28/01/05

Characters: Salann, Ezkhil, Kris, Gruhnk, Marcus, Celwua

Meltdown Cafe - Level 92: Nar Shaddaa


Spacers, mercenaries, pirates, bounty hunters, traders, smugglers, black market
dealers, thieves and a large array of both the galaxy's most dangerous and most
wanted fill the smoky confines of Nar Shaddaa's most notorious bar. Stepping
into Meltdown Cafe is like a trip to the heart of the galactic fringe - few
places anywhere can offer more opportunities and peril. Heads turn slowly from
over the tbac covered tables at each newcomer, seasoned pairs of eyes scan
others with the most frigid expertise of those seeking opportunity, hardened
bodies occupy the many booths. By all standards, this place is just the
extension of the Smuggler's Moon, but here it manages to concentrate it all into
one chamber. Lights are dim, covering the edges of the bar in constant shadows,
the buzz of languages is electric, and the music saunters hypnotically between
the walls. Any race can be found here, and some probably never known before. A
shadowy cove dominates the area behind the bartender, likely a backroom where
unspeakable plans are laid. A haze inhabits the air, where the scent of alcohol
competes with the waft of spice, where the clank of money makes the world go
round, and where tables and chairs bear scars of disagreements from the past.

Obvious exits:

· ut leads to Concourse - Level 92: Nar Shaddaa.

At his table, Salann listens to something Ezkhil says, then furrows his brows as
certain names are mentioned. He then gives a slight shake of his head, his
fingers drawing over something along his left wrist. Amidst the susurration of
the crowd, his voice sounds oddly artificial and flat.  A pause. 

A short glance is given to the beings milling past their table, and Ezkhil leans
forward over the water glass between his hands. "No one has to know much about
another to place a bounty on their head," he replies intensely. "It is not a
personal thing. If someone wants something another has or is, and they are
unwilling to give it up in various ways, well..." He purses his lips into a
line, before a humorless smile curls one corner of his mouth. "Then it becomes
an economic issue, doesn't it? Money for forcing another against their will.
Unless, of course, the other has the ability to make it so -costly- that perhaps
they give up."

Salann, a satchel laid over his lap, smiles faintly across his table at Ezkhil's
words. His fingers graze along his left wrist once more, over which lies a
frayed dark keypad. Once again, for those who would notice, a mechanical voice
murmurs forth from the direction of his scarf, his lips unmoving.  He remarks.

"If someone has a deathwish, I can oblige them," is Ezkhil's quiet response, and
he sits back again to take up his water. "It's just Korolov's laziness showing,
that he has to toss credits around instead of confront me himself. Because he'll
lose that confrontation, as the Moff did. It's merely a sign of weakness. But,"
he adds, motioning across the table at Salann with a tip of his glass. "You will
see what they seek to stop before I gets started. It is the same force that will
guide me through the treasure seekers, to build a better order for all."

"I already think it's funny watching him shoot that crap," Kris remarks, still
staring at Marcus. "You're right though, as usual." And, as if to punctuate his
bitterness at that fact, the scruffy human leans forward in his seat, picks up
the tankard of ale and begins draining it even as he's leaning back into a
slouch.

Salann's fingers lift from his keypad to also reach for his somewhat marginally
clean to take a sip of water, closely after Ezkhil.  He resumes typing,
smirking.  He glances briefly
around the room, as if to take note of his surroundings.  He
remarks aloud, or at least nearly as much aloud as one can with a voice not his.
<--that you know of anyone who would be inte--Brzt--rested in hosting a concert
band.>

Ezkhil smirks also, waving his free hand and setting down the water glass.
"Inconsequential. And... no, I'm sorry, my exposure to people and groups lately
has not been so entertaining. You travel with the band then? How may I keep in
touch with you, if you are to help me write my message?"

Salann grins, a contrast to the flatness of his voice as he answers:  He gives Ezkhil brief instructions on how to do
so.  He smirks, though somewhat
good-naturedly.

"Oh, we could meet safely enough," Ezkhil assures the other with a smile.
Assurances, of course, from a man who seems to think he's invincible. "We will
have to, I think, to convey what I would like you to write. Perhaps if you let
me know your band's itinerary, I could know where you would be at a given time?"

