[Novgorod] Grognar's Last Chance Shop & Gulp

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Space was sometimes a lonely place. Light years of bleak nothing punctuated by flashes of war, supernovas, and solar flares. When one had the time to think about such things, they had the faintest comprehension at how big the galaxy was. When you were a sector away from a habitable world in all directions, that feeling of enormity only grew. It also made logistics an issue. Do you have enough fuel and supplies to not die in a floating derelict in absolute zero? Hopefully. War also made this problematic. Not all ports are friendly ports. For ships of the Alliance, the number of safe harbors is very few. You find the ones you can, or you find the ones that take all comers.

"Well...that's cerrtajinly a space statjion."

More or less. What lay before the Novgorod was a sprawling, slap-dash cobblework of airtight structures that hung motionless in the ether. Some bits were new. Some had a patina of rust that had somehow managed to etch themselves on in a past life whenever the superstructure was in an atmosphere that allowed for oxidation. All over the big ugly hulk, pin-pricks of light could be seen from windows, so the thing had power. If you didn't get that clue from the windows, the hundred or so neon signs blinking around the damn thing made sure of it. One in particular, which hung separate in the reaches of space a few kilometers away, announced where you were.

"Grrognarr's Last Chance Shop & Gulp, huh?"

Captain Raurrssatta flashed an uneasy grimace at the thought. His ship needed fuel. They were a ridiculous leap away from official Alliance support, and since it was their business to fly sorties, a lot of their upkeep had to be done on the fly. That included fine establishments like these.

Of course, the crew would relish the notion, even if it was a chance to stretch their legs for a few hours on a piece of shit like this. Getting off the ship was an imperative that was unavoidable at times.

"Malljin, get us clearrance to dock, jI guess. Make arrangements to rrefuel."

Cirr tapped his comm, patching him in to the rest of the ship.

"All hands, thjis jis the Captajin. We'rre puttjing jin to dock. Grrantjing a two hourr furrlough to all crrew."

He paused, and added.

"Don't get jinto too much trrouble. Raurrssatta out."

[Muridaemus-musculus]

Murray's ears pricked up, instantly.

He had no idea what a furrlough was, but it had the word fur in it, and in his experience such things couldn't possibly be bad. His mind contemplated the possible options - was this perhaps a Cizerack tradition; some sort of banquet or other festivities to celebrate the docking process?

Murray's extensive studies of galactic culture had sadly been limited somewhat by the data made available to him back home: plenty of holomovies set in the Tapani Sector, where honour and chivalry and sword prowess were still regarded as traits of high prestige indeed; but alas, very little about the curious traditions of the Cizerack, or indeed any other social or racial group that was not both human and well-spoken.

Of course, the Captain's request that they evade trouble was puzzling indeed. In hindsight he considered it strange that any sort of festivities would posess such a specific time limit; perhaps Cizerack tradition dictated as much so that the residents of whatever station or other spaceborne structure they had docked aboard would not be too adversely affected by being drawn into the festivities and neglecting their other duties?

Or perhaps something else was at work here. Perhaps this furrlough was not a pleasant festival, but rather an extensive spar between crewmates to help vent the frustrations that had collected over a long voyage. He had seen a holobroadcast once where such a thing had occurred: the humans had attached large red paws to their hands, and had proceeded to beat upon those with whom they had grievances. At one point however, a human who he believed was male had ended up embracing a human who Murray believed was female.

At the time, he had wondered if perhaps the entire process of physical combat was in some way a strange human marriage ritual. But that was preposterous: what kind of marriage proposal did not involve the presentation of assorted berries and appropriate bedding materials?

Contemplation furrowed the Squib's furred brow. Whatever this furrlough was, it presented a mystery that required solving. A mystery that only someone with his wits and swashbuckling prowess could possibly resolve.

Scampering from his bunk, Murray rummaged through his storage chest, searching for his most prized posession. He found it: a laser-sharpened micro-foil that had been forged by his own hand; an ellegant weapon from a more civilized age. Feeling as if, for the first time in weeks he was fully clothed again, he slid the weapon into it's destined place on his belt, and placed his finest feather-plumed hat atop his head.

Satisfied that he looked every inch the mystery-solving hero he aspired to be, Muridaemus-musculus burst from his quarters, with every intent of taking this furrlough entirely by surprise.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

On his way to his own quarters to change into civilian gear, Cirr spotted a blur of movement across the deck, at about ankle-height.

"What the?"

A Cizerack's first instinct when encountering something of that sort is wholly unpleasant for whatever small thing is the recipient of such attention. It wouldn't be the first time he'd "handled" a pest problem on his frigate, though such occurrances were rare now that Lyanie was aboard (explaining that one would be difficult no matter what).

Murray would be lucky that Cirr simply swooped him off his feet and held him at eye level.

"Oh, jit's uh, Rregan's frrjiend, uh..."

Awkward. He felt like he was chatting up an appetizer.

"...be carreful on the deck, okay?"

[Muridaemus-musculus]

"Unhand me, foul -"

Standing at a mighty three-foot-seven, Murray towered above many of his own species; but the unfortunate problem with human giants and their similarly scaled non-human companions was that most species looked remarkably similar from the crotch downwards. Especially if they were all dressed the same, as was the norm aboard a military vessel such as this.

As such then, Murray could obviously be forgiven for not instantly recognising his Commanding Officer. Perhaps it would be wise if Alliance uniforms were modified to display rank insignia on the trousers as well, he idly mused, and made a mental note to suggest exactly that the next time he found himself in the presence of anyone who could actually bring such a thing to pass.

That didn't lessen the embarassment of course, but at least he had realised before he'd drawn his blade and stabbed the vile brigand repeatedly in the eyes. Being hoisted aloft was a humiliation and a dishonour, and had anyone else been responsible for his current undignified circumstances he would have slain them in their boots.

"Captain, my Captain!" he exclaimed, wriggling free of Cirrsseeto's grip and landing on the deck with an audable thud.

He offered the Cizerack his humblest bow. "My apologies for -"

He found himself at a loss, and so settled on the most generic apology he could think of. "- whatever offence I may have caused."

[Serasai Onashi]

"What have you got there?" a voice said from behind the two. Onashi exited the turbolift and walked up, smoothing out his jacket with a lazy hand. "Don't tell me we have a pest problem."

He squinted curiously at the little squib in the Captain's hand and comprehension dawned.

"Ah, it's not a pest. It's food, isn't it? I didn't think you went for snacking in front of all the troops. It's good to see you still mingling with the common man, Captain."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"We don't rreally uh..."

Embarassed and a little offended by the mild racism, Cirr coughed, smoothing out Murray's ruffled fur.

"...do that."

Well depending on which parts of the cluster you go to... nevertheless, Cirrsseeto was in no mood to linger, and walked with the two members of his crew toward the umbilical that lead off the ship.

"jI don't suppose jI have to guess wherre you'rre headed, Onashji?"

[Serasai Onashi]

"I'm going to see if they sell a particular kind of smoking leaf here, or perhaps a synthesized strain if they don't have anything natural," Onashi replied. "And then I will head to a bar or other similar establishment, drink until I am intoxicated, and will then likely make some choices regarding sexual encounters that I will either like or dislike immensely whenever I wake up."

He smirked lazily.

"If that was your supposition, then you'd be right, Captain."

[MARCUS]

Walking down the corridor and also preparing to leave the ship, MARCUS pondered Onashi's bizarre intentions.

"All three of your intended tasks carry significant risk of causing bodily damage. Why is this your intention?"

[Mara Tallen]

Two hours?

Two WHOLE, precious, wonderful hours?!

Oh, she could do a lot in two hours.

Mara smiled to herself as she rushed around her quarters, pulling out clothes she hadn't worn in what seemed like forever. It wasn't, after all, often that she even had free time that was hers to do with as she pleased.

Well, within reason. Her career couldn't take anymore serious hits. But...if an opportunity presented itself...

She shook her head, leaving her long auburn curls loose down her back. Her outfit (http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=47097986) was definitely not Alliance issued, in fact, the only thing that was were her ID tags. Mara didn't bother with weapons, but strapped her comlink to her wrist in case something happened. You never knew...and with this crew, it was practically a given.

Her heels clicked across the decking of the Novgorod as she left her quarters and made her way down to where the umbilical joined the ship to the station. Onashi, Cirr, Murray, and MARCUS were ahead of her, and she lengthened her stride to catch up.

[Serasai Onashi]

"You say that to a mercenary," Onashi said, looking at MARCUS with curiosity. It was a droid, but unlike any he'd seen before. "My whole life is a series of very dangerous activities and all of them carry a serious risk of bodily damage."

Tallen caught them up, and Onashi whistled in appreciation.

