Bucky
1123 Standard Time
High Orbit, Druckenwell
Aboard the Trident
There was always room for more business in the galaxy. It cultivated on its own at every street corner, in every sector, and boomed when you connected all of those itty bitty pieces into one giant machine. It was akin to a device constructed of cogs, both of the small and larger variety that were entwined to make everything work. Without it, nothing progressed and the galaxy fell into a state of stagnation and beheld irreplaceable losses at the behest of economic downfall.
But when it was a-boomin', there was never a second to waste.
This age-old philosophy was why Lok Jorunn stood before a holographic emitter aboard the Trident. The conference room was empty, a stark contrast to the rest of the Rebel Alliance's newest capital ship. It bore freshly emblazoned Alliance emblems on both sides and the multitudes of lifeforms inside were of the soldier category. Much of the crew was part of Lok's original group, comprised of mercenaries, pilots, engineers, smugglers, and slicers. The rest were actual soldiers, commandos, and marines. Professionals. The real deal.
If Lok was actually going to do this whole "real deal" thing correctly, he'd need business associates of the same caliber.
The Rebel Commander toggled the secure communications network, patching him directly to Miss Arceneau's office. "Hello," the pirate tried a grin on the secretary, "I'm Lok Jorunn. I left a message for Miss Arceneau earlier and was told to contact her at a later time, so here I am."
The young lady nodded and told him to wait a moment, with the screen flashing to display a rotating ATC logo with some classy, elevator-style music playing.
[member="Danger Arceneau"]
High Orbit, Druckenwell
Aboard the Trident
There was always room for more business in the galaxy. It cultivated on its own at every street corner, in every sector, and boomed when you connected all of those itty bitty pieces into one giant machine. It was akin to a device constructed of cogs, both of the small and larger variety that were entwined to make everything work. Without it, nothing progressed and the galaxy fell into a state of stagnation and beheld irreplaceable losses at the behest of economic downfall.
But when it was a-boomin', there was never a second to waste.
This age-old philosophy was why Lok Jorunn stood before a holographic emitter aboard the Trident. The conference room was empty, a stark contrast to the rest of the Rebel Alliance's newest capital ship. It bore freshly emblazoned Alliance emblems on both sides and the multitudes of lifeforms inside were of the soldier category. Much of the crew was part of Lok's original group, comprised of mercenaries, pilots, engineers, smugglers, and slicers. The rest were actual soldiers, commandos, and marines. Professionals. The real deal.
If Lok was actually going to do this whole "real deal" thing correctly, he'd need business associates of the same caliber.
The Rebel Commander toggled the secure communications network, patching him directly to Miss Arceneau's office. "Hello," the pirate tried a grin on the secretary, "I'm Lok Jorunn. I left a message for Miss Arceneau earlier and was told to contact her at a later time, so here I am."
The young lady nodded and told him to wait a moment, with the screen flashing to display a rotating ATC logo with some classy, elevator-style music playing.
[member="Danger Arceneau"]