Rather than being upset at this gruesome imagery, the pig-faced Gruhnk actually
bursts out into laughter, the entirety of his massive girth shaking at his body
is wracked with deep chuckles, punctuated by the occasional oink or squeal.
Marcus can definitely thank the drugs for the fact that his comments didn't
upset his burly bodyguard, the Gamorrean far too pleased at the moment to find
any offense in the human's words. Rather than reply to the thought of dying from
a bad shot of sweetblossom with words that everyone at the table can understand,
Gruhnk instead degenerates into a series of oinks and squeals, grunting loudly
every so often as if to punctuate a word.

Gruhnk says, "humph unghk etj ubwa weeeeunch kurrr weeeeunch pall broodge ocha
weeeeatch ooeee humph eeek alch humph bash trrg ooeee tar toorg goo" (speaking
in Gamorrean)

Salann glances to one side at the mirthful squeals of some Gamorrean, then nods
towards Ezkhil at his table.  He smiles. 

Marcus shrugs his shoulders with a dismissive wave of his hand, the entire
affair a bit more languid and exaggerated than it should be, due to the
consumption of a few too many shots of liquor, "Not like being right helps us,
here. We've just got to find new employment, and get offworld sooner rather than
later. Because we need the credits, and the anonymity." Dane shifts his already
slouching posture slightly, bending his outstretched leg to a more customary
sitting position before stretching the opposite one out under the table, heavy
booted foot thunking down on the floor where he intends to rest it. The
Gammorrean's jovial outburst is more or less ignored by the drunken human...
Despite the warning insult in his statement, well, there was reassurance too...
And if Pigsy is laughing, Pigsy is probably sticking around for now, "First
thing tomorrow, I start looking for someone who'll hire us on without a ship of
our own. Celwua and I 'll take care of the contract arrangements, and we'll be
back in the money, with space beneath us before the week's out." Mark his words.
It's not optimism, by the set of the man's jaw, but rather, stubborn
determination.

The Izin lifts his eyebrow, looking amused. "Safe? Here? Well, I have a hole in
the wall place you could sweep a corner out in, but it has an occasional problem
with interlopers." He plots out a short path on the table, a map without
drawings to this hidy hole. "Close by, I frequent this bar often, due to the
understanding with management."

But Ezkhil shakes his head slightly, telling the other, "Not now, later. You can
find me there, if I'm there. If you need a guard at the door for sleep, I will
be there shortly and do that."

Salann grins and shrugs, not minding either way. Then with a slight tilt of the
head, he moves as if to leave.

The Izin takes this as he likes, and settles back in thought at his table.

Mmm, smell the seediness. Celwua has travelled at hyperspeed throughout the
universe, and for all the troublesome types starting brawls, for every stoned
down-on-his-luck spacer and despite all the stupidity you can pack into one
room... these places always make her feel at home. Setting foot in the Meltdown
Cafe on this beautifully decadent evening, the blue-skinned Twi'lek pauses to
make a few unnecessary adjustments to her body-warmer, giving the surroundings a
token sweep of her gaze before she lets her hands fall back to her sides and
starts slipping through the crowds. Making only the most lazy efforts to avoid
the crush, she focuses mainly upon the occupied tables. Somehow she avoids any..
conflicts, and it's not long before the haughty female finds the table she
desires, turning upon her heel and popping up behind the noisy Gamorrean a
moment or two later. "You know," she begins, lifting a hand to place a single
slender digit to the back of the pig-man's head, "I'm almost glad I don't have a
price on my head. With the noise you make, it would have been claimed a thousand
times over." A sarcastic smile flickers onto her lips and she looks up to toss
the other two a cursory welcome glance.

"Gruhnk, man, none of us /get/ that pig-latin, okay? Celwua.. don't encourage
him! He needs to start talking some damn sense." Kris sits there, staring at the
pair of aliens for a moment, head shaking slowly from side to side. And then,
finally, the alcohol-induced delayed reactions take off and he glances back at
Marcus, his voice low and as dead as usual, though rising slightly as he makes
his point. "Sure thing, chief. But did it ever even occur to you that we might
not even live to see the end of the week? Think about it, genius. That ship
didn't explode because it /felt/ like it."

