This ship don't stop there anymore. [Sarge]

[Hazel Scheler]

Short walk it might have been, took a bit longer than normal. Hazel had failed to mention what speed it was she'd be moving at, but she wasn't winning any races. By the time they made it to his ship, the ramp looked like a mountain to her bad knee but she set her jaw and paced after the man in the giant steel can.

"Whisky is fine. Anything is fine really, if it'll numb me up a bit. Got any morphine?" that last one was a joke. Maybe.

"This..." Hazel found the nearest seat and set herself down with a grunt, left leg stiffly settling straight, heel to the floor, "doesn't look like the ship you had before."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He nodded, stepping out of the dissembler in a form fitting bodysuit. He moved a little stiff, but it was mostly age rather than injury. Pausing to pick up a datapad, he nodded. "I'll have someone bring some painkillers up. Even if you really shouldn't be mixing them with alcohol." She knew that, but he couldn't live with himself if he didn't give that warning.

Moving to a small cabinet, he pulled out a bottle of Whyren's that was probably about half empty, and likely hadn't been opened in some time, and poured two glasses of the amber liquid. "No, no it's not." He agrees, moving over to hand the glass to her before finding himself a seat in a nearby chair.

There was no mistaking the satisfaction in the groan that accompanied sinking into the cushion. "But then again, sticking to one ship all the time is a good way to give your enemies a target to track."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"Cheers," a thanks given as she took the glass. Didn't actually think he'd give her painkillers, she supposed she'd have to watch her jokes a bit more. People were starting to take them seriously.

Not that slipping into a drug-enduced stupor didn't sound appealing at the time if it would get her away from her aching self for a bit.

"Point taken," taking time to enjoy the scent of the Whyren's made her wonder when was the last time she'd had the opportunity to do so. Had to have been a few years, back before her detox. Back before someone pretended to care for a bit before they, too, moved on to ... something else. Death was the rumor and she wasn't sure she believed it.

"I don't make an effort to have enemies, though. It's not typically one of my bigger issues." The state of herself and her ship might've stated otherwise.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He smiled, glass held from above by the tips of his fingers. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, calming visibly as he made it a point to relax. "You don't have to make an effort. Sometimes, enemies make themselves." He'd learned that as a boy. A neighborhood kid had never liked him, and when asked why he seemed to have it out for him, the boy had merely responded, with the utmost sincerity, 'I don't know.'

That lesson had never quite left him, even all these centuries later. "I'd say you have enough enemies right now, though, considering your ship."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

He certainly waxed philosophical when he wanted to.

"Pirates are only your enemies if you have what they want or get in the way of it. I just happened to..." her lips went thin as she thought on the word, glass coming up for that first sip, "stumble into the latter."

The first drink of a fresh glass of Whyren's was always a treat. After that it was simply a party. Or so someone told her some years ago, she couldn't remember who.

"Answered a distress signal out along the Mara. Some private luxury ship limping on one engine. Said they'd been jumped by pirates, managed to make a jump to hyperspace out of the system and killed their hyperdrive in the process. So they've got their transport packed and I've got the Egris tethered, prepping them for a tug-service to the nearest station for repairs and the strangest looking ship I've yet to lay eyes-" she paused and gestured to her eyepatch, "eye on jumps out on the port side, starts blitzing off pot-shots at me and managed to get in a lucky hit on my engineblock with a fething boarding harpoon."

That explained the gaping hole in the side of the ship.

"By the time I realize what's what and cut tether on that sorry wreck they've already lit up my shields and sunk their teeth into the Egris. I figure, feth, no one was on board and it weren't worth risking my life for a pretty boat. Shoved a few missiles down their gullet and used the blast to help push me off into jump. Tore the Egris to hell and-" this time she gestured to herself, "here I am, lamenting my bad luck and kindly nature."