"Looking very good there, Tallen," he said. "I wonder if you'll find anyone worth dropping that dress for in that place. Or is it that you're wearing it for someone on the ship?"

He only cared insofar as the answer would tell him whether he should keep up and try to take the shapeshifter to bed, or if it would be too much work.

[Mara Tallen]

"Thanks, Onashi."

Mara grinned, offering the mercenary a wink as she looked him over. Well, he didn't look too bad this time. She might entertain a thought or two for a moment, but likely not much longer than that.

Glayde would never forgive her. And, contrary to popular belief, she did have -some- standards.

"I'm not wearing it for anyone in particular...but I did dress to see if I could raise a little ruckus..." Mara glanced up at Cirr, her smile still bright. "...but not too much, I promise."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr's blue eyes widened, caught up in implications he probably wanted no part of. Instinctively, he looked to see if Lyanie was on his six, before covering the whole act as non-chalantly as possible.

"Look, go have fun, that's an orrderr. jI, uh, jI've got a few errrands to rrun."

He quickened his pace, finally reaching the exit onto the station. It gave him a little pause. It wasn't as filthy as Nar Shaddaa, but it wasn't hardly a stay in Theed, either.

[Bette Davis]

Bette had wandered the station for an hour. There was, point in fact, nothing interesting there. The Shop 'N Gulp was a pile of modules tacked together with varying degrees of success and livability. It was dirty. It was full of interesting beings, most of them alien.

It was also the only place she had been able to limp to with the Maneater after she'd lost an engine after an op. Shadow Squadron had jumped to their rendezvous, and she had fallen out of hyperspace halfway there. The Defender was holed up in a mechanic's hangar, the greasy proprietor under orders to work on nothing else until he had completed the repairs to the fighter's systems.

It was probably the most expensive ship he'd ever touched. After hanging around for a while had only made him overly nervous, Bette had taken to wandering the space station. And now she was looking for a bar. Why not? No one had answered her calls yet, the rest of her Squadron wouldn't even miss her until they arrived at the rendezvous. Flight Commander Davis walked into a likely establishment, and ordered a beer.

[Selinica Miriya]

After what would be considered poor excuse for half an argument, Miriya sighed, deflated, relented, then attempted a different tack.

“Alright…” She narrowed her eyes slightly, nipped in a bit of lower lip between her teeth and hissed out air between those teeth. “…here’s the deal, prettyboy.”

She raked a hand through her hair, then both hands and drew it all back into a high ponytail.

“I need this. I’ve been good, I’ve behaved for long enough.” Satisfied that the tieback was firm enough, she glanced out the door to the ‘fresher room at Xander, then in the mirror in front of her. “You let me have this, just a drink or two and I’ll let you queer-eye me… someday.”

She grinned slyly, snatching up a nearby bottle of spray hair gel, spritzing here and there to assist any little flyaways in laying down, before lightly passing a comb through to make sure they did just that. Finally, she yanked a moderately-sized purple bag out of the 'fresher room cabinet and began to apply the lightest bit of make-up.

------------------------------

Well, at least he didn’t accuse her of looking like a trampy nerf-herder or something, this time. He might have even grunted something about her wardrobe being passable. That alone could be construed as progress, on his part. He seemed to give in when she’d traded her usual combat boots for boots that were purely for either looks or poking someone’s eye out. The leggings were a sort of faintly sheening black, topped with short, dark denim shorts and a lighter coloured button-down shirt that altogether betrayed the fact that she did in fact have a waist – something for which her usual I-don’t-give-a-shit spacer fare offered no assistance – and was altogether in more than decent shape.

It didn’t take long for her to find the bar, as if she had a sixth sense for drinking establishments and take up residence on a vacant barstool. In short order she’d elected to start with a beer, showing at least some sensibility in that fact, as making a bee-line for the hard liquor would only get her sauced much faster than would be a good idea. Upon the first sip, her body loosened and she released a near-pleasured sigh of relief.

[Ledo G. Prent]

"Step aside, lads..."

Ledo brushed past Cirr and Onashi with purpose, not seeing any need to mingle while still on the ship. Once he got a little rocket fuel in him, then who knew. But he was making the most of his time off that Alliance love boat.

The station was a dilapidated, seedy little dive, and that suited the pirate just fine. He took a moment to breathe in the scents of engine grease, sweat from a few dozen different alien species, a faint aroma of vomit/urine, and the promise of alcohol further down the pathway of neon lights.

Like a locked-on proton torpedo, Ledo found the bar, slapped down a chit at a free stool between two ladies. One, a no-nonsense brunette (looked military, or maybe just a hard case spacer) and the other, a girl who looked a little too good for the rest of the company on this shithole.

"Gundark rotgut!"

The barkeep made a face.

"Look mate, I know we don't look like much here, but that's too disgusting for even this joint."

Ledo sneered, options turning in his head.

"Wha'eva's cheap, then."

[Bette Davis]

Bette looked sideways at the grizzled spacer who took the bar stool next to her. He looked like he should smell bad, but he didn't. She wasn't in the mood for idle conversation, so she ignored him and the pretty blonde who had entered the bar and was on the other side of him.

Actually, that was a lot of action for such an out of the way space station. Bette sat up a little straighter and looked out the wide front entrance. There were no doors to block the view - a metal grate was rolled up that the proprietor could slam down into place with a push of a button when it came time to close up. Out on the makeshift promenade there was a growing trickle of people walking by. Some were dressed in Rebel Alliance colors.

She sipped her beer carefully and pointedly turned back to the bar, using the mirror that backed it to keep an eye on the entrance. Thankfully she'd left her flightsuit in the cockpit of her Defender. Black pants, boots, and a white tank top were nondescript enough that it shouldn't scream IMPERIAL.

Just her luck that some Rebel ship would stop by at the same time she was forced to be here. Bette flagged down the barkeep and ordered a shot of something clear.

[Mara Tallen]

"Aye aye, Captain." Mara offered Cirr a salute and toned down her smile a few watts. She wasn't entirely sure why she made the Cizerack so nervous, but chalked it up to whatever current rumor was circulating about her reputation.

Fantastic.

Nodding to the others, she wandered off to explore. There had to be someone on this floating pile of junk who had a weapon for sale - kitty was in the mood for a new toy.

By the time she made her way to the bar some of the others had made a bee-line for, Mara had spent a sizable chunk of credits. There were two cubes of plasticene thermite gel that she knew they'd be able to use on one mission or another, and a pair of KD-30 slugthrowers, now safely and securely stored aboard the Novgorod.

A smile curled her lips as she chose a seat at the bar and ordered a Starshine Surprise. Beside her was a blonde woman that it took Mara several seconds to recognize.

"Miriya...long time no see." Mara said politely, not having forgotten about the first time she'd met the former redhead.

[MARCUS]

"You say that to a mercenary," Onashi said, looking at MARCUS with curiosity. It was a droid, but unlike any he'd seen before. "My whole life is a series of very dangerous activities and all of them carry a serious risk of bodily damage."

Much like feeding a gundark, postulating a logical incongruity to a droid was guaranteed to get them to follow you. MARCUS, strung along with unyielding curiosity and two legs to get him into trouble, followed the mercenary along.

"Moral imperatives aside, combat as a mercenary meets criteria for task orientation. Specific objective. Specific process. Specific result. In this case, payment for services rendered. Because payment is often a means of sustaining life processes through the procurement of food and shelter, both biological imperatives, the exposure to damage for your module is accepted as an acceptable risk level.

I understand this, Onashi, Serasai. Your intended courses of action on this station do not satisfy these criteria. Explain."

[Tevit Ramastan]

When it came to seedy last-chancers, Grognar's was far from the worst Tevit had been to. For instance, there was more than one shop. There was a functioning refresher, and there were surfaces that weren't sticky. All in all, it wasn't terrible, but it was far from a first-class joint.

Not that Tevit had too much experience with those, either. Being Nehantite, the social stigma against his race had often prevented him from working into classier positions and getting invited to celebratory functions, even when it had been his work that was cause for celebration. But at last something had come across his communicator which as a legitimate chance to move up in the galaxy. No more low-paying repair jobs, or stressful hours of labor tinkering on racing engines that the pilot would just blow up in a matter of parsecs, no, this was a real job, with highly competitive pay - even if it did mean working for the Alliance.

Still, a Nehatite couldn't afford to be picky, and so there he was, waiting at Grognar's for his contact to show. To be precise, he'd been waiting for two days for his contact to show, but so far not a peep had come across his comm. Still, the Alliance wasn't known for their punctuality, and he'd been promised a sizable signing bonus, so he's stick it out for at least another day or so. And where better to kill time than at a bar?

