Friends in Low Places [Coruscant Smuggling Run]

[Miss Blonde]

Chapter One: Friends in Low Places ​

Location: Coruscant Orbit
Objective: Wait and plan
Time: 0500
Score:

Spoiler

[media] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4b1wt3-zpzQ [/media]​

"I'm telling you, the Sith these days just aren't what they used to be. They are all unified and %#$&" The flick of a lighter burning a cigarette rang out and the voice of a smooth young man could be heard afterwards.

"What do you mean? They kill people right? Enslave things, seems pretty Sith to me." A middle aged man wearing a cheap black suit said back as he puffed on his own little coffin nail.

The scene was pretty simple, a group of men and women from very different races, species, and backgrounds sat around a table where various mugs and plates of food were scattered about. Each of which were wearing cheap black suits, ties, and dress shoes. Most of which were smoking and chatting as the vacuum of space passed from the window.

"Yeah, their lightsabers are red, they choke people. Doesn't get much more Sith than that." Another young man chimed in as he exhaled grey smoke from his lungs.

"Nah nah nah, you guys aren't feeling me though. You see Sith, real Sith ain't about this unity crap ya dig? You see back in the day the Sith Empire had a dark lord that ruled over them all, and they couldn't go a week without having some sort of coup for power. And that's what the Sith was all about man." The young man said as he puffed on his cigarette.

"Regicide?" The other gangster said with a smile and chuckle.

"Well yeah, but not just that. Power, the Sith is about power man. They got this code, like all about passion and chains and $&@#" The man said in a serious face before taking a sip of coffee.

"Sounds like they're into some of that bdsm stuff, you're over here talking bout passion, chains, and power and for the love of god I'm just trying to get my lunch down." There was a round of laughter from the table and the men continued to smoke and drink.

"Hey I don't judge, what a man does behind closed doors in private ain't my business. But my point is this, these Sith just ain't what they used to be. They used to be about betrayal and power struggles, there was this rule of two crap where like only two could exist at a time and they would have to try and kill each other at one point." The man leaned back in his chair and took a long pull from his cigarette.

"Well maybe they realized that wasn't a very good business model after millennia of failure." Everyone again had another chuckle and soon the good times came to an end.

"Yeah maybe. Either way man I just think it's messed, Sith just ain't what they used to be." The man said with a deep inhale of smoke.

"And what you'd prefer the other ones? At least from what you tell me these guys are all too busy banging each other to notice us." The criminals had another little laugh and soon fun times were coming to an end.

"Drop point coming in fifteen minutes, we just need to get past their fleet scanners and we are good to go." The smooth voice of a woman spoke on the ship's speakers and the crew all began to sigh and toss their cigarettes into their drinks as it was time to head back to work.

As they stood up the space behind the table was revealed and what could be seen behind crates of coffee makers, general goods, and foodstuffs were large crates of drugs, weapons, and other illegal forms of contraband in One Sith space. But some might ask who was ballsy enough to smuggle drugs into coruscant? Well when people needed to get high by putting various toxins in their bodies, The Black Tie Syndicate was there to deliver with a fresh case of product that had never hit the streets of Coruscant.

The operation was supposed to be simple, a bribe here, a sensor jammer there, and the drugs would slip right past One Sith scanners and fleets, and right into the hands of other criminals on Coruscant. They would net a good profit from people looking to forget their problems and would hopefully be able to do this again in the near future, just get the drugs to the surface safe house where the meeting would go down. It all seemed so easy.

Members of the The Black Ties would be scattered around the ship, prepping weapons, hiding drugs, making sure everything was set and ready to go. The only thing to do at the moment was wait aboard the thousand meter freighter and hope Johnny law wouldn't catch up to them, and in the case of One Sith law you were looking at life in prison if you were lucky.


OOC Info

Spoiler

Welcome to the Black Ties first thread! Let's make a few things clear, currently the ship is in a waiting line for all ships to enter Coruscant in orbit, there's a false sensor reader onboard that gives a signal that there's nothing but good legal stuff onboard. However there might be a rat in the crew, if you want to RP an undercover agent for the Sith or whoever you are more than likely to do so, only request is you don't let it dissolve into violence right away.

The current objective is to get the drugs down to the safe house where there will be a meeting with local crime lords. Black Tie members are welcome to start up their opening posts wherever on the weaponless freighter and mingle, we'll move into the action and excitement shortly. Good luck and everybody have fun!

[member="Nyx"] [member="James Justice"] [member="Ezriah Krolst"] [member="The Talatheen Amalgam"] [member="Azazel"] [member="Dyxra'a"] [member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[James Justice]

James Justice, code name the Runner, was most likely the only male on board who wore leather. His dark Bantha hide jacket and matching pants, however were easily worth the cost of some cheap black suit. Under it he wore a rare white shimmersilk button up shirt and loose fitting black tie.