Another sip, "At least the booze is good."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He didn't even drink his glass - and it was a good thing, too, because when she mentioned a boarding harpoon he snorted in a manner that made it clear he was a heartbeat away from spitting out anything that might have been in his mouth. "A harpoon?" He asks, incredulous. "Who thought that was a good idea? I can't imagine the tension they'd need on the cable to keep the starship from just gunning it's engine and ripping it from it's mooring."

The logistics of it were impressive, but he knew that somehow, someway, someone made it work. Someone always made it work. Probably duct tape. It was usually duct tape.

Smirking, he settled back in, taking a sip from his own glass, seeming to study the liquid with his midnight eyes. "Aye, it is good. A gift from an old friend. I don't bring it out too often. If you don't mind the imposition, I'd like to help get your ship back in working order - even if it is just paying for parts for you to get on your way."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"Oh it wasn't just one 'poon," Hazel closed her eye and lifted her free hand, twiddling her fingers through the air, "it was many. A full brothel house, if you will."

The Egris had been royally fethed, as he saw. It was an uncanny metaphor and she wasn't even tipsy yet.

At the offer she cracked her eye open again, head tilting to the side in consideration, "You always so generous to the people you flag?"

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He blinked at her words, unused to such innuendo from her. Then again, they hadn't quite spoken at the length necessary to reach 'innuendo' levels of comfort. He smirked, taking a slow, measured sip of his drink, letting the warmth creep from his stomach and up into his torso. The warming tendrils put some heat to his cheeks within moments, but he knew he wouldn't have a good liquor-blush until he was three or four in.

His eyes regarded hers, and this time, his smile was anything but happy. "Most of the people I've flagged are dead, so no."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"Mm," a thought. She was never good on words of condolences. When you hear them so often they start to lose their luster.

"Guess I'll count myself lucky, then."

Hazel had very large doubts that luck had anything to do with it. Something was working against her in this galaxy and she had no idea what or why, but with all the times she'd greeted an honorable death with open arms she'd been yanked back out by some gracious figure eager to drop her into a tank full of bacta. The humor drained from her face, dissipating from her gaze as she set it on the glass in her hand.

"As I recall the last time I turned down an offer from you, you weren't too happy about it." Tattooine seemed forever ago and, truthfully, she was a little blown away at the fact that she remembered that cantina interaction at all. "I'm a slow learner, but I try not to repeat the same mistakes. I would be grateful for your assistance."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Lucky for her, he wasn't looking for condolences. It was simply a fact of life - one she could appreciate, out of anyone he knew. He was ashamed that he couldn't remember the offer she was referring to, but they hadn't crossed paths too many times, and his mind was getting hazy as he got older and time finally caught up with him like the wind across a prairie.

Frowning for a moment, he took another sip of his whiskey, and sized her up once more. "If you've a list somewhere, just feel free to forward it to me. Other than being harpooned into drydock, how have things gone? I see you're one eye short since last we spoke."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Hazel tapped at her temple with her free hand, "It's all up here right now," and that didn't necessarily mean it was actually a comprehensive list, "I'll get you something...mm, soon."

After booze, rest, and a chance to assess the full breadth of the damage to the ship ... and see what the ship's systems report spat out at her. Likely more than she'd come up with.

The Merc took a deep breath, using that same free hand to lazily cradle her chin, "Hell I don't even know where our last run-in falls on the timeline. What was it... the Sulon delivery I think? Pfff-" she blew out her cheeks, "well, I had two actual eyes then. Took the brunt of an explosion with the right side of my head about a year ago on a job to dispatch a few rogue TA4s for a client. Lost my hearing and eyesight on that side, client opted to pay me in fully customized cybernetic replacements and some cosmetic surgery," she made a face and gestured to her face, "you know, so it'd look natural and to keep me pretty."

