Star Wars |Legacies| IC

[Feroxi]

Sever hated these stops. No, he despised them. It wasted time- and time could never be regained. This emotion was too familiar. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of remorse. Damn, Tes had deserved better.

He watched as guards patrolled and searched the stopped vessels. Since the collapse of the Federation the sector authorities were tightening their grip on contraband and smuggled goods. The GA was getting paranoid too, just like the rest of the rabble. Sever leaned in his helmsman's arm chair. He sipped on his coffee and ate some stale dough balls he purchased from a shop on the station.

Gazing through the viewing glass in deep contemplation, his mind re-focused on the objective. He spun his chair to face Kyrris, "I'm heading off to meet an old acquaintance. Watch the Edge and keep those two from murdering each other." He jabbed a thumb towards Nuts and Bolts, who were arguing about some stupid thing and rattling their tools at each other.

Sever stood up an tossed a dough ball towards Nuts, hitting him in the back of his fur covered head. He strolled out of the ship's side hatch and started for Aleema's cantina and bar. As he passed some children, the lads glared at him as if he was the most kandosii gangster this side of galactic space. Then again, all Mandos looked similar to the aruetii- from the armor to their guns.

He pushed through wooden double doors and his nostrils were flooded with various smells of ales and liquors. Some of the bar-goers gave him some cautious gazes. He approached the counter and watched as a crimson-skinned Twi'leki woman poured liquids into cups behind a counter. He tapped his finger on her shoulder, and she swung around with a blade in her hand under the counter.

"Calm down, beautiful! It's Sever."

She said with a mischievous smile, "Can't be too careful, eh?"

He said, "Nah. Not with all the hostilities."

"I'm guessing the great Sever Marec didn't travel this far just to give me some compliments."

"Hah, so pessimistic. I was told a certain person would be here. I have something to settle with him."

Aleema flashed a curious look at him, "You come to a girl without flowers and stain the floor with blood? How thoughtful."

"Rushing to conclusions as usual Aleema. Seen him as of late?" He gestured the woman to view his forearm plate's screen.

She nodded towards a man in old crusader armor sitting on a torn leather chair.

Sever gave her some credits and approached the man. It was Adar Talon, one of the more recognized mercenaries because of his capabilities. Although, more because of his blade fetish.

"So you're still alive, Talon? Shame."

OOC: No one liners, mates. Let's have good grammar and well-written paragraphs. Also, Tes is Sever's deceased spouse. Kandosii is Mandalorian for awesome. Aruetii is Mandalorian for outsider.

[Ularn]

"Seven...Eight...Nine..."
Kyrris was in the Razor's Edge cockpit, tasked with looking after the ship while Captain Marec ran an errand inside the station. They both agreed it was better not to leave the ship unattended while in dock. There should always be at least one crew member aboard and, for those purposes, Nuts and Bolts did not count as crew. In fact, after the possibility the ship's remaining cargo falling prey to thieves and smugglers, the pair of engineers were probably the biggest reason behind keeping someone else on board. Force knew what those two might get up to unattended. In addition, the captain had put out an ad on the local datanet for new crew, so someone had to hang around to conduct interviews.
Not that he currently occupied the pilot's seat. Instead the young, copper haired human was hanging from a pipe in the ceiling, doing chin-ups. From his vantage point, Kyrris could make out the container-strewn hangar, through the cockpit window, along with its main doors and the traffic control observation deck above it, currently occupied by a lone droid. In fact, he could see so much more than that. His eyes, normally a verdant-tinted hazel, currently glowed a fluorescent green as the implants in each corner projected a live summary of the ship's condition into the back of his retina, appearing in his vision like a heads-up display. There was little to concern him for now anyway; the ship was mostly powered down and docked, a state in which t would remain until they managed to find a big enough crew to fly again, or they ran out of credits to pay the hangar fees and port authorities impounded the ship, leaving Marec and Kyrris without home or ride.
Still, that would not be a problem for a while. Marec may not have enough cash to pay a full crew any more but fortunately the docking fees and hangar rental were significantly less than that.
"...Thirteen...Fourteen...Fifteen!" Kyrris dropped from the pipe and landed with a muffled clang on the cockpit deck. After dabbing the sweat off with a towel grabbed from the back of the pilot's seat, Kyrris threw on a yellow cantina band t-shirt from which he had cut the sleeves and sat down in the seat to finish off the noodles he had left to cool before his workout. It was an immutable fact of the galaxy, Kyrris had discovered shortly after entering his present employment, that no matter what spaceport you occupied, there would be a shack selling carbohydrates in long stringy form. Where there was life, there was noodles.
And the ones on Coruscant Orbital Station Delta IX were getting decidedly same-y.