As the Runner walked along the ships corridor he could feel his concealed blaster brush on his side. The rare piece had been specifically designed to slip by scanners undetected just in case. They were going into the Underworld after all, and he wasn't one to take chances, despite his carefree nature and winsome exterior.

The Runner personally hated to be a passenger, he preferred to be at the helm, flying but he would make an exception this time. The transponder he had programed personally, it would work. He was an old hand at this game.

Through dark shaded sunglasses he looked out over the city planet. He would endure the lack of piloting. He would endure the indignity of being a passenger. For money? No, although his cut would be sizable. For fun? No, although he was sure there would be a fair share eventually. He was here because [member="Nyx"] would be. She had done him a solid, he would return the favor. That was just good business. That was what friends did. She would also get the weapons he has brought aboard. And of course, he was always looking for an excuse to see his favorite ganglord.

The Runner's job was simple, it was what he had been doing his whole life. But as usual, this was more than a simple job. It always was for him.

[member="Patricia Susan Garter"]

 

[Nyx]

As she relaxed aboard the freighter, the leader of the Street Rats twirled her revolver in her hands. When the Black Ties came onto the scene, she had made sure to throw in her support. One of the few openly anti-Sith gangs on Coruscant, she was seeking to use the Black Tie Syndicate to fund her war against the Sith. But she had been raised a criminal, and understood that to receive favors, one had to do favors first. So here she was, assisting a drug run into the Coruscant Undercity.

The woman looked somewhat out of place in her leather jacket among all of the black suits, though she had put on a black tie in a show of support. Who knows how long she's wear it, but for now, it was there.
She was aware of her partner, [member="James Justice"], being on the freighter, though she hadn't seen him yet. It was good to have a familiar face on board for a new adventure. Her weapons consisted of her two revolvers and the blade on her back. Not subtle, but the port authorities on Coruscant were familiar with the Street Rat, and knew that she bribed very generously for some neglected reports of weapons.

For now, she simply kept twirling the revolver in her hand, making everyone around her nervous, which brought a smile to her face.
She loved doing that.

[member="Patricia Susan Garter"]

 

[Bloodknight]

Name: Andreas Wintergreen
Codename: The Artist

"Nice to see some people still have good taste in dem choice of tools."

Andreas would say in his smooth baritone Hellgothan accent as he eyed the slugthrower twirling on Nyx's finger and the sword on her back. Like her and the other guy, Andreas stood out from the crowd, but in a slightly more subtle way. For starters, his slim-fit iridescent black glistaweb longcoat didn't look anywhere near cheap. It hung open, exposing a matching black tie over a form-fitting shirt of golden VT-Shark Skin that brought out the color of his eyes. He wore black armorweave pants and boots, preferring to be as mobile as possible if chit hit the fan. He looked as if he were putting his own spin on the suit-and-tie scheme going on. Right now, he had spotted a woman who looked tough enough to spark his interest, but womanly enough to keep them. So, naturally, he sparked up a good-natured conversation with her.

"Dey're reliable and great for painting. My own slugthrowers and blades are at one of my home bases. Instead, I brought these."

Pulling up his black sleeve, he showed Nyx the barrels he had built into his gauntlets, using it as an excuse to boldly put an arm around her shoulder. Giving her his signature sharp-toothed smile, he brought his golden eyes to rest on hers.

"Meh like to keep my load light for dese type of missions. But maybe when all dis es over, I'll show you dem?"

Spoiler

[member="Nyx"]
[member="James Justice"]

 

[The Talatheen Amalgam]

Name: Daska & Hu Talatheen
Codename: The Amalgam
Equipment: Personal, Azure Lightsaber; DAX-158 Blaster Rifle (AKA: 'Red Ice'); Custom Durasteel Helmet & Mask ('The Ghost of Moraband's Autumn')
Location: Coruscant Orbit
Objective: Keep Occupied
Affiliation: Unknown
Mood: Snarky

Oh, sweet irony; upon the eve of his first week of officially joining the One Sith, here he was, indulging in his criminal roots, helping some white collar (though, they preferred the emphasis on the black tie) gang smuggle some nasty goods onto Coruscant. In addition, they requested he wore a black tie; how the hell was he supposed to do that? In addition to the fact he had abnormal deformity in the neck region (e.g. two bodies conjoined at the nape), the more important fact: what was he to wear it with? Robes? It was the only thing that could truly conceal his hideous form to a degree he wouldn't feel self-conscious; but ties just don't look good when you're wearing such rustic attire. He might as well be using a proto-lightsaber for all it was worth - battery packs were about as in fashion as the tie/robe combo. Then again, he couldn't get a suit; that would require a custom fit - something he would be too shy to do. It was one thing to utilize the hulking frame of the dominant twin to get business done, so long as he has the properly concealing garb - but when one must fit a suit to correctly tend to your little, underdeveloped, parasitic little half one could not help but feel a little uncomfortable.

