Drol Raw Redux [Wildlands Game Reserve]

[Blackthorne]

The look on her face wasn't one of reassurance.

"Dresses?"

Dresses.

No.

Brow furrowed, lips pursed, she turned and stepped the remainder of the way into the shuttle, glancing back at Male as he followed, "What's a Moff?"

The ramp hissed shut behind them and Dahl settled into the pilot's seat for the ride back out to her ship in orbit, The Harrowbane. Male would have the ride to give a general overview of the Moff system.

~~~

"Welcome aboard the Harrowbane," but even Pirate etiquette demanded you speak that line when bringing guests aboard one's ship. It was like a right of passage for a Captain. She lead him through nameless crewmembers busy at work, stepping aside to allow the passage of a gigantic shipping crate that growled and rattled. Pushing it was an equally gigantic Komodi.

"Cap'n," the Komodi rumbled without even looking up.

"Kiin what's our status," said the woman aloud as she stepped into a lift.

"One last shipment to go out, Captain, Aku is handling it as we speak," responded a male voice over the comms, "do we have a heading then, Captain?"

Dahl glanced to Male briefly, "None yet. We have a guest for lunch."

"I'll have your quarters prepared."

"How do you take your steak, Stripes? Or will your pretty new hat prevent you from partaking?"

 

[Darth Osano]

[member="Blackthorne"] was ignorant of Moffs and disdainful towards dresses. If this sort of pervasive lack of... Data... Proved to be the exception rather than the rule, this was going to be a rather long lunch indeed. Well. That didn't quite matter. Today's schedule had been cleared for just that reason. Blank pages, blank pages to fill with the gift of knowledge. Today he was Maleagant, heir of Dorn and improvising civics teacher. What a time to be alive. The Harrowbane was filled with all manner of surly folks. Lots of aliens, including some sort of dragon-person Maleagant was not familiar with. Very peculiar.

"It's just a mask, not life support," Maleagant said, hopefully not accidentally foreshadowing something. "And medium well will be fine."

He'd take it off when he got where he was going.

 

[Blackthorne]

"Hear that Kiin?"

"Affirmative, Captain. Char-broiled."

Dahl smirked. Up up up the lift went until reaching the top floor: Captain's Quarters. It was a large, spacious, studio-style living area complete with observatory view of the great galactic beyond. At a glance one could tell this ship was at the forefront of technological advances and its setup within even the Captain's Quarters harkened back to its port-of-birth: Kuat. Several holoscreens lined a far wall above a conference table where a holographic image of the Reserve sat slowly revolving in place. Various articles and flimsies were strewn about at a nearby desk. Male might spy a still image of several cat-like people, including Thengil laying within the stacks.

The Captain pulled off her jacket and hung it on a rack by the door, striding in and heading immediately for the bar off to the side of the dining area, "Just snagged a shipment of Whyren's off their supply route the other day, ever had their Reserve?"

 

[Darth Osano]

Typical pirates. No appreciation for nuance in steak preparation. Maleagant hadn't partaken in any fancy meals lately, but he had grown up among the upper-middle class of Lianna. He had the memories. Just not the desire to revisit them or waste time on long meals. Something [member="Blackthorne"] would probably appreciate. Be that as it was, Maleagant was not looking forward to receiving whatever blackened slab of meat would soon be shuffled in front of him. Yet this was all pushed to the back of his mind when he got a look at the captain's quarters.

Fancy, to say the least.

And look, she even did a lot of reading. Apparently none of it was about Moffs. Maleagant even spied Thengil's ugly mug crowding up some desk space. Charming. Maybe he should consider getting some framed photographs of all of his business partners for his own desk. Remind him of what he was fighting for. Or maybe make it easier to vomit on demand. "Of course," Maleagant replied, removing his cloak first. The helmet hissed as it depressurized and he removed it. He left it on the rack with the cloak. He did not look readily changed from when she had last seen him without a mask. Just a grey looking Rattataki with dead, red eyes. Charming to the last.

 

[Blackthorne]

"Good, someone else can drink it."

She poured him a tumbler and herself a glass of something dark and screaming of the esoteric. A few steps brought her before him, acid pools looking the man up and down as she handed him his drink. Still stripey, good.

"So, a Mercenary group you say," her gaze swept away wonderingly, moving now to the dining area where she took a seat at the head of the table and propped her feet up, "why not take it one step further. A whole bloody industry. Weapons, armor, warriors, the most dangerous testing grounds we can conjure..."

Logically an enterprise of such reach would be a better cover than something as simple as a Mercenary group. Did she have the desire to develop weapons and armor? No, but certainly there were individuals on Rattatak and elsewhere that were. Underutilized minds seeking purpose. Dahl thought on this, tipping her glass to her lips.

"Of course I won't be able to fly the Harrowbane around there. I'll need a different ship," time to give [member="Catalys Maijora"] another call.

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant paused to examine the glass as she sauntered away. Was this even cleaned recently? He swelled with the Dark Side, he could handle some errant germs. The chair he ended up choosing put ample space between himself and her intrusive feet. There where criminals on his payroll with better table manners. "Manufacturing is overrated. Have your mercenaries take over a few factories and then lease them to someone else if you want guns and vehicles made close to home."

