerogatives..." Laertia said calmly, not looking at Vera.
"Oh come, we can't be that much worse than those SJC feths." Vera scoffed leaning against a bare spot of the cockpit. "Various Westenra Copies tell me there is a 007-ty eight percent commonality between the sort of missions the SJC and CIS engage in. They aren't as different as they like to pretend."
"Distinctions are not my concern any longer." Laertia replied coldly without looking at her.
"Oh, it's like that, eh? Just 'hold your nose'?" Vera questioned snidely, folding her arms. "You ran to us. You ran like a beggar to a church after you burned every bridge imaginable with SJC. All because you are so convinced of the need to Unite you killed your own rather than let them sabotage that effort or follow them into destruction. Your entire career as a Jedi. Poof. By your own hand. You destroyed your girlfriend's career too. But you still ran to my Mother for help. You became a citizen because she put in the word with the Embassy. I'm the one who filed the paperwork. So the very reason you don't have NIO Assassins and Jedi Shadows breathing down your neck is because I took a few hours out of my day to make sure your defection had as few obstacles as possible. I think that warrants an answer to my queries."
"My energies have not been devoted to exploring CIS territory, but forging alliances." Laertia answered back.
"You want to save all these worlds, yet you don't even understand why they are worth saving. Do you even understand why 'you' want to save them? Beyond their life having some intrinsic meaning? How can you protect the lives of these people when you will not even deign to walk amongst them, to learn why they should be saved? Why bother saving them at all if it means we spend one more second as slaves to the supposed evil of the Sith running the whole thing? Darth Metus
may not be your master but by every law now you are a citizen in 'his' Confederacy. You are the citizen of a Darth, because Carnifex was too unacceptable for you to defect to...in spite of helping them. What was it like, fighting alongside your former Master? Was it exhilarating? Did it bring back memories? Good ones?" The Android wondered.
"You seek to erode my will. You will not succeed."
(Vera has successfully eroded Laertia's Will Saves by 1)
"She was like a Mother to you once?" Vera asked.
It took all of Laertia's self control not to break the steering controls from pure homicidal rage towards the Biot Assassin.
"Yes. She is dead to me now." Laertia answered, desperately trying to control her emotions.
"Not going to try and persuade her from her evil ways? You are technically on the same side now, y'know...you'll never have a better chance to try."
"She will die for what she has done, but only if I can find a way to get away with it."
"Excuses, excuses...y'know, I think Moya is too soft with you. I think her love for you interferes with her logic. My opinion? Ever since you learned the person who trained you was a Sith Master, making you by extension a sort of Sith Lord the entire time along with dear Maple...well...that can't have done wonders for your psyche...your sense of self. Why...it must have been absolutely devastating..." Vera trailed with a smirk.
"Y'know what I think? I think The Bryn'adul were your punching bag to take out your frustration and despair at what you learned on Kar Shian and when the Jedi got in the way of your 'therapy' they had to be cast aside. And given how easy it was for you to take Jedi lives...you probably weren't even as attached to them as you yourself thought. So you see Laertia...you aren't as high and mighty as you claim. You're not even all that different from me, in spite of your organic origins. Like me, you consider things like Good or Evil abstract, secondary concepts before the unyielding logic of fulfilling your objective. All that matters is the accomplishment. You're definitely a Sister of mine in spirit..." Vera chuckled evily. "And you are definitely 'her' student..."
"The Bryn'adul are not an excuse to me..." Laertia whispered, forcing herself not to cry.
"I don't think life means as much to you as you think it does. I saw the reports at Atrisia. You fight without compassion or mercy. I think you just want to die ripping and tearing, as long as its an enemy you can feel righteous about killing. Jedi Code be damned. I have never needed this excuse--"
"Thank you very much, Vera, for securing my citizenship in the CIS..." Laertia whispered as she set the Ship down.
Vera went silent.
"Well well well, so you aren't some self deluding psychopath hiding behind a personal crusade and lone, visionary self righteousness..." Vera remarked, her emotional analysis complete.
"You're just terrified and in kill-mode, as you have always been. You're making it up on the spot and you're not even sure if you are in the right...and you don't know who is a friend outside your own circle...and you still love your Master, even in her fallen state...intriguing..." Vera smirked, Laertia still not saying anything. Nine's emotional analysis software was horrifically accurate.