There he sat, perched on his stool like a lazy parrot, his brown coveralls and heavy mag-boots marking him as just another one of the crowd, despite his yellow fur and long, flicking tail. He'd met two other Nehantites aboard, both contracted at below-standard wages, but to them it was at least a job. He differed from them, however, in that he not only had his freedom, but his own ship, as well. Actually, two ships, though one wasn't much good for anything but quick hops from here to there, being a racing shell. His main ship, a modified passenger shuttle, the Lunchbox, sat in a docking bay, the Mosquito tucked snugly into its own cargo hold, while his tools and equipment occupied most of the rest of the available space inside.

Nursing an ale at the bar, Tevit checked his comm once more, then sighed and rubbed his red eyes as there was still no word from his new employers. Only the sight of a small band of newcomers heading into the bar gave him entertainment, and he watched them for lack of anything better to do.

[Serasai Onashi]

"I understand this, Onashi, Serasai. Your intended courses of action on this station do not satisfy these criteria. Explain."

Onashi strode into the station, MARCUS following him, emanating an improbable curiosity.

"Nothing of what I do satisfies any biological imperative," Onashi answered with a grin. "I enjoy it. I derive pleasure from fighting, and participating in battle. Getting paid only means that I can use my money to fix up my weapons and have the ability to travel to where I can find more conflict."

He noticed how positively ancient some of the modules that made up the station were, and wondered at how they'd managed to get them to work; it was an idle curiosity though, and there was no motivation to pursue the thought further.

He turned into a large compartment, flanked on both sides by large stalls and some few actual small storefronts, and began to look through them.

"As much as I enjoy them, I've come close to dying several times. And I've learned from soldiers that the tried and true way to confirming one's existence after prolonged company with death is to get piss drunk, make love to a woman, and walk away from it afterwards."

[Ledo G. Prent]

"Evenin' beau'iful."

Ledo growled out a salutation to the uptight broad to his right. He checked her out. The cut of her mannerisms and how she wore her clothes made her look like someone who'd done a few turns in the military, but you never fucking knew in a place like this.

"Catch a gimped ride, or y' jus' a fan of th' atmosphere?"

Either way, she didn't blend. Not that half their crew did, either, but Ledo liked meeting new and interesting people. It was his bubbly magnetic personality.

A sight beyond Bette caused him to momentarily break off assault.

"Well I'll be a guddamn Gran inna starin' contest. Issatta Ne'antite? I ain't cross paths wit' one since I damn near go' me roll nicked bussin' skulls for Greella th' Hutt."

He took a swig of the cheap offering the barkeep sat in front of him and grimaced.

[MARCUS]

"Nothing of what I do satisfies any biological imperative," Onashi answered with a grin. "I enjoy it. I derive pleasure from fighting, and participating in battle. Getting paid only means that I can use my money to fix up my weapons and have the ability to travel to where I can find more conflict."

"As much as I enjoy them, I've come close to dying several times. And I've learned from soldiers that the tried and true way to confirming one's existence after prolonged company with death is to get piss drunk, make love to a woman, and walk away from it afterwards."


Still following the mercenary, the droid module's central processor kicked into a higher activity band, teasing out his nebulous answer.

"This appears to be a defect, Serasai. Biochemical delivery systems for pleasure are designed to encourage tasks to continue life processes. Yours function when engaged in activity with high probabilities to cause cessation of these processes. I would suggest a correction."

The section of the station they were walking through got seedier and seedier.

"Your continued pace suggests that you wish to disregard my suggestion. Which inadvisable task do you wish to complete first?"

[Serasai Onashi]

"My friend, biological organisms all have defects," Onashi replied. "Later, though, we call them genetic mutations and get on with our lives."

Onashi stopped and regarded a dirty viewscreen displaying a number of colored containers of various sizes.

"They have them in tins," he said with surprise, before continuing to speak to the droid. "We're going to find a nice, aromatic and fairly rich tasting pipe-leaf, first. Then we'll look for intoxicants, and there we'll also find ladies. Most likely."

As he opened the door into the tiny little shop run by an old Rodian who looked at him for a moment before going back to wiping down the counter-top with rag so soiled it was almost a solid dark grey, he realized that this droid was the first to call him by his given, his personal, name in years.

He sent another thoughtful glance the droid's way and smirked.

"Looking for pipe-leaf," he said to the Rodian without preamble. "Something that smells good, but nothing fancy. I'm sick of all that flowery shit. Makes me almost forget I'm giving myself cancer."

We've got a bit of everything, but no refunds, the Rodian said, lifting a hand and pointing a finger his way. Onashi raised an eyebrow and nodded once. The Rodian walked down the length of his shop, absently taking a tin from the shelf every so often and placing it on the counter top. Onashi opened the tins and sniffed the dried plant material within, before taking a small bit between his fingers and feeling it.

He went down the row and finally chose one, and paid for it.

"Done!" he said with a satisfied grin. "Now, for booze and broads."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr continued past the bar, past the seedy kiosks, and kept going into the commercial district, his eyes panning left and right. He looked down after a moment discovering he hadn't ducked all of his crew. A familiar shadow followed him. What did Regan call him? It? Er...

"Murrray?"

He stopped. Murray stopped.

"What arre you dojing?"

[MARCUS]

"My friend, biological organisms all have defects," Onashi replied. "Later, though, we call them genetic mutations and get on with our lives."

"Gene therapy and re-writing broken code are both complimentary metaphors, Serasai. You still insist on this task. I will redact further prompts to dissuade you. Maintaining your life processes is not assigned to any of my vital tasks."


MARCUS watched Onashi intently as he haggled with the drug kiosk owner, carefully analyzing each sample over the mercenary's shoulder.


"Done!" he said with a satisfied grin. "Now, for booze and broads."

"If your intentions are for sexual congress, I advise the prostitute liason first. Consumption of alcohol will impair motor function, creating a systemic inefficiency."

[Muridaemus-musculus]

Murray blinked. Cirrsseeto's question had seemed genuine enough, but he was finding the Cizerack's features difficult to read. Part of it was a lack of familiarity with anything but the exaggerated gestures of mainstream Tapani holo-performances; the rest of it seemed to be some sort of primal, gut-twisting fear that his life was in grave and terrible danger every time the Captain looked at him.

Cautiously, he tried to offer a gentle reminder to the Captain; a nudge that might guide him towards what Murray thought was blindingly obvious.

"Alliance Fleet Regulation 44, Paragraph 2," he said, as if that explained everything.

Nothing. A blank look was all he got. That was extremely troubling. Perhaps the edition he had been given by Regan Altink was an outdated version. Panic gripped him. Had all the regulations he'd been memorising been renumbered?

"A Commanding Officer may not disembark from his vessel into a potentially hostile environment without an armed escort."

Murray's hand patted the sword on his hip for emphasis.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr's ears deflated at the notion of such an absurd suggestion, and the droop only served to highlight the bewildered expression on his face.

"Oh."

Okay, so probably no way to explain that one away. Hello, I am Cirr Raurrssatta and this very small puff of fur bombast is my bodyguard which is very necessary and convincing.

He shook his head a bit to snap back to reality. Harmless, you idiot.

"jI, uh...apprrecjiate the escorrt."

Of course, the nature of his "mission" was such that he did not need Murray scampering off to tell others of it. Was he a gossip? Could he appeal to the alien's honor?

[Muridaemus-musculus]

Satisfied that a covert approach was no longer required, Murray's legs scampered away at double-pace to bring him alongside the Captain. He tried his utmost to match the casual swagger of Cirrsseeto's natural strides, but his considerably shorter legs simply weren't up to the task; every few paces, a few rapid steps were thrown in to make up the lost ground.

Despite concentrating intently on trying to synchronise with the rhythm of the Captain's footfalls, Murray decided to take the opportunity to to demonstrate his worth and significance, and perhaps even earn himself reassignment to a section of the ship more befitting his martial skills.

"If I may enquire, Captain Raurrssatta," he said; his tone was casual, but had had hint of enquiry that made it seem like answering was very important. "What is our current destination?"

More panic gripped him as Cirrsseeto's predator features turned harmlessly in his direction; fighting the urge to flee, Murray stumbled through his mind for a justification for his rude and uninvited question.

"In the interests of maintaining your safety, it would be irresponsible of me not to have some prior strategic knowledge of what we might be walking into."

A good recovery, Murray commended himself. Very professional-sounding indeed!

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"jI'm pjickjing up a package..."

How to keep the squib off the scent? Hmm....

"...a verry secrret package. jI'm, um, afrrajid jI can't say morre on the matter, jit's beyond yourr securrjity clearrance."