[Phalnia]

Aliri walked through a dingy, dark alley. The puddles of questionable liquid that covered the ground reflected the various neon signs hanging from the local bars and clubs. She passed by the bright lights and loud crowds, she knew where she was going and she wasn't going to be waylaid.

Eventually she came to a crossroads, the sounds of music had been replaced with the hum of engines. She was a stones throw from the shipyard and what she considered to be the superior bars. She needed a stiff drink now more than ever, her latest hospital job had gone less than stellar. In fact it had gone supernova, and she was once again unemployed.

Mopping over her poor fortune Aliri walked right past an open door. A few steps later she realized her mistake, turned around, and entered the bar. The room was full of dockworkers and travelers waiting for ships. Aliri went seemingly unnoticed, among the mass of aliens.

The Devaronian sat at a stool tapped her fingers in a rhythmic fashion. After a few moments a Bith bartender stepped over and asked her what she wanted.

"Anselarri rum. Neat."

The Bith poured the drink and moved to replace the bottle on the shelf.

"Leave the bottle."

"You got the creds?" Questioned the Bith holding on to the bottle.

Aliri threw down a chip and the bartender nodded leaving her the bottle. Several hours later the bottle was empty and Aliri was feeling very warm inside. Sighing deeply she stood up and walked out the door. Taking a left she walked, or rather stumbled, a few blocks to her apartment. Before she could even enter the lobby she was stopped by the manager. He was noticeably upset.

"Why you no pay rent? Why you try screw me?" Asked the Toydarian, as he buzzed around her.

"Listen, Zallo. I'll have your money, just give me a break." The Devaronian's words were noticeably slurred.

"Oh, you have money for booze, but not for me? You get out of my building. Go get your junk and don't come back."

Aliri sat on a curb near the spaceport bar. She had everything she owned in a bag next to her. She did however, have one new acquisition, a bottle of rum. Not the Anselarri stuff, she didn't have the credits. Instead it was no-brand rotgut, but it got the job done. Near the end of the bottle Aliri could feel the wonderful alcohol kicking in. Soon enough the doctor was laying on the sidewalk, a look of content on her face.

[Bearon]

The Hutt Syndicate Saiyo had just found the most interesting item. A carbon frozen clone from the clone wars. He knew that an item like this eould bring in millions of Galactic ctmredits alone so het up the auction as soon as he could. The crowd of buyers that gathered around the clone as made up of Hutts Muuns humans and even a Toydarian or two.

"Alright everyone can I start at 1 million credits? 1 million credits?" One of the humans said "I bid 1 million." The Hutt smiled "He was going to make a quick and easy profit.

OOC: You could steal me.

[Communists for the people]

The YT-1200 freighter docked at the space port, the ride from the Outer Rim had been anything but comfortable for Adar Talon. The YT-1200 had several hyper-drive malfunctions delaying the ships jump multiple times, the YT-1200 was also attacked by pirates once but the ship was saved by a bold jump into hyper-space. Finally the YT-1200 had gotten Talon to his destination. Adar exited the ship wearing his beloved Crusader Armor and headed out one of the more secluded space port exits, Adar had many enemies. Adar walked through a group of spice junkies and out into the streets.

Standing on the street corner Talon noticed a group of four men, all of them humans, they were whispering among themselves and glancing in Talon's direction. Finally the taller of the four walked over to Adar, he was slightly taller then Talon, well built, sandy blond hair, and a nasty scar running down the right side of his face.

"May I speak with you privately?" The man asked Talon gesturing to an alleyway.

Talon nodded slightly and the man led him down the alley. Suddenly he pushed Talon against a wall and produced a small holdout blaster from his sleeves; pointing the blaster against Adar's chest plate he said menacingly, "You have one chance Talon, come with me quietly, or have me kill you right here."

Talon said nothing.

The man leveled the blaster in the center of Talon's faceplate, this was Adar's chance, Adar ducked beneath the blaster punching the man in the stomach and backing off quickly drawing his vibroblade. The man grinned and said, "What's your knife going to do against my blaster at that range scum?"

Without waiting for a response the man fired two bolts from his blaster, Talon saw the shots coming and dodged to one side before throwing the vibroblade at the mans face, it wasn't really a hard thrown toss, just a flick of Adar's wrist but it was thrown enough force to kill the man, time seemed to slow down as the blade flew through the air and hit the man square between the eyes. Adar walked over to his fallen foe and pulled the blade out of the man's skull and returned it to his sheath. With no more time to waste Talon returned to the street corner, hailed a taxi, waved to the remaining three men, and departed for his destination. He had a debt to repay.