"Well about a month or two ago I took a job on this little backwater planet called Aelozath to catch a science experiment that got loose in the Sarengoli mines. Took some Old Buck Mandalorian with to help me so he could pay off the ride he volunteered me to give him to get away from his captors--long story--and we managed to get the creature cordoned off in a side tunnel. Turns out it had properties spliced into it that allowed it to eletrocute prey and threats with these appendages it had coming off its back. My luck: POW-" exploding-fingers-gesture in front of her covered eye, "right to the expensive side of my face."

"Short circuited everything. Now it glitches, spits through vision settings, the internal translator acts up, and no one wants to look at this," Hazel flipped the bandaged patch up to reveal shredded and burned synth-skin peeling back over layers of metal, circuitry and a dead cybernetic eye, "including me. So I shut them off and just cover it up, waiting for the next big payout that'll get it fixed."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge listened intently, mentally filing away the names and locations she gave him. Frankly, he wasn't too interested in looking into them, but he never knew when it'd come up in conversation again. But that battle damage? That was most assuredly interested in. Pushing himself up with a wince that said even he could feel the affects of aging, he took a step forward and leaned in to get a better look, glass of Whyren's still in hand. Sighing, he nodded.

"If you ever make it to Fondor, let me know. We can get that fixed." He did not have the facilities here, and so couldn't offer to have it fixed any time soon. Besides, putting it in her power to call in the favor would go over better than just saying 'let me fix all your problems.'

In truth, the medical center over Fondor would be more than happy to help, even if he would need to call in a favor or three. Their whole purpose, and, in fact, their very reason for being was for helping those who didn't truly have the means to. It was a project designed to win hearts and minds, after all.

Moving back to his seat, he settled in and brought his glass to his lips. "Sounds like you have been... far busier than me."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"You're already fixing my ship and filling my glass, Preach," she shook a hand in the air at his receding form, "I can't afford anymore favors from you. I don't like owing people."

She'd just as soon make due with one working side of her head. It was working out alright, really, just that her luck was worse off than her face. As per usual. A single hazel eye followed his progress back to his chair, lingering on his well-defined rear in that snugly fitted bodyglove. She made no comment as to him providing a girl a good show, turning her gaze over to the far wall to study some piece of decore as he turned back round again to take his seat.

"Have to keep fuel in the tank somehow," a wane smile turned back to him as she took another sip, "my family was never known for leading dull lives. We never knew how to live any other way."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"No one likes owing me." He says simply, for a moment sounding the enigmatic kingpin he sometimes affected being. It wasn't a conscious affectation, but more a habit of a man who'd spent too much time around Ayden. Hell, he even had a copy of the man's coat. The copy, ironically, being better than the original.

Swirling the amber liquid around inside his glass, he studies it like an academic studies a butterfly collection - feigned disinterest, but quiet fascination. Lifting those void black pools up to her once more, the left corner of his mouth quirked upright in the ephemeral promise of a smirk that never materializes. "My family lead quite the dull life, so far as I'm aware. Were it not for Omni - the first time - and then the Plague, I would have lead a dull life too.

But Ayden scooped me up, and now here I am." His left hand lifts from the armrest of his chair, and gestures to the traditionally furnished room, full of dark colors and, quite likely, a multitude of hidden firearms. "A spectre of vengeance, or, to some, a wraith of hypocrisy." That seemed to amuse him, in some distant fashion. "I'd say you've held up pretty well, given how long you're more or less been operating solo."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Her gaze followed his gesture, curious if he might elucidate on something more than what was obvious and apparent. Omni, the Plague. The Mercenary vaguely remembered the stories of Omni's first inception of the galaxy, but that was just slightly before her time. She'd been born between the downfall of the manic AI and the rise of the Gulag. By her math, which likely wasn't very good, he had nearly a full century on her, age-wise.

A fact that was somewhat ... baffling.

She didn't know anything about what people said about him or what he stood for. So far as she was concerned he was a man that seemed to live to his own tune and beat, which was just fine by her. But, Hazel thought as she took another slow sip of her drink, she was undeniably curious about just how many years he'd been running around the galaxy to that tune. If only that didn't mean potentially bringing up her own past - a secret he'd revealed to knowing before, reminding her of the fact with his minor slip-up today.

