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Thread: Gotta Get Away

  1. #21
    What the fuck!? You call this customer service? Perhaps it was the lady behind the counter who needed to know her goddamn menu better than the customer who was a complete stranger to their particular blend of noodles. His fists were already tightened into balls, his shoulders rising, as he prepared for the verbal explosion of a lifetime, and then a little voice pierced the cacophony of verbal violence that was brewing like a storm behind his teeth. The voice intervened, diffused the stalemate and placed an order that sounded agreeable. Abaddon let his shoulders relax and hands unwind, but he was still really angry. There was going to be a helluva one star Zelp review coming later on. Believe it!

    A new question was posed, and it required him to switch off the half written review in his head and look up once more at the menu to see what they offered for drinks. As far as "Adult Beverages", as the menu put it, there were a few beers but no hard liquor. Hard pass. Beer was disgusting. So bitter. Gross. He would sooner drink a gallon of Vosh sober with no chaser. "Water too." That was probably a good idea considering his head was still pounding from the lack of the aforementioned liquor. Why am I making so many good decisions today? The fuck...

    The white eyed bitch gave them an order number written on a flimsi, which took all the willpower he possessed to not snatched out of her hand. The rage was causing a whole new level of headache to brew up from underneath, and the sudden motion might make him feint. Yes, water was a good idea. Taking their beverage straight from the counter Abaddon looked about the crowded interior, trying to locate an empty table that didn't have a sweaty Neimoidian sitting too closely.

    "Inside or out?"

  2. #22
    "Oh, inside for sure."

    She wasn't exactly the sort of gal to take her food outside. Being in the open air just encouraged bugs to zero-in on her food - her food - and she wasn't about to bring down the zipflie horde upon their heads. Not to mention it just didn't seem... hygienic? Eating outside opened up the whole experience to particulates, after all. And who knew if some snotty, sneezing Gamorrean was waiting to spray his germs all over her dish? She wasn't a germaphobe, she was just smart.

    Scanning for an open table, she spied a two-top close to the door.

    "There," she pointed with the hand that held her water, and without waiting for a confirmation, Tamera forded her way through the crowded tables. She was oblivious to everything except for the thought that she was going to be getting a mouthful of pan-stickers in the very near future.

    Making it to the open table without too much fuss, she rocked her luggage up so that it rested vertically and waiting for that inevitable pull which would send it back into motion.

    She practically flopped into the closest seat.

    "Should probably find a place to stash that helmet," she gestured to Abby's face, not really looking at him.

    "Unless you have some sort of plan for sucking pan-stickers and fryrolls through a straw."

  3. #23
    Abaddon placed his massive bag carefully placed just so between his leg and the wall, to minimize potential theft. Hey, those two Rodians in the corner were looking pretty shady. It's not his fault that their weird gibberish language makes them sound like plotting criminals. That's just the facts. It's not racist. I have a Rodian friend. Well, acquaintance; but he agrees with that sentiment! I mean, I've never heard him say anything against it. Silently agreeing, that's what it is.

    "It's not my first slime race with this face."

    Reaching up to his neck he pulled the release and the helmet detached itself with a loud hiss as the seal between it and the rest of the armor was broken. However, instead of removing his mask entirely he merely tipped it upward just enough to reveal a soft chin with a fresh scrape still healing upon it's hairless structure. There were glimpses of a mouth but the tip of his helmet still obscured most of his face. Grabbing his cup of water like a magician performing sleight of hand he showed it off to Tamera, drew attention to the lack of strings or other devices, and then slipped the vessel beneath his chin and put the straw directly into his mouth. The noisy sucking that followed acted as the prestige to his trick.

    "Ta-da!"

    The speaker on his helmet was still grabbing his voice and mixing it together with what little of his actual voice escaped from around the reinforced transparisteel. The projected voice was so loud it drowned out the softer voice below, creating a very strange mix of vocals. One could almost make out an exotic accent in the mix. Almost.

  4. #24
    Not exactly sure how to take this, Tamera simply opted for staring. It was the nicest thing she could do in the moment, frankly. Her expression was more of surprise than anything else. Was he like, some sort of superhero Mandalorian Death Squad member or something?! Didn't want his face on any holocams? Or maybe he was on some sort of wanted list for extra special badness, and his identity was closely guarded? The scar on his chin was enough to make her purse her lips though, and she reached up to scratch at her hairline.

    "Well, that's a new one, Abby."