Such a thought made him angry, such anger made him lose etiquette; and thus, by God, he had gone full circle - who gave a damn how he looked?! And so, here he was, feeling a bit uncomfortable and out of place; a big, scary, horn-helmeted man in deep, tattered, blood-stained black robes and a shiny, black and silky tie. He took great care to wear his lightsaber along the outer fold of his clothing, so people might keep tongue-in-cheek remarks to themselves. Nonetheless he felt a bit left out; like when you attend a costume party in casual then attempt to play it off by saying you went as yourself. He was a big, he was evil - he also often regressed to the mentality of a child; a man, in black suit and tie passed, a fellow crew member he assumed. "Hey," said the Amalgam, his grim and mechanical voice echoing with a bassline lilt drumming with the force of artillery fire; the man flinched and dodged away. He lowered his head; so much for making conversation - he should really just stick to killing people. Yes, he was Sith; yes, he had a history with pirates and psychopaths; yes, he wore a spooky helmet coated with the blood of his enemies - but it didn't call for being labelled so harshly.

Then he laughed at himself; "I really need to find better ways to keep myself occupied."

[member="Patricia Susan Garter"]

 

[Miss Blonde]

Miss Blonde ​

Patricia wasn't Patricia anymore, after facial reconstruction and a change of wardrobe her face was more rounded, her cheeks a bit full, and her skin smooth along with her long golden hair that flowed down to her back was cut and trimmed. Even her signature little red dress was stripped away for a tan detective like trench coat with black tie and white pollo shirt. For the moment there was no Patricia Susan Garter, not until the heat cooled down on her, right now there was only Miss Blonde. So what does a now wanted fugitive do when they are looking at a losing case and multiple arrest warrants? Simple, they return to a life of crime to pay the bills. The old Patricia hadn't fired a gun in years, hell she had turned thirty and now and her years as a multi billionaire had made her soft. It was time to burn some fat off.

So in her little tan trench coat and black tie Miss Blonde ran a hand through her short hair as she passed a group of her black tie employees that seemed to be having some sort of conversation.

"I'm not saying Ashin Varnin could beat Darth Vornskr, all I'm saying is it'd be too close to call and I'd be rootin for the old queen." The young man said as he ran a comb through their thick black hair while walking.

"Who said that Vornskr would win? I know one dude had said it. Dude would get smashed." A dark skinned Korunai said as he passed Miss Blonde.

"Mister Sunday said it." Another black suit and tie henchmen said as they passed.

"Just call me a patriot for the One Sith. Also the name is catchy." The group passed and soon Miss Blonde was back on her own walking the halls of the freighter.

"Guys I just passed this ugly ass dude with a robotic voice, take a left before we get to him. Didn't look right to me." One of the last things Miss Blonde had heard was a voice referencing Amalgam, she didn't know what to think of the guy but he seemed like he'd be useful in a fight. ( [member="The Talatheen Amalgam"] )

She eventually made her way to a The Runner ( [member="James Justice"] ) and gave him a small nod of acknowledgment, there were a few things she needed to run past him and see what was going on. She had to find Street Rat here in a bit to make sure her people on the ground were ready to start running product, they had set up a deal with Justice Shipping and Street Rat's street rats to move the product with the help of a few other gangs on the planet. The idea was to spread the drug as far as they could across the planet and get people hooked, the more chemically defendant the population became the more they could sell and move into the city planet with over a trillion in population.

"You sure that transponder is wired up right? Not trying to question your abilities Runner, but I'd rather not be stabbed by a lightsaber at the hands of some angst filled Sith." The woman said as she was walking towards him.

The conversation would hopefully be short and sweet and perhaps he could lead her to The Street Rat so they could get this deal over and done with.

 

[Dyxra'a]

At an isolated corner of the freighter that the Black Tie Syndicate was using to smuggler drugs down onto the surface of the Sith controlled world of Coruscant, a small - just over five foot tall, figure - known as The Serpent to the populous of the ship, was stood, staring at the crate that lay just before her. Shrugging suddenly, the figure, a female covered in tiny green scales with a crest grown on her head, removed the tanned and heavy trench coat that hung from her shoulders. In doing so, she revealed the black shirt that she wore underneath a brown waistcoat. Around her neck a simple black tie hung, declaring her currently temporary allegiance to the Syndicate. However, the temporary aspect was subject to change if her working with the group yielded a profit.

Laying the trench coat down on the crate, Dyxra'a set it next to the array of blasters and vibrodaggers that she had already lay out. Picking up each blaster individually, Dyxra'a would conduct a brief inspection, assuring herself that the blaster was in working order, before replacing it and picking up the next blaster. Once she had worked through the blasters, she turned her attention to the vibrodaggers, ensuring that they were ready for use as well.