Gruhnk's body is so numb from the shot, a warm, tingly sensation spread over his
skin from the very appealing effects of the drug, that he doesn't feel the
finger on the back of his head. He does hear the Twi'lek's words, however, and
lazily glances over his shoulder with a grunt - obviously not too concerned with
what she has to say at the moment. Snorting loudly with his piggish nostrils,
the Gamorrean turns his gaze back to the two humans sitting across from him.
Slowly, he opens his mouth and begins to speak in a language that everyone can
understand, his voice rough and gravelly. "Not my fault.. you stupid 'umans
can't.. understand my language.." His words come out slowly and very relaxed,
the massive bodyguard still leaning back in his chair.. of course, it's only a
matter of time until he lapses back into squeals and grunts.

Gruhnk says, "gragh uhhh weeeeumph enoss weeeeumph goo tar shreik allgh yo-ungh
honra oj brut" (speaking in Gamorrean)

Gruhnk laughs deeply.

"Yea, he's real subtle." Dane answers back to Celwua's 'greeting' with a
sarcastic lilt to his gruff voice, the pilot shifting in his seat for the
apparent purpose of scratching his back rather than getting comfortable. He
reaches for one of the three remaining shots of dark liquid and throws it back
with a sharp motion of head and hand, downing the contents of the small glass
and clunking it back to the table, fingertips lingering on the base of the
shotglass as he slides it back and forth, amending, "But at least he tends to be
able to get himself out of the trouble he starts." And then some. Marcus' eyes
drift back to Kris, the pilot giving a slow sigh, "Yea, like I said. They wanted
us to blow up out in deep space, somewhere." After all, they weren't supposed to
dock nearly this quickly, "So hopefully, they figure it worked according to
plan. But yea, obviously... That's one more reason to hurry up and get the hell
out of here. If you've got a /better/ plan, let's hear it. Not like we've got
the guns or info we need to go up against that smarmy bastard right now,
anyway." Revenge might be nice, but there's a time and a place. A slight kick of
Dane's booted foot sends the table's remaining chair skittering out a few inches
for the newly arrived Twi'lek. Gentleman, ain't he?

"Why not?" Celwua responds to Kris as she removes the intruding fingertip,
throwing the techie a grin that bares her teeth, "He needs to entertain himself
somehow, and there's worse ways." A hint of musing enters her tone with the last
and she glances down at Gruhnk, tipping her head to one side. "Far worse ways. I
for one have no desire to walk in on a naked..." her pale blue hand lifts to her
right shoulder and she gestures vaguely in the air before jerking a thumb down
at the subject of revulsion, her nose wrinkling as she grabs for the only
available word, "/That/." This presentation of Exhibit A only lasts until he
breaks out in fresh babble. When this happens, the lithe Twi'lek turns and
navigates herself around Gruhnk to pick a stance on his left flank, loosely
folding her arms over her chest and glancing between the other two as they
discuss matters. "Is there a problem with the proposition?" She asks with a
small smirk, casting a daring/questioning look at Kris. They've got her
negotiating, where can they go wrong? "Thanks." The next is shot to Marcus over
the sound of a soft slap as she darts a hand down to catch the 'offered' chair.
Twisting it around, she straddles it and folds her arms instead across its back,
leaning forward into the table's airspace with her attention still upon Kris.

Kris shrugs, it's pretty evident that he has /some/ kind of problem, but then,
Kris /always/ has a problem with something, and it's been a rather trying week,
by all accounts. "All I'm saying is that we should tread carefully, yeah? I
mean, you gotta ask yourself why this happened in the first place. 'Cause I sure
as hell have no idea, and..." he trails off, glancing at his empty tankard and
then over at the chubby Gamorrean. "Mine's a Polaris ale, Pigsy." He nods over
at the bar, and then shakes his head at noone in particular. "Just can't get the
help, these days."