"We have a job to do...innocent lives are at stake..." Laertia said emptily, getting out of the cockpit seat and going past Vera, who begin to feel the slightest tinge of regret at having strung her along before the raid on Kar Shian.
Ten minutes later...
Laertia had come out armed with all the gear she felt she would need. Vera had a taste for old school. She had come out with a 30. Caliber Medium Machinegun with a shortened, jacketed barrel and a canister mag of armor piercing rounds, a 40 millimeter Pump Action Grenade Launcher, and a Mandalorian Disintegrator with an extended barrel and Laser Sight.
It had been a Lightning Raid on a skyscraper secretly controlled by CIS Intelligence. The Knights Obsidian were rebuilding their ranks currently, so Nine had 'Volunteered' the pair to investigate the loss of contact.
It had masqueraded as a software company, protected by private security. It was a Genetics Research Facility on the inside. Force Sensitivity related. Set in the underbelly of this place, which reminded Laertia enough of Nar Shaddaa to be angry the entire time she walked its streets.
Laertia stopped at an open air market full of various cybernetic parts that were severely illegal in SJC space.
"See something you like?" Vera asked. "That's the best thing about CIS space...less red tape for truly useful equipment...here you can just make yourself into the weapon you need to be. Or want to be. No judging."
Laertia spotted the Devaronian cyberneticist greedily rubbing his hands together, his teeth as pointy as his horns as he strode up to her
"Welcome, welcome. Step right up, don't be shy, I sell to anyone with money..." he said with the oily tone of a veteran salesman of the black market on Nocturna. He spotted Laertia's obsidian cybernetic arm.
"Such fine craftsmanship! Which company made it, if I might ask?" The Cybernetic Scientist asked.
"Self Built..." Laertia answered.
"An artist, then." The Scientist remarked. "One of our vaunted Onight Obsidian m, come to bring order and justice. I thought you were all dead.
"I am not a Knight Obsidian..." Laertia said flatly.
"Not yet..." Vera said under her breath.
Laertia ignored the barb. "How's your selection of concealed weapons for cybernetic limbs?" She asked the dealer.
"I stock all manner of hidden death dealing. Defenses too...here...browse my catalogue..."
Laertia was handed a datapad and soon made her selection.
The Scientist led her to a medical gurney, after paying him thirty thousand credits, using scans and a number of medical droids...
(Zelda Acquisition Theme Plays)
(Laertia has acquired new Cybernetic Upgrades!)
Upgrade: CONCEALED ENERGY GARROTE
This upgrade alters the internal structure of Laertia's mechanical thumb, allowing for a concealed high intensity energy garrote powered by microbatteries connected to special couplings at both ends of the garrote. Pulling the thumbtip reveals the garrote connected from it to the rest of the hand. Length of garrote much greater than described purpose would suggest, meaning it can be whipped outward at considerable distance for unpredictable surprise attacks. Cutting power equivalent to a full power vibroblade with incendiary effects, but requires 14 seconds to recharge after 007 uses.
Upgrade: ARC MULTIPLIER
Illegal modifications to the already installed Baragwin Stun Ray allow it to discharge multiple but weaker arcs of the stun ray
Upgrade: PARTICLE DISPLACEMENT ANALYSIS SOFTWARE
Developed as a practical (albeit not foolproof) counter to Force Camouflage, instead of trying to perceive a hiding being, the software in her cyber eye passively examines the environment for displacement of air from where the hidden adept moves. Not foolproof as there is still a forty percent error rate
"Imagine how useful this tech might be to the Jedi Order, if only they had the will to use what the CIS learned. How might the war at Nar Kreeta have gone, if only there were more, faster, stronger Jedi, willing to do whatever it took to win...people like you?" Vera questioned as she watched Laertia rise.
"I suppose we'll never know..." she said paying the man and walking off to her true destination about three blocks away...with a pouting Vera following all the while...
He reached for the bottle. "Business is booming for mercs. Especially in the Knights. Cataclysm hit us hard. And while the top brass is happy to carry on like we're not down more than half our people, the smart ones are getting contracted help on the bigger jobs."