    Not how she'd planned to introduce her nickname.

    And did he have an accent? She hoped he did.

    She watched him manipulate the straw, continuing to suck up the water from the cup.

    "Trust issues. You have trust issues," she finally chirped, breaking herself out of the moment and focusing on her own drink, removing her own straw from its' wrapper. She dunked it into her water, took a long gulp, then pulled back for air.

    "And hey, I can respect that."

  5. #25
    Abby? ABBY!?

    The pet name came so out of nowhere that it left him choking on his water. So many sharp and mean responses came to mind, defending his name as Abaddon. Full. End. Stop. However, the sputtering and coughing that follows inhaling water into your lungs put a damper on any kind of quick response and by the time he caught his breath the moment seemed to have passed, and she had already moved the conversation ahead. This was not over, you can believe that. He would have some strong words to say about it at a later date; most likely the inevitable moment that she throws her water at him and stomps out. That's how these things usually go.

    Unless actually goes somewhere meaningful. Then she can call him "Abby" all she wants. Preferably at high volume during sexual Ecstasy.

    "Nah. It's not like that." He finally coughed out, still trying to dry off his drowned lungs. "I do a dangerous job, see. I make a lot of enemies. Criminals don't like it so much when you track them down and drag 'em off to prison, for hard cash money no less. You never known when someone is gonna come gunning for me out of nowhere. Could be a guy I put away, or a friend or family member wanting revenge. Two seconds and my helmet is back on and I'm ready to go. That could be the difference between still having a head and not. But hey, maybe if we get somewhere a bit more private you can see what's under the dome."

    Hopefully somewhere very dark.

  6. #26
    'A bit more private'.

    It made her roll her eyes, and Beck gave a rather unladylike snort as she slid her cup a half-tick away from her.

    "I'm not the prying sort," she could help but let her gaze shift then, moving to cast across the rest of the patrons and toward the main counter.

    "A gal learns to keep to herself, and there isn't any better teacher than Nar Shaddaa."

    She couldn't help but notice how he kept his bag firmly guarded, and while her own wasn't exactly sitting out in the open, it wasn't watched over with as much zeal as he seemed to exhibit. Probably a quirk of his profession, if that really was what it was. There was no real reason to disbelieve him, but Beck wasn't about to take him completely for his word. Who knew; maybe he was some sort of murderer trying to hide his identity, and there were skinsuits made out of his victims in that bag? Then again, how did he know that she wasn't what she'd said she was? After all, they'd both flown economy. What were the odds?

    "But, if you're the sort of guy that likes to wear women skinsuits, I'm probably going to pass on the private time. I'll share a lunch, but after that I gotta say... being a killer is a bit of a dealbreaker."

    She turned her eyes back to him before he could answer.

    "Keep in mind, saying you don't wear lady skinsuits doesn't automatically mean you don't."

  7. #27
    Oh if you only knew how close you are, little bird.

    "Lady skinsuits is way too formal, you know? Weddings and funerals kind of thing. Doesn't fit under my armor neither. Not a lot of room in this thing."

    A quick rap on his chest plate emphasized his point; there wasn't a hallow echo but rather a very solid thud as metal gauntlet met reinforced durasteel plates and it's many protective underlayers of support webbing and energy absorbing mesh. While it was showing it's age and a lot of wear and tare, the armor had been top of the line when it was purchased a few years ago. Maybe it was time for an upgrade. Something with a jetpack and wrist mounted missile launcher. Hell. Yeah.

    "I have killed people, though. But not for their skin. Nature of the biz. Bounties go sideways. Their friends come for revenge. It's a rough galaxy out there. I don't have to tell you that, coming from Nar Shaddaa. You still living out that way?"

    Just when the small talk felt like it was going well, that he had something witty or interesting to say, then the topic would dry up and leave him searching for the next one. Damn, this stuff was so much easier with alcohol, loud music, and dim lights.

  8. #28
    "Hells no," came the murmured answer as she took another sip from her water, idly wondering just how long it would be before some group decided to descend on Centares with the call to outlaw straws. It was one of those silly thoughts though, as she knew that most places recycled every bit of their plastic and paper waste. After all, why toss something out when you could send it to a reconstitution factory and actually turn a few credits of profit for the trouble? No, if anything the straw she was currently drinking from had once been a part of a food tray. And most likely it would be broken down and turned into wrapper or something else after she was done with it.