That task done, Dyxra'a calmly began to hide the daggers she had laid out throughout the trench coat, which lay with the inside facing outwards until only two daggers remained. Those two vibrodagger were placed within the sheaths that were fastened against the inside of Dyxra'a's left arm and the small of her back. Turning her attention to the blasters, Dyxra'a took the heavy blaster and revolver she had laid out and placed them gently into the holsters that were fastened to both sides of her hips. The last two blasters were placed within custom made holsters that lined the inside of the coat's lapels. Grabbing the final item that lay on the surface of the crate, a small - barely fifteen centimeter long, black pol, that was placed in the right pocket of the coat.

Grasping the collar of the trench coat, Dyxra'a span it around her form before letting it settle around her again. Bending, Dyxra'a picked up the stetson hat that had been resting on the ground. After straightening and knocking the dust off of the hat, the Falleen pirate paced it on her head, letting it settle atop her scaled crest. Turning, trench coat flaring behind her, Dyxra'a let her steel blue eyes becoming heavily lidded as she waited for either some fool to try and make conversation with her or for the ship to finally make its way through the checks and land on the city planet where the deal for the drug was to be conducted.

 

[James Justice]

The Runner heard the blonde come up behind him. She asked him a question, but he didn't turn to acknowledge her presence. He nodded slightly and chuckled. He was always sure of his work. Sure he smoked, drank, and was even at the moment slightly buzzed on his ale he had tucked away in his boot, but he was nothing if not good at what he did. Some would even say the best.

A lifetime of travelling the galaxy had given the gunrunner not only a vast knowledge of languages, but also accents. Here, he felt the need to disguise his tale-tell accent with a Core Worlder's more delicate and sophisticated enunciation, he had used it since getting his work in this group of ner-do-wells.

"Blonde, I assure, you, I desire to suffer at the hands of over-used teenage angst no more than you do," he said with a playful smile.

Just because he was on the job didn't mean he couldn't flirt some, now did it? Of course not, "And of course, it would be a waste of such a perfect beauty."

The Runner began moving down the corridor of the ship, his jacket holding close to his body. He wanted to watch the planet, it was his favorite part of this job. Watching the planet get bigger, watching the hyerspace go by, it was the best part--next to getting paid of course.

"If on the off hand it malfunctions," Runner continued casting her a slight smile, "That is what you keep a half Zeltron like me on hand for, now isn't it?"

He would have winked, but with these dark sunglasses, it would have been pointless. The scurrying underlings moved to secure the area around them, the cargo, everything. It had to be perfect. He stopped in the common area, where he saw @Nyx. Honestly, he was quite pleased, and gave a genuine smile. He hadn't expected to see her until they got on world. Apparently today was full of lovely surprises.

"Street, its good to see you again," he said his voice carrying coy undertones, "charming as ever, I see."

Yes, the old smoothie was here, and he was here to stay, convincing fake accent or not.

He saw the mate beside her, and didn't recognize him. However he considered the man very--bold for being that close to her. The things the Runner had seen her do to men convinced him to never invade her personal space unless invited. Then, only as invited. He nodded and gave one of his winsome smiles.


OOC:

Spoiler

Fake accent is because I felt it would be more appropriate for the theme than his typical sort of Irish-Scottish Cant.

[member="Patricia Susan Garter"]
[member="The Talatheen Amalgam"]
[member="Bloodknight"]
[member="Dyxra'a"]

 

[Jarven Zexxel]

Outfit: http://ninjaink.deviantart.com/art/The-Shadow-ReDesign-297798997
Guns: http://starwarsrp.net/topic/788-imp-sienartech-semi-automatic-blaster-pistol/

Jarven sat on a pile of banana crates as he kept alone with his thoughts. He only looked up once to see a blond woman pass by. ([member="Patricia Susan Garter"]) She reminded him of his wife...

Underneath his duster was the tell-tale black tie that recognized him as part of the Black Tie Syndicate. He didn't feel the need to look goofy by having it unseemly hang on the outside of his clothing. If need be, he could open his jacket to reveal the tie.

Life was up in the air for him, as of recent times. He thought he'd be more excited to be back out swimming with the sharks...well, mixing with other sharks, at least. Right now, everything just felt tense. It was as though life was about to dump him in an alley or shine bright like the good old days. He got off the decoy crates and walked down the hall.

He took everything in, but none of it grabbed his attention. Groups of men talking amongst themselves before the mission, a man who was likely going to get bitten ([member="Bloodknight"] </3 [member="Nyx"]), a...questionable man who gave him the heebie jeebies ([member="The Talatheen Amalgam"]) and a reptilian humanoid female who clearly didn't want interaction ([member="Dyxra'a"]).

With a quiet sigh of boredom, he went to the loading ramp area, flipped a seat down from the wall and sat down. He stretched out, raised his bandanna and angled his hat down to cover his face. The others were busy because it was their job. His job began when/if they got through the security checkpoint and landed. There was plenty of time for a nap...


[member="James Justice"]

 

[Miss Blonde]

Advancing the Plot ​

"You flatter me." Blonde said as they walked down the halls together and into the ramp/cargo hold area.