"Hmm," couldn't help a faint look of skepticism. Booming for your dime-a-dozen mercs, for certain. Business was always booming for them, especially where there was war. For her? Not so much. Hazel held off on saying as such to let the man continue.
"If you give me your deets, I can give you a holler when I'm on the next job. Assuming I can afford you, that is."
Hazel dipped her head and took another sip with a lopsided smirk that stretched the scars lancing across her face, "Throw in some Corellian Whisky and I'll cut you a deal." She snickered. Compared to most she considered herself affordable, but it really just depended on the job and the client. She leaned to fish a datacard from her jacket and tossed it on the table, "Knock yourself out. Can't say for sure you'll have much need for a merc like me... but what's this cataclysm? You mean the Netherworld event or did something else rock the galaxy while I was stuck in a bacta tank."
The faint look of skepticism was lost upon the Echani. Fortunately, the rim of his glass obscured his vision. By the time it settled back down, she was already moving. First a swig of her beverage, followed by accepting his offer. Var grinned as she reached for her datacard. He took the piece in hand and shook his wrist, causing his jacket's sleeve to fall back ever so slightly.
Upon said wrist rested a small datapad. Built into a bracer of sorts. Comfortable. Necessary for the job. He slid the card into one of the slots and accepted the details before handing the piece right back. "For you? I'll throw in two bottles." he said, chuckling. Then onto the darkness.
The Cataclysm. Var had heard of the Netherworld crisis that occurred when he was far younger. Fortunately he hadn't personally been affected. He knew enough that he was able to move his hand in the infamous so-so motion.
"Got hit from the Netherworld. Some...Thing...managed to turn a huge number of us into monsters. Those who weren't turned got mauled or fought back. By the time we killed them all, we were damn near extinct." He paused, reaching for his glass. "Far as we can tell, it was localized to the southern systems. Hit us and us alone. Triggered by some artifact we digged up and the top brass had the bright idea to bring home."
She sat in rapt silence as he unraveled the cataclysm in, what she surmised to be, as close to Too-Long-Wasn't-There as he could. Sounded horrific and gave her mental shutters a momentary lapse of action, releasing memories of being stranded in Netherworld. Her own hound turning on her, leaving her in a heap of gleaming viscera. The woman's lips drew thin and she found no need to pursue the subject that had suddenly veered off conversational tracks.
"Solo," she answered, moving to pick up the bottle and refill his glass before topping off her own, "unless you count a dog, then I have a 1-dog crew."
The look of self-deprecation was clear and the follow-up of a respectable gulp from her glass spoke of things unspoken, "Easier that way. Less mouths to feed, less complications, less responsibility in the long run. Lead a contingency of warriors in my glory days and had to watch every last one of them fall with no means of saving them. I don't know about you but," she seethed a breath through faintly bared teeth, "I'm not big on repeating past mistakes."
The silence was brief, but it was there. The drawing of a thin line upon her lips. The raising of a glass to his own. Var did not know the thoughts running through his new "friend's" mind, but if they were close to his own? The event sucked. To watch comrades die, brutally? Sucked. To deal with the aftermath? Sucked. The moment passed just as soon as Var's question was answered.
She operated solo. That was a reality that the Echani could get behind. She was kind enough to top off his own glass while speaking, a fact which earned her a grateful nod. "Dogs make excellent co-pilots." he remarked with a chuckle.
The reason behind her operating alone was one he completely understood. Loss. That was a common tongue in the Galaxy these days. "Sorry for your loss." he said, before slowly rotating his hand in his grasp. "I run solo, unless the job lumps me in with co-workers."
"My sisters...our people are raised as warriors. Over the past couple years, they've been dropping like flies. Just...Didn't feel like getting attached after that. So." He took a hearty swig of his beverage at that point. Using the burn to bury those thoughts deep. Deeper.
"Tell you what. Roon is where the Knights are cooped up. If you're open to it, mind if I ride back with you? I'll foot the booze bill along the way, keep you and the co-pilot company."
Seemed like a fun idea in his head. But maybe the booze was getting to him.
Hazel chuckled into her glass, "He's pretty useless. Good footrest, though." For warming up tired puppies after a long day pounding metal. She wiped at her chin with a gloved hand and bit the escaped whisky off her thumb. A sound of condolence and understanding followed for his own loss.