Arriving at the spaceport Talon exited the taxi, paid the driver and headed up the stairs to where he was supposed Sever Marec. Adar entered the bar removed his helmet, ordering a drink Talon noticed no one resembling Marec in the bar. Taking his drink Adar found a seat in a corner and waited for Marec.

Finally Marec showed and said, "So you're still alive, Talon? Shame."

Talon responded, "No, I don't die until all my debts are paid, and currently I need to repay a favor to you. How can I be of service?"

[Of planets]

Grace arched her back, stretching almost in a catlike manner as she exited her transport. The imperial agents had caught up with her and so she'd made an open ended jump to throw them off, the problems with these was that a) she had no idea where she was and b) the hyperdrive was busted. Grace needed to find a new transport off planet, and as her faithful vessel went to the scrapheap for even less credits than it was worth (The seller must've detected her urgency, perhaps he was a latent force-sensitive), Grace thought of her options...

Grace didn't have enough credits to buy her own ship, and she couldn't just stay here as the imperials would catch up as soon as they determined her jump coordinates (She didn't know them herself). No, the best thing was to get a route off-planet, and fast, with as few witnesses as humanly possible. Grace would need someone to give her that route and the best place was that seedy bar on every planet that housed smugglers, mercenaries and scoundrels hung around. This one in particular was run by a Twi'lek and filled up with rough-and-tumble fellows, but the two in mandalorian armour caught her eye. Grace took a poor vintage of Bothan wine before heading to a nearby table for the sake of eavesdropping. The first said "So you're still alive, Talon? Shame." To which the one called Talon replied "No, I don't die until all my debts are paid, and currently I need to repay a favour to you. How can I be of service?"

[Ularn]

With his implants switched off to relieve himself from the repetitive scrolling of the same old diagnostic information, Kyrris sat stretched out in his seat with both legs crossed and resting on one of the instrument consoles so that the targeting reticule from his holstered Model 434 blaster appeared in the corner of his vision. If the gun went off for some reason, it might put a hole in the canopy.
Kyrris' attention was elsewhere, however. Noodle bowl in hand, he had begun trawling the datanet recruitment sites for people interested in spaceflight, preferably with a minimum of experience. Marec and he could not really afford what the more experienced hopefuls were asking for. In the course of trawling the available résumés, he had fallen across a link to the live streaming of an auction thanks to some badly defined search parameters and the bidding was now displayed as a holo on the canopy glass. The lot in question was a carbonite frozen clone trooper, meaning it sort of blurred the line between artifact trading and slave auction.
The auction appeared to be starting to peter out. Only a handful of people were still bidding. "Two-million-five," declared the pale slug-like auctioneer, "I have two-million-five-hundred-thousand credits. Do I have two-million-six? Two-million-six-hundred-thousand credits! thank you sir. Two-million-seven to the Zabrak gentleman. Two-million-seven going once, going twice.
Kyrris raised a lazy finger and tapped the icon to close the window. The captain might be inclined to fill out the crew roster with slaves if necessary but if he did then that was his call. Kyrris was no supporter of the idea and besides, they could never afford the clone even if they wanted him.
But the window did not close. Instead the slimy Hutt on screen announced, "New bidder! I have Two-million-eight-hundred-thousand from an online bid."
Kyrris felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. The icon he had pressed did not close the window; it placed a bid, for two-million-and-eight-hundred-thousand credits! He tensed up, took his feet off the console and stared at the screen in growing agitation. Kyrris was not even sure if the entire Razor's Edge was worth that much. Don't panic, he tried to tell himself, someone else will outbid you; it'll be fine.
"Going once..."
Come on, come on!
"...Going twice..."
Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!
"Sold!"
"Fierfek!" Kyrris had jumped out his chair like it had suddenly caught fire, with enough force to send the discarded noodle bowl in his lap flying at the canopy. What had he done? He had just made a deal with the Hutts for more money than ever existed in his universe. With the Hutts! That was not the sort of deal you handwaved by saying, "Oh sorry, my finger slipped." He was fracked. They all were.
He had to find the captain.
Sprinting down the gantry away from the cockpit, Kyrris untangled the sleeves of his bodyglove, which he had been wearing open to the waist, and yanked his arms through them. After practically jumping down the ladder leading to the Razor's forward cargo bay, Kyrris spotted Nuts constructing something like a miniature trebuchet on the open loading ramp. "I've got to go," he shouted as he passed, "Watch the ship!"
The foil-clad furball squeaked in bewilderment at his human crewmate for a moment, then appeared to shrug and return to his project.
Through the hangar bay doors, Kyrris only paused long enough to thumb the blast door closed on the outside control panel before taking off down the concourse at speed once more. He was just around the corner from the cantina Marec had planned his meeting in before a trip over a pile of rags sent him flying. Nursing a grazed hand, he looked back at what had tripped him. Not a pile of rags, but a female devaronian that Kyrris initially took for some sort of large rodent whose nest he had disturbed until a clear empty bottle of hooch liquor rolled out of one of the folds. "Sorry," he muttered hastily to the vagrant as he staggered back to his feet.