He paused, his ears quirking. What was his clearance, anyway? Did he have one? He more or less rubber-stamped Murray onto the ship with Regan insisting on it like it was a precondition for a famous musician to perform a concert. He wanted Regan on his team, so sure. Squib? Okay. Done.

Nevermind.

"You'rre to make surre we'rre prrotected. We can't even trrust the otherr memberrs of the crrew."

Especially Lyanie.

[Bette Davis]

Oh great, the guy was talking to her. Bette was trying to think of a good way to shut him down when something furry caught his eye and distracted him. She turned to look before she could stop herself, and glanced at the yellow furred alien sitting further into the bar.

What the hell was a Ne'antite? She turned back to her drink, hoping that the old spacer was through with her.

[Serasai Onashi]

"If your intentions are for sexual congress, I advise the prostitute liason first. Consumption of alcohol will impair motor function, creating a systemic inefficiency."


"Thank you," Onashi said, looking at the droid intently. He was being completely serious. "Your advice has been noted and taken into account. Prostitutes are dangerous, however."

Onashi grinned.

"And I mean dangerous to both my occupational activities and these inadvisable tasks. I had one not only stick me with the most stubborn case of zygerran flea infestation I'd ever had, but also knifed me while trying to take all my money."

Onashi spoke clearly, as if he were lecturing the droid while they strode down into another compartment; this one was much cleaner, and peddled clothing of all sorts. Onashi ignored most of it until he saw a hologram of a figure that fit a woman he knew well.

"Hold on..." he murmured, grinning. "Unforeseen treasures."

[Selinica Miriya]

The sound of the voice and the sight of the half-felacatian woman with the red locks made a nut in her throat and a waft of panic rise as if she had inhaled a portion of her drink instead of swallowing it.

"Mara..." she croaked, hacking a little and squeezing her eyes shut briefly. The blonde rubbed at her chest, her throat, coughing a little more and still feeling raw from it when she spoke again. "...nice to see you too."

Miriya took to more of the tankard of beer, washing down some more to soothe her throat a little and placing the vessel back on the bar counter before half-squinting at the mere acquaintance of hers in slight concern.

"Gods, you scared me, bitch." She breathed, starting to look pleading. "Please, please tell me John isn't here, too."

[Tevit Ramastan]

Tevit's ears perked as he heard someone call out the name of his species. A glance down the bar revealed a lovely young woman with a stern look on her face, and the yellow-furred Nehantite started to smile.

The smile evaporated quickly as he then realized the one who had actually been talking was the ugly, gruff-looking man next to her. Shoulders slumping, Tevit went back to his beer and checked his comm again.

Seriously, how could someone be two days late?!

[Ledo G. Prent]

Undaunted, Ledo kept talking at the woman next to him. Conversation would eventually happen.

"Thing abou' Ne'antites is, they's nimble like. Real swif' fuckers. Quick 'ands, Quick 'eads. Sharp as fuckall and double th' fuckin' trouble. Tune an ion drive like some guddamn pro'igy, they will. Course this one bloke, ain't swingin' a spanner less its 'round th' corner a' some bli'er's dome. Devious lil' fuck. Had a nice cha' at 'em. Sumfin 'long th' lines of the gas'ronomical proper'ies of feedin' 'im 'is own testes. 'ad a betta' understandin' after tha'."

He took another drink, raising a genial toast of a sort to the Nehantite who wanted very much to disappear from the conversation for some reason.

[Tevit Ramastan]

Tevit's tailtip flicked from side to side with agitation as Ledo's story went on. Typical, "don't trust a Nehantite" bullshit, he'd heard it a thousand times, but after two days of no word from his new employers, he wasn't in the mood to just sit there and have his race spoken ill of.

Looking up from his drink, he stared straight at Ledo, his irises fully red - a sign among his race that he was angry or excited, but not in Tevit's case. No, his were always that way, a genetic mishap, he was told.

Clearing his throat, he said, "If I were threatened by the thought of you laying those grubby mitts on my balls, I'd probably back off, too."

[Bette Davis]

Bette inwardly sighed, and mustered, "They can't all be that bad." The man's accept was difficult to cipher. "But if they are, maybe you should watch what you're saying." She finished her beer and set the glass down, contemplating another drink, but also figuring that getting out of the bar would be a better idea.

She stood up, digging into her pocket for a spare chit to pay her tab.

[MARCUS]

MARCUS paused, sifting through new data.

"Then the target of your sexual congress is a consentual liason? This was not anticipated. I will adjust my parameters accordingly."

His software contained rudimentary behavioral algorithms that served to profile and anticipate behaviors of biological sentients based on subsets of existing data. It was correct 82.6% of the time.

The sight in the kiosk gave Onashi pause, and MARCUS zoomed in to the image.

"Is this your intended target? I can assign subroutines to assist you in establishing rapport."

[Ledo G. Prent]

Put off by the insinuation that he was writing off the entire species on account of one unfortunate incident, Ledo waved it off.

"Course they ain't. As I said, thiss'n was jus' peculiar. Damn fine mechanics. Damn fine. 'ad the pleasure of crewin' wiffa few meself. Anotha day, anotha job. Heistin' a frigate, tha' one. We shuttle in, y'know, act real hard pu' a gun in folks faces, show a knoif or two. Fear o' fuckin God manifest, tha' sorra thing. Me mates, look like this fella roi' 'ere, they bus' inna th' engine room. Slave th' whole mothafuckin' drive t' me control. Snatch tha' bird roi' from where we was. Fuckin' brilliant."

He made a face as Bette prepared to leave, shrugging in a what did I do sort of way.

"'ang on, then?! Come an' havva' notha. 'umor a fella space dog."

[Bette Davis]

She chuckled at the fur's retort, and sighed when the spacer protested. Bette looked outside at the Rebels filling the station and reluctantly sat back down. "Fine, but you're buying me a drink. And him too," she added, nodding toward the alien.

[Tevit Ramastan]

Tevit's ears wilted as the man went on, and he just shook his head and slumped back into his seat. "Oh yeah, that's us. Fuckin' shipjackers, the lot of us," he grumbled. "Keep your damn drink, I don't want it."

The Nehantite became intensely interested in his beer once more, though he somehow doubted that would stop the man from rattling off more "charming" anecdotes. If ever he wanted his comm to beep, it was now. This was worse than waiting for that blind date a few months ago.

Actually, no, this wasn't. Being stood up by a girl is far worse than being stood up by work.

[Ledo G. Prent]

Gesturing for the barkeep, he held two fingers aloft, gesturing to his rancid drink and then to each of his newfound friends, indicating he'd pay for a round.

"No offense meant, mate. Deepest respek. Me linna' work. I trus' opera'ors who ge' th' fuckin' job done. Solid lads, them. Neva' groused o'er th' pay neitha. Which was shit. Tha' ship we jacked was a beaut. Republic model, back whennat meant sumfin'. Woulda took ten? twen'y otha' bli'ers t' ge' tha' job did th' way we di' it."

He glanced at each of his drinking buddies.

"So wha' abou' you? Wha's your story?"

[Tevit Ramastan]

Thieves and underpaid. Yep, that fit the stereotype perfectly, Tevit thought. This was precisely the sort of thing he'd been trying to get away from, but it seemed no matter where he went, he just couldn't escape it.

Stuck in his sour mood, Tevit grumbled, "I'm supposed to be the new fleet mechanic for a large operation, but so far none of that fleet's shown up, yet. Two fuckin' days late." He nearly said it was for the Alliance, but then remembered to keep his big mouth shut about things like that. "But, let me guess, you're just passing through, right? Refuel and go?"

Oh, please let that be the case, he wished, that way he wouldn't have to suffer this for too much longer.

[Bette Davis]

"Ship broke down," Bette said. "Getting it looked at." She looked sideways at the Nehantite. Fleet mechanic? Not likely with the Empire. Their views on non-humans was decidedly narrow.

She accepted the new drink, and choked it down. "What th' hell is this? What happened to the beer I had before?!"

[Tevit Ramastan]

The Nehantite's ears immediately perked and he turned to face Bette, appearing for all the world as an entirely different man than the bitter one who had just been in his seat.

"Ship's broken, huh? Might I ask what's wrong with it?" his question was instinctive, and he even pulled a bit of a smirk as he said, "Whatever it is, you hand that job over to me, I'll have it fixed for you faster than whoever's got now, at a competitive rate."

[Bette Davis]

"Hyperdrive crapped out," she said. "Thankfully I could limp here. But it's sort of a specialized case and the mechanic is already neck deep in it. Wouldn't want to upset him."

Didn't really want to draw attention to the Imperial TIE Defnder sitting in the repair bay, either. She picked up her glass, grimaced at it, and then chugged it down. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, gasping for air.

