29/01/05
Characters: Celwua, Marcus, Korsook
Korsook
Yes, it is male Quarren, in his early 40's. Pale, almost alabaster, leathery
skin covers the four tentacles that come down from around where the usual
humanoid mouth would be, and this alien's jaws - a short beak-like set on it's
side, or perhaps they are small tusks. His diamond shaped "hammer head" points
back and away from his face, that along with the tentacles and jaws makes this
alien look like a humanoid body was surgically attached to the bottom of a squid
with a pair of what would be backward facing turquoise eyes with pinhole sized
black irises. Light wrinkles mark the corners of his eyes, a sign of age. On the
parts of the diamond shape that extend outward like ears, gills can clearly be
seen, with little round nobles that look like they could be "ears" bellow on the
neck. Furthermore it's hands have only two fingers and a thumb, each of which is
tipped with a suction cup/web type structure. Should there be any doubt that
this creature came from the sea, a hint of a fishy or brine smell always seems
to be present around him - it simply can't be totally washed away.
He is wearing a full length white cotton cossack with a mandarin collar. The
thread count is so fine that material begins to approximate silk, and has a
certain sheen to it. Black silk covered buttons run from the collar to his
ankles down the front, and black piping is used as a trim. A black silk sash,
gathers the garment about the waist.
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:
ยท ut leads to Concourse - Level 92: Nar Shaddaa.
In the 'back room' of this wonderfully down-and-dirty establishment, just aside
from the prying eyes of the vagabonds and cutthroats who call the Meltdown their
home from home, a graceful Twi'lek female sits with her dark eyes scanning the
brighter area of the bar. Seated upon a bench along the rear wall, Celwua
slouches with her booted right foot nestled against a chair at the edge of the
table before her. Today's an important day - she has a promise to keep to her
smuggler companions. Mixed as her relationships with their number may be, this
is something she takes none too lightly; her gaze is keen, deep and determined.
Her mind is focused. Quite a strange turn of events, to be turning toward such
a... legitimate route. But perhaps this isn't as it first seems. Only time and
discussion will tell, though despite the apparent safety in this meeting the
Twi'lek finds herself - not for the first time - regretting her decision to
travel unarmed.
"This had better pay off, Marcus Dane," Celwua comments to the man seated with
her in the alcove, casting her gaze briefly toward him and offering a smile void
of warmth. The dextrous digits of her left hand drum at the table lightly, her
right toying with a beaker of pale liquid that sits full, untouched. "How much
do we know, anyway?" Turning back to surveillance of the Meltdown in all its
glory, she lets her low-pitched questioning tail off and swallows, narrowing her
eyes a little as some realisation sinks in... "He's late."
After the rigors of their recent 'contracts', something with a mildly legitimate
tendency might be a welcome respite. If the credits and opportunities are right,
and all.... "Not enough." Marcus admits, though he lacks the Twi'lek's dour
outlook, simply matter of fact and even a wee bit flippant in tone, "But the
company he represents is a big name, and there's nothing out of place at first
glance." The pilot gives a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, relaxing a bit
into his seat and drinking from the mug of ale before him, clearly not quite as
uptight about the entire affair. What happens, happens, "He'll be here, the
day's young..." Dane offers up hopefully, amending, "And there's no shortage of
people looking to hire a starship crew on Nar Shaddaa."
"hutt mejo mejo molga boko molga bau cro boko treff hoja cotta anar ra vo"
Korsook says as he slips the bartender a semi-generous gratuity in advance -
enough to identify him as someone who has means and isn't cheap, yet not so much
as to scream easy mark. The bartender pauses to inspect the currency, and after
deciding it is indeed valid points toward the door to the back and sort of
grunts. Korsook nods, and begins working his way back. (speaking in Huttese)
Celwua's no stranger to 'legitimate' business. The Twi'lek has dealt as a
diplomatic runner between a big purchaser and a Verpine-run manufacturing yard,
but she was none too keen on the pay when factored in with the level of
excitement on offer. Seediness and the hum of illegal activity make her feel
alive, tell her she's breaking away further from her oh-so-dull roots on Ryloth.
Still. She'll concede the rogue starfighter pilot has a point, and so with a wry
half-grin twisting her lips she gives a slow nod, "I suppose the mystery's
welcome - at least I can kid myself about a little fun. My sincerest hopes that
we're not becoming corporate pawns..." Arching a brow she gives a short snort of
laughter. How much of this pessimistic chatter she actually means is open to
debate, but it seems to be keeping her cynical confidence up. Twirling her drink
one more time she then pauses and tips her head just lightly to one side,
dropping her tone and speaking from the edge of her mouth, "The Quarren?" It's a
simple enough question, provided Marcus has spotted the approaching being.
Straightening up, the lithe female adds in a more normal tone, "And that's the
whole point - without a ship, that's all we are. A crew. A gang of space bums."