[Phalnia]

Aliri was in the midst of an alcohol induced blackout. She had been in this state since finishing off the bottle of rum she blew her last creds on. All was going well, as far as blackouts go. The Devaronian had managed to wrap herself in a large jacket from her pack and surprisingly no one had rummaged through her possessions. Unfortunately, the good luck ended there.

While oblivious to the world, Aliri became a hazard to an oblivious passerby. Her calm stupor was prematurely ended by a boot to the ribs. The doctor could hear the sound of a body landing on the pavement. "Ah, shit." Muttered Aliri as she propped herself up with her hands, ending in a sitting position. Rubbing her eyes she looked in the direction of the commotion.

A human was getting back to his feet, as he apologized for the collision. The Devaronian looked towards her feet and shut her eyes, the lights were too bright for her hungover eyes. "Forget it." However, before she looked away she had seen a bit of blood on the man's hand. She sighed. Technically she was obligated to offer help. Even if she had been fired from any decent hospital, she was a decent doctor.

"You need a bandage for that?" She asked pointing to his hand without opening her eyes. Not waiting for answer she reached into her sack and rummaged for a wrap. Instead she found a bottle and swallowed the anti-inflammatory pills it held.

[Ularn]

Kyrris glanced distractedly between the Devaronian and the cantina doorway, "What? No. Uh, it's just a scratch. Thanks." He was about to set off again when he looked back properly at her and saw the contents of the bag. Momentarily sidetracked from his previous quest, he enquired, "Wait a sec, are you a doctor?"
Ship's doctor was one of the many vacancies the Razor really needed filled. Bounty hunters, mercenaries and such were two-a-credit; filling out the muscle on board would be no problem. They could get by on one pilot and - somehow - Nuts and Bolts managed to keep everything under control from an engineering standpoint, but if they were going to have any more of the more lucrative - and therefore dangerous - contracts then a doctor was going to be essential. The Devaronian woman looked a mess but, if she knew her stuff, that might just mean they could get her cheap.

[Phalnia]

The question piqued Aliri's interest. She turned to look at the man one more time, her eyes having adjusted to the lights on the street. After a few moments she answered. "Yes, I have a medical degree, but if you need treatment you're out of luck. I've had my privileges revoked at every hospital on Coruscant and the stations." She stood up wobbling on her feet a bit. "Names, Dr. Aliri'sai'Shek. You headed into that cantina?" She saw an opportunity to get a free drink and wasn't going to let it slip through her fingers.

[Ularn]

"Yeah, uh..." Between the stench of liquor coming off her breath and the fact she was apparently banned from practicing medicine, this 'doctor' would have to be seriously cheap. Kyrris wondered briefly if he was better off looking elsewhere but exactly how many doctors would sign on with Marec for the meagre credits they were offering unless they had no other choice? Frak it, he decided; the captain could always reverse the decision if he didn't like it.
"Listen, if you're looking for work, I might have something for you if you come with me or meet outside Hangar Thirteen-B," he said, before realizing that in all probability Hangar 13B would shortly be crawling with enforcers from the Hutt wanting to know where their money was. Thinking it was hardly a good idea to send the only medic on the station who might work for them into that unprepared, Kyrris corrected himself, "Actually, just come with me; that hangar's about to turn fifty different shades of 'not fun'." He hoped Nuts and Bolts would be alright.
Having had time to evaluate their situation on the run, Kyrris reckoned there was a chance the Hutts could be persuaded to sell the clone to the next highest bidder for what they offered instead - assuming that bidder still wanted him. Probably the next bidder would expect a reduction in price anyway and doubtless the Hutts would still expect Kyrris or the captain to fork out the difference between that and the 2.8 million they felt he owed them. That meant they had to come up with at least a hundred thousand credits, plus a little more to sweeten the deal with the Hutts. Altogether that was not as tough a prospect to consider but it was still more credits than they had on-hand and would leave them having to sell the Razor's Edge and downsize to a smaller ship if they were to pay the debt and still hire a crew. Marec would never allow that.
Another worrying thought occurred to Kyrris; that Marec might simply turn him over to the Hutts and hope they would consider the debt paid. It would be the cheapest option for the captain but Kyrris had shown loyalty by sticking around when the rest of the crew jumped ship. True, that was largely because he could not see any better work on the horizon while the previous employment section of his résumé consisted entirely of "Smuggler and Minion for Rogue Jedi" but it still had to count for something, right?
He could only hope.
Kyrris led the drunken doctor - Aliri, he reminded himself - into the cantina. One of the Gamorrean bouncers looked ready to object to the intoxicated woman's pretense on the premises but Kyrris hurried them both through before the slow-witted boar could say anything. Inside the lounge was lit with warm red and purple hues and a DJ played some base-heavy synth-pop from a booth in one corner. It took Kyrris only a second to spot the captain by his Mandalorian helmet. Marec was talking to another figure wearing similar but older-looking armour. Kyrris waded through the throng of customers towards them, occasionally bumping elbows and other more unusual appendages but not stopping to apologise.
He confronted the captain and his companion, briefly aware that they all appeared to be watched by a beautiful blonde-haired woman standing a few metres away, and said "Captain, we've got a problem!"