"You're right.. there -are- worse ways.. I could entertain myself.. by tearing
off that crap coming out the.. back of your head.. and making you -eat- it." He
may be drugged up and relaxed, but that doesn't mean that Gruhnk is just going
to sit around and take abuse from a -Twi'lek- of all people. His fat neck turns
towards Kris, dull eyes shifting to stare at the human as he motions over
towards the bar. It takes a moment for the pig-faced creature to come to some
conclusion of what Kris is talking about, and when he does he lets out a loud
oink. "Get your own drink.. lazy human. I'm not your -servant-.. I just protect
you when that.. big mouth of yours.. gets you in trouble!"

Gruhnk says, "weeeeunch pall" (speaking in Gamorrean)

Well jeez, some people are just never satisfied, "Well no kidding." Marcus
answers Kris' statement with that same level of no-duh frustration in his voice,
"Best we can do is guess, but hell, /why/ it happened doesn't make any
difference with where we go right now. Sure, it'd be nice to find out, but the
why's don't matter nearly as much as the how's, and the how's give us enough
information that we should be able to at least save our own skin." Another
dismissive shrug... Dane isn't getting nearly as dour and worked up about this
as the other flyboy, but hey, worry would only cloud his head. Alcohol, on the
other hand, helps to clear it! The second-to-last remaining shot is swallowed
down, Marcus rubbing the back of his free hand over his lips afterwards..
dribbled a bit, there. It's to be expected considering the half-dozen or so
other glasses that this empty one joins on the table, "Hey, hey...." Dane offers
towards the argumentative aliens, "Like I just said, now's the time to stick
together, not start bitching at each other." A shake of his head conveys the
faux disappointment clearly enough, though it's belied by the smirk that comes
to his face.

Celwua is tempted to snap back at Kris - after all, this wasn't /her/ fault.
That much is clear enough. It's so very alluring to just blame those in charge
of the technical side, and continue teasing the Gamorrean until he makes good on
his threat. But she's got more sense than to give in to the streak of abandon,
and so with a shrug in reflection of his own, the Twi'lek responds to the techie
in a dismissive tone, "Luck. Very bad, and lots of it. It's either that or some
Great Cosmic Force out to get us." She's sure to phrase the capital letters,
then baring her teeth again in a rather predatory grin. It's the same expression
Celwua then flicks onto Grunkh, slipping one eye shut to regard him with the
other, "Dear, dear piglet mine. I wouldn't let you touch my 'crap' no matter how
frisky I was feeling. Besides, I'm not the submissive type. Understand?" Opening
her left eye she looks over to Marcus, lifting one arm from the back of her
chair to idly adjust her headscarf, setting the flimsy folds across her lekku in
more comfortable fashion. "And the flyboy is right.. again. We can see this
through - I guarantee by tomorrow we'll be feeling two hundred percent better."
A pause, and she produces a wide smirk, sweeping her three partners in crime
with an amused look. "/Without/ stimulants or depressants or any kind, shape, or
form. I give my word."

Ezkhil's thoughful stare breaks as he blinks on dry eyes, then blinks again to
help his eyeballs. Sitting up, the man peers into his glass, noting a thin film
of dust on the surface of his water. Pushing back his chair, he leaves the
tainted water to stand, pulling the right side of his cloak close as he strikes
out through the patrons for the bar and a refill. The loud Gamorrean of before
gets a bare glance, and as he reaches the crowded bar, the Izin lays a hand on
someone in an occupied spot there, and they move aside without a word.

"Oh sure, I'll be feeling a lot better tomorrow," Kris mutters under his breath
as he draws himself slowly to his feet. "Waking up with a killer headache,
breath st... you know, Gruhnk," and then, just like that, he /is/ talking to
Gruhnk. There wasn't even a transition. "I don't know what the hell we pay you
for. You're supposed to be the /physical/ help, man. But look, muggins here is
doing all the physical /work/." He is, as well. He's moving, backwards at first
so he can close the conversation by throwing a deadpan "And you'll all get what
you're given." Which is less than they deserve, by his tone. And then Kris turns
away, so he can see where he's going on the way to the bar.