She would end up hemorrhaging money if she was the only one buying her guns to give to her mercenaries. Something told him that [member="Blackthorne"] did not have a mind for marketing and making sales. Technically she didn't need to, she could have given that job to someone else. But focusing on that meant not focusing on sacking the foolish Co-Warlords Rattatak.

"I have a stealth frigate. Invisible for all intents and purposes. You can use that."

He'd get another. Eventually.

 

[Blackthorne]

"Mm, the Rattataki aren't particularly industrious..." any factories in tact on the planet would likely not serve her needed purpose. Not without substantial repair or renovation. Mal had a point; she wasn't keen on that end of such an enterprise.

But she knew someone who might be. Another Mercenary with deep pockets, a lot of drive, access to a large amount of warm and violent bodies, and a penchant for ticking specific sorts of folks off. Yes, she would also need to make a stop in at Nadir and speak with [member="Aver Brand"] towards that end. The woman wasn't incapable of striking a deal if it suited her needs.

"Wot - you giving me your Geno ship?" Dahl eyed him skeptically, "There must be a catch."

 

[Darth Osano]

"There's always a catch," Maleagant said, idly swirling the contents of his glass. "Which is, if you fail, I take the ship back - plus interest - and find someone else to do this thing."

What? She asked. Sort of.

"But if you do this right, I don't care. Keep it, scrap it, paint it pink. I'll buy another."

 

[Blackthorne]

If there was ever a smirk that spoke of the cat that ate the canary, it was on Blackthorne's face. Coy and riddled with dark mirth as her acquaintance spoke with such assurance, she couldn't help but humor him while drawing a finger around the rim of her wine glass.

"Pink you say?"

Wasn't a big fan of pink, really. But bright fluorescent green - the color of her eyes, of the unforgiving Onderonian sun blazing through the leaves of the jungle canopy - now that was a good color.

A chime sounded off at the lift and the doors opened to the chef pushing in a food trolley. He was a large man with very obvious cybernetic implants and appendages. He walked with a slight limp but smiled pleasantly enough, "Ur feast, Cap'n." He moved forward and pulled the golden tray covers from shining trays (likely stolen from some luxury cruise liner) and placed first Male's meal before him. The steak was not a piece of cinder as expected, but expertly grilled to medium well.

Various side dishes were placed on the table next, and then the Captain's platter: Male might be able to tell from a distance that her steak was ... very, very rare. She pulled her boots from the table's edge and sat forward, cutting into it without preamble.

"Does the Sir require anything else for his meal?" asked the Chef.

 

[Darth Osano]

What a pleasant surprise. If he had undergone that much augmentation surgery and still couldn't figure out how to cook a steak medium well, that would have been much more concerning. "No, that's fine." The fact that there were sides on the table had already exceeded his expectations. No need to push his luck. Although... Most of the sides were variations of raw meat. How easy a job as the personal chef of [member="Blackthorne"] would have been. Although the cyborg probably had to cook for the rest of these people as well. Must have been quite the living if he could afford all those robot parts.

Maleagant would never abide being made of that much metal. Just the thought made him uncomfortable. He began cutting into his steak as well, although probably with less furor.

"You're probably going to have to eat with these people at some point. The First Order," he said. "Do you know how to do manners?"

 

[Blackthorne]

It wasn't as if she was eating like a savage, but she certainly wasn't making an effort to eat as though she were dining with a Queen.

Not that dining with a Queen had ever made much difference...depending on who that Queen was.

Of course if she were to be eating alongside the pinky-drinkers she'd likely have to, well, tidy up this whole dining affair. She was cutting her steak with her dagger, after all. Dahl looked at her plate, looked at her utensils, looked at Maleagant, ... then put her pinky out on both hands, straightened herself up, stuck her nose up in the air and proceeded to cut herself another piece.

"Got it."

She smirked.

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant had not been paying attention to what [member="Blackthorne"] had been doing while she was staring at her plate and utensils, so he had lain down his cutlery in favor of taking a drink without paying attention. About half way through the process he had glanced at her, looking like... An idiot. He hadn't even tasted anything yet when it suddenly shot out through his nose and back into his cup. It was not a pretty sound. It never was. One hand covered his nose and the other slammed the glass back down. His nostrils were on fire.

His nostrils were on fire. This might have been the first time he laughed at anything in years and of course it immediately hurt.

"Don't," Maleagant said, yanking a (probably also stolen) cloth napkin from where it was on the table and bringing it to his face, "Don't do that."

He blew his nose into the napkin. Another miserable sound.

 

[Blackthorne]

"I do declare-" Dahl persisted, nose reaching higher and wrinkling, voice an abhorent tone of snoot, "these plates aren't real Atrisian porcelain. Who do they think they're serving here? Uncultured peasant swine?"