[Phalnia]

"Hey, sounds like a plan to me." Aliri hopped to her feet and grabbed her pack. She slung it over her shoulder and followed the human. She had noticed a bit of hesitation in his voice after being asked if he was heading into the bar. Well, shit if I want this job guess I'll have to keep dry for a while. Besides I should probably stay sober for those "fifty different shades of not fun"

While she pondered the type of fun that lay ahead they passed a Gamorrean bouncer. In typical Gamorrean fashion, he was big and stupid. However, Aliri was a regular and paying customer, so the green thug could stuff any objections he might "think" up. Aliri chuckled slightly when she pictured a Gamorrean forming a full thought.

Before she could amuse herself with any other absurdities Aliri and the man, whose name she had yet to learn, were making their way through a crowd. After dodging the barrage of rhythm-less appendages she found herself looking at two Mandalorians. She wasn't sure what it was, but she could immediately tell they were warriors. Of course she knew Mandalorians prided themselves on martial ability, but these two just seemed to have more of it in them. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, but she couldn't pinpoint the source in this crowded club.

[Bearon]

The Hutt smiled to himself greedily. he had gotten much more for this clone then he had anticipated. He ordered his guards to wheel the clone down to the man who had bought it. He found the bidding seat empty and he screamed out in rage "WHERE IS THE BIDDER?!" He growled at his guard and said "Bring the man who has purchased this clone and bring him to me. As the Hutt sat in his seat contemplating what he would do to the man who had bought the clone if he did not get his money his guards spread out throughout the compound and began to order the lock down of the hangar gate as they searched for the ship known as the Razor's Edge.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

It is interesting how your own knowledge can give you an entirely different feeling of a given situation. This small piece of wisdom came up in Sage’s mind as he strolled around the streets. He was clad in Tuskan garb, the brown cloth and robes covered every possible part of his body, with only his eye pieces sticking out where his face would have been. He looked like any Tusken would have looked, strange to the passer-by. He was constantly being watched, either by interested aliens or shopkeepers, hoping he was not there to cause any trouble. Trouble was bad for business, something any salesman knew. Sage was sure his sensors had picked up the flickering of a blaster somewhere behind a counter, as sure as he noticed the eyes of the human holding it. His increased heartbeat and sweat gave away his fear. Sage did not feel threatened. Fear was only dangerous when you forced its hand, and the cyborg was not planning on forcing anything right now. Just to be sure, Sage flicked a switch on the Cyclic rifle on his back, arming it for combat. Preparation was the mother of a battle won.

After that little distraction, the sentence came back to him. His knowledge gave him an entirely different view of the ever-piercing gazes of the other strollers. Normally, years ago, he would’ve felt attacked, threatened, ashamed whenever people looked at him. They were judging him for is exterior, which hurt his kind soul a little. Now, knowing that his Tusken exterior was nothing more than a ruse, hiding the metal body beneath, he was glad people were still looking at him. They fell for his trickery. While for the onlookers nothing had changed, for Sage it had. That was what was important.