"Can't blame you. Solo survivor solidarity is a very real thing." Always good to find another who had walked a similar path. Raised as warriors - he was a regular kin of kind.
She was in the process of bringing her tumbler up for a drink when an idea tumbled from his mouth. Glass stopped mid-progression to face, the merc blinked and mentally bungled for a response, "Uh..." Been a while since she'd had any company on her ship aside from Biggs and Brom, her brain slogged through a muddled list of necessary supplies and inventory. Did she actually have food in storage or was her last several ration packet meals just a result of laziness?
"Sure. Yeah," another blink before she looked at him with a lopsided smirk, "I can make that work. You might have to bunk with Biggs, though. Can't remember if I still have guest cots on board or not."
All around him, the Glassway bar seemed to have descended into some sort of wide-ranging brawl. But Sabacc waited for no man, nor a petty squabble. Kiff was here to relax. And if by relax he meant Sabacc, then some fething bar fight would not interfere with that.
The first taker was a woman wearing some sort of suit, and it was only from her voice that Kiff was able to discern her sex, and to an extent her rough age. She asked him if there was an open spot, and he gestured in a self-deprecating way at the empty table in front of him, farmed by the bar fight in the background. "Seems people would rather get knocked up from fists rather than credits and drinks," he shouted over the noise, "but if you want to, we can try to enjoy this evening in a more. . . fashionable way."
Then another man and a woman approached -- they had an air about them, something Kiff couldn't quite place but usually associated with the stuck-up snobs that were in the higher places of government and the socerers in the Knights Obsidian. But they seemed chill enough, so Kiff had no qualms with dealing the man in.
"Alright folks, if you didn't know we're playing Corellian Spike variant," he said as he began dealing the cards to each of the participants. "Put your credits in the pot and let's get this started." He slid the obligatory two credits into the middle of the table, the game pot, and another slightly to the side, the Sabbac pot. He made sure to keep his cards held in a place where the other players, and discreetly took a peak at his hand. A two and a negative five -- not the worst hand, but not the best either. But he could work it into a win with a good bluff. "I'll bet an additional five," he said, sliding the credits into the pot as he looked to the player on his left for their turn.
For some reason, he imagined the mercenary settling her feet upon a lap dog...and utterly squishing it into oblivion. Clearly the beast in question had to be bigger if it was supporting her boots. "Now that's a new one." he remarked, shaking his head between sips.
At the very least, they seemed to have an understanding. A common ground of sorts - formed through loss. Those who survived were rarely unscathed it seemed. "That's for damn sure." he agreed at the mention of sole survivor solidarity.
Of course, the somber tone of the chat livened up with the mention of his tagging along to Roon. She mulled it over for a moment - running through an amusing number of expressions before settling upon a Sure, Yeah. Var nodded, clearly pleased, as she continued. "Is Biggs the dog?" came his inquiry - a mock one at that. After the life he'd led, sharing a bunk wasn't the worst accommodation in the Galaxy. Beat a piss-smelling floor any day.
"Swil aside, if you need me to pitch in for the trip, I'm all in." he said, continuing the rotation of his glass. "When did you plan on heading out?"
"No, Biggs is my favorite gun," she plopped her chin into the leather palm of her hand, leaned into it and smugged, "I'll just strap you in to the stand next to him."
Biggs the Kath Hound was, in all actuality, exceptionally snuggly and made for as good of a makeshift pillow as he did for a footrest. You just had to get past the musk ... and the snoring. Her grin turned doleful at the thought. The hound might not be the most useful thing when compared to his four-legged predecessors but he was good company. A good boi.
"Might need to grab some more foodstuffs for the trip unless you have a love for ration-packs. Other than that, one stop for fuel and a small pick-up on the way should do it. Planned to head out later tonight so long as I wasn't completely plastered."
The partying, the fighting, the scheming, and all else would continue well into the night. But if one thing was clear, it was that only the surface of Nocturna had been touched and that there was much, much more to explore. But perhaps that could wait for another day.