Her dagger screeched across the plate, which coincidentally enough was actually real Atrisian porcelain and, yes, it was also stolen.

The woman batted a glance across the table at [member="Maleagant"] and cracked a shet-eating grin, then broke out laughing.

"Do you-" she attempted her snoot voice again but struggled, "have any idea how expensive that Reserve is? How very dare you waste it. This is no laughing matter!"

Scree scree, she pointedly popped another piece of her meal into her mouth and chewed with excessively pursed lips. Lacroix impression on point.

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant wheezed entirely too hard, pressing the napkin harder to his mouth in an attempt to stifle it. Was he laughing? Was he in... Pain? His eyes were watering. It could have gone either way. This was grotesque, he had come here to plot vengeance against the man who murdered his whole family and he was being provoked to something resembling amusement. Because of some crudely executed impersonation of Orderian aristocracy. A vein pulsed in his head as he fought for composure... A struggle which outwardly manifested itself as a man trying to bite his tongue off while having a aneurysm.

Beauty and grace. This was the last of the Dorns. The Zambranos must have been petrified to know of him, to say the least.

Eventually he took the napkin away from his face, stoicism restored, and sighed. His nostrils still felt like they were being burned off from the inside, but now he was used to the sensation. Maybe common practice would be to focus on the Force to blot out the pain, but that seemed excessive. And wasteful.

After a heavy sigh, Maleagant muttered something along the lines of: "Never again, please."

 

[Blackthorne]

"I dunno, I think I've got the hang of it now," smug was her response as she eyed the man amusedly. Never seen him laugh before. The image had a strangeness about it. Like a bantha in a tophat; dapper but rather out of place. She kind of liked the weirdness of it.

"Definitely ready to take tea with the Grand Moff."

Ugh, she hated tea.

Dahl settled back into her chair and the pinkies returned to their former position comfortably where they belonged. She finished her meal shortly after--having been the only one of the pair to actually be eating--and leaned back to lounge in her chair, a veritable sated predator.

"Do you suppose she likes pearls?"

 

[Darth Osano]

"I'm not subscribed to the court circulars. I have no idea," Maleagant replied. "What she likes is order and having navy crewmen murder their own coworkers to teach a lesson."

Goodness knew Maleagant had cause to clear out a few incompetent Enforcer squads before. He never quite considered them having to murder one another in a public spectacle to teach a lesson, though, even if he was a crime lord, this was still a business. No one would work for him if he did things like that. Maleagant eyed his glass of whyren reserve suspiciously and decided against it. Not because he suspected [member="Blackthorne"] would ever make him laugh again, but because there was a short black hair in it that wasn't there before. He wasn't one to be described as a hypochondriac, but he had to draw the line somewhere. Whiskey filtered through his nose did not exactly tantalize his appetite, which had now vanished.

He shrugged, picking up the napkin again and using it to dab an eye. "Act stern. Make yourself look like you've got a ruthless streak in the name of, I don't know, civilization. Fascism. Strict militarism. Discipline. You'd be a shoe in."

She would have been better off asking Tytos or someone who actually cared about that region. Not that he would send her that way. The less Tytos knew about his handler contributing to someone kicking up dirt in his literal backyard, the better.

 

[Blackthorne]

"Black pearls then," Dahl tapped a finger to her lips, ponderous. Yes, black krayt dragon pearls would certainly be quite the gift. She would have to see about transporting a portion of the krayts at the main Beastiary HQ over to Rattatak. Her mother had started research into the ability to remove the pearls without killing the beasts ... perhaps she would look further into it.

"Order, rules, civility. Got it. But this whole...dress....thing......"

An invisible something bumped her leg, drawing the woman's attention momentarily, "Mm, if you're not going to eat your steak-" she absently motioned along the table as that same something bumped it as well. Moments later the sleek, scaly form of a hssiss materialized at his side before coiling around behind him.

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant grimaced. "It appears I lost my appetite."

He could hear something bumping against the table, shifting it slightly. Then out of nowhere a giant lizard popped into existence right next to his chair. The Sithling's eyes widened as his head jerked towards the sudden intruder. He blinked several times, watching it stroll away from him in favor of coiling around his chair. Great. What other invisible horrors was he going to have to be on the look out in this rust bucket? Maleagant frowned and looked over to [member="Blackthorne"].

"Why? Does he want it?"

Or she. It was hard to tell with lizards sometimes. Especially the two meter long ones that were hovering around his seating.

 

[Blackthorne]

"They are opportunistic feeders," Dahl explained while swilling the contents of her glass, "they'll take your hand if you let it hang idle long enough."

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant frowned. How delightful. He picked up the plate and used it as a catapult, flinging the steak behind him. It landed on the far side of the room. He could hear the lizard dragging itself along the carpet to go get it.

"Do you usually let these things wander around here?" He asked, sliding the plate back onto the dining table.