[Mara Tallen]

The half-breed was just a little too pleased with herself at the blonde's reaction to her presence. She took her sweet time answering, too, watching poor Miriya struggle as if she were a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar again. It wasn't at all nice of her.

John certainly wouldn't approve.

Mara sighed inwardly and took a long sip from her drink upon its arrival. "As far as I know," she began, purring for a brief moment as the drink bit back the way it was supposed to. "Glayde is still aboard the ship."

Another sip, and she wondered absently where Morgan had gotten off to.

Tilting her head, the redhead regarded the blonde with a smile. "Why? Doing something he'd disapprove of?"

[Serasai Onashi]

"Then the target of your sexual congress is a consentual liason? This was not anticipated. I will adjust my parameters accordingly."

"You do that," Onashi laughed. If the thing wasn't a droid, Onashi was sure it would be making fun of him. Even then, it was still a good joke.

"Is this your intended target? I can assign subroutines to assist you in establishing rapport."

"It isn't my intended target," Onashi said, grinning. "First of all, she's a hologram. Secondly, it's her body type that caught my attention. I know a woman with a very similar one. And, finally, what that hologram is selling. Racy undergarments. Women put them on for the express purpose of men taking them off."

[Ledo G. Prent]

He had a laugh at the fortunes of his drinking partners. Either states of disrepair or waiting for them to happen. On a heap like this? Yeah that was par for course. He nodded to Tevit.

"All doll'd up bu' no party t' go to, issit? Fortune pisses onnus evenly, giv'n enough time. I hadda rule, er, still 'ave it. Rule a' three. Wait three days an' if shit don't get sorted, y' move th' fuck on. Keeps y' honest wif yasself. Keeps ya from rottin' on a stool an' chasin' a hope."

At mentioning passing through, he nodded, tilting his drink back a bit.

"Yeh. Tha's the rumor. Ain't my say, ain't my boat. Jus' in an' out."

He gave a laugh when Bette grimaced at the drink.

"Tha'?"

He sniffed.

"Me proffession'l opinion is...tha's clear. Bottle's clean, an' prolly won't make y' blind. Tastes like roi' fuckall an' speeder fuel though. I don't recommend savorin', love."

[MARCUS]

The droid examined the dimensions.

"Thirty-four inch bust, twenty-five inch waist, thirty-six inch hips. No exact matches found within Novgorod's crew roster but I note thirty-one similar proportions with logged biometrics."

Reacting to the mercenary's commentary about lingerie, MARCUS was predictably distracted.

"Explain the function of these garments. The relative price is expensive, and the craftsmanship is highly detailed. They serve no discernible function to protect against element exposure, and you yourself stated their supposed primary function is to be disposed of immediately. If this is true Serasai, I do not recommend making a purchase at this establishment. It is an inefficient use of funds."

[Selinica Miriya]

Miriya heaved back another heavy gulp of the nameless beer and thudded the tankard back on the bartop a mite harder than necessary or intended. A grimace was evident on her soft, fair-skinned face and she tapped on the side of the tankard.

“This.” Her grimaced turned faintly toward something more pleasant and fun when she looked again at the half-felacatian woman. “I may or may not have promised not to do it… on account of… well, more his grief over the last time and lesser, but still important, my wounded pride.”

She turned her face back with a degree of love to the vessel of marginally acceptable alcohol and lifted for another sip.

“My darling brother seems to think I can’t hold down drinking without trouble following in my wake, or something similar, anyway.” She grinned with a slight narrowing of the eyes, a marked look of mischief and snorting derisively. “He hasn’t seen me in years and he thinks he knows me from one isolated incident.”

She laughed, sloshing back another healthy glug.

"Drinking problem, hah!" Her voice raised in the slightest. "I drink, I might get drunk... no frakkin' problem!"

[Tevit Ramastan]

As Bette turned down his offer, Tevit tapped out a message on his comm to his new employer.

Second day here, almost into the third. Still no word from you. Need to know if our deal is still on and I should be expecting to be contacted soon, or if I should move on.

-Tevit Ramastan

"Yeah, figured I'd give it another day," the mongoose grumbled. "If nothing else, I can always go back to the racing circuit."

He regarded the drink before him with suspicion, doubly so after watching Bette's reaction to it. Deciding it might not be in his best interest to try it himself, at the moment. As the bar began to fill up quickly, he tapped out another message to the contact he had been given for his supposed employer.

Numerous new arrivals. Suspect there may be some Empire presence. Please contact me via this comm before attempting personal contact. New meeting place may be needed. Please reply.

-Tevit Ramastan

[Serasai Onashi]

"Thirty-four inch bust, twenty-five inch waist, thirty-six inch hips. No exact matches found within Novgorod's crew roster but I note thirty-one similar proportions with logged biometrics."

"My dear lad, that's an amazing gift you have there," Onashi said, pondering the many uses for a walking database of information about the women aboard the Novgorod. The implications were exciting.

"Explain the function of these garments. The relative price is expensive, and the craftsmanship is highly detailed. They serve no discernible function to protect against element exposure, and you yourself stated their supposed primary function is to be disposed of immediately. If this is true Serasai, I do not recommend making a purchase at this establishment. It is an inefficient use of funds."

"The function of these garments is to be taken off, either by a man, or by the woman wearing them for the man's pleasure. It increases sexual arousal and makes for great foreplay before a good round of sexing," Onashi continued his lecturing. "And sex, my good man, is all the reason we need for these."

[MARCUS]

MARCUS spent a much higher portion of processing power teasing out this logical fallacy.

"The act of removing garments to access genitalia serves to intensify desire for sexual congress? This anticipation is irrational. An analogy. Solving an equation may require time and resources, but the solution is a fixed value. To assume your irrationality, the recommended course of action would be to give your intended mate a garment that is heavy, fully-covering, and difficult to remove. This should maximize your effect."

[Mara Tallen]

The half-breed blinked, tilting her head back to her drink, amber eyes searching the tall, glowing glass as if for an answer. There were words balanced on the tip of her tongue, none of which were particularly nice.

Words about John, his insane need to have everything around him in order, his need to fuss and worry over everyone under his charge as if he were a mother hen. Granted, she mused, many of those same reasons were why she'd fallen in love with him all those years ago - they were things she'd needed in her life and she'd gravitated to him like a moth to a flame.

Shit.

Mara blinked and drained the rest of her glass, slightly taken aback at her sudden introspection. She lifted her right hand and motioned for another as she caught the barkeep's eye. The fingertips of that same hand tossed the man a cred-chit and nodded.

"No problem, Miriya? You sure about that?" the woman replied with a wicked wink and smile that was equally so.

[Serasai Onashi]

"There are some guys who do enjoy that. But the point of these silken lovelies is to hint, or promise perhaps is the better term, at what is underneath them."

He led MARCUS into the larger-than-it-seemed store, and pulled a bra from the stand, ignoring the glare he was receiving from the sales clerk, an older twilek woman with massive assets of her own.

"See, this is what's called a push-up bra. It is made to elevate a woman's breasts and make them seem firmer and larger than they actually are," Onashi smirked as he watched the droid's 'eye' focus on the garment. "By the time this is off, one of three things may happen: The man may be happy with the woman's breasts' natural size and heft; he may dislike them but the allure of sexual intercourse is too much and he continues to have sex with the woman; or, he may just leave, though depending on the woman, he may hurt his reputation by doing so."

He tossed the lingerie to MARCUS and rifled through another set of bras and panties, looking at them measuringly before choosing a fiery red set. He grinned and looked at the price, and then at the matron, a glint in his eyes.

[MARCUS]

His photoreceptor blinked a few times, and he examined the undergarments as he was given them, the processor fan at his core spinning up.

"Serasai, there is a surprising amount of deception involved in intercourse. Accentuate. Disguise. Deceive. These techniques suggest an adversarial encounter, not one in which there is an open dissemination of data. The nuances of these interactions appear to have inherent conflicts of interest within."

By now the droid was covered with a small layer of lingerie, and working on untangling a particularly frilly piece from one of his hands.

"You appear to be planning many such deceptions."

[Serasai Onashi]

Onashi paused, though he was still pondering the set of undergarments in his hands.

"Bitches love games, my friend," Onashi said seriously. He fixed MARCUS with an equally serious expression. "Bitches love games."

[MARCUS]

A grinding sound came from the droid's processing core as he accessed his archives. His photoreceptor dimmed as he beeped.

"Canine. Female. From the course of our previous conversations, Serasai, I feel it would be redundant of me to advise against this. Catastrophic inefficiencies aside, you are preparing to violate major social mores of at least 47,085 species."

[Serasai Onashi]

Onashi stepped up to another section in the shop, pulling a black bustier off the rack and holding the lacy red ones next to the black garment as if weighing them.

