Broken Crown

[Hazel Scheler]

Sarge would feel Ivy take the credit chit from his hand, no comment made. She would have given the girl money for the asking, but Ivy made sure to secure the hook and loop closure of the pouch she placed it back into tightly so it wouldn't happen again. They'd have to take the whole damn thing, and that would be rather entertaining to watch them wrestle it off her.

The woman sniffed a thank you after him, though it wasn't likely he'd hear it.

She followed without any further event, gaze panning across their surroundings as they moved through them, settling on the back of her companion as he swept down the left hall and paused, briefly, to unlock his room door. Her right hand made a swift move to one of the weapons on her hip but she did not draw just yet and, much to her chagrin, found it wasn't necessary anyways.

For a moment she was about to make a comment to the extent of 'you too?' at his suspicions of someone uninvited in his room, but kept it to herself as he dismissed the HK droid. Ivy watched it clank off down the hall and pondered at the impression of dejection with which it trudged.

Could droids...trudge?

She stepped inside and looked about, pushing her goggles to her forehead where they disappeared beneath the hem of her hood.

"It's cozy," she remarked, tugging at the fabric covering her face and sneezing at a plume of dust and sand that billowed up with a resounding, "ugh." She hadn't yet noticed the man remove his helmet.



Sarge Potteiger:
"You allergic to beds?" It was a joke, but it was dry enough she'd know he wasn't much paying attention to what was going on. Beskar was light enough that he wasn't sinking too far into the mattress, which was good.

He'd rather not ruin it for when he wanted to sleep, later, especially since he wasn't getting off planet in a sandstorm. Major downside to these places of residence? No windows.

Couldn't risk sand getting into the room... and the bed... and your orifices while you slept, just so you could stare up and at the paired suns during the day. Nope, dank like a cavern here.

"Cozy is definitely the word." He adds, seemingly deeply involved in something. "I'm not quite sure where you're headed but there's a man in Anchorhead who may be of assistance. Not the best, but he's good.

But, if you aren't afraid to travel, I've the name of a fantastic armorsmith on Naboo. He'd get ya fixed up right quick." With that said, he turned towards her, finding himself staring at the last vestiges of dust falling through the air.

Holding out the datapad with a gauntleted hand, he gave her a faint smile that was almost lost beneath the tangle of a thick beard.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"I'm-" she held her arms out and braced...then gave a second sneeze which resulted in another plume of dust and sand.

Ivy paced off, sloughing sand from her face and the upper portion of her cloak. This was the downside, she supposed, to not wearing a helmet. The woman swore under her breath in Panathan with a cough, sputtering somewhat as she willed away a third sneeze. She placed one hand against the nearest wall, face screwed up while she slowly, carefully took a few clear breaths of air.

"...I'm not quite sure where I'm heading either, but I'm certainly not afraid to travel. Last time I saw Naboo it was-" she had to stop herself there. Ivy had learned the hard way that talking about the Gulag Virus was rather taboo no matter where one went. Not only that, but speaking about it seemed to dredge up old feelings that she'd put a lot of effort into burying. Deep.

"-ravaged by war," she finished, "never got to see it in its glory days, though I hear it's a pretty nice stop now."

The woman opened her eyes, finding herself staring at a face much more youthful than she was expecting. His voice even, she realized, was vastly different without the helmet. Ivy blinked and slowly took the datapad but did not take her eyes off of him. She wanted to remark on how he'd destroyed her hallucination but it came out as, "nice beard." It wasn't a joke, she liked it.



Sarge Potteiger:
The man laughed, the sound loud and boisterous - especially in the relatively tight confines of the room. Her swearing only made it better, and it wasn't something he'd quite expected; the other language part. Swearing was par for the course.

Still, his brown eyes locked onto her like proton torpedos as she mentioned a war. "Last time Naboo saw actual war...", he begins slowly, "was when the Trade Federation attacked. I don't quite think you're that old."

While there had been combat when the Protectorate had rolled into town, it had been confined to the palace, and it had only occured due to an attempted coup perpetrated by those wishing to oust the then-Queen. The Protectorate had only been involved to stabilize.

"It's beautiful, you know? Lake Country is absolutely gorgeous." Despite the youth of his face, especially compared to her, as his head turned back 'round she'd catch the glimpse of the shrapnel scarring that marred his right cheek... and the burn scars that crept up his neck like ivy along a wall.