"You -disgust- me, Twi'lek.. you and all your kind.." grumbles Gruhnk, his
gaping mouth curling up into the closest thing to a scowl that he is capable of,
"I'd rather find myself a good.. -Gamorrean- woman.. yes. A little bit of -meat-
on the bones.. not some.. -scrawny- little.." Trailing back into his own native
tongue, the rest of the bodyguard's words degenerate into piggish oinks. Shaking
his head as if to dismiss the entire topic out of disgust, he shoots Kris a
nasty glance as the human walks back to the bar, not even bothering to respond
to the man. Once he's clear of the table, the Gamorrean turns back towards the
remaining two and grunts loudly. "I don't know.. what -his- problem is.. but
he'd better watch his mouth."

Ezkhil leans a bit over the bar, seeking the tender and tapping the sticky
bartop gingerly, as if testing it's material. When finally the barkeep steps
over, he orders something with a little more punch than his water. The barkeep
gives the near human a look, muttering, "You better not get drunk and mess up my
place." The Izin smiles at that, shaking his head. "Not on one of those, trust
me." Grunting, the tender moves to fill the order, glancing Kris' way as he
spots the incoming potential customer.

The smirk lingers on Marcus' face as Celwua begins talking again, and he nods
agreement, "Luck. Wrong place at the wrong time... Someone mistook us for an
easy mark... Like I said, doesn't make a lick of difference why. And we all know
there's no overriding 'Cosmic Force' dealing with these things, it's just the
nature of sentients to be unpredictable." And shifty. Trusting a cargo run that
seemed too good to be sure was Dane's first mistake, and it's a lesson he
intends to keep in mind. The man's expression widens into a more bemused grin at
the exchange between the Gamorrean and the Twi'lek, and Marcus can't help but
add dryly, "And believe me, we're both grateful that you're both going to spare
us from having to deal with /that/ image for the rest of our lives." Kris and
Marcus would have to gouge out their own eyes, at that point. The pilot's booted
foot bumps lightly against Celwua's under the table, "But how can you /promise/
that, hmm? Going to see to it personally?" A bit of lighthearted disbelief
etched in with the suggestive tones, before Gruhnk draws his attention back.
Kris' continued bitching is more or less passed over at this point, but the big
bodyguard's comment, well... "We're all on our last nerve, Gruhnk. Just remember
who's side your on."

Kris doesn't have to wait long for an opening at the bar, slipping into the one
that appears without appearing too obtrusive. He rests his hands on the bar,
leaning forward slightly while he waits for a little service. I mean really, is
that too much to ask? The scruffy human purses his lips in agitation.

The tender takes his time, finally getting to Kris and asking him mutely for his
order, in the form of a smirking, sour expression.

So much for her word! Celwua tilts her head in a gesture that roughly describes
a bow, honouring Kris with both this and a repeat rendition of her smirk.
"Proving my point." She mutters to herself, switching flawlessly into the mother
tongue of her race. Perhaps a little mockery of the Gamorrean is underway, as
evidenced also by the sidelong gaze she sends toward their tubby friend. As for
his desire for 'meat', the lithe Twi'lek is all set to respond when Marcus goes
ahead and improvises some well-chosen wording of his own. Shaking her head
lightly, she flashes a brief grin for Grunkh's benefit then turns her attention
to Marcus one perfect instant after the suggestive bumping. Those are some good
reflexes. Studying the starfighter pilot for a few moments, the expression in
her dark eyes too deep to really comprehend, she finally gives a slow nod and
looks away to stare at the tabletop before her. (speaking in Ryl)

"I do not give my word lightly, Marcus Dane." And that, apparently, is that.

"Gimme another Polaris ale," Kris begins his order, eyes (barely) focussing
beyond the bartender so he can squint at the menu as he speaks. "Uh,
Wookie-Wango for the Twi'lek, I bet she'd love that. Hussy." He pauses, clicking
his tongue, and then lets out a long breath as he expels the rest of his order
in rapid succession. "Another Polaris, and a glass of milk, the origins of which
don't concern me, for the pig. He's clearly had enough."