All the while she keeps her gaze upon Korsook, scanning his progress toward
them...
Pushing his untouched water away, Ezkhil stands up, flicking his cloak back out
of his way as he moves for the door out, a frown fixed on his face.
Over top a deep blue cloak is worn. It hangs forward over the shoulders encasing
the Quarren like shell.
Sure, it lacks the pizazz of riding fire with a cargo you're really not supposed
to have, but hey... It's not like there's any lack of intrigue and risk with the
current state of the galaxy, regardless of one's employer. Dane answers Celwua's
comments first with a smirk, and a shake of his head. Another gulp of ale
precedes his response, "You should know me better than that, by now." He snorts
lightly, with faux derision, "Pawn indeed." The mug is thunked down to the table
with a relaxed motion, and the spacer's eyes drift to the approaching Quarren as
well, a slight nod his affirmation of the guess, "Looks promising." He replies
vocally, after that momentary assessment. Quarren, check.... And Korsook
certainly looks like he could be a promising corporate muck-a-muck. Just the
sort of fellow who can afford a down on their luck crew, "But we're /talented/
bums." He murmurs, tossing a grin aside to the Twi'lek. Just how serious he is,
it's hard to say... But he's obviously confident about their future.
Korsook moves as if he belongs in the bar, even if he doesn't look like it.
Casually he slips through the door and into the back room . . .
"Please accept my apologies for being a little late," Korsook says, expecting
there to be someone, but forming the words before he has the chance to identify
them. "This place is a maze."
Are any of them the type to allow themselves to become pawns? Celwua wouldn't
have fallen in with this group if any of their individual personalities were
weak and unassuming - each of them has their own way, their own manner, and
believes it to be the right one. And, of course, their own talents. "Naturally."
Comes the arrogantly phrased reply to Marcus, the Twi'lek glancing sidelong with
a matter-of-fact smirk. She's not short of talent herself, and she knows it.
"Though not /quite/ the way I'd describe myself..." Only half-joking with that,
though her expression provides the more agreeable half. She's already looking
away after that, to again focus upon the approaching Quarren as he steps into
their little bolthole. Surprising to see one so well-groomed in such a place as
this, but indeed his movements do make him blend, see that he has a place among
the scum on offer. The talented scum, particularly.
Celwua raises her beaker from the table as Korsook speaks, toasting him with a
slow nod of her head, her expression setting near-instantly to one of only
little friendliness, and a serious edge that is almost palpable. "Not at all.
You're just on time..." a comment reinforced by the untouched nature of her
beverage, wouldn't you say? "I presume you are our contact, Mr...?" Cue the
arching of a brow inquisitively as the suddenly very gracious female lowers her
beaker and takes a slow sip, watching Korsook over the rim.
"If the shoe fits..." Marcus fires back, calmly lighthearted in the soft jibe.
His posture shifts slightly as Korsook makes himself known, sitting up a bit
more fully in his chair, though the human isn't nearly as good at making it look
like he hasn't been waiting as Celwua manages to be, "A crowded maze, at that."
Dane does agree, rich baritone showing no trace of agitation, regardless of the
truth of Korsook's arrival, and he gestures to the seats across the table, "Have
a seat..." He offers smoothly, with a glance towards the Twi'lek. He's pretty
sure this is the guy they're here to meet, after all.
And in cue with Marcus' offer, there's a light scrape as Celwua 'idly' relocates
her foot... freeing the chair for use.
"Korsook," the Quarren replies as he settles into the seat. His posture remains
straight and square as he sits down, what could have just been confidence when
walking, is obviously a habit created by years in a military. "just the one
name. Never bothered to take a second, seemed artificial. And yourselves?"
Adjusting her posture to account for the lowered foot, and setting her drink
back to the tabletop after taking the desired refreshment, Celwua graces Korsook
with a smile keyed for just the right level of warmth. Not quite friendly, but
certainly welcoming. Those dark brown eyes of hers remain relatively unreadable,
though she sits openly enough to describe the lack of threat - this is, after
all, a legitimate meeting and one she comes to with the best of intentions. "Asa
Celwua Ortona." She replies with a glance past the regal Quarren.. clearly this
is a name she feels a little uncomfortable divulging in full. It's also the
first time her companion will have heard it. "But," she looks back with a
tipping of her head to one side, lekku shifting a little where they lie against
her breasts, "I use the one also - you may call me Celwua."
"Marcus Dane." The pilot offers up readily enough, not having any of the same
hang-ups about his name as his companion, even if it's become a slightly more
dangerous identifier in recent days... If Korsook's with the people who are out
to 'get' them, well... It's too late now, right? "But you already knew that." He
offers with a relaxed smile, "Either or works for me." He's not picky. Though
he's not going to encourage the Quarren to use the full name the way Celwua
seems to enjoy. She may be the de facto negotiator, but nothing's stopping Dane
from getting this ball rolling, "You're looking for a capable starship crew?" He
inquires, mostly as a rhetorical business-conversation starter. He's not big on
extraneous pleasantries, especially not now.