Walking around the terminals, Sage was not entirely sure what he was looking for. Somewhere, he hoped that out of nowhere, a large neon sign would appear, with “Hutt-hating army for hire, pay not required”. His next wish, somewhat more plausible perhaps, was that some captain had put up a wooden sign, with the words ‘now hiring’ on them. While strolling past all the ships, large and small, this small hope began to fade as well, slowly dimming until it was nothing more than a dying firefly in the nightly mind of Sage. He sighed. No, he did not sigh. His oxygen tanks let out a bit more carbon dioxide than normal, something that didn’t even make the least bit of sound. It made a sound in his head, though, which was all he was looking for. He was just about to turn back, to see if the harbourmaster knew anything about captains looking for help, when he saw a strange event happening, right in front of his eyes. A human and a Devaronian collided with a force that made his mechanical muscles cringe a bit. It happened quite close, and he nearly moved in to help the two, but they had already found their footing, and he did not want to attract too much attention. So, he moved within hearing distance, but just far enough to not be noticed. People did not take kindly to Sand People anyway, and eavesdropping was also frowned upon, so an eavesdropping Tuskan would not receive a second chance, he figured. The conversation was quite intriguing. The words ‘bandage’ and ‘wound’ hurt a little, but nothing too grave. He was particularly excited when the human said something about hiring, about hiring her as a doctor. After the two slipped away into a bar, Sage followed them closely. He kept his rifle close to his hand, while his other hand rested on the sabre at his belt. He just waited outside the bar, looking at the entrance, hoping they would come out. He had learned from experience that it was better to look for someone at an entrance than in a crowded area. The chance of losing them would be greater inside. He sat down on a little ledge, and kept is visual sensor trained on the door. As soon as they came out, he would politely address them.

[Bearon]

The Hutt's troops spread out around the perimeter and as it neared the ship registered under the buyers name called "Razor's Edge" they pointed their blasters at the ship and the captain of the guards said "All occupants of the ship "Razor's Edge" please come out with your hands up!"

[Feroxi]

Sever shifted his weight onto his arm as he leaned on a counter-top. The duo had some grudges with one another from missions long ago. In the end the men would have to put aside their differences, although Marec had no idea when the end would be. He began to prepare a response to Talon's question, but then a man barged in and shouted for him.

He turned his head to see his friend and co-captain of the Razor's Edge with a woman along side him. She appeared to be a little... inebriated. He loaded a little quip into his pun gun and fired, "Got a new woman on your arm?"

But before he could come up with a rebuttal a certain little pain in the ass piped in on Sever's radio. Electronic chirps and beeps echoed from his helm as he turned around. He pressed two fingers to his helm's ear piece and the others could hear his puzzled tone as he replied, "What do you mean mercenaries are surrounding the ship? Seal all access hatches and tell Nuts and Bolts to warm the engines and prepare the blaster cannons!"

Sever paused and a series of aggressive beeps sounded. He growled, "You know Hutts aren't fond of negotiating, so stop the sass!"

He said to them, "Atin tells me Huttese shabuir are surrounding the ship. We need to get to the Edge. Once the engines are prepped the Hutts are going to go to town firing bolts and bullets."

Marec proceeded out of the cantina and un-holstered his charric carbine as he jogged. Once the fighting started up, the Alliance Guard would be mobilizing. The gang needed to run to the freighter and get out of dodge as quick as possible.

Shabuir = Mando'a Cussing
Charric = Kinetic Lasers (the impact of a projectile with the characteristics of a particle laser)

[Bearon]

OOC: Maybe you can release and unleash the ARC on the Hutt's when you buy time by tricking them into thinking you're giving them the money.
When the people in the ship did not respond the captain of the guard waved his hand to signal the technicians in the group to go up to the panel of the ship and open the hatch door so the troops could storm the ship.

[Ularn]

"She might be our new medic," Kyrris explained rapidly, ignoring the bait which normally would have led to a playful exchange of insults and banter. Now was not the time. Instead he sprinted after Marec out of the cantina while trying to bring the captain up to speed.
"Listen, I frakked up," he began, starting to pant slightly with the effort of keeping in pace with a Jedi, "I was browsing potential recruits on the datanet and clicked on a link to a live streamed slave auction. I pushed the wrong button and now the Hutts think I owe them two-point-eight-million credits for a carbonite-frozen Stormtrooper. Those enforcers're probably there expecting to make the trade."

[Bearon]

The technicians removed their splicer equipment as they opened a panel on the Razor's Edge and began removing wires and rearranging codes. The guards were wary of retaliation by the ship or its crew and had its blasters ready to destroy any resistance against them.

[Phalnia]

Aliri chuckled at the captain's insinuation. However, before she could refute the claim, Kyrris explained her possible role. Medic, huh? Well that has an interesting implication. Am I going to be patching these guys up in the middle of a battle? Not that she was averse or new fighting. She had shot her fair share of thugs on Nar Shaddaa, Coruscant, and points between.

Before she could inquire about the nature of this work the captain spoke loudly into his communicator. "Mercs?" She asked puzzled, to no one in particular. However the two men had already hopped up and were on their way out of the bar. Aliri followed behind a few paces behind the duo. She could only pick up bits a pieces of what they were saying. Something about slaves, carbonite, and Hutts?

