That You Red? [Danger]

[Sarge Potteiger]

A groan was the first thing he awoke to. It was a noise that he himself had emitted as he rolled onto his side and set a hand on something nearby. Putting pressure on his hand and the solid object it was against, he pushed against the floor to try and get up.

But the room was spinning.

His head hurt.

He hadn't been drunk in more than a year.

Why did this... was he in a warehouse? Blinking, his eyes moved around slowly, taking in the mixed crates and goods littering the building around him. It was all ordered; just-so. This was a place of business. Well oiled business.

Blinking slowly, hoping his eyes would adjust to the sun blazing through the slit windows along the ceiling, he turned this way and that as he steadied himself on the nearby box. That sun was abnormally bright, and it took him a moment to remember where he was.

Tattooine.

He couldn't remember why...

Right. Check in on the Ashin clone. He hadn't heard from her in quite awhile.

Danger was the one in charge of her.

But how did he....?

Turning his head this way and that, he looked behind him to find his armor strewn across the concrete floor which was lightly dusted with sand. The duster he wore was nowhere in sight.

Neither was his pistol.

He'd left his lightsaber back on the ship - or at least, he thought he did. Blinking again, he looked around and hoped to the stars he'd not set off some kind of an alarm getting into this mess.

Come to think of it...? Was this Danger's warehouse?

Man he seriously hoped nothing had been stolen from here. By the stars was his head pounding.

 

[Maarah]

"Rise an' shine there buttercup," the feminine voice would bubble out with rather mocking cheer. Enter the tapping of the end of a Force pike against a durasteel container just to [member="Sarge Potteiger"] 's left.

BOY did it give off a RESONATING LOUD CLATTERING SOUND.

The click and hum of a blaster pistol would soon lock upon Potteiger's head, her tail flicking at the ground.

"Thieving ain't looked 'pon kindly round these parts." Ironic that it came from a crew member of the Star Wolves gang, adopted daughter of the would be Ironwolf himself. Felecatian born and bred. A pureblood from this distance, if the man be sober enough to notice.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge gave a bit of a wince at the noise but that was the only sign of discomfort. This was a damn sight better than the last time he'd woken up from a black out. He'd been bleeding from his head then, so hell, this may as well have been a crisp autumn morning.

Pushing himself up, he was momentarily thankful for his bodysuit still being on. Armor or not, some clothing was better than none. There was a moment as he inhaled deeply of the scent of a Felacation - but he took another whiff to see if there was anything else.

Everyone had their identifying smells and it was that enhanced sense of smell that helped him be the bloodhound he usually was. Cira had her citrus, and a lot of shapeshifters carried with them the hint of sinew - it came with the territory of rearranging your body constantly.

Alderaanians always smelled of thin mountain air for one reason or another; the sort of air that carried with it the promise of winter snowfall.

"Ain't no thievin' goin' on here." The man retorts calmly, turning around to stare down the barrel of the gun.

Because that was normal for him. Or was becoming normal. "Ain't even know how I got in here." He was starting to wonder if he hadn't been concussed and dragged here, frankly.

 

[Maarah]

A heavy snort would come after and that blaster tip would not waver in her sure grip.

"Reckon the shipment of Miz Arceneau's prized goods didn't just magically go walking off." she would say in turn, "Nor why your so coincidently sleeping next to said empty shipments."

Her nose would curl. He certainly stuck of booze.

"Ain't the first time someone done said they ain't got aclue how they got to a place."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"And I reckon this ain't the first time someone been framed." He retorts, reaching a finger up slowly to scratch at the side of his nose like he wasn't in danger of being shot.

"Ain't no reason for me to be stealin' from your boss anywaay - but to that you'll probably say I'm right, but that I still did something I ain't done."

"So here's an offer. I help you find the goods and you don't get any itchier with that there finger than you already are."

 

[Maarah]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]
Those wide golden cat eyes of hers would narrow upon the stranger. It would be evident that she would mull over his offer in her mind, deciding on the possibilities. Finally with a 'Tch' cluck of her tongue, she withdrew the blaster, holstering it within her belt.

"You are lucky, stranger, dhat I chose not to splatter your brain across Miz Arceneau's deck." a nod would encourage him to gather his gear. "Deal it is. But cross me, it ain't my wrath you'll shower upon you. But hers."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The man reached up to scratch at his jawline. "May as well call me Sarge since ya seen mah face." Probably didn't mean anything to her, but it meant something to him. That's really all that mattered, ultimately.

Moving around her, he began slotting his armor back into place and shaking his head a bit. Thankfully his pistol was there, as was his ammo. He wondered where his saber was though - hopefully back on his ship.

"Wouldn't be the first time I'd pissed her off." Because that was totally something to be proud of. Totally. "So, here's the question. Where do we start. Y'all must have security feeds or somethin.'"

 

[Maarah]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

The Felecatian female would point with a nod of her head up over to the damaged holocam feeds.

“Destroyed, Sarge.” would come her answer in a heavy accent.

“No alarms triggered… “ her tail would swish along her ankles, barely grazing the immaculate floor.

“Pick up of the cargo made the discovery of you here.” she would relay. “You’re dha first dhing out of place.”

A pause, then sharp teeth would reveal a toothy grin. “Names Maarah.”