Remants of Force Lightning.

"Thanks. I'm usually told it's messy and that I should clean up. Nice to know someone else appreciates it." He turns back, giving her a smile that showcased the caps of vaguely off-white teeth.

She'd not looked at the datapad. It made him smirk.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Force Lightning scars were something she was intimately familiar with. The fresh ones on her own face and neck, still glowing a faint, angry red, were her more recent. The others from her run-ins with Lord Salas had long since paled, but-she'd mentally noted upon first inspecting those on her face the day after she'd received them-the ones from Lord Salas had never glowed.

Details, details.

"Perhaps I'm thinking of another planet then. The mind is the first thing to go, you know," she reached up to tap at her temple through her hood, sending another shower of sand in the process. Expression deadpanning, followed by a noise of agitation, she slowly lowered that hand. True war or not, Naboo had not been spared from the chaos and carnage reaped by the Virus. Perhaps war had not been the proper term, but it had been ravaged alright, and it hadn't been beautiful. There wasn't much 'beautiful' left to the galaxy in those days.

"I'll have to see for myself then," she replied, finally looking to the datapad and flicking it with a nod of her head as a silent thank you.

"Doesn't it get itchy in your helmet?" the inquiry was curious as she looked his face over, a brief glance to his helmet, "How do you even fit it all in there?"



Sarge Potteiger:
"Same way you fit anything...," he says with a shrug. "You force it. But really, all it does is get a little matted down." Sighing, he begins combing his fingers through it, fluffing it out just a bit.

Nevermind the fact it felt great. "As for itchy...? Not at all. The only thing that gets itchy really is my back, and that's because the armor rubs at your shoulder blades and the sweat makes it extra sensative or something, iunno really. It's just also been my back that gets itchy."

It had never been explained to him why his back was so difficult, but he'd stopped questioning it. Reaching down, the man began undoing his boots, setting them off to the side and wiggling his toes with a happy sigh.

"If you want to clean off, there is a bathroom ya know. That way you aren't getting dust all over the bed."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Ivy considered this with a wayward nod. Made sense. Not like she'd never been asked how she fit her breasts into her armor and given the very same answer. Her armor was custom fit for her so there generally wasn't an issue. But one couldn't simply make a helmet bigger to accommodate a beard, that didn't make any sense. Did it?

"I find the worst to be an itchy foot," she said. Her boots were molded into her armor so it made taking them off a bit more of a task than simply unlacing them.

At the offer to clean up she glanced to the door. The winds were howling loud enough now that a slight whistle could be heard, "Hadn't planned on getting stuck by a sandstorm..." there was a hint of hesitation to her voice, as though she might be tempted to bull her way through anyways. The stubborn side of her thought she could do it, she'd certainly been through worse. The smart side of her told her stubborn side to shut the hell up.

"Thanks," she said and pulled her pack from her shoulder to set it down by the door. She disappeared into the bathroom and took some time to wash the sand, dirt, dust and grit from her face and run some water through her mess of tangled hair. When she returned Ivy appeared fresh-faced and, now with the layers of dirt gone, perhaps even a bit more youthful. The scars on her face gleamed somewhat brighter now and her hair was slicked back.

She made for her bag and picked it up again, "Thanks for the info on the armorers, I'll definitely seek them out."



Sarge Potteiger:
Ah yes, the dread itchy foot. Nearly as bad as the infamous itchy nose. Speaking of... as she disappeared into the bathroom, he busied himself scratching at the outside of his nose.

Reaching up, he scratched at his head briefly before laying back on the bed and crossing his feet at the ankle, hands folded beneath his head as a makeshift pillow.

When she came out, he tilted his head back to get a look at her and gave a bit of a lopsided smile. "Ain't no problem, Haze.", he says. "Ya look much better."

It almost amused him that she wanted to go out into the sandstorm. Tattoine sandstorms were famous for stripping flesh from the bone. "I'd not suggest goin' out there, one merc to another. Should be plenty of empty rooms though. Can't imagine this place is filled; it's hardly a tourist destination."

He may be stubborn himself, but he weren't stupid. And stupid was certainly trying to find anything in that storm.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"I feel much better," because sand was really pretty high on her list of things she didn't enjoy.