"Hm," her own smirk did appear, fleetingly before unwraveling into a small frown, "If you call this pretty well, sure. I don't have a very good track record where partners are concerned. They all end up dying or disappearing on me. Truth is," she made a facial shrug, "I don't really like flying solo, but I dislike being the reason behind their deaths more."

She set her tumbler down on the armrest and quietly turned the glass, chewing on the inside of her cheek, "I miss my dog."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He smiled tightly, "I consider being alive to be doing well, given how many people I've seen killed in our line of work." Her line of work, really, but he still dabbled in mercenary work from time to time. His fingertips brushed over the arm of his chair, and he frowned, thinking for a few moments. "Yeah, they leave quite the hole when they pass. I'd ask if you thought of getting another, but if I recall, your dog wasn't exactly a common household type."

Neither was his own, come to think of it. He kept that to himself, though, not wanting to detract from what she was saying by being comparative in some manner. "I suppose we all reach the point in our careers where we have to ask ourselves if it's worth it to continue on anymore."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"Who? Jet?" damn her failing memory. Had he ever met Jet? Hazel's brow furrowed in thought, she didn't think so, "No, Lying Hound. You never met Jet. I lost Lye in Netherworld. Like to think he made it out alright - he was smart. Smarter than me, most likely. Jet ... not quite as smart. Loyal though. Got blown up by one of those TA4s."

The frown that followed spoke of a woman who wasn't sure how she felt about that. Had it not been for Jet taking the brunt of the explosion, it would have been her entire head, not just half of it. That poor beast was the reason she still lived and breathed. Death cheated yet again.

"Don't think it has much to do with worth, Preach."

She finished her drink with a sharp cough, wiping at her mouth with the back of her natural hand, "Can't afford to stop. My retirement plan disappeared about five hundred years ago."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He almost, almost, didn't elaborate to help prove he felt himself right. Almost. But as the old saying goes, almost only counts in orbital bombardment and spaghetti sauce. "No, I suppose you can't stop... but have you tried looking elsewhere?" He asks, expression softening. It wasn't quite concern, but there was clear care for her well-being in the softening of his abhuman features. "You're a career soldier. There are plenty of private contractors, militaries and private security ventures that would throw more credits than you could handle at you, just for the chance to have some of your insight."

That wasn't meant to talk her up. That was genuine belief on his part. "Sure, you might not be able to stop, but that doesn't mean you can't switch the proverbial lane you're in. No one said you have to be on the front line of things until you're infirm."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"I'm a Non-lethal Merc," she found the words forming on her lips before putting much of any thought behind them, "the galaxy doesn't give a shit about my insight. They only care if you're able and willing to kill."

It was why times had gotten so tough. Sure she'd spent a short amount of time as a quasi-bodyguard for Adekos, but that was mostly because his jobs had only been lethal towards machines. He'd never asked her to kill anyone and that worked just fine for her. But even as she heard her own voice she knew it wasn't true. Moross had been more than willing to pay her very generously to train their soldiers, and she'd done it only to get herself on her feet. She had a fairly healthy bank account and her ship for her troubles, but that wasn't what made her leave.

There were likely plenty of places she could take her knowledge and skills, Hazel just couldn't bear the thought of getting tethered to one place.

How could she keep searching if she was grounded?

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He couldn't read minds. Well, he could, if Eldrood hadn't happened. But there was a shift to her face, and a change to her eyes, and within moments he realized this likely had nothing to do with money. She'd realized something, somewhere. What it was, he couldn't know, but realization was a look all it's own.

So he just smiled, and drained his glass, and pushed himself up with a groan to grab some more whiskey.

"You don't believe that." He says, holding up the bottle as he walked over to her, wordlessly asking if she wanted more. "But regardless, I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."