Passing a man dressed like he belonged on the set of desperado she was laughing internally at the help they had acquired from various parts of the galaxy, his face was concealed and Miss Blonde could see the man's eyes only briefly. And for some reason they made her think of her husband ( [member="Jarven Zexxel"] ) who she had left behind when going into hiding.

"And what's a half zeltron like you going to do? Table dance for the law, flex your abs a little and shake your ass and hope they don't shoot us." The woman said with a soft chuckle.

When they were firmly into the cargo hold with all the various characters along for the ride, Patricia looked at the crew and was quite pleased. They had thugs, killers, real scum of the earth type people who could be somewhat trusted, because unless someone cut a deal with the One Sith, which was highly unlikely, it meant that they were looking at a crew that wasn't going to narc or rat them out to anyone.

"Street, it's good to see you. I hope your people are on the surface ready to go, we'll be doing some distribution ourselves along with the sale to some lesser crime lords." Miss Blonde would then address the entire crew.

"So listen up my fellow scumbags, we have on our hands what is known as a fruitful endeavor leading into what could be very prosperous and financially beneficial results depending on how this all goes. Now for those of you who don't know, we are currently smuggling in four metric tons of product, the product is something you don't need to know about." Miss Blonde said as she walked over to the pile of crates.

"My crew and connections have provided us with the product, The Runner's crew was kind enough to donate this freighter for the cause, and The Street Rat's people will be on standby to start running it. All and all this job is going to make us a lot of money and build contacts. However I want to make one thing clear." She said with a pause.

"Do not, and I can't be any more clear about this. Do not $&@# with me or this product, if I catch you taking any, much less looking inside a box when you aren't supposed to I'm going to have you take a very short walk out of s very small airlock. So as long as that's addressed we're good. Now." Blonde said with a smile.

"Let's go make some moneeeh." She said jokingly and in a funny voice.

The freighter pulled in and was now up to be scanned by Sith sensor readers. The massive capital fleet completely dwarfed the insignificant freighter and all manners of instruments began to probe and read the ship. Moment of truth.

Blonde held her breath and there was a complete dead silence as a voice came on her commlink for all to hear.

"Freighter K Billy, you are free to proceed." The woman signed in relief and gave The Runner a slap on the shoulder.

The freighter's engines kick started and pushed forward through towards the planet and would soon break atmosphere.

[member="James Justice"] [member="Nyx"] [member="Bloodknight"] [member="The Talatheen Amalgam"] [member="Dyxra'a"] [member="Jarven Zexxel"]

 

[Jarven Zexxel]

His nap was brief...oh well...He slid his hat up, but kept his bandanna scarf up as well when he heard people start to fill up the area he was in. He stood up and flipped the seat back up into the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall as he listened to the half-entertaining lecture. He already had enough problems without adding getting caught and getting addicted to whatever was in those crates. He had no interest in trying out drugs anyway.

The real kick to the sack was how much Miss Blonde's voice reminded him of his own wife. As sad as it made him, it made him feel more protective of her. He wanted to make extra sure she got through this, if only in memory of his missing wife. After the all clear was given, he flipped and sat back down in the seat he had been using. Instead of napping, he took the time to inspect his guns.

[member="Miss Blonde"]

 

[Nyx]

"Nice to see some people still have good taste in dem choice of tools."

Nyx looked up at the sound of another's voice, but didn't stop her little trick with a gun. A smirk grew on her face as he admired her choice of weaponry. His unique style drew her attention, blending the style of the other Black Ties while still making it his own. In the criminal world, making you mark was the most important thing one could accomplish. She could respect that, even if she wasn't into trench coats.
"It's an Ambassador. I pull the trigger, things disappear. The way I like it."
She heard his offer, and her smirk grew a bit, holstering her revolver.
"I'm sure we can show each other a lot of things we'd like."

Before she could continue the part-flirtatious part-weapon admiring, she was approached by Justice and the woman that had come to her about the Black Ties to begin with.
"Well, well, Runner. How did I know you'd show up here. Seems I just can't get away from ya." She threw him a grin, then turned to acknowledge the woman beside him. There was something familiar about her, but Nyx just couldn't quite put her finger on it.
"My people are ready to go. Already using promises of the stuff to win over some of the smaller gangs to our cause."

Miss Blonde gave a very moving speech about not messing with the Syndicate, and Nys just nodded. She had dealt with crime lords her entire life, she knew the drill.
As soon as they were back on their way, Nyx popped her neck muscles, then her knuckles.
"I the only one hopin' we run into some trouble? Haven't had a good fight in a couple days, now."