The woman lifted a hand and a brow, "I'm not quite that far gone, thank you very much. I'll find a room," she made her way for the door, pausing at the threshold as it hissed open, looking as though she were going to say something more but instead opted for a pleasant 'thanks again' and stepped out.



Sarge Potteiger:
It took him awhile to fall asleep, due to the howling of the winds outside the underground hotel. But, once he was asleep, it was as fitful as any other night of rest he'd had.

That is to say, it wasn't anything spectacular. He'd never been able to truly get deep sleeps, and that hadn't changed. But when he awoke, he was surprised to find no one around.

HK hadn't come back.

Slowly throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, unconcerned about what the time may be, he found his boots and slid them back on, locking the metal back into place.

Standing, he hefted his helmet and dropped it over his head, the HUD automatically syncing with both his pistol and the blaster rifle sitting by the door.

Walking to the exit and reaching down to grab the sling of his weapon, he tucked one half of the sling under his right armpit so that the blaster hung in front of his chest.

Sighing, he opened the door and peered up and down the hallway, finding no one. Stepping out slowly, lips set in a determined line, he made his way down the corridor to the desk.

A desk which was home to two deactivated droids. His... and the protocol droid. Peeking down the other hallway, he was puzzled to find no one.

This was either a trap, or someone had come to do their business, deactivated the droids, and left.

HK didn't have his blaster, otherwise this might have gone differently. Sighing, he dug into his pouch and pulled out his datapad, slotting a small chord into the pack of the droids torso as he began the process of reactivating it.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

The man had been right - there were plenty of open rooms and Ivy had no trouble renting one to wait out the storm.

After keying herself in for the night the woman set her bag down on the bed and pulled the weight of her cloak over her head. She'd managed to shake about a pound of sand from the fabric and tossed it across her bag.

Then, much like she did most places she went, Ivy picked a comfortable spot on the floor, her back against the wall set opposite of the door. To her left she placed her Vor'cha Stun Stick, to her right the blades too large to comfortably rest with while still in their sheaths.

The woman didn't bother to remove her armor, which was par for the course. Until she was safely estranged from the galaxy out in deep space would she shed her comfort. Head propped back against the wall and arms crossed over her middle, she spent several hours drifting in and out of sleep. Dreaming about that faithful night, Samson's face twisted in terror, frozen within carbonite for an unimaginable length of time. Sephoria's body, battered beyond anything she could remember but still so strong. Strong enough to drag her away when hope had fully slipped from their grasp.

That cryostasis chamber - all she could remember was the strange light and that sudden rush of cold. The loss of breath, limbs failing her, all the world going grey...

Ivy jolted awake, the woman's eyes snapping open to a painful ache in her neck and the pin-prick tingle of her left foot. The scent of dry earth and sand brought her to the present and the woman groaned quietly as she remembered where she was.



Sarge Potteiger:
Sighing, his head lifted at what he thought were footsteps coming down the entrance... but sadly, it was his imagination. The lingering rush of winds told him that, at least partially, the sandstorm was still going.

Whether it was still intense or not, he couldn't be sure, but judging by the fact that there wasn't clouds of sand floating down the entryway things couldn't be too bad.

A shame it was one of those annoying circular staircases. Not the best position to find oneself in, as it was near impossible to fight your way up one of those.

With yet another sigh, he returned his attention to probing through the subroutines the droids inactive body was running to keep it from powering up.

Seems whoever had done this was a bit more skilled in these fields than he, but that was why he'd comissioned this datapad. It had all sorts of security spikes and intrusion software to run.

If you couldn't do something yourself, you could count on being able to pay others to do it. In this case, Ayden had provided him this particular set of programs. Each had been used to plant false information about some kind of politican, or dig some up where they had none.

Tapping a 'run' key, a small chime sounded that told him it was running. It would take a few minutes to break the security programming that had locked him out.

"Stupid karking droid.", he grumbled.

Looking to the protocol droid, he realized that if the woman had in fact gotten a room, he'd not have been able to find out which. The droid would have been the only one to know.

That is to say if she'd even gotten a room to begin with.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

It was quiet in her room. And dark. A sort of darkness that seemed to absorb whatever color there might've been into the corners, packing it away in unseen holes like a mouse portioning light for when the twin suns finally set.