Great, even when you leave Nar Shaddaa you can't escape those slugs. She wasn't sure if these Hutts had any connection to those she had previously run into. The Devaronian hoped not as far as she was aware there was still a price on her head, not very large of course but still appealing to a mercenary.

While lamenting her fortune as she exited the bar behind the two, Aliri caught a glint of something out of the corner of her eye. She turned her body to get a better look. Her mind wasn't playing tricks on her, it was in fact a Tusken Raider. This far of Tatooine? She had never heard of a sandperson leaving their planet.

Before Aliri could say anything she realized she was falling behind and had to sprint to catch up.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

When the protagonists of our story raced out of the cantina, hoping to get to their ship in time, Sage tried to intercept them. Alas, by the time he had gotten up, the three were already too far to draw their attention, even if he had fired his gun skywards. The only one giving the least bit of attention to him was the girl, whose drunken gaze rested on him for a few seconds, before she too jumped away. There was no time to lose, this band might have been his only way to get off this rock to find some support. As soon as he figured this out, his instincts kicked in. He would not allow these people to escape so quickly. So, with his visual sensor, he kept his targets highlighted, making it easier to chase them. If it wasn’t for his mechanical body, the space farers would have gotten away, no doubt. Thanks to his iron limbs, however, he could keep up with them without tiring. Using his CPU, he calculated the best way to dodge all bystanders. This might not have worked perfectly, as the Besalisk male carrying some crates soon noticed. He spent the rest of that afternoon explaining to his boss why a Tusken Raider had made him drop his crates. The more he ran, the more he began to figure that this might not be the best of ideas, especially as he registered the firearm held by the captain. Oh, well, what was the worst that could happen? It was not like the Hutts were on their tail…

[Of planets]

Grace had passed the time using her spycraft program to search up the two people she was listening in on. Talon was a bounty hunter who'd made numerous big catches, looked one of the best. Sever was a rare jedi-turned-mandalorian-turned-captain, had some interesting HoloNet articles here and there. Just as she began searching through jedi temple records of his lightsaber prowess, a worried corellian walked in. Even through beskar helmets, Grace could sense the tension rising as kyrris gave his warning. The group set off out of the bar, probably to save their ship but possibly to run for the hills. Grace decided she could play on the crew's desperation for a free or almost free fare. Grace picked up her case and followed quickly after the main group. Noticing someone following the main group, she didn't care, Grace darted from shadow to shadow with stealth and sleight of foot.

[Bearon]

OOC: I'm going to break into the ship unless somebody wants to RP the ship retaliating against the guards. :3

[Mincaldenteans]

"Miss, oh miss-" the floating droid had called out to her in a rather irritating manner. For almost thirty six hours, the floating mechanical robot had done nothing than bother her to no end. She had patiently answered all its inquiries about her passage on board the ship, produced the necessary docs to corroborate it, and even paid the droid's captain a few more credits to shut them all up and leave her be.

"How many times do I need to remind you, droid. It is 'Ms.' not 'Miss,' I grow wary of your incessant bothering. What is it now?" Laren Tes asked heatedly without looking at the annoying thing.

"I'm so terribly sorry to disturb you, Mis---Madam, but I was told to inform you of our arrival. Please, accept my apologies and--"

"Yes, yes," Tes said with a resigned sigh, she waved it off and away from her to which the droid understood, the doors swishing closed behind it and leaving her to her solitude. Of all the downtrodden backwater unsavory planets, she had to track him here. Looking out the window she couldn't help but smile, even if it was the corner of her lips that showed as much. "Still trying your luck, aren't we?" She murmured as she stared out the window with her arms crossed.

She had no real reason to look for him, she could have gone in any million directions. Something compelled her to do so, and it wasn't hard to find him really. One could say it was part of his charm, even if he was a couple years younger, the two of them had different mindsets and often clashed. The make up after it kept them together, but the last time...

Laren closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the window. The last time had been beyond horrible. She didn't know where she was, or who saved her. Because it certainly wasn't him. She awoke in a convent, the matrons and sisters there had taken her in and let her stay without demand of reparations or taking up duties to earn her keep. It was a kindness Laren didn't know if she could ever repay, or come back to despite their reassurance of welcoming her again. It was here, at the Sisters of Salvation that Laren had worked to heal her body and mind. For awhile, Laren had struggled, as she had lost all sense of self before her memories had finally returned. Part of her wished they hadn't, for the emotions that came after that was nothing short of a jumble of rage and sadness. He had abandoned her, had left her, hadn't even avenged her. It fueled the acidic bile in her stomach that made her unable to eat at times.