"Never tell me how many rules I'm breaking," Onashi said with a grin. "I'll just want to break more. And a bitch isn't just a female canine, but also can be a term for females of almost any species. It's a good thing to know, since in some places, bitch is the actual term for a woman, and if you use anything else you might find yourself mugged, stripped of everything of value, and a slave."

[MARCUS]

A long pause, and the droid ventured again.

"I understand this concept, Serasai. Language in most cultures is an evolving communications medium. As culture adapts, so to language. This is a subroutine I voluntarily do not access, as references to insular slang, diction, and jargon may be missed by some participants in a conversation. If this is inefficient, I will correct this procedure."

The photoreceptor blinked once.

"Complete. Now, we have spent an inefficient amount of time choosing garments. I suggest you pay this bitch and exit the premises."

[Morgan Evanar]

For someone of any size, Morgan's footfalls were quiet. For someone of his size, it was more of a remarkable feat. Mara had just downed her glass.

"Hey." He said, and placed a hand on Mara's shoulder, and slid onto the empty barstool next to her.

"I'm Morgan." He said, and offered an oversized hand attached to an overlong arm to Miriya.

[Selinica Miriya]

Miriya's lips took on a mischevous smile that matched Mara's own expression to a degree and tossed back the remainder of the beer, making a similar motion to the barkeep for refill.

"No problem, Mara." She assured, flipping a cred-chit at the barkeep in return for the refill. "Not yet anyway. And we are talking delicious problems, I hope."

The blonde took an enjoyable swig of the fresh pour and the next time she looked there was something more than decent looking on the other side of Mara, with his hand thrust in her direction. She blinked, resisting the biological imperative to flush colour in the cheeks. The ex-thief placed the tankard quietly down on the bartop for the first time in several minutes (much to the relief of the barkeep) and slipped her hand into his, grasping lightly.

"Morgan, you said?" She queried, shaking his hand and smiling in a more muted and pleasant form than moments before. "I'm Miriya."

She glanced at Mara while still grasping his hand, half-who-the-heck-is-this-exactly? and half-where'd-this-tasty-thing-come-from? - she was certain the half-felacatian woman would get it - and turned her eyes back to the man that she had just barely now acquainted herself with.

[Mara Tallen]

Mara's smile turned decidedly warmer at Morgan's arrival. His hand on her shoulder earned him a faint purr of welcome as he introduced himself to Miriya.

She returned Miriya's glance with a wicked one of her own. There was much remaining unspoken between the two women but perfectly understood - trust-me-he-IS-delicious, her smile said.

[Vek Vek]

On his way to whatever second-rate medical consumables were available for purchase, the Doctor happened to cross paths with a bar. Every station had one, and they were all dens of disease, drugs, and depravity. Needless to say, he did not linger...except to notice that two of his crew were mingling in a non-approved way, and with another hanger-on to boot.

He paused. Blinked. Frowned. And continued on his way at double the walking pace. He was muttering to himself audibly, and if one paid attention, they'd make it out just barely.

"...and spray bottles. Yes. Yes. One dozen. Disinfectant. Economy size. Liquid and moist towelettes...must take preventative measures..."

[Morgan Evanar]

"Nice to meet you." Morgan said with a friendly tone.

Ah. The unspoken, nearly undecodable communication between women. Morgan knew better than to guess.

The bartender wandered over a moment later, somewhere between annoyed and glad for the business.

"I'd like a brandy, something tolerable and Corellian if you have it, and the next two rounds for these ladies are on me."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

The squib hadn't caused any real problems, all told. See? Harmless! Cirr allowed a little smile as he casually browsed the stalls as they walked. Then, his wrist-comm beeped.

"Huh?"

Ducking out of the way of foot traffic, Cirr let Murray clear a lane for him as he found a semi-discrete place to talk.

"Raurrssatta."

"Captain, Terius informed me that you're the only asset in this sector. I'm assuming you're on the scavenger station, correct."

Cirr looked up at a row of three junk peddlers.

"Yeah, jI thjink you could say that. What's gojing on?"

The voice on the line, identified as Rear Admiral Korikk, continued.

"We were expecting to make a pickup at your coordinates. A Nehantite mechanic. Command recruited him for one of our flotillas, but we've hit an Imperial counter-attack and are bogged down around Kessel. If possible, we need you to locate and extract. You will be debriefed later."

Brow furrowing, he shrugged.

"Sjimple enough. jI'll keep a lookout forr thjis guy. Anythjing else?"

A few seconds for the message to traverse, and Korikk responded.

"We're not convinced you're uncontested, even out there. Be wary for an Imperial element, possibly scout recon. Wish I have more information for you, but thats the most. We had contact with a deep space fighter element on our way to our coordinates. They either regrouped with their fleet or headed to your vector to complete patrol. Just...be ready."

Cirr nodded.

"Always am. Raurrssatta out."

He looked to Murray, hoping the squib wouldn't add more drama than they already had, which was currently at a comfortable level. The two walked out into the corridor again, and Cirr doubled back the moment he saw two familiar faces at a women's lingerie store.

"Change of plans..."

[Serasai Onashi]

"I suggest you pay this bitch and exit the premises."

Onashi smiled widely, nodding with satisfaction, and did so, tossing the red lingerie behind him (and onto MARCUS). With the bustier in the thin foil wrapping, Onashi helped clear MARCUS of most of the goods on him, until he saw a most interesting figure approaching and then turning around.

"Look," He said with a grin most mischievous. "It's the Captain. Captain!"

He left MARCUS to finish picking the errant articles of clothing off his frame, while he strode up to the cizerack.

"Captain!" he said warmly. "What brings you out this way? Looking for something special for a special woman?"

He grinned lecherously.

"You sly dog. I could make some recommendations if you'd like."

[Mara Tallen]

A fresh Starshine was put in front of her, while fingers tucked her cred chit back in the pocket of the leather jacket laying across her lap.

"Well thank you, Morgan..." Mara smiled, reigning in the purr that seemed to want to fix itself in her voice whenever he was around.

She blinked slowly and sighed in pleasure as she took a sip of her drink. It was stronger this time, and bit back with a little more vehemence. Now this was a good mix, she mused. Tilting her head, she glanced up at him and then over to Miriya.

The redhead arched a brow at the blonde and spoke. "Why the change in your hair, Miriya? The blonde looks good, but I was partial to you as a redhead."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"No!"

It came out way too high pitched, and the Captain quickly recovered with a cough.

"No. Not at all. Uh. Murrray and jI werre..."

Eyes panned around rapidly, rapidly....great, the one part of the station with absolute crap to find. Wait, over there!

Cirr made a beeline for a junk stall, dunking both hands into a pick & pull. He came up with the first part he could find.

"...we need one of these. jIt's jimporrtant."

[Selinica Miriya]

"Thank you, Morgan."

She chimed in, after Mara, the barkeep returning the cred-chit to her after Morgan's offer was voiced. Miriya all too graciously accepted the fresh-poured beer, and immediately tucked into it, coming up after one gulp.

"Why the change in your hair, Miriya? The blonde looks good, but I was partial to you as a redhead."

Miriya grinned lightly.

"Haven't you heard? Blondes have more fun!" She made a face. "Nah, prettyboy Xander thought it'd be a good idea, given that wherever my face is plastered, the red hair is right along with it."

She laughed, flipping her hair.

"The next thing you know, he'll probably be braiding my hair and..." The laughter became more intense as she lifted the drink again, in preparation to continue drinking it. "...painting my nails!"

[Bette Davis]

Her tongue felt slightly numb. Her arms felt a little numb too. Bette checked her chrono, but wasn't exactly sure why. It wasn't like she had places to be. The ship was going to take at least a day to repair, and that was as long as none of the more sensitive parts didn't need replacing. Getting parts shipped to this BFE space station would bump her stay up to at least a week.

So, she did what came naturally. She ordered another drink. "To be honest, I don't drink for the taste." Bette winked at the older spacer before she could stop herself, and then hoped he hadn't noticed.

[Serasai Onashi]

Onashi's brow rose as the Captain pulled the broken head of an old sex droid from the pile of parts and junk. The 'o' shape of the mouth was a bit morbid, actually, without the latex and rubbers that facilitated the droid's main uses.

"...Important, Captain?" Onashi asked. "I'm sure we can find ones in better repair, if we need one that badly."

[Ledo G. Prent]

"Issatta fact?"

Ledo regarded Tevit's racing past with a nod as he leaned over the bar a bit, propping with his elbows.

"Neva' took t' racin' meself. Plenny a' ways t' become a streaka red paste somewheres. Positiv'ly love a wager tho'. Whatcha race, when y'did I means?"