There is a moment when you wake from dreaming in the black heat, a moment outside time when you do not know what you are. At first, because you feel absolutely free, as if you could transform yourself into anything at all, it seems you must be the the faint whisper of wind you hear beyond the walls of your room. That the heaviness you feel in your limbs is the weight of the sand in the wind, and the sweet weariness that comes from the day-and-night pushing of waves across the dunes.

The weight of her eyes was that of a million moons whose pull upon their planets directed the tides of the seas and the lust of the beasts. Ivy could see nothing. Not her own feet, not the bed that sat three feet to her right, not even a sliver of illumination. It was like drifting through the vast black expanse of space, and for a while she wondered if she still dreamt.

'The dreams of my people, they are no different than yours,' Samson had once told her in the darkness of their room one night, 'they are as big and encompassing as the heart.'

Beeeooooooo.

A chirping sounded from her bed. A whizz and a click and a clatter and the strange whuvving of the repulsor mechanism that held her Dark Eye Probe Droid aloft. It buzzed through the air and whizzed past her where it turned in a graceful arch to bob in the air to her left.

Ivy was no longer the wind, but a woman.

"Good morning," she muttered to the droid, peering out towards the red beam of light that followed it's slow rise and fall in the air.

Woooooooooem. The droid clicked at her.

"I think we need to get off this planet."



Sarge Potteiger:
Smacking his datapad, the man scowled as the progress bar finally jumped and a much quieter chime was drowned out by the sound of a droid powering up. The faint hum of a droid rising from stasis heralded the awakening of his old friend.

The droid righted itself, head turning back and forth. "Master." It says flatly. "Why was I deactivated?"

"Don't know, pal."

"Most pertubatory."

Raising both eyebrows but not responding, he used his still connected datapad to try and access the droids memory core, hoping to find some clue as to what had occured. "Wake the other droid up, HK.", he adds.

A moment later the droid rotated its torso and began cracking the hoising of the protocol droids chassis. It was going to be a little before it was operational too, but he could use the time.

It was a minute or two of digging before he found what he wanted. Opening the file he desired, he found himself watching as two Rodians came down the stairs and fired what appeared to be ion blasters at the droids.

How he'd slept through that was beyond him, but likely the sandstorm had covered the noise. Frowning, he disconnected the wire and looked back down the other hallway.

Resting one hand along the grip of his blaster, index finger of his right hand resting along the trigger guard, he held the front of the rifle in a firm grip with his left hand.

With slow methodical steps, he began moving down the hall. The hotel had no security cameras, sadly, otherwise he'd have used them. But all he need do was look for a recently disturbed door.

Focusing on his training, the man made nary a noise as he made his way down the hall, and about halfway down a door on his left was cracked ever so slightly, as if something inside the frame was keeping it from closing all the way.

Shoving a few of his long, slender fingers into the gap, he shoved the door open with a whine of protesting hydraulics. There was nothing inside, although the room was in disarray.

"Kark." He says, stepping back and looking up and down the hall.

Nothing was ever easy in the Outer Rim.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Getting motivation to move was becoming a chore lately. Anymore Ivy couldn't figure which gave her more protest; her body or her mind, or even perhaps indirectly her heart. She felt weighted down by many things. Intangible things.

These intangible things clung at her soul through her armor, making it vastly more heavy in the heat of the room. Tempting the ever daunting challenge of picking herself up, she got to the point of pressure on her feet before having to relent. The Merc fell back against the wall with a resounding thud and a defeated sigh.

What was she /doing/?

Blinking at where her feet aught to be she focused on breathing slowly. Her leg, she'd discovered, was still asleep. This happens from time to time - you know, when you sleep on a hard floor in your armor. Also when you're older than 40.

Feth, she needed a drink.

"There's a port on the western bay," the woman began to sing under her breath as she leaned forward to knead at the softer material in the joints of her armor at the knee, "and it serves a hundred ships a day. Lonely sailors pass their time away, they talk about their home."

Beeeeeeeoooooooor. Replied the Probe Droid.

"And there's a girl in this harbor town, and she works laying whiskey down," her voice was getting louder now, likely to the point of being a murmur to anyone passing by her door in the hall, "they say 'Brandy, fetch another round!' so she serves them whiskey and wine."