Finally, after an interminable amount of time at in convalescence, Laren had packed her few belongings that survived the aftermath and left. The Sisters had provided what they could to help her and Laren felt a pang of guilt leaving them with nothing more than a thank you. She took to the stars once more, gathering as much information as she could, working odd jobs that didn't require her to check back in with the companion guild she belonged to, and even had a couple lucky strikes with clients that knew her from their past history. Still, she had felt compelled to find her husband, if only to set things straight. Or bury the hatchet.

Make peace with a part of her that neither of them likely knew were still alive. Until now.

Opening her eyes, the ship had docked and from a far distance she saw his ship. Blundering bucket of bolts that ship was. She grimaced, wondering why in hell he hadn't gotten rid of that thing yet. Shaking her head, she gathered her bags. The droid had returned, chiming her door. Beckoning it in, she threw a few bags its way, to which the automaton was surprisingly quick enough to catch. "You're helping with the bags. Tell your capt' I'll pay for the convenience."

The droid tilted its head and nodded, "Why yes, I will certainly inform my master. Where would you like me to bring your bags to, Ms. Tess?"

"Just follow me, we have a long walk ahead."

"As you wish, madam."

Laren grabbed her purse, checking for her usual personal shield and pistol. Her other weapons, the swords and the bowcaster were packed away in the other bags. She had no use for them now and didn't think she'd need them anytime soon. Dressed in a simple long black dress with slits that reach up to her thigh, she wrapped herself around her shoulders in an ornate designed scarf and moved past the droid, dropping the credit payment on the table.

"Follow," she said simply to the droid, making her way to the other, long end of the dock.

[Ularn]

"Fierfek," Kyrris swore quietly as they rounded the corner onto Hangar Level 13. Two figures flanked the entrance to 13B, their mismatched assortment of body armour and blaster rifles marking them out as mercenaries. Kyrris skidded to a halt behind Marec and his hand instinctively curled towards the grip of his holstered pistol as he wished he had taken the flechette cannon with him rather leaving it on the newly vacant bunk in his quarters. The mercs regarded them with tense unease but gave no reaction as they approached the open doors.
Inside a dozen more mercenaries were milling about in front of the Razor's Edge's sealed loading ramp while two more were working at some exposed wiring where a section of the hull plating had been cut away. The Hutt watched from the rear, standing amid the mercenaries next to the upright black obelisk of the carbonite block. The block was facing the ship; Kyrris could not see the clone from where they stood. The Hutt turned on its slimy tail to face them and grunted forth a sonorous string of syllables in Huttese, whose translation scrolled across Kyrris' augmented vision, "Ah, at last you arrive. Any reason you felt the need to come so heavily armed?" The last part was said while looking at Marec's drawn weapon. The Hutt appeared completely oblivious to the small arsenal being wielded by the Hutt's own bodyguards.
Sever took a step toward the slug. "I believe that's my ship you're vandalising," he observed, coldly.
"Apologies," the Hutt responded dismissively, waving a pudgy hand at the splicer team who stopped their work,"In matters concerning such considerable sums, your absence made us suspicious. We will compensate you for the damage. Now, can we put this unpleasantness to one side and move on to the matter of payment."
"Yes," agreed Sever, who turned to Kyrris, "let's."
Kyrris swallowed and attempted to explain, "I made the bid in error. We don't want to buy your clone."
The Hutt's expression did not change. "Really? That is a problem because my organisation believes you owe us two-point-eight million credits for it."
"We don't have two-point-eight million credits," stated Marec. The captain was becoming visibly tense.
"You could sell it to the next highest bidder," Kyrris suggested.
"They offered two-point-seven," the Hutt pointed out, "And will pay significantly less outside of auction. My organisation expects two-point-eight-million.
"However," he grunted slowly, and with feigned politeness, "we are not unreasonable. My organisation may be prepared to sell the clone to the next bidder but we expect our full payment. If you would be willing to cover the difference, as well as any additional administrative fees, I am certain we can all come to an amicable arrangement. Would, for example, two-hundred-thousand credits be more within your ability to pay?"
No-one replied and the Hutt took the silence as a negative. Kyrris resisted the urge to unholster his blaster; this was not going well.
"Unfortunate," the Hutt sighed, turning back to face the Razor's Edge and slithering behind a wall of mercenaries, "In that case, we will recuperate our losses from your ship."
"Over my dead body," Marec growled.
"How trite. Seize it!"
Kyrris found the blaster in his hand without thinking about it and made to dive back behind the hangar door, forgetting about the merc who had been standing guard there. He barreled into the armoured figure, sending both sprawling as the first round of blaster fire poured forth from the guards inside the hangar.