Noting the uptight broad's sudden taking to the clear fairie, he gruffed a laugh.

"Jus' open th' throat an' down she goes, issit? Guddamn noice t' meetcha. Me name's Ledo."

[Bette Davis]

"Bette," she said throwing back another shot. Take it easy, Davis. Rebels in the station. This is why I was drinking a beer.

But hard liquor had a way of making her want to drink more. And if Perris was on whatever ship it was that was visiting Grognar's Shit 'N Grope then she was better off drunk. She coughed, the alcohol burning her throat as it went down, but it was beginning to spread that well known warmth throughout her body.

She turned to the alien next to her. "What'dya race? Pods? That's crazier than-" being a TIE pilot. "That's just crazy."

[Tevit Ramastan]

"Actually, I, uh..." Tevit took a pull from his beer before continuing. "I don't really race, myself. I mean, I can, but that's not what I meant."

The Nehantite watched the looks on the faces of his two new companions at the bar, then carried on. "I build and repair engines for racing craft. Space races, comet runs, atmosphere skims, asteroid dodgers, those kinds of things. Many of the craft I've worked on have gone on to win titles, but I'm getting kind of tired of just working on small, purpose-built craft like that. I miss the big stuff."

Taking another drink, he allowed himself a smile. "Also, I knew that if I kept building racers, my forced-induction ion drives would eventually wind up in the wrong hands, so... better to keep the peace than have to worry about patent lawyers and all that down the road."

[Bette Davis]

Well then you really wouldn't like working on my smallish, purpose built craft. No, who am I kidding, you'd probably spaz out at the opportunity to poke around a Defender. Bette smiled and nodded, and then said, "So you're going to work for a big company then? Kuat Drive Yards?"

She looked around and added, "You're kinda far away from Kuat though."

[Tevit Ramastan]

"Big company, yeah, but this is more of an... independent," Tevit replied. "Should be fun, though. Lots of craft, all kinds of makes and ages. Keep me on my toes, at least."

After another swig of beer, he actually finds himself smiling. "But I'll still have my own racer, the Mosquito, to let me blow off steam from time to time, with. Constructed four Defender engines from the blueprints, then packaged them together into two single units, and those are mainly just for maneuvering. Pair of bigass main engines of my own design do most of the thrust."

It was clear that the Nehantite was very proud of his own work.

[Bette Davis]

Bette turned and faced him fully. "Four Defender engines for maneuvering? How fast is this ship?" And when do I get to pilot it?

[Tevit Ramastan]

Tevit scratched the back of his neck as he gave a nervous chuckle. "Well, to tell the truth, I'm not really sure how fast she'll go in the top end. I've never been brave enough to try and find out how far into the red she can go before blowing up. This is sublight that I'm talking about, of course, here."

He could tell he had Bette's complete and undivided attention, now, and so he smiled, proud of himself once more as he added, "So, top speed? No clue. But she'll leave anything just blinking at her engine glow off the starting line. Haven't come across another racer, yet, that can out-accelerate her. But, she's fiddly, and she needs some more work before she's reliable. Hopefully I can get some spare time at this new gig to work out some of her foibles."

[Bette Davis]

She practically had to bite her tongue to stop from talking about her own experience with Defender engines. "Sounds like a lot of fun to fly," she settled for instead, holding a finger up to the bartender to order another beer.

The bar was starting to fill up with newcomers, and she was starting to feel a mite uncomfortable, as if someone would be able to look at her and just tell she was an Imperial pilot.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan smiled.

"You have the features to go either way." He cautiously ignored the comment about braiding hair and doing nails. Morgan always took care of his own nails, but it was never anything beyond keeping them manageable.

"So how do you two know each other?" He asked with curiosity.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Onashi's brow rose as the Captain pulled the broken head of an old sex droid from the pile of parts and junk. The 'o' shape of the mouth was a bit morbid, actually, without the latex and rubbers that facilitated the droid's main uses.

"...Important, Captain?" Onashi asked. "I'm sure we can find ones in better repair, if we need one that badly."

Cirr made a stupid face at the sexdroid's own bizarre visage staring back at him. His brain tried to scramble for a good response to this, but he wasn't half the bullshitter that Sanis was.

He dropped the droid part with an uneasy laugh.

"Onashji, to be honest..."

With a friendly smile on his face, he stepped toward the mercenary, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

"You'rre drreamjing. Thjis jis all a fjigment of yourr jimagjinatjion."

The hand on Onashi's shoulder tightened a bit, and Cirr's ears perked.

"Because jif jit wasn't yourr jimagjinatjion then you mjight have seen somethjing you'd rregrret seejing."

Cirr didn't have to flex or front to put his unspoken point across. If he wanted to punt the mercenary into the next stall, it was his prerogative.

[Serasai Onashi]

Onashi's brows rose, and he glanced down at the Captain's hand gripping his shoulder, though he didn't move at all. His eyes moved back to take in the very serious look in the larger sentient's eyes, and he grinned.

"Aye, Captain," he said easily. "Though I'm honestly not sure what you're talking about."

"That's rrjight. You don't. Let's keep jit that way."

"Aye sir," he said, again, tempted to keep going, but he needed alcohol, and a woman, in any order he could get them in. The Captain's hand released him, and he stepped away.

"Are you coming?" he asked MARCUS, before turning and walking out toward the bar, his purchases slung over his shoulder. The walk was mostly silent, but Onashi was fine with it, intent on finding his final two needs for the night.

He stepped into the bar, and frowned, until his eyes settled onto a fine looking woman speaking with what looked like a Nehantite. He'd fought one before. Nasty with their claws when they got in close, and they were quick too.

He smirked, and slid into a seat nearby seat, which seemed to be nominally occupied by Ledo Prent, whom the mercenary had seen only in passing on the ship. A shame, but Prent seemed absorbed in chatting up his own lady, and Onashi wished him well.

"Get me... three shots of Dantoonian Gold," Onashi said. Not as good as Corellian whiskey, but it packed a punch, and had a nice color, and most seedier bars carried the stuff. "I need an ice breaker so I can speak to the lady and her friend here."

He winked at Bette and grinned at the Nehantite.

[MARCUS]

MARCUS zoomed in on the woman Onashi was looking at, his cooling fan clicking on as he considered a few possibilities.

"Serasai, this bitch meets your biometric search parameters. I recommend presenting her with insufficient garments and proposing procedures for intercourse."

For emphasis, the droid held out a wrapped parcel.

[Bette Davis]

Bette grinned at the new guy who'd bumped the creepy one from his stool. Accepting the shot, she was pouring it down her throat when the droid moved in and spoke.

She choked on the cheap whiskey and spluttered, leaning forward and slamming a fist on the bar as Dantooine Gold backed up her nose. "Fah!" Bette fumbled for a tiny drink napkin to clean herself up with, nearly knocking over Tevit's shot in the process. Frack, but that burned.

[Tevit Ramastan]

"It's actually more dangerous than I like," Tevit began to warn Bette, but he stopped when another newcomer arrived, thankfully taking the place of the man who'd insisted on buying him a drink he didn't ask for.

And then this man bought him a drink he didn't ask for. What was with all this sudden generosity? Still, it was best to keep a low profile, so Tevit took the whiskey and nodded in thanks, then proceeded to take a drink from his nearly empty beer. Then came the line from MARCUS, and the Nehantite choked on his drink before he sprayed it out in a glorious spit-take across the bad. Coughing and trying to catch his breath, he wiped his muzzle on a napkin and looked at the droid with incredulity.

"What the hell, man?" he said, never having heard a pick-up line that bad from a wingman, before. He'd heard worse directly, but this was an all-new level of tack he hadn't been expecting. Garfife, when was his ride going to get here?

[Serasai Onashi]

Onash turned to MARCUS with a thoughtful look.

"Do you?" he made a show of looking her over and looked back at the droid with a wide grin. "I second that motion. But it's rude and frequently backfires to attempt to propose procedures for intercourse straight off. Most of the time, you need to lead into those proposals with varying amounts of talking and kissing."

He took his shot and smacked his lips in appreciation. The Nehantite didn't seem to be very talkative, which made it easier for the mercenary as he made his decision. His grin lessened, though his mood didn't, and it showed.

"Most of the time," he said again for emphasis, watching with amusement as the woman hacked and coughed his shot onto the bar. "There's still a lot for you to learn, droid. Once you have the pattern down, it should come easily, though sometimes you just never know."

[Mara Tallen]

"So how do you two know each other?" He asked with curiosity."Glayde." Mara replied simply, tilting her head to concentrate on her drink.