    "I left that place behind without a second thought. Livin' on Jovan Station now. Got a decent gig doing purchasing work, so it's a lot better than things were on Nar Shaddaa."

    A server approached then, a smallish plate in his hands that held their order of fry-rolls. It was set down gently between them, and with a nod of thanks, Beck reached to the condiment holder to pull out a packet of hot mustard paste. The rolls were still steaming, a good sign that this place knew better than to reheat their food. There really was nothing quite like a fry-roll fresh out of the frying pot.

    "So you kill people, you wear a mask and armor, you have a bag that I'm pretty certain has an arsenal in it... "

    She paused in the act of tearing the packet open, giving Abby a critical look.

    "... Does it?"

  9. #29
    "I mean, come on. We flew economy. They don't exactly let you take weapons in your carry on. You need a lot of special licenses for that sort of thing and unless you've dianogaed your way into the good graces of the Bounty Hunters Guild it can be a real pain in the ass to get the paper work accepted. There are fees like you wouldn't believe. It's easier to pick them up planet side; especially if you've got a guy. All of that wouldn't even be an issue if my ship wasn't imp- out for maintenance. I got, like, a hundred blasters on that thing. Yeah, arsenal is the right word for it. Nothin' in this bag but a lot of my armor kit and some spare clothes. You know, if'n I find a reason to relax."

    Mentioning that your ship is impounded is not exactly the best way to impress the ladies. Besides, it wasn't like it was going to be impounded for much longer. If this job goes down without a hitch then he'll have the credits to get her free and then the next job will be that much easier. Of course, that's what he said about the last dozen jobs. A lot of them have gone tits up and the rest had unforeseen complications. Getting holes in your body and armor patched up can be quite expensive unless your willing to go to some alley way ripdoc. That's a good way to wake up with half as many organs as you went in with.

    "Jovan is... interesting. It's a cool station, with some cock teasing untouchable bounties living there, but it's got a little too much Cizerack for my taste, you know?"

    Reflexively he reached for a roll, and then stopped short when he remembered he was wearing armored gloves. They did not have the same dexterity of a naked hand, and the grease from the rolls would get all over the plates and be a pain to clean off. The last thing he needed was to lose his grip at a bad time. Instead he opted to grab a fork off the table and skew the roll; being extra careful to not let it fall off the fork as he navigated it back across the table to his waiting mouth. A tentative sniff was all the ceremony observed before a small bite was taken to get a taste for it. Beck had the right idea. It did need mustard.

    As Abaddon reached for a mustard packet of his own, a suddenly realization bubbled through the murky waters of his brain about the implications of what he had just said.

    "Oh shit, no. I didn't mean it like that. I don't have anything against Cizeracks. I'm not some cat person racist, or anything. Their culture can be very overwhelming is what I'm saying. Feeding pits, Sun goddesses, and that sullen superiority complex. It's not my scene, is all."

  10. #30
    She watched him with not so much a critical eye, rather a healthy amount of amusement as he backpedaled to explain how what he'd said before was not 'cat racist'. It was a strange thing, to see a man who refused to remove his helmet, had a strangely odd accent, wore armor, had a bag full of apparently more armor, and apparently he was worried that he'd seem like a racist. Or speciesist? What was the term nowadays?

    It was made all the more peculiar by the fry-roll held in one hand and the other clutching a mustard packet so tightly that she couldn't help but flinch in the worry that he'd simply squeeze the thing open to send a stream of hot mustard across the table. She knew the bullseye was right on her forehead. It usually was.

    "No no, not cat racist," she blurted it out in a flurry, eyes still carefully watching those gloved fingers and hoping that they would ease up just a bit.

    "They make great snacks though, you gotta admit."

  11. #31
    "The snacks are good. The singing not so much. Saalla Sharraa is still top of the charts in the Cluster and I cannot stand that wailing. Have you heard any Cizerack music? It's awful."

    Abaddon could feel a smile creeping up on his face, and was constantly reminded that part of his face was visible by that uncomfortable fresh air feeling. Smiling was not cool, but it was hard not to. Especially when a lady is being very accommodating and not throwing a glass of water in his face. It lacked that certain gravitas when it just splashes across your helmet, but it still hurts a little when it happens. On the inside.

    The mustard packet was carefully disarmed by tearing the top open, and it's contents directly applied to the fry roll before a more generous bite was taken. Oh yeah, much better.

