Jacen Novastar
OOC: So, you killed Gzizz Diin already, then, or were those several non-contracted lieutenants? If not, I'd appreciate being allowed a try at him, but it's not necessary, either. At the very least, I hope you don't mind my giving him an airspeeder that we're about to steal - if that's a no-no, then just say that we stole the wrong airspeeder via false rumors - either way, we've got something to either give to someone on the team or you guys up top can hock it:
https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/RGC-16_airspeeder/Legends
"I'm telling you,
she stole the access card to Lieutenant Diin's airspeeder."
The Gran tilted his odd-colored ghost-white head at Fajyk, his single remaining center eyestalk blinking over the watery orange orb as he used a deathly-thin hand to indicate the batlike and demure little female at Fajyk's side, even as the Drovian's odd, flexible claws stroked calmly over the bandanna holding the Qom Jha's scarlet hair in place, her head upside-down as she hung from the edge of a large tool shelf with her clawed feet, her pointy, furred brown tail shifting to and fro behind her head, membraned arms wrapped around her little body. Just behind the Drovian and the Qom Jha, the black-and-silver RGC-16, dulled over several years of use and only moderate care, shone in the garage's dull yellow lighting.
The Qom Jha in question cast her own single eye, sapphire blue and bright, with as much innocence as she could feign, at the Gran, the gray membranes along her arms casting the machine shop's dry, oily air back towards the deathly-lanky, corpse-like Gran with a single flap, as if in protest. "The hell I did, Spicer..."
Her good eye blinked as her alien membraned fingers reached up to adjust the leather patch adorning her useless eye, her free pseudo-hand shifting to indicate her slim form, almost comically adorned by one of the gang's machinists' distinctive Mynock-tan sashes over oil-stained, baggy coveralls - even the smallest uniform they had given her since many associates of the Crimson Dawn had infiltrated the
Mynocks a few weeks ago had barely fitted over her, and it hung loosely around the Qom Jha's lithe and athletic frame. She cast her eye over the Gran and clucked her tongue mockingly at him, "Kriffing idiot... I'm just a worker here in the Garage." Her large, pointed ears twitched as her pointed paper-white tongue emerged and moistened her lips, trying to hide the nervousness in her voice, "Did you check the security footage or did you just catch me coming out of the refresher in that section where whats-his-horns is stationed in the evenings and make an assumption?"
At the batlike creature's side, Fajyk exhaled slowly through the barely-visible slits of his nostrils, the cruel-looking flexible three claws of his right hand raising as his midnight blue limb shifted back to his rotund, semi-viscous girth, his blue, thick, exposed stomach visible to all. Clad in naught but a black leather vest baring the symbol of the
Raging Mynocks on its back and dark green breeches that barely encompassed the girth of his thick, trunk-like legs, straining against the leather belt that Lawq had insisted he wear so that his "disgusting, gargantuan buttcrack" didn't result in them getting thrown out of the gang too early before the coming large-scale infiltration and subsequent attack over the coming weeks. The blue-skinned Drovian could barely contain his amusement that Lawq's carelessness, in the end, was the factor that was bringing them under suspicion. However, the call had just come in naught but a minute age from the Boss. Any minute now... Tonight was the night this charade would all come to a satisfying, violent end.
The trunk-like legs of the Drovian shifted, carrying him forward as the creature used one clawed hand to scratch the exposed flesh just next to his short, red mohawk, silver eyes conveying as much friendliness as he could convey - the Gran had been stuffy, critical, a supposed "expert" slicer, a spice addict and Zabrak whoremonger - overall, the sort who was used to giving orders rather then carrying them out - over the few weeks Fajyk had been getting to know him. The frowning, sunken mouth of the Drovian extended into an approximation of a smile as he addressed the one-eyed Gran with as much forced respect as he could manage, "Look, Aera, I'm sure-"
An explosion shook the section of the Machinists' Garage as the
Crimson Dawn agents had activated their charges at last. A rush of broken duracrete, transparisteel, durasteel and the pained scream of some poor soul in the wrong place shattered the vehicle entrance in the next room. Behind Fajyk, Lawq lost her footing, her membraned hands grasping, childlike, around his thick wrist for support as she yelped, lithe body shaking against his side. A klaxon had already begun to blare around the three aliens as Aera fell onto his side, but he was quick to recover, though his movement was nonetheless shaky as he got to his feet. Lawq howled in terror, her baggy coveralls rustling as the explosion died away, flinging her athletic little body with practiced ease, though her legs were left scrambling and her rump and tail hung uselessly over the side of the airspeeder, hands scrabbling for purchase over the leather of the airspeeder's dirty seat; a credit stick fell out of one of the Qom Jha's leggings as she finally managed to pull herself into the speeder, bounding over the passenger seat to the driver's...