Sarge Potteiger:
Biting at his lower lip in thought, he scowled and began moving further down the hall, ratcheting up the audio receptors on his helmet - if only to know of an impending ambush.

It wasn't long before he head a... mumbling? Humming? Brow furrowing, he turned to a door on his right, stepping in closer to it while keeping himself along the wall.

He'd not let his shadow give him away.

The door was thick, the voice quiet. He couldn't be sure what was going on.

There were options. Knock. Wait. Ignore. If he knocked, they may think he was crazy. If he waited and they came out, then they'd definitely know he was crazy. But, if he ignored it... he may not get a potential clue as to who touched his stuff.

Sighing, he reached a hand out and tapped at the door with a few firm taps.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"The sailors say 'Brandy, you're a fine girl, what a good wife you would be," Ivy continued, wincing at the pins and needles of her leg as she attempted to flex. It wasn't really responding. Curses.

Nok nok nok.

She lofted a brow towards the sound at her door. Beside her the Probe Droid whuzzed and whizzed, rotating to face the same. It hovered closer to the door.

"But my life," Ivy sang on, her voice loud now, nonchalant, "my love and my Lady is the sea." it wasn't the proper verse, but likely a knock at her door meant one of several things: she was getting kicked out - not surprising for this planet; she was getting unwanted company ala bandits wanting her things - also not surprising; she was getting breakfast in bed - surprising, but feth she'd take it; her singing had woken up her neighbor who had come to tell her to feth off.

Either way, it was likely she wasn't going to get to finish her song and that was her favorite verse so she might as well get it out now.

"Who's knocking?" she called to the door from her position on the floor in the dark.



Sarge Potteiger:
It was muffled, but the voice rang in a manner that seemed... familiar. "That you, Haze?", he calls, hoping that he wasn't going to mark a complete karkhole of himself. Not like it wasn't a familiar place for him to be.

Still, he could hope.

And he still wasn't sure if she'd been singing or not, if only because she didn't seem the type. Or perhaps she did because she didn't? He shook his head, the faint tune to her words lodging itself in his head.

Strange how you need only hear something once and it stuck in your head. Perhaps it'd get dislodged by something else.

If only, if only...

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"Aye," she broadcasted the response in a strong affirmation. Strong enough that perhaps it wasn't so much for him, but for her. Sometimes she had to remind herself who she was.



Sarge Potteiger:
"Get out here, then." He says, stepping in front of the door. "Might need your help with something."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"I would..." she said, a bit quieter now as she flashed an unimpressed look at her useless leg in the dark.

"Gonna need your help with something in here first."



Sarge Potteiger:
"Not sure if that's a come on or not, but I can't get in until you unlock the door... or have your droid do it for you." It was a safe assumption to make that the droid was in there, somewhere.

Technically, he could get in, but he didn't want to show all his cards right off the bat.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

A brow lofted at the sound of his voice, muffled but coherent enough for her to snort in response.

There came the sound of something very obviously being thrown at the keypad by the door. Likely a trick like this wouldn't work anywhere else, but being that we like good tricks and it's convenient, the door gave a beep and hissed open.

Sarge would come face to face with said droid, floating at eye level, red beam fixed on him. It might occur to him at some point in time, maybe not right that moment, that Probe Droids were armed with a curious array of weapons. Whether or not this one was remained to be seen.

Ivy groaned at the light let in through the door along with a gust of fresh, hot air.

"Mornin'," she said from the floor, armor dully gleaming half in the flood of light.

"So...this," she gestured to her left leg with both hands, "has decided to sleep in."


Sarge Potteiger:
A thunk and a hiss heralded the door sliding back into its recess, and he tilted his head to the side as the droid sat there, buzzing in front of him. And then his attention shifted to the woman.

Using his elbow, he manuevered the weapon that was slung across his chest around so that it lay across his back and took a few steps in, extending an arm out to her.

"This is why you don't lay against a wall when you sleep, and use the things called 'beds'." She'd find him not criticizing her choice of sleeping in armor, as Mandalorians were known to do that from time to time.