[member="Jarven Zexxel"]
[member="Miss Blonde"]
[member="James Justice"]
[member="Bloodknight"]

 

[The Talatheen Amalgam]

"Money; money?" Talatheen inquired as if it had just dawned upon him; however, he expanded no more upon the endeavor of questioning - instead, he rose from his seat and milled about. He was a monster in stature, though held little in the ways of malice; his voice littering the cabin with "sorry's" and "excuse me's" as he weaved through the bustling groups. He had no direct understanding of where he was walking; in fact, it had only recently occurred to him that he was walking - it was simply unconscious like that. He pushed past another suited fellow, one that would shoot him more than the stink eye if it wasn't for the the clicking motion of his body - the mystery that brewed fear: the unknown. He would be working this under his more recent allegiances: the work of the One Sith would undoubtedly not appreciate this act, if he were to be caught; no, not even if he were to describe it as an elaborate training regime. What if he betrayed them, however? No, not even then; they would still kill him.

No, no they wouldn't; but it wouldn't be quite as fun as indulging in his newfound criminal appetite.

He milled about some more, walking in a couple circles, purposely bumping into a few people here and there; [member="Miss Blonde"] was giving a speech, but he didn't care. There was too much milling around to be done, he didn't have time to listen to her. [member="Nyx"] said something in reply; nah, more milling. Then it occurred to him, in that distinct act of milling: one that caused him to curse aloud the name of every saint he could thing of; well that would be none, he didn't know any saints, but he still said a lot of loud words... under his breath in an inaudible, confused mumble. He wore this helmet everywhere and people would recognize it; no time to change either - and he didn't want to walk around sporting deformities, because that was even more recognizable. Such enigmas caused for an intelligent solution! Naturally, he was the man to do so.

He had a twin.

No, he was actually a pair of twins - maybe quadruplets?

No; he was taken hostage.

Chit, that wouldn't work either. Maybe if he betrayed them to save his own skin?

But he had already bought a tie.

He was running out of options quick, until it dawned on him - an idea he had unknowingly disposed of beforehand: he would blame his master and set this up to be a training regime if caught. It was the perfect scheme.

 

[Jarven Zexxel]

He heard a woman ([member="Nyx"]) pipe up with a question to no one in particular. He decided to toss in his two cents right after she spoke.

"As long as trouble finds me and not the other way around. I've been itching for a fight for far too long, but I'm not interested in jail time on Obsequious Squid's homeworld for starting a good old firefight."

It was then that [member="The Talatheen Amalgam"] started spouting off Fifty Shades of Colorful Language. His pistols were in ship-shape, so he got up and strolled over to the distressed...man after he stopped his tirade. He stepped around and in front of the large man and then leaned against a nearby wall. He was in comfortable discussion distance from him and could be seen plainly. He asked the man,

"What's your name...sir?" Upon receiving the name, he would continue.

"'Is this your first time on a run like this? Are you feeling jittery? I mean, it's surely best that you let out your feelings here and now before you go out into the field. We can't have this kind of outburst happening when we're walking down a sidewalk. Are we clear?...So, what's bothering you?"

[member="Miss Blonde"] | [member="James Justice"] | [member="Dyxra'a"] | [member="Bloodknight"]

 

[Max Nero]

[member="Miss Blonde"] | [member="Dyxra'a"] | [member="James Justice"] | [member="Bloodknight"] | [member="Nyx"] | [member="The Talatheen Amalgam"]

Max set down the last crate that he had been charged to move. He sensed that organics were grouping together near the loading area. This was an indication of either "fellow-shipping" or "giving out orders". He joined the assembly to find out which. After the leader organic finished her typically human speech, Max turned away and headed back towards the storage area that held both contraband and decoy crates. He ignored all other secondary interaction that may have started to occur. His tie hung and stood out among the blue armor suit he was currently wearing. Alas, this flesh-covered android had not a care nor a concern for fashion.

He was the first and one of the only people around this area of the ship for now. His head spun around 360 degrees to make sure no one was around. He then dropped his hand off of his wrist and it acted as a sentry. The sensors in the hand would alert his computer brain as to any nearby movement. He crossed over to one of the decoy shipping crates that were filled with bananas, punched in the code and opened the compartment in his back. Reaching inside, he pulled out a det pack and placed it deep inside, uncaring as to whether he squashed bananas or not. His "back" panel closed and his fingers manipulated the switches and buttons to prime the det pack.

No one should have reason or cause to check one of the crates being used as a decoy. When the explosion would go off, it would attract attention and hopefully wound someone if his first plan didn't work out that well. Everything was done in a matter of a few quick seconds, so he closed the crate and left. When he exited the room, he stooped down, reattached his hand and walked left towards the sleeping quarters, opposite the way he came. He then sat down on a bunk and stared blankly at the wall.

It was a perfectly normal human action that wasn't suspicious at all.

 

[James Justice]

The Runner gave a playful shake of his head when he heard the indication that they were clear for landing.

"I know you ladies were so looking forward to watching me shake my ass and flex my six pack," he gave a mocking, semi-rueful look before listening to Blonde.

He got the idea. He was no amateur, and frankly if there was anyone on this ship stupid enough to think that they could pull a fast one then he would gladly relieve them of their appendages personally. And slowly. One did not build a massive business of criminal intent without breaking a few eggs, after all. He preferred to break them personally; he didn't believe in relegating that kind of thing to underlings. There was corporate pride, after all.