Aera had begun to reach for the long blaster rifle strapped across his back - the fool had been on his way outside for something-or-other, and hadn't bothered to bring a pistol; this would prove to be his final mistake - he had just removed the rifle when Fajyk's thick, three claws, propelled by his meaty, powerful arm, punched into the flesh of the rifle-encumbered Gran's throat. The wraith-like, pale skin gave way and the distinct brown ichor of a spice addict's blood spurted in a syrupy fountain over Fajyk's thick forearm, a guttural snarl tearing the Drovian's sunken mouth into a hideous smile that raised the surrounding rolls of fatty flesh on his cheeks upwards. Aera slumped to one side, wriggling and gurgling uselessly through his ruined throat against the tool shelf. A hydrospanner and a wrench fell, one striking his shoulder, and the other his pale head, as his movements finally ceased, his torso, thick leather armor and gang colors coated in spice-browned blood.
With a grunt of satisfaction and wiping his claws of the ichor on them on the Gran's forearm to clean them, the Drovian turned his attention back to Lawq and her rash act of attempting so many thefts right before the planned attack, his mouth shrinking into a small frown as he picked up the fallen credit stick. "Really? We're about to launch a raid... Is this even necessary? You're lucky you weren't caught sooner." He growled his disapproval at the Qom Jha, his blood-dripping hand retrieving the fallen DC-15A from the Gran's side and hefting the weapon in both arms, before removing a bloodstained bandolier from the fallen Gran, his thick arm surprisingly dexterous as it slung the ammo belt over one shoulder.
Lawq merely blinked at the Drovian and grunted, "That ugly Iktotchi hasn't stopped staring at my ass since we first arrived, so... Yeah, it's personal." The Qom Jha's pointed, ghost-white tongue moistened her lips as she caught the credit stick Fajyk tossed to her with ease, despite only having one good eye, and she slipped the stolen item down the front of her shirt, "What's your point? I succeeded, even if I did have to bribe that fat Weequay who caught me with fifty credits and a shirt lift..." She rolled her eyes and huffed through her fox-like muzzle, "...He wanted more tonight, but... that won't happen."
Her membraned fingers reached across the speeder as the Drovian approached, and his claws and her wing met, briefly squeezing their hands together as affection alighted in their respective eyes. Though he was angry at her foolishness that put her in a great deal of danger, Fajyk gestured towards the door as he took a lumbering step towards the garage wall, a bloody claw pressing the panel and raising the thick durasteel door with a harsh roar, the Drovian huffing angrily through his slitted nostrils. "We'll discuss this later, you idiot... Fly safe."
"Got nine credit sticks we can slice and drain later, in addition to the speeder, so it was worth it, Brother... Get out of this alive with the Iktotchi's head, okay?"
The airspeeder roared to life, lifting after a second's hesitation, it's sleek black, silver-trimmed frame raising, the repulsors flaring purple as it shot away into the night, narrowly avoiding a tossed thermal detonator that bounced off the hull before finally lifting up and easily disappearing past the confused yelling, even as a second explosion sounded off somewhere to the west amidst the growing sounds of blaster fire.
A screeching, damaged R7 unit, it's front shell embedded with a thick chunk of duracrete, yowled as it attempted to wheel towards the Drovian. The bright blue glow of the DC-15A's blaster fire shattered the droid's head a second later, the droid's body still standing upright as acrid black smoke billowed from the melted metal shell. Adjusting his claws over the long rifle, the immense alien rolled his shoulders and tensed his limbs, trunk-like legs easily carrying him into the hall, his three footclaws lightly scraping over the floor as he rushed towards the turbolifts at a speed most would not have believed possible for such a large creature...
(WHEW - probably my longest post to date, and I hope it reads well enough... The next ones will be shorter, I promise, and I hope everyone has fun with this...)
Just for fun: Random suggested battle music for anyone to use while imagining fight scenes -