  12. #32
    Even though less than half his face was covered by that silly helmet, it was easy to see that he'd found a heavenly level of enjoyment from the fry-roll.

    With her mouth obviously full of her own delicious bit of fried gold, Tamera grinned wide. A bit of ground shaak could be seen, wedged between her two front teeth.

    "The mustard makes it ten times better, doesn't it."

  13. #33
    "Mmm. It's definitely the way to go. Uh, you got a little ssomething right here."

    Shifting the condiment packet in his hand he tapped the relative mouth area of his helmet faceplate with his pinky finger. He thought nothing of it. Wasn't that uncommon to get stuff stuck in your teeth, especially where he was from.

    "So." he began as he dabbed a giant glob of mustard on the tip of the roll. He dragged the act out as his mind raced to find some subject, some topic to keep this conversation going. His conversation skills were already drying up quickly and he did not want to fall back on yo momma jokes and derogatory, negging comments just yet. A real player doesn't use all his tricks up front. He saves them for later, or something. "What kind of work do you do on Jovan? You said purchasing work? Is that like ordering stuff?"

  14. #34
    * * *

    He'd casually followed the pair, making his way in a meandering fashion while still maintaining a proper distance. No one escaped the long arm of the law, even if he'd had to sacrifice his own vacation time to ensure one Tamera Beck didn't go unpunished for her hasty departure after winning the Turbolaser Run with the lanky fellow she'd raced with. The man she was with now was not the same, but that didn't matter too much; one at a time.

    Buckley paused when they'd gone into a noodlehouse cafe, but it wasn't but a moment later that he cast his eyes about, looking first down the rest of the pedway, then across the speeder lanes before making a show of finally deciding to grace the noodlehouse with his patronage as well.

    The attendant at the counter gave him a half-lidded stare as he trundled forward, and he gave the menu on the wall a once-over.

    "Ehrm, I'll take a Sith Special Bowl, and a Dr. Polis, Ma'am."

    "That all?"

    "I think so, yeah."

    A fleeting glance behind him, and he spotted Beck, along with an empty table that was close enough for his liking.

    "Ok, seven credits."

    Without a word he handed over a chit, keyed to the amount that she'd said, and as she handed him an empty cup, her head nodded in the direction of the fizzpop dispenser.

    He gave her a nod, turned on his heel, and started off in the direction she'd gestured.

  15. #35
    Abby's help in pointing out the bit of food stuck in her teeth was met with an 'oh!' face, before she reached up to scrape it out with a fingernail. His last question was met with a waved hand, and Beck gave a shrug in accompaniment.

    "Oh it's nothing special. Just making sure that the engineering boys on Jovan have what they need."

    Another happy bite, and another third of her fry-roll disappeared.

    Her free hand came up to cover her mouth, as she spoke while chewing (an expert level talent that she'd developed over many years).

    "It pays the bills, plus I get my own quarters on the station."

  16. #36
    Boys, huh? I bet she swimming in them with a booty like that. All those Cizeracks around probably gets everyone on the station all horny and crazy. It's all that J'eeta. Probably won't even have any time for me once she's back on the station. She'll be lost in that dick forest. That's a bummer. Whatever. I'll just finish this meal and try to enjoy it. It's not like she's going to want my number or anything. Probably has a bunch of dudes blowing up her comm right now except she left it on starship mode. Just typical my luck. Don't do it Abaddon. Stay civil. It's like that Fook guy said. Gotta be a cool guy, not a jerk.

    "Yeah? What's it like living on a space station all the time? I spend a lot of time on my ship and all, but it lands eventually and I get to stretch my legs and get some fresh air. Can't do that much when your stuck up in the big black. I guess trips like this must be nice, right? Getting off the station for a bit, feel real sunlight. Probably run into a lot of the same people every day on a Space Station. Out here you get to meet new people, like me."

  17. #37
    "Oh it's nice," she started around the last mouthful of her fry-roll, having stuffed the remainder into her mouth in decidedly un-ladylike fashion.

    "Much better than Nar Shaddaa. I don't get bothered, the neighbors are nice and quiet, and the food is a lot better than the usual greasy street vendor meat stalls I used to always go to."

    She wasn't one to actually... you know, cook, and so she was often left to the mercies of whatever cafe or fast food establishment she went to.

    "Not to mention, we get the best channels and I can tape all the shows I miss when I'm at work, like Archaic Astronauts and As the Galaxy Spins."