"I've known Glayde for...around five years now. He introduced me to Miriya last year, on Life Day I believe it was." She finished, taking a long, considerable drink from her glass. Mara had no idea if Morgan knew about just how much history she and Glayde had together, but now wasn't the best moment to go blurting that out.

She only hoped Miriya would leave it out as well if she chose to explain how she knew Glayde.

[Bette Davis]

She was surprised by the frankness with which the man talked to the droid, and met his eyes warily. "If you're planning on... 'suggesting intercourse' with me, your method is madness."

She smiled, though, and held out her hand. "M'name's Bette. Keep the droid away from me."

[Tevit Ramastan]

To say that things were confusing would be an understatement, and so it was only in an attempt to see if more alcohol could restore sanity that Tevit took his own shot of whiskey.

Oh, Garfife, it was terrible, especially to a race armed with superior nostrils and tastebuds. Still, he swallowed it back and eyed both Onashi and MARCUS.

Then it dawned on him.

"Wait, are you seriously trying to teach that droid how to get laid?" Tevit asked. "That's... well, damn, that's pretty ingenious." He actually laughed at the thought of that, shaking his head in disbelief.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

The good news was that he didn't have to splatter Serasai Onashi all over the promenade of this shitty space station. He'd probably have a lot of pesky blow-back from that, up to and including hearing Glayde thanking him for a week.

The bad news was, of course, that his little excursion was put on hold, because work never actually stopped for the Captain. Even on shore leave, he was on official business. With Murray in tow, the two headed back the way they came. Cirrsseeto kept his head on the swivel, looking for the alien mechanic Rear Admiral Korikk mentioned.

"Murrray, be on the lookout forr a Nehantjite mechanjic."

When it was apparent the squib didn't know a Nehantite from a Hutt, Cirr did his best to explain.

"jI dunno. Hajirry. Ljike you, but, uh....tallerr?"

[MARCUS]

MARCUS pondered Onashi's suggestions as he took note of the female's insistence that he keep away. Most organics considered a relative distance of two meters to be socially acceptable and non-intrusive, therefore he oriented himself thusly.

The Lupine MMU ran several million if/then simulations, testing the model that Onashi was unwittingly creating by continuing to refine his perception with dialogue.

"You imply foreplay, Serasai. Utilizing assorted delivery methods of sensory data to a sexual partner to elicit a biological response."

The droid module rifled through hundreds of thousands of such examples, noting commonalities along the way. He only paused this subroutine when a nearby alien, a Nehantite, began to laugh at him.

MARCUS splutter-beeped, his visual receptor changing color momentarily.

"Teaching would imply the introduction of new data. None has yet been entered.

The impasse that has elicited a humorous response from you is most likely due to hardware incompatibility."

[Selinica Miriya]

"Yes..." She let out, taking a pull from her drink. "...Glayde. He's my brother..."

Miriya looked down into her drink, thumb rubbing absently up and down the glass.

"...um."

The newly-blonde woman looked back up at both of her present companions, appearing somewhat solemn in her expression.

"Through his sister. We were really tight since grade school."

She looked intently at Morgan, raising her glass to drink, which covered over her mouth and nose as it tilted back.

"You are not to let him know I was here, either."

[Serasai Onashi]

"Well Bette, if I had planned on suggesting that we do the horizontal dance vertically, my method was ruined by my still quite less than tactful companion," Onashi replied to the woman. He wasn't going to be coming onto her without any inhibitions, but there wasn't any hiding his attraction. And he wanted her to see it.

"As to learning, droid," he said. "The recognition of a new pattern in older data could be construed as learning, couldn't it?"

He wasn't sure if it could, but he'd already decided to throw as many questions and provide as many contradictory answers as possible to the droid. It would be interesting, if nothing else.

[Morgan Evanar]

Glayde. Morgan knew who that was. He was in charge of the Marines on the Novgorod, and they'd hardly exchanged more than names.

Morgan regarded Selinica Miriya with a solemn gaze, and then nodded. It was none of his business. On the other hand, if Glayde asked him directly, he would tell the truth. The chances of that happening were between slim and none.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." He said with a smile.

[Bette Davis]

She raised an eyebrow at Serasai appreciatively, leaning an elbow on the bar as the alcohol she'd ingested continued to work it's soothing magic on her. Bette used to drink a lot more than she did currently, so feeling a pleasant buzz so quickly was... different.

Her beer was empty, so she tapped it when she got the bartender's attention. "Droids shouldn't ... shouldn't try seduction." She looked at the large automaton, and added, "Especially not military types. However," Bette allowed, "I've known a few protocol models who seem like their personalities would benefit from a little release."

She bit her lower lip a little as her thoughts chased themselves around in her head to a decidedly disturbing visual. Bette shook her head and turned back to the Nehantite. "I'd love to see your ship."

[Mara Tallen]

The auburn haired woman glanced over at the blonde and offered a small nod. There was a fair bit that remained unspoken between the two of them, that would eventually have to be aired out. It wouldn't do if it was simply left to fester. But that moment didn't look like it was going to happen right then, a fact for which she was immensely glad.

Mara took another sip from her drink, then tilted her head back with a smile. One hand rose to touch Morgan's cheek, fingertips lingering. She drew them back after several moments, allowing her amber gaze to course from him back over to Miriya.

"So what are you doing all the way out here?" Mara asked, mindful of wording her question carefully.

[Serasai Onashi]

"You'll not hear any different from me," Onashi laughed, grinning and scooting closer to Bette. "But this droid - excuse me, mobile interactive unit, or whatever - is seeming ever more curiously human after all, the more I get to know him."

He motioned for a beer himself, and took a long swig. He sighed in appreciation and noted the brand, while Bette continued some conversation with the Nehantite.

"So what if, hypothetically," he began again, "I was going to attempt to seduce you. What would be the best method or avenue into those wonderfully proportioned arms of yours?"

[Tevit Ramastan]

"I'd say," Tevit answered, saving Bette from embarrasment, "that whatever it is you've heard about us Nehantites, it's been enhanced by creative fiction, and there ain't no way you're getting into these trousers, pal."

A playful smirk worked up his muzzle as he took another sip from his beer. "A few more drinks might get you a good, solid cuddle, though."

No, no it wouldn't. At least not from this Nehantite.

Turning back to Bette, he then gave an honest smile. "You know what? I'd love to show you my ship. Was supposed to be meeting someone here, but they're late, so I guess they can wait on me for a change."

[Bette Davis]

Bette laughed, snorting a bit as she did so, and then grinned excitedly at the Nehantite. Tevit. "I've been known to fly a few fast shops myself, so -" she paused and frowned lightly. "Ships. Well, not after drinking. Well, not on record, anyway."

She winked, and downed the last of her drink, setting it down a little harder than necessary on the bar. "So long, Romeo," she said to the droid teacher who'd never told her his name. "Better luck next time."

"Paging Davis," crackled a voice over the loudspeaker. "Your Defender is ready." There was a hint of a chuckle as the speaker ended the communication. She froze as she was sliding off her stool, and her eyes darted guiltily to the dark haired man's face before she was able to recover. Be cool, dumbass.

Bette straightened and smoothed out her clothes while she waited for Tevit to sort out his bill. Oh yeah. She turned and plunked a handful of low denomination chits on the bar.

[Tevit Ramastan]

Had Bette been looking Tevit's way when the word "Defender" was called out, she would have seen his body stiffen, ears tilt back and hackles threaten to raise. It was no secret that the Nehantites didn't have much love for the Empire, but this one in particular had a more than healthy amount of hate.

"Fucking Imperials," he growled as he unfolded a couple paper credit slips. His tab settled, he glanced around the room to see who might be heading for the door in a chance to possibly spot whoever this Imperial wretch would be. It certainly crossed his mind to follow whoever it might be, and make his opinion known with a wrench upside the back of the Imperial's skull, but right now he needed to keep a low profile.

"Good luck with your droid," Tevit called back to Onashi, then turned and waved a paw for Bette to follow him. His ship wasn't far, and he still hadn't received a message on his comm from his new employers, so he figured he had a bit of time he could kill away from the bar. Besides, even for not having any fur, Bette was a right looker, in his book, and some alone time could be quite... fortuitous, if he played his cards right.

[Selinica Miriya]

Miriya gnawed lightly at the inside of her left cheek and shrugged.

"Just a pit-stop. I haven't a single frakkin' clue where Prettyboy is taking me, but wherever it is, it's on John's authority. At any rate, I must not have the 'clearance' or something to be in the know."

She knocked back a further gulp of her refreshement.

"Either that or the reason for the tight lips is that I'm being taken somewhere I won't like. Who knows? At any rate, it's gotta be better than playing the ferryman or being hunted for taking from people who didn't really need what I was making off with, anyway."