"Street, you know you cannot resist me," he said with a winning smile before turning on his heel and inspecting the crates with a professional, but lackadaisical eye.

He was the best at what he did, and it wasn't that he didn't trust their hands, or what they could do. But even droids could make mistakes. And there was one. He adjusted the cans of nerf meat so they would block the scanners through their overlapping corrogation and disguise a fake level of depth. Shaking his head he moved on to the next crate.....

Bananas? Smashed?

"Who touched this last?" demanded the smuggler.

One of the tie-clad underlings stepped forward, "I did, boss."

"This is unacceptable, this draws attention," he scolded, grabbing a bundle and covering it.

"But it wasn't there before, I swear," he avowed.

If looks could kill, this man would have been by far, passed the afterlife. He shrank away, "I-I--sorry boss."

"Sorry is a beginning," the Runner growled.

"I--I--," he muttered.

The spacer took a step forward, "Pray to your gods this goes over well."

"Y-Y-y--"

The Runner took a step away and moved to the next crate. Seriously, some amateurs....

[member="Max Nero"]
[member="Jarven Zexxel"]
[member="Miss Blonde"]
[member="Nyx"]
[member="Dyxra'a"]

 

[The Talatheen Amalgam]

[member="Jarven Zexxel"]

Intercepted; Talatheen was intercepted by a gank - one rather inquisitive to his scenario. How could he ever understand such a plight; no, how could he - the Amalgam - make it possible to interpret? It began with a question, one he would answer: "Amalgam; the Amalgam - my name. No, that's- that is my name. No, it is the... code name, my code name: the Amalgam." He shuffled his feet a bit more, his heavy frame teetering from side to side almost as if he were about to fall, crashing to the ground with a thunderous weight; his exterior might promote a scene of nervousness, without the facial expression to follow it - entirely blank, void of personal reflection: he was anxious, though not from the sense of unfamiliarity. His head fell slightly, the voices remained unified, though not wholly collective in conscious thought; Hu wanted control, Daska wanted to set about allaying the worry - to promote a sense of control over his environment. Together, this left a unified being entirely without true direction; instead, he would toddle about - what made this man so important to speak to, again? He turned and began to lurch away, then turned back again; he huffed - then turned, walked away, then came back again.

"Not the first time; no, more clearly: done this many times - done many worse. I've- I have done a lot worse; I have been given greater... responsibility? No, more correctly: I have been given greater weights of trust by far greater people - it is a simple... manner? No... what was I saying?" He pondered this, turned, and almost began to walk away once more - then stopped, turned back, and faced the man; his mask void of facial structure, an amalgam in equal to body, a form of meshed metal contorting into inorganic webs of a mechanical membrane. He watched, no, more accurately: observed - he observed the man for a moment and continued the answer the question with heavy breath. "Jittery... no, I need- No, I want to..." He rapped a knuckle against his temple; the dinging of his cybernetic fist against the equally metalwrought helm delivered an echoing cry that shot throughout the room with a surprising pitch, provided it was not smothered by the voices of conversation. He glanced around, then continued again - the reality of his nervousness coming to light: "The consequences..." It was a common method of innate self-deprecation and implementation of over-exerted anxiety wherein Talatheen, over the course of only a handful of moments, would proceed to degenerate his collective unconscious, visible (or rather, audible) through the structure of his speech, through a serious of spanning, overthought complex stressors: e.g. his upcoming response.

"...of not wearing a suit. Couldn't- could not find one suitable... no, not a pun. Just, no suit; I have no suit - no suit, people whisper. More clearly: people are whispering, I can hear it. Different, I'm different again. Not jittery; jittery is for... people who jitter. I am verklempt. My appearance is unsuitable to- for... social etiquette."

 

[Miss Blonde]

Advancing the Plot ​

With a sharp whistle Miss Blonde ordered the ship's crew to start loading the product onto various speeder skiffs that were set up on the adjacent side of the cargo hold. The job was pretty simple, get the product to the warehouse where it would be given to various sellers, runners, and maybe a lesser crime lord or two. It spelled out payday to build demand for the product they were shipping out.

"Why do we have to do this $&@# man? They get to sit there and play with their guns while we sweat." one of the black tie members said as he shuttled a hover pallet filled with boxes over to the skiffs.

"Politics man, politics. You see it's all about how much you earn, and last time I checked your ass barely graduated high school." The young man talking about the Sith earlier said.

"Karunai please, someone's level of education doesn't equate how much you can do in your life. You see that's the man trying to tell you to go to some fancy ass college and pay thousands of credits for some $&#% you ain't ever gonna use." The man said in retort as they loaded up the first skiff.

"So you don't think college is necessary to move up in the world, cause that is just stupid." The other black tie said in retort.

