Rutar Nok
Rogue Three "Corn-Dog"
D'Qar Base
Flight Officer Rutar Nok's introduction to Rogue Squadron and the alliance in Exile.
The Starbird Cantina, free round on the new guy
A guttural laugh bellowed from within the open and recently landed U-wing. Alliance crew and pilots exit the ship, some grasping what looked like to be emergency waste bags held close to their mouths. One of the departing passengers dropped to his knees and kissed the tarmac as if the ground was a long lost love. The Source of the laughter exited the ship, a stocky Klatooinian with dark brown skin, thick eyebrows and a jowled canine muzzle that gaped with his entertained bellows. "Come now you koupihoziua! You all survived!" the deep gruff voice was rich with the klatooine accent mixed with the huttese tongue. Many that had left the U-wing had either given the fighter pilot an explicitly rude hand gesture or they had out right answered back with mixed cussed words and threats.
"Come now, Don't be that way!" Rutar giggled his plea as he made his way onto the landing pad of D'qar base. He stopped in his tracks and turned on his heels gripping the shoulder of the flight engineer that was following behind him. "Pay up! Half of them got sick and i think that one still kissing the ground has found religion"
The weasel faced human hissed as his hands dug deep into his jumpsuit's pocket "You are nothing but a filthy mutt faced pirate!" He growled handing the owed credits over to Rutar. "Should of known that a pilot called Corn-Dog would of been suicidal and crazy".
The man shoved off but Rutar was going to have the last word "Your mistake was gambling with a Klatooinian....... we have nothing to lose". He didn't take the engineers soured insults to heart. He new the man was bent from losing a bet let alone had just been on a flight from hell with Rutar at the helm. He just laughed and chuckled it off and jingled his winnings while he made his way to the luggage cart. With one hand he gripped his military duffel bag and tossed it over his shoulder before making way to the main terminal of the base.
Didn't take long for Rutar to get sorted out, he dropped off his duffel back to the assigned quarters and made his way to the local Cantina that was named the Starbird. He knew the watering hole be the best place to break the ice with his new squadron. Rutar was fresh from the alliance academy, one of the last few training squadrons that had graduated before Whole of the Alliance tore apart. Now more than ever those with aptitude in the cockpit were in great demand and through out training Rutar had proven he was above average in his abilities to fly. Enough that he had been transferred to Rogue Squadron. Certainly far from slaving away in the dust-corn fields in servitude of the hutts.
The new man on the block entered the bar like a pup's first day in school. Timid he was not, but there was still a pang of nervousness deep in his stomach. He wore the beige work uniform with the dark brown bomber jacket with the freshly sewn Rogue Squadron Patch upon it. He new he got some looks from the patrons, folk eyeing him up..... assessing and judging. Was nerve racking, but he was a fighter pilot with nerves of steel. He braved the gawkers with a muzzled grin and he made way confidently towards a wooden stand that held a ancient nodical bell. He took in a deep breath and gripped the rope that dangled from inside the bell itself "Time to make some friend!' With that he let off three loud rings that echoed through out the cantina. Ancient navy tradition, the one who rings the bell buys the entire room the next round.
Everyone cheered and clapped with joy. Why wouldn't they, free drinks was always worth celebrating. Rutar walked up to the bar "Gonna need a tab open, the name Flight Officer Rutar Nok!" And there he stood, greeting those that came to drinks he had bought for them. It was the best way to make friends in a military setting. Free booze wins the icebreaker any day.
Flight Officer Rutar Nok's introduction to Rogue Squadron and the alliance in Exile.
The Starbird Cantina, free round on the new guy
A guttural laugh bellowed from within the open and recently landed U-wing. Alliance crew and pilots exit the ship, some grasping what looked like to be emergency waste bags held close to their mouths. One of the departing passengers dropped to his knees and kissed the tarmac as if the ground was a long lost love. The Source of the laughter exited the ship, a stocky Klatooinian with dark brown skin, thick eyebrows and a jowled canine muzzle that gaped with his entertained bellows. "Come now you koupihoziua! You all survived!" the deep gruff voice was rich with the klatooine accent mixed with the huttese tongue. Many that had left the U-wing had either given the fighter pilot an explicitly rude hand gesture or they had out right answered back with mixed cussed words and threats.
"Come now, Don't be that way!" Rutar giggled his plea as he made his way onto the landing pad of D'qar base. He stopped in his tracks and turned on his heels gripping the shoulder of the flight engineer that was following behind him. "Pay up! Half of them got sick and i think that one still kissing the ground has found religion"
The weasel faced human hissed as his hands dug deep into his jumpsuit's pocket "You are nothing but a filthy mutt faced pirate!" He growled handing the owed credits over to Rutar. "Should of known that a pilot called Corn-Dog would of been suicidal and crazy".
The man shoved off but Rutar was going to have the last word "Your mistake was gambling with a Klatooinian....... we have nothing to lose". He didn't take the engineers soured insults to heart. He new the man was bent from losing a bet let alone had just been on a flight from hell with Rutar at the helm. He just laughed and chuckled it off and jingled his winnings while he made his way to the luggage cart. With one hand he gripped his military duffel bag and tossed it over his shoulder before making way to the main terminal of the base.
Didn't take long for Rutar to get sorted out, he dropped off his duffel back to the assigned quarters and made his way to the local Cantina that was named the Starbird. He knew the watering hole be the best place to break the ice with his new squadron. Rutar was fresh from the alliance academy, one of the last few training squadrons that had graduated before Whole of the Alliance tore apart. Now more than ever those with aptitude in the cockpit were in great demand and through out training Rutar had proven he was above average in his abilities to fly. Enough that he had been transferred to Rogue Squadron. Certainly far from slaving away in the dust-corn fields in servitude of the hutts.
The new man on the block entered the bar like a pup's first day in school. Timid he was not, but there was still a pang of nervousness deep in his stomach. He wore the beige work uniform with the dark brown bomber jacket with the freshly sewn Rogue Squadron Patch upon it. He new he got some looks from the patrons, folk eyeing him up..... assessing and judging. Was nerve racking, but he was a fighter pilot with nerves of steel. He braved the gawkers with a muzzled grin and he made way confidently towards a wooden stand that held a ancient nodical bell. He took in a deep breath and gripped the rope that dangled from inside the bell itself "Time to make some friend!' With that he let off three loud rings that echoed through out the cantina. Ancient navy tradition, the one who rings the bell buys the entire room the next round.
Everyone cheered and clapped with joy. Why wouldn't they, free drinks was always worth celebrating. Rutar walked up to the bar "Gonna need a tab open, the name Flight Officer Rutar Nok!" And there he stood, greeting those that came to drinks he had bought for them. It was the best way to make friends in a military setting. Free booze wins the icebreaker any day.