"I'm not forgetting.." grunts the Gamorrean, "But I think -he- needs to be
reminded.. you guys keep me around for protection.. I -stick- around for money..
or -other- things. I'm no one's slave!" The last words are spoken in a proud,
boastful tone of voice, Gruhnk smacking his chest loudly with a closed fist and
grunting again. After this comment, the pig seems to calm down considerably
again, relaxing back in his chair and glancing between Marcus and Celwua with
dull, glazed-over eyes that seem to portray a very chemically-induced
peacefulness. "I leave the thinking up to you two.. just work something out
soon.. get us another job.. and there'll be no problem."

Ezkhil eyes the odd drink brought to him at his own order, as he listens idly to
the order being places a little ways from him. "That's the first time I've heard
someone order a round for their enemies," he remarks to Kris, picking up his own
glass to check it in the light. Perhaps he's looking for debris.

"Like I said..." Is it just him, or is that his most oft-repeated line this
conversation? Marcus sighs slowly, steadying his own mood once more, and
continues, "We're all on our last nerve. Nobody's feeling all that great, and
hey, you didn't just lose your ship and a big chunk of livelihood. You'll be
fine once we find a new job, and we /will/... Celwua /and/ myself have already
made it real clear that that's the priority.. So cut Kris some slack. Sure he's
acting like a Hutt-size pain, but at least he's got his reasons." Marcus tips
back in his chair slightly, rocking on the back legs. At least he's managing to
keep his head about him, mostly. Though the merits of trying to reason with a
Gamorrean may be few and far between, somebody's got to try to settle this down,
or one of them isn't going to /make it/ to morning. The pilot's alert green eyes
drift to locate his partner in crime at the bar, and after that passing
inventory, Dane looks to the Twi'lek, his face shifting from stern back to
casually amused, "I'll hold you to it, then."

Kris glances over at Ezkhil as he waits for the bartender to get his order,
inclining his head a little. He hesitates before speaking, looking back to the
bartender as if mentally willing him to hurry up. "Oh, you mean - Yeah, well,
I'm nice like that. Not that anyone appreciates it, like." He's wearing his most
put-upon expression, which is handy because it goes some small way to masking
his nervousness.

The strange man seems to take this answer seriously, leaning that way, to regard
Kris with interest. "Is it a tradition from where you come from?" he asks,
intrigued. "I have heard of this... a lulling with drink before the killing
blow, or some similar action. Perhaps something put into the drink?" It looks
like the man is getting ideas of his own, as though this odd tactic had not
occured to him before.

Celwua's gaze remains on the table while the Gamorrean says his piece about
freedom and social rights. She's almost /too/ still, and any suspicions will be
made accurate once the brute's fist comes down upon his chest and the female's
shoulders begin to shake as she holds back laughter. She remains that way for
the time it takes Marcus' stern words to arrive, then looking up with a soft
clearing of her throat. "Ahem. Yes, Gruhnk, you're... absolutely right." Well,
she doesn't disagree really, but the whole civil rights speech coming from a
being whose brain was mulch by the very fact of his breeding is.. just a little
amusing. More than a little. "And you can trust to this promise. We won't be
left jobless, we won't be left without credits. /Or/ a ship though..." she casts
a slightly apologetic gaze to Marcus. It's only a slight twinge, but it's there
- she isn't a bad person, just believes shee's a bit too much of a good one.
"That one might take a little longer. I mean it, though. If I say I can get us
out of this rut then we'll be out of it." Grin. "Out of the rut and into
hyperspeed." Not that said hyperdrive will necessarily be theirs just yet...

"Yeah, man, I mean... uh..." Kris swallows, regaining a little composure by
throwing a shrug Ezkhil's way. "I mean, it's frowned upon, they execute you if
they figure it out, but I've never been caught." The human pauses at that,
chances a quick glance over his shoulder to see if his shipmates are actually
still there, and then, emboldened, continues. He even leans in a little in a
conspiratorial manner. "Not that those guys over there have anything to worry
about... not unless they /really/ mess with me. I only do that stuff to people
who /really/ mess with me. I'm pretty dangerous when people mess with me."