"Look at them over there, it looks like maybe one of them went to college. Between the black haired chick, the leather freak, the big freak, the fish freak, my karuna brotha, and do you think anyone there but the blonde and yo ass went to college?" The dark skinned man said as they took more pallets from the pile.

"All I'm saying, in this world all you need is to be clever baby, and you can be the one threatening people. Besides, not like that liberal arts degree got you somewhere."

The other man raised his middle finger and mouthed a pair of words that rhymed with "vacuum" as the crews of the black tie finished up loaded ten skiffs worth of product.

"So here's what's up, everyone gets a skiff. Each has been loaded with decoy products surrounding the real stuff. Each runs like a dream so your ass has no reason to get pulled over. Now when that ramp opens we drive all casual to the site and get to business. Now only the crew leaders know the drop point so follow us." Miss Blonde said to the crews of men who would be delivering product with them.

The ship rumbled a bit as they broke atmosphere and were now headed towards the space port. They'd be there within the minute, so now was everyone's chance to get their crap together. All of their crap, get it together. To put it in a back pack, so it was together. And if they had to take it somewhere then take it to the crap store and sell it, or donate it to the crap museum. Just get their crap together.

[member="Dyxra'a"] [member="Bloodknight"] [member="James Justice"] [member="Jarven Zexxel"] [member="Nyx"] [member="Max Nero"]

 

[Nim Stagnol]

[member="Miss Blonde"]
[member="The Talatheen Amalgam"]
[member="James Justice"]
[member="Jarven Zexxel"]
[member="Nyx"]

Silent footsteps followed as a figure in a brown leather pilot jacket with black strikes along the upper shoulder portion of its sleeves watches a few of the laborers move a couple of crates onto the freighter. After letting the last one on, he follows the moving crew up into the ship and takes but a moment to scan around noticing the other hired smuggler. Nim, a Duros standing around two meters and comprised of ashy skin with a faint green-blue tone and a long cigar hanging out of his mouth propped between two thin lips that seemed almost non-existent. Red-golden eyes that glowed ever so slightly took another long look at the crates as the last two finally where place down onto the metallic plate decks.

A general silent nods was given towards any of the crew that happened to look his way while he entered. Upon his right hip, was a bryar pistol that looked personally modified and almost too large for the wiry thin frame of the Duros Privateer.

 

[Dyxra'a]

Dyxra'a grunted under her breathe as the voice clearing the freighter to approach the city covered planet came through the commlink clear enough for every criminal and outlaw gather around Miss Blonde. Opening her mouth to utter a quick phrase expressing her joy in the fact the wait was over, she paused before snapping her jaws shut as a half amused smirk and half annoyed scowl as movement and conversation seemed to burst into being, surrounding the Falleen in sound. Shrugging, Dyxra'a hopped on top of the crate behind her and lent against the wall before pulling the hat that rested atop her crests down to covered her face, letting her eyes drift closed.

Letting the conversations drift by her as nothing more than meaningless babble, Dyxra'a slipped one gloved covered and claw tipped hand into one of the inside of the pockets that lined the her trench coat and pulled out a gold hip flask. Uncapping the top, Dyxra'a took a long pull from the flask before replacing it back in her pocket, sighing in satisfaction as the burning alcohol left a scorched its way down her throat. A rush of joy ran through her system, burning at her nerves just as much as the alcohol had at her throat as the urges of her limbic system were momentarily sated. Letting her eyes now drift closed, Dyxra'a allowed herself to drift off slightly, falling into the space between wakefulness and sleep as she waited for the point where she would be required to act.

That point came sooner than Dyxra'a had expected, heralded with Miss Blonde's voice once again cutting though the voice filled atmosphere and commanding each being in a unique style. There was no harsh orders, each one was instead offered in more soft language. This way, the orders did not seem to come down from someone who held a higher social status, but from one of the masses - gaining loyalty easier. In the back of the Falleen's mind, the more studious aspect of her took these in with slight, if dulled, admiration at the natural air of leadership the blonde was able to exclude just by the way she talked, especially since the observation Dyxra'a had made so far pointed out that the blonde's speech patterns weren't crafted, but more natural.

Pushing herself to her feet, heeled boots clicking softly against the metal flooring at the contact, the small reptilian woman strode towards the exit ramp - weaving her body, which only came up to bellow the shoulders on most of the gather outlaws, through the mass of bodies. Pushing her hat up and backwards with a single finger against the rim, Dyxra'a perched the hat atop of the elongated crests.

Approaching the mass of transports where crate after crate of both the legal goods and illegal good were being loaded, Dyxra'a swung herself up into the front of one of the skiffs, settling herself next to a human male. Offering him little more than a harsh glare to discourage any attempt at trying to engage her in conversation, she propped her booted feet up in front of her, murmuring under her breathe as she did so.

"Kan'ting finally. Let's get this piece of kan'ting frotz over with and pray that the tolqual'i doesn't hit the God damned fan.


[member="Miss Blonde"]