    She was in her element, now. Completely oblivious to everything and anyone except Abby. After all, it wasn't often that people actually engaged her in conversation outside of work. Well, Gradoona did, but she was about the only one.

    "No one really talks to me much there, though. Which it's ok, I don't mind." She minded, but only a small bit. There were always more interesting things to take up her time, like reading HoloWiki articles, where she often enough ended up reading about the history of the old Jedi and Sith wars no matter what page she originally started on.

    "What about you?"

    He was probably not going to give her the real story; men of mystery that wore masks and helmets usually didn't. But, it was what made them interesting, in a daytime trash holoprogram sort of way.

    Still didn't stop her from using her imagination, though.

    Abby was probably some rich heir, his family fortune tied up in planetary land stocks or... or maybe he even had Banking Clan ties?! Maybe his mother was an heiress or some high-profile business magnate, and he was pushing away the cushy lifestyle in favor of something more real and dangerous? Something to remind him that he was alive and a person just like every other working being in the galaxy? And maybe - just maybe - he was looking for not just adventure, but love? Some lucky gal that saw through his hard exterior, past the veneer of wealth, and through to his real heart? Maybe he was starved for love and someone to share a meaningful life with?

    Either way, it was romantic.

  18. #38
    What about me. What about me? What was there really to say about me that isn't part of this facade or incredibly boring. When she spoke she was so to the point and earnest. Nothing she said sounded like a lie or an embellished story. It was... refreshing, to say the least. In a profession dominated by machismo and big personalities, it was nice to run into one that was small. Not weak or anything. Just small. Tamera wasn't trying to prove anything and seemed more than happy with a line of work and lifestyle that Abaddon found quite dumb. Requisitions on a space station? No thanks. And yet there was a noble acceptance of that situation.

    How? How could she be so satisfied with that existence? Drugs. It had to be drugs.

    "I don't have a lot of free time, with all the Bounty Hunting. I'm not in the Guild, which means I have to work twice as hard for my bounties. No hand outs, no leg ups. Hell, half the time the Guild swoops in and steals my bounties right out from under me. When I don't have bounties I do some freelance work. You know, Private Military stuff; bodyguarding, or just plain guarding. Whatever pays the bills, kind of stuff. When I do have some time I like to watch Gunjhin animation. The industry has gone to shit but a lot of the old classics still hold up. Droidtech, Renegade Sun, Phantom Shield, Code Wexx, My Force Academy, and my favorite Mando'a. You have to get past the terrible translation, but it's a good story about a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter and his kickass journey through the stars. Good stuff."

    Oh god, reign it in Abaddon! You are getting way too nerdy out there you stupid Jhiib. She doesn't want to hear about that stuff. Nothing cool about that. Quick, move on to something better before she notices.

    "Uh... other than that I mostly just do regular stuff like exercising, like a lot, and tuning my weapons. Gotta be in tip top shape. Never know when a bounty is going to make a mess of things."

    Having suddenly run out of things to say he stuffed another eggroll in his mouth with far too much hastily spread mustard to fill the awkward silence.

  19. #39
    What a goofy sight; some masked weirdo trying to eat his fry-roll without fully giving away his identity, and Beck being her normal self. Her normal, unassuming self. She had always put on airs to seem as plain as possible, but he knew better. His second meeting with her had been what clued him to the fact that Tamera Beck was as devious as they came. Oh, she masked it well enough, but that girl was a menace. He could still remember her hand, coated with repulsor gearbox oil, as it made contact with his cheek. He'd not been able to get rid of the smell for two weeks. Nevermind the fact that he'd simply been asking her a standard question in regards to the burglary that her shop had experienced the night before. Her defensive reaction really only made her seem more guilty. Inside jobs on speeder shops weren't unheard of, after all.

    Right before he made it to the fizzpop dispenser, he took a hard left, knifing through the tables until he was practically looming over the two. He'd tossed the cup into a trash bin, his hand now free to pull a pair of simple binders from the clip on the back of his belt. He might not've been in uniform, but that didn't mean he hadn't come unprepared.

    Beck had her drink in hand, trying to find the straw with her lips when Buckley reached out. One cuff snapped shut on her wrist, and the other clicked closed on his own.

    "Miss me, Ms. Beck?"

  20. #40
    She had just found the straw when the binder clacked over her wrist.

    A familiar voice, and blinking, Tamera turned a look up and to the side.

    Expression twisting into a picture of disbelief, her mouth fell open.

    "Reggie?!"

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