Waggling his fingers, it was clear he intended to just pull her up. "We can get the blood flowin' that way." He says.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Settled amidst her weapons very conveniently placed at either side of her, Ivy regarded the man with a dry stare for several moments. As though the option of sleeping in a bed were simply ridiculous. She'd spent so many long nights of her life holed up with two dozen people on a ship only meant to hold a handful - many of those people injured, sick, dying. Taking a bed, taking comfort hadn't been an option. If it had, it wasn't one for a healthy person like herself.

She'd become accustomed to sleeping in tight, cramped quarters, using comrades for support, weapons clenched in her fingers because one never knew when having it available would save their life.

"My aim's a bit off," she replied, as though she had meant to sleep in the bed all along but simply...missed. Reaching up to take the proffered hand. Her grip was likely a bit tighter, bit stronger than he might've expected. Or perhaps not, depending on the circle of people he ran with. With a grunt she managed to get her right leg beneath her and heave herself up on it, wincing as the striking sensation of needle-pricks coursed all along her left as blood began to flow again.



Sarge Potteiger:
As her weight tugged down on him and her hand gripped his own, he grunted as he flexed the muscles in his arm and back to pull her up and towards him, instincitvely letting go of her hand to wrap his arm under hers to support her.

Last thing he needed was for the weight of her armor to offset her balance with the bum leg and send her cascading to the floor in a manner that would imply some sort of domestic violence.

"Yeah? Miss the door on the first try?" It was a little bit of a play on what she said, but the typically dry manner in which he said it left it open for debate if he'd realized what she was saying or not.

Not that it would matter.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"The door I got," she said, hobbling until she managed to get herself upright and steady on her good leg. Ivy attempted to flex the left, finding it responsive but terribly stiff, "missed you on the second try."

Clearly there was still some humor left to her, judging by the wry glance she gave.



Sarge Potteiger:
"Aww, didn't know I meant that much to you." Good natured sarcasm seemed to run in his blood, and it was rare to meet a cheeky Mandalorian. They were more known for being gruff, blunt folk.

Finding her alright to stand, he released his hold on her and took a knee next to her, tapping at her kneecap with an index finger. "Better if you don't miss - means I never left."

He snorted at his own joke, standing back up and looking to the door which slid shut behind them, leaving them in the dark... until he grunted and walked to the light switch.

And like that, they were bathed in yellow yet again. At least this time it wasn't the yellow of sand, but that of old bulbs.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"A good translator is hard to come by," Ivy's rebuttal came without any hesitation, light to match his set mood.

"Gah," the light was a bit sharp on her eyes and she winced at it while hobbling to the bed where she set herself down. This was the first he'd seen her without her traveling cloak, which often obscured enough of her figure that it made her look quite a bit larger than she really was. The woman had fairly broad shoulders for her size, the bunching of material around them only magnified this. Otherwise, despite the armor she wore, she had a fit, slender build.

She continued rubbing at the joint in the armor at her kneed, bending and flexing her leg and foot, "So what's going on out there that you might need my help?"



Sarge Potteiger:
He gave a goofy chuckle that would seem more at home coming from the mouth of an overly muscled oaf. His eyes went to her shoulders, then down her body now that he could get a much better look at her.

Sucked for her that he had a thing for women with defined shoulders. "Woke up and went to check on my droid - found it and the receptionist deactivated at the front desk."

Digging at his waist he pulled out a small holo and tapped a key, playing for her the video of the two Rodians coming down and dispatching the droids with low-powered ion shots.

"I wanted to know who they were after, and why they deactivated my droid."

He flicked a thumb over his shoulder. "One of the rooms down the hall looked like it had been left in a hurry, so I bet the occupant cleared out in the sandstorm. Waiting for HK to reactivate the protocol so that I can get the room information out of it."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Ivy watched the footage while tending to her leg, curiosity apparent, "A bit par for norm in this place though, isn't it? Criminals and such..."

She recalled, briefly, that she'd been pick-pocketed earlier on their way in.



Sarge Potteiger:
"Yeah, it is. But they touched my stuff." It was clear from the disdain in his voice that he didn't care for people touching his things. Not that most did, but it wasn't too hard to imagine from the story of the liar what he did to people who touched his things.

Overkill was a word he actually knew the definition to, however. Problem with lines like that, in his estimation, was that everyone painted their lines at different places.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

There was a moment of pause after those words where someone of a younger age might've intercepted the conversation with blatant innuendo. Ivy, on the other hand, was a bit more concerned with the way her knee was popping when she bent it, "Those bastards," she replied, extra emphasis on the 'b'.