Celwua's laughters gets her a rather nasty look from the Gamorrean bodyguard,
the piggish creature grunting in lieu of actual words. The presence of the
Twi'lek is annoying, to say the least, and Gruhnk can already feel himself
itching to take another shot, visibly shifting in his seat and eyeing the used
needle laying on the table in front of him. Shaking his head, he shifts his
focus to Marcus in an effort to block out the urge, staring at him for a moment
before beginning to speak. "Hah! Reason? Weak 'umans, you think what happened is
so bad.. it's a surprise you've got this far in life with such.. hmm.. fragile
emotions. Kris is acting like.. like.. a -female-.. whining.. complaining.. he
needs to toughen up!"

Kris' statements seem to impress Ezkhil, and he gives the other an appreciative
look and nod. "I would not expect less from a man who spends credits on drinks
for the doomed," he agrees, then glances where Kris does, picking out the likely
group. "Then they live still because they're valuable to you in some way?" he
asks, his tone questioning this guess as he studies the rest of the gang.
"Otherwise why not..." He makes a swooping gesture with one finger which is far
from miming a blaster, but suggests perhaps slicing or maybe orchestration.

Marcus nods his head slowly towards the Twi'lek, his grin fading a bit though
the good humour seems apt to persist, "I know I can count on it, because I'm
going to help see to it, too." Hey, she's not the only one who gets to be sure
of herself, though the statement isn't /pure/ arrogance... He's already made it
clear that he's confident of their abilities to work as a team, and succeed,
"First thing tomorrow, you and I find someone with a ship, a juicy contract, and
we make sure they decide to give both to us." He shoots a wink at Celwua and
rocks several slow motions in his seat, eyeing that last shot on the table. He
doesn't pick it up just yet, however, though the glance he throws to Kris' back
suggests he's just waiting for the other human to get back to the table. Dane
chuckles lightly at Gruhnk's words, seeming unphased, "Hey, I'm not the one
making a big deal of it, and I've basically been telling him to chill since we
got here." The pilot's broad shoulders give a singular shrug, making it clear
that Kris' lack of optimism is hardly his fault, "Everything will clear up once
we're back in space." He cements the prediction with a nod, and another gentle
boot of the Twi'lek, "Quit stealing my lines." He did give almost exactly the
same assurances just before she got here, after all.

From afar (to Celwua, Kris, and Gruhnk), Marcus warns, he's tired. z.z

Kris swallows audibly, glancing back at the bartender, though his expression
remains as deadpan as always. "Um... well, you know... I mean, the thought
crossed my mind? But, yeah, I do kinda need them. I mean, I'm a starship pilot
when I'm not, you know, poisoning people. Best damn pilot this side of the
galaxy, in fact. But I still need a crew, you know?" Kris breathes out his
relief as the bartender places a tray - complete with order - on the bar. That's
the boy's get out of jail card, right there. "In fact, you ever need any work
doing, you could do a lot worse." He winks at Ezkhil, then, and after picking up
the tray, backs away while trying to look like he'd not rather be hiding under a
blanket. "Anyway, I'd er, best get them these drinks... you know..." he lowers
his voice again, his departure making him more confident for a brief moment.
"Keep 'em drugged up."

Blissfully unaware of the deadly assassin who has infiltrated their midst,
Celwua's attention remains in the opposite direction from the bar. She nods
along a few times with Marcus' speech, watching him without apology or any other
specific emotion in turn for the confident good humour he displays. The wink she
does deign to aknowledge, lifting her hands from her elbows with fingers splayed
in a gesture that responds to his confidence in kind, the smile on her dark blue
lips accentuating it. "It's a deal then. I'm glad we're in agreement, Marcus
Dane. Though hopefully if things take a... more secluded turn for the worst, you
won't need to get involved." Make of that what you will, flyboy. Though the
darkly humorous twinkle in her eye - not suppressed at all - reveals enough
about the nature of the comment. Pausing only to watch this sink in, she shifts
her attentions to Gruhnk. The bar gets not a glance or a thought - whatever
concoction she has coming will be either enjoyed or not, but it's of no weighty
consequence. What the Gamorrean says... is. Her expression freezes and her
posture tenses somewhat, the slight twitching of her back-draped lekku betraying
even more than this that his comment isn't overly welcomed. She relaxes herself
with some effort before responding with a tight smirk, "Some females are a
little different, and quite capable of looking after themselves. You'd do well
to remember that should you ever find your desired 'meat'..."