Luna couldn’t help but let out the slightest of laughs at Tyrias’ words on the chiss’ duty, leaning forward to take her hand and hold it tightly in her own. “I believe I’m quite ready for the night to really get going…and besides, I’ve been waiting quite a while to be by your side as well.” She moved to stand closer to the Chiss, taking in how the neon lights played against a dark sky. It was almost as though the planet had it’s own version of a forever sunset, or a northern lights. It was a sight she could take in for forever.
However…there was another site, this one held close to her, that she was happy to have for the rest of night.
Tugging Tyrias closer once again, Luna looped her arm up and over the chiss’ shoulder, hugging her close while they started toward the massive club. And even before they entered, she could feel herself being reverberated with the thumping music. The beat shook the concrete they stood upon, giving Luna pause for just a moment. “it’s been…a very long time since I went into a place like this, Tyrias..” She turned, eyes focusing on the red one’s of her partner in crime for the night with a twinkle of mischief. “You’ll stay close, right?”
She had a good idea how Tyrias would answer, and the moment it was given, she strode forward confidently into the mass of bodies. Her grip on her chaperone was tight, not leaving her side, despite all the people that moved around them. Aliens, humans, humanoids of every color moving from light to light, flashing out of sight. Despite this, Luna was able to not only spot the bar area, but eventually slither across the dance floor to make it over there.
Sliding into one of the nearby booths, she was surprised to see how quickly a server made her way over to where they sat. It was a lithe thing, a green twilek, one who had obviously had quite a long night so far. “May I get you two anything?” her tired voice called out, just barely audible over the music.
Turning to Tyrias, Luna flashed her a teasing smile, words mimicking it as she spoke. “Why don’t you order the first round?” The server gave a little sigh that Luna barely noticed, instead turning to Tyrias expectantly.
Mitra looked at the cashier with a little slack jawed annoyance at the extreme price range on the pair of pants, jacket, and shirt she was able to pick out. Luckily for her, she had been saving quite a large amount of her stipend, so while the price tag was extremely steep, she was still able to afford it. That didn’t keep the sour look off her face when she handed over the credits before stuffing her wallet back into the neon colored jacket. “Fine…hope you have a nice night.” Desptie the price tag, Mitra knew it wasn’t the workers fault…at least she hoped that it wasn’t.
Eventually, she stepped back out onto the lit streets feeling like she could blend in much, much better. Much better than walking in her armor around, where she’d be a target to anyone wanting to pick a fight. She didn’t want to be in fights…she didn’t like confronting people face to face. It’s why she did what she did, as a sniper. Mitra got to help her brothers and sisters…her friends, from far back at the front lines.
But now that she could blend in there was a pause from the frizzy haired blonde as she realized there wasn’t much…direction for her now. She didn’t know where to go for the night. The rest of the omegas had gone off on their own, and she didn’t exactly want to go sit by the Marshal all night. That’d only make her look more young, like she couldn’t leave the big marhsal’s shadow. Instead, she started wandering the streets, waiting for something to catch her eye.
And while it wasn’t what she expected, the sight of a purple portal opening above a building close to her, and what looked to be one of her squadmates practically falling through it. “Well..that’s interesting at least.” Her eyes scanned the exterior of the building for any way to climb up to the roof, gaze quickly falling on what looked to be a fire escape of some kind. So up the lithe sniper climbed, all the way to the top, where she found Rook seemingly stuck to the rooftop by one of those glop grenades.
Oh, oh how the sniper smiled.
The lights danced over her pale skin and hair as she slowly, purposefully, made her way over to where Rook lay, smirking slightly the entire way over. Kneeling beside her, she was silent for a moment to look over the situation her squadmate had gotten herself into, and instead of remarking on that, she looked to the sky where the portal had been only moments before. “Did..you come out of that portal..thingy?”
Everything else was easy enough to let slide. Maggie knew she was awkward at times, socially so because of the way her mind worked. She had no filter from brain to mouth, and sometimes that could get her into a lot of trouble socially. Thankfully she seemed to have found a kindred spirit here in Asher, and that was at least a relief. Someone who knew the struggle would either be easy to get along with, or impossible, and right now the pair seemed to be getting along well enough. Granted...alcohol was involved, but hopefully that just helped smooth an already easy going situation.
However, when EVOH was brought into the mix of conversation, Maggie visibly prickled. Her gaze shifted to the android in question and her posture straightened a hair more than it had been moments before. There had been little acknowledgement from the blue haired android either; though when the little AI came into view, EVOH did look long enough to run a simple scan as her directive called for, and then she was back to observing the track screen.