"Yes, yes I am," Korsook replies, his turquoise flicking between the pair. "I've
just taken over the helm at Merr-Sonn, and will be taking things in a very
different direction than the former CEO. Specifically, I'm looking to bolster
the military services subdivision by starting a courier group. This could
include transporting passengers and valuable cargo while under fire by pirates,
and possibly even local military units. It might also, from time to time,
involve something that we'd wish to remain more - more anonymous. As for
hardware, Merr-Sonn would provide a refit Imperial "Guardian" class light
cruiser as well as personal weapons. The weapons would be charged to an internal
account which the company will pay off over a period of two months. Aside from
that a weekly salary for the crew of approximately 1500 credits, with some room
to make allowances for pay raises or cuts depending on responsibility."
...straight to the point. Negotiator she may be, but Celwua simply gazes levelly
at Korsook as he speaks, fighting back the slight smile that threatens on her
dark blue lips. It certainly /sounds/ like there's there possibility of
excitement, though just who are these local militaries? A glance is shot toward
Marcus halfway through, the slight twitching of one of her racial tentacles a
slight sign of the Twi'lek's approval - and, perhaps, excitement at the
possibilities presenting themselves. Looking back to Korsook as he finishes, a
slow nod is presented along with a second raising of that beaker, Celwua taking
a slow sip in much the same vein as the last. Not setting it down this time, she
hovers it above the table, swirling the contents gently. "This certainly
sounds.. interesting, Mr. Korsook. A Guardian? That's a formidable ship for a
group such as ours. There seems to be little in the way of.. negotiating.. to be
done, either." A smile forms, turning up one side of her mouth. "Now if you
don't mind me asking, how does such a fine deal benefit your organisation? My
associates and I need to know just what we'll be putting ourselves in for. You
say there will be military entanglements along with the usual encounters?
Details, if you please..." Tailing off she reaffirms the smile and leans back,
considering the squidlike being's face carefully.
Well. Marcus lifts his eyebrows a moment and leans back in his seat, running all
that over in his head. It's helpful that the Twi'lek decides to launch into it,
because he's going to take a minute to assimilate this. It's.. A better deal
than he had expected, with enough caveats to sound roughly sensible. A nod is
paid to Celwua's questions, affirming Marcus' desire to hear those same answers.
For the most part, she covers the topics of concern admirably, though Dane does
have to add, "I'll be perfectly frank, that's one hell of a deal..." There's a
'but' hiding in there, despite his bluntness, "And also plenty of potential for
risk. Once we've cleared up the issues of information... And I'll add to that
that I do want to be kept apprised of what we're walking into, here, case by
case if it's likely to get hairy... I'd say you've shored up one more aspect to
your business, Korsook." Marcus lifts his glass at that.. Truth be told, unless
the Quarren's response is outlandishly insane, Dane doesn't really care /who/
he's going up against right now. It's better than the alternative, that, and....
"It sounds like we'll have plenty of opportunity to enhance your business, and
diversify our own down the road." Never let it be said that the pilot is without
his own ambitions, even if he's more direct than the Twi'lek.
"Well, traditionally we in the Corporate Sector have, well we have a tense
relationship with some more radical groups - for example the Griffons, where
their governments as a whole, in this case the New Republic, tends to be more or
less neutral. There also may be an Imperial faction that poses a similar
problem, I'm not entirely sure as of yet." Korsook replies. "While Merr-Sonn
will continue to strive to do business with everyone, and to be especially
careful of offending the Empire, the extremes at either end of the political
spectrum tend to find the motive of profit offensive. Some will no doubt have
smaller military units, like the Griffons. As for Merr-Sonn, your skills and
acceptance will allow it to expand further into the lucrative field of military
service subcontracting. Unfortunately the former CEO left me far too poorly
informed to say much more - but I can promise you I will keep you informed."
With that finished his comlink begins vibrating. It's time to move on. "Can I
assume you and your crew will meet me in the near future on Etti IV?"
"I think," Celwua responds, speaking slowly and carefully, her attention riveted
to the regal Quarren. She assumes she speaks for them all now, the smile still
tugging at her lips, "That's a safe assumption to make. You have yourself a
rather talented group, Mr. Korsook..." How could she refuse? They'll make travel
arrangements as soon as possible, and finish this promising deal... this could
be the break she needs to finally /be/ somebody.
"Excellent, we're based out of the Merr-Sonn tower - a skyrise in the Government
and Embassy section of the Capital, you can't miss it," Korsook replies. "I let
my people know to expect you." With that he rises and leaves - it's not the best
way to do business, he'd perfer slow and comfortable, but fast, down and dirty
will do.
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