Gruhnk leans back, angling his head to look up at the ceiling as he bursts out
in a bout of rather uproarious laughter, punctuated by the occasional piggish
squeal as his stocky body shakes with mirth. It lasts for a few moments, before
dying down into a deep, rumbling chuckle, shifting his black eyes to stare
straight at Celwua. "Whatever you say! Only hardy Gamorrean women are different!
The rest of you.. moody.. weak.. you need strong men to protect you!" Pounding
his chest again in a display of masculine pride, the Gamorrean shifts forward in
his chair, turning back to face Marcus. "Yes.. you good.. for a human."

That's Kris, elite and dangerous assassin and silent creeping death incarnate...
Or maybe not. It definitely doesn't look like Marcus is overly unnerved or
paranoid about his longtime friend's presence in their little group, but hey,
maybe it's the drugs. Speaking of which, the alcohol does extend the whole
'sinking in' process as Dane considers the Twi'lek's comment, and subequent
eye-sparkle, a bit blankly for a moment, before a rather knowing grin creeps its
way across his face and he nods assent to her take on things, "One way or
another, we'll get things back where they need to be." He agrees, steadily
confident. He finally gets tired of sitting on that shot, however, and the dark,
strong-tasting liquid is raised to his lips, the shotglass drained, the pilot
giving a long and satisfied sigh as he punctuates the quick drinking binge, an
easy smile on his face. He mostly just leaves Gruhnk and Celwua to their
argument, well aware that you can't debate anything with a Gamorrean, but he
does interject, "That's why she's with us, Gruhnk." A wink tossed aside to
Celwua, Dane's expression making it clear that he's kidding... Or at least,
half-kidding, "Now quit hassling her about it before she changes her mind on
helping us talk our way into more credits."

Ezkhil nods, watching Kris move off with the drinks. He hesitates, swirling his
drink, before trying what he's ordered. After the initial wince, the Izin goes
back to thoughtfully watching Kris' group he apparently holds in thrall with
drugs and drink.

Celwua's response to Gruhnk is but a few slow nods, her gaze dwindling on him as
the smirk remains firmly in place and her expression remains otherwise in
controlled neutrality. "If that belief allows you to sleep at night, piglet,
then who would I be to expose its falsehood?" Her answers comes in a quiet tone
with a nicely sharpened edge placed upon it. It's doubtful in the extreme that
the Twi'lek female would ever make violent moves toward the greenskinned
enforcer, or even truly mean the intensity in her words. Though she'll make no
secret of the poor communication between them - isn't honesty the best policy,
after all? Then Marcus offers an entirely different idea, and Celwua arches a
brow as she glances toward him. Slowly she begins to look more amused than
verge-of-anger, and with a nod of her head she glances away, smiling. "Or
perhaps I'm fooling myself. It was me who joined an all-male group, was it not?
Clearly I need your manliness beside me." The glance has been aimed at the
returning Kris, the words.. mostly aimed toward Gruhnk, though it's for the
benefit of the whole team. As are her final words, "Shall we make the peace with
some drinks?"

Chuckling at Marcus' comments, Gruhnk nevertheless nods in agreement - whether
he likes the Twi'lek or not, he can't argue that she's been quite helpful in
past.. negotiations. "You're right, human.. the female is useful," he says,
talking about Celwua as though she weren't sitting right next to them, "After
all.. I doubt we'd have many living employers if we negotiated things -my-
way.." As Kris returns to the table with the drinks, the Gamorrean pays him no
heed, instead turning his attention back to Celwua. "I don't blame you, woman..
hah hah.. why do you think these two keep me around? -Strong- man needed for
when things get rough!" He nods at the making peace comment, but makes no motion
to grab the milk sitting in front of him - instead, his eyes drift back to the
needle sitting beside it.

    Source: geocities.com/terrybgoode/logs/celwua