"Well, I'm working with a partially flat tire here-" an odd description considering there were very, very few things that used tires in the galaxy anymore, "but a hunt should put me right. How far do you think they got?" Ivy stood again, wavering slightly as she tempted putting weight on her leg. It tingled briskly, but held.



Sarge Potteiger:
"I unno, because I haven't checked on the protocol droid. Likely if they didn't find who they were looking for, they probably tried to track him... or get off planet before the Feds get into investigating the destruction of property."

If there was one government who had their kark together out here, it was the Confederacy of Indepdent Systems. An odd bunch, the Templars, but he tried not to judge beyond 'weirdos'.

"With luck, they're on planet, if not... eh, whatever they'll probably get shot somewhere else, although I'd be tempted to track 'em further."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"Well, perhaps this guy can be of some use then," Ivy flicked her head towards her droid, "it can help us track them down if they're still around. Think the receptionist is up and running yet?"



Sarge Potteiger:
He gave a faint nod and turned to leave, tapping the door controls with a fist. "Probably. HK ain't said anything, so I imagine we should be fine. I haven't heard blaster fire at least." His voice was distracted for some reason, perhaps lost in the thought that he may not be able to track down the aliens.

Or, maybe, he was just wondering why HK hadn't responded yet. "I'll meet you out at the desk." And with that, he left the room and headed down the hall, bringing his rifle back around onto his chest.

Coming out of the hall and into the reception area, he found himself face to face with both droids; powered up, thankfully. "Processing his memory core now, sir. I'd rather not hear his voice." HK, ever the thoughtful droid.

"Alright, let me know when you get the records." With that, he walked around the desk and leaned his back against it, watching the stairs.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Ivy appeared a few minutes later, traveling cloak pulled over her shoulders, weapons stored and ready for use at a moment's notice. This, she marked as she strode down the hall with a noticeably short step on her left leg, was the second time she lamented not having her heavier weapons. Regardless, this merely presented a challenge, and the woman wasn't about to pass that up.

The Dark Eye Droid bobbed behind her as she stepped up to Sarge's side. She'd left her bag in the room, shoved under the bed just for good measure. It would weigh her down, and she was already walking like a lame turtle.

"Hell of a way to start a morning," she remarked with a yawn.



Sarge Potteiger:
"You could say that." The mercenary responds without turning his head to regard her. "I trust you got enough beauty sleep." It was a polite jest, spoken with only the barest hint of mockery.

Good natured ribbing had never hurt anyone; well, except those who didn't know how to be friendly with insults.

Now there was a conce- he was rambling in his thoughts again. "Sir.", comes the modulated voice of HK. "Seems they were after a Houk - Glork. Searches for the name indicate he was a mid-level thug for a local crime lord."

"Hutt?"

"Negative. Sullustan."

That certainly got the Mandalorians attention. He stood and turned slowly to face HK. "You're kidding." The droid shook its head in a curiously human manner.

"Well kark me. I need a name, or at least a location."

"I took the liberty of hacking local databases. Seems he runs his operation out of a series of caves in the hills of the Dune Sea. Mostly slave trafficking."

Sarge didn't even want to think about the logistics of running a base out of the Dune Sea, but he didn't much care. He was proud to know that his droids intrustion software was still top of the line.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"A fair amount more than you did, I'd say," she returned without missing a beat, a calm smugness on her face.

All part of making friends wasn't it? That's how people made friends - insulting banter.

She propped a brow as the HK finished its report, "That's a pretty big party to crash. Could be fun."



Sarge Potteiger:
"We're not crashing it." He replies bluntly, smacking away the plug that connected HK to the protocol droid. "Go warm up the ships engines." Without a word, the droid began plodding off.

"There will be speeders waiting for us in the hangar." With that, he hoisted his weapon again and began heading up the stairs... until he paused, turned around, and handed the droid the credits for the room.

"Kind of stupid to hunt criminals if I am one.", he mumbles to Hazel before turning and marching up the stairs. Stepping outside, he found himself yet again in the blazing glory of the twin suns.

And yet again his skin was immediately sticky with sweat. Joy of joys.

He immediately worked his way around the taxi stand, heading into the starport with the knowledge that she'd be at her heels.