With a slow, steadying sigh through her nose, Maggie downed the rest of her drink, set the glass on the bar, and then made her way towards EVOH. "Yes, she's mine." she stated, a mix of pride and confidence in her tone. "I do have a partner who helps me run testing and keep up maintenance with her programing, and I've never been one to deny suggestions made by those who are smarter than I am so naturally there are a few of his design ideas incorporated into EVOH's structure. But otherwise, everything about her is me."
Maggie was by no means selfish, and she would gladly give Leto his credit where it was due every time. But admittedly her focus was pulled when there was suddenly another little body in her personal space. Maggie blinked rapidly for only a moment, both brows lofted, and then she watched the small thing move back to Asher. "Seems I'm not the only one who doesn't leave home without my own personal care unit." That of course wasn't what EVOH really was, but it had steadily become what the android did on a day to day - keep Maggie alive in every way, shape, and form.
"Perhaps I should bring you along on more of my safaris," the Chiss replied after she'd 'helped' Luna rise to her own stature. "There's more waiting in hunting than there is pacification. Enough to discuss many things." Provided the Marshall wasn't opposed to vigilante work. Even if Luna herself didn't participate, not everyone wanted to 'encourage' such behavior. Not that Tyrias required any encouragement at all; either way there were people in need of being dealt with and not all of them were on a bounty board.
The Chiss tilted her head up and back slightly as the other woman threw an arm about her and pulled Tyrias in close. A smile played upon her dark lips as they began to move toward the entrance of the club.
Low frequencies bled into the ground and vibrated in the air as they drew closer. Seemed they'd come to one of the more... lively entertainment venues. Little chance of being overheard by anyone around you; though not much better chance of those nearest to you hearing either. Not her favorite, but far from unfamiliar. Plenty of criminals hid in such places -- usually in a VIP Lounge upstairs.
"I will," Tyrias replied to Luna's questioning statement. "Though you needn't worry. A crowd like this wouldn't separate us long." She was anything but timid. If someone needed to be cast aside, the Chiss would do so. They'd get their polite request first, but she wouldn't tolerate being ignored. The night wasn't to watch some strange couple that couldn't be bothered anyone else was present.
Of course Luna stayed extra close with a firm embrace about her evening's companion. Tyrias returned the favor by taking hold of the woman's hip. Two points of contact -- shoulders and hips -- were better than one.
Fortunately the pair managed to find a place to sit without drawing the ire of anyone or 'causing a scene.' It was too early for that. Not so early the staff could appear interested in them being there, however. Long days. Longer nights. Tyrias could empathize, but still found the not so subtle cues of dissatisfaction unpleasant. Do your job, and do it well was the Chiss Way. There was more to this particular job than merely taking orders.
Luna didn't seem to notice, or at least hadn't shown nearly as overt signs she had. So, for now, Tyrias remained silent on the subject. Instead her red eyes fixed on the ever so patient Twi'lek."Corellian Whiskey." One corner of her lips lifted as she glanced in Luna's direction. "We'll begin there and work our way up." Wouldn't want Luna to complain later they hadn't enjoyed a drop. Tyrias wouldn't complain if that's all they had, either, but the galaxy was full of spirits. No need to pick just one.
Her red eyes turned toward Luna afterward as the scene was not what interested Tyrias that evening. "Now, then, Luna... How did you come by this place?" The Marshall hadn't seemed lost, uncertain, or even hesitated in aiming straight for what she'd wanted. Been here before, it seemed.
Magda just happened to be that person to Kiff's left. Taking the open invitation to the game, she set herself down into the seat with a cold sense of forboding. Before the Ichor crisis and her metamorphosis into her current attire, Magda's sabacc face could have been described as 'laughable.' Now that a tinted and unlit faceplate obscured the view of her eyes and expression, she at least didn't have to worry about that. A steadying breath settled her nerves only somewhat and she watched as two more people dropped into play. At a guess, she was the youngest sitting at the table ... but probably not much younger than Smirky McGee to her right.
Starting bets in the pot, Magda glanced at her cards. -1 and a 10. Welp.
Var Talon
