| The Job Offer |
| Summary: | Three wanted pilots walk into a bar… |
| Date: | 04/03/2011 (OOC Date) |
| Related Logs: | TBD |
| Players: |
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| A Bar |
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| Its seedy, it smells, and the desc is below. |
| IC Date? |
The Cantina is jiving tonight and in the dusky air of the red and blue lit interior this evening, the performers are moving about on stage. The music lifts and drags over the spice scented atmosphere, clinging along the dark corners and giving cover for the unsavory conversations taking place at booths lining the walls. The middle tables are a mixed labyrinth that the servers have to navigate with laden trays of drinks and the fried foods that pass for edible here on the rim. The different dialects of the region clamor to be heard and the occasionally loud chuckle accents the air.
A slender female, dressed to show, moves amongst the tables and takes some drinks. The back of her tray is offered as a smack to a rather forward Bocce and the sentient grows in return, his companions giving a chuckle.
There's no telling how long she's been here. Could be hours. Could be days. The former O7 and Group Captain of the Sovereign looks more or less like she used to except for the fact that she is in dire need of a haircut. It's just turned up lazily behind her head in a simple clip. She's stakes out a corner booth and has both arms up on the cushions. Taija's table has a couple bottles of beer on it but even the one sitting in front of her looks warm - which might be a byproduct of the establishment. Her stetson is parked on the table next to the bottle while a cigarette burns in the ashtray beside her. Those same determined eyes watch the goings-on with mild interest tending more towards detail.
Tali, for her part, is only just arriving. And with quite a bit of fanfare, if the Bothan who's got his arm draped over her shoulders is any indication. He's already loud, and drunk, and a bit belligerent…and did we mention drunk? It's no wonder the woman can manage to wiggle out from under his arm, as he stumbles over towards the bar. A toss of her braid over a shoulder, and she heads further in, away from her 'companion'.
It hurts. It hurts when medals and ranking, and prestige is stripped from one's self. However, Krik left Imperial Service with his honor intact. He still has it somewhere on his body when he steps into this particular cantina with his right hand resting over the holstered blaster at his side, using it for a perch. There's a glance from one point of interest to the next as he scans the smoky haze. The smell of alcohol and scum is strong, particularly the scum.
He clears his throat and the bulk of his frame is moved casually forward, still searching. It isn't hard for him to find his destination and the former Executive Officer wordlessly slips into a corner seat at Taija's table. He reaches underneath the right side of his jacket in order to retrieve a small silver case. When it's placed down, he clicks it open in order to begin crafting a homemade cigarra.
The clamor at th bar swallows Tal's companion and soon he is invited in a friendly game of Sabacc. He better be good, because a twi'lek is dealing and Maffi is definitely controlling this house. Curling up a leg upon the edge of her stool, green eyes follow the passing of humans. Not that scruffy looking so earning some distinction of attention. Vernista taps a finger to the edge of her lips and the wild black curls are like a large mane. The armored woman gives a lift of her chin and a two fingered tap against the bar before a bubbling blue liquid is set before her. "Dom'esk.." She says to the Chadra behind the bartop. Gloved fingers curl around her drink and it draw it up to her waiting lips as her gaze then follows Krik in, marking his passage as she had the woman.
Getting to the 07 is not that easy, bumping of bodies and shifting of servers will make the tastk a little dance in its own right. The floor isn't exactly clean as they get closer to the stage with the blaring band atop, it becomes sticky.
It's less the Bothan she cares about than getting to where she needs to be. He was just a ticket to ride, as it were. Only more the ticket and less the riding, given the speed at which the woman extricated herself from the man's hair embrace. And one wonders why her callsign used to be drone. (As in unmanned, get it?) Careful steps across the floor, liberally interspersed with a few well placed shoves and a kick or two, and Tali's settling facing the man and his tobacco.
Taija Havilland just gives a simple nod to the man as he sits on down. She lifts her smoke and takes a drag. There's no greetings yet. Just a simple acknowledgement for the moment. Once they began planning their little mutiny it became second nature to adopt skills like discretion. The smoke is ashed gingerly and held in her fingers until Talisa arrives. "Good to see you both got my notes." Meet here, tonight. Signed with her callsign. Who the hell knows how she found them so quickly. Maybe she's always kept tabs on her people. But nobody has seen the CAG for two years. Not since she gave the order for everyone to scatter into the wind when their boss, Ian "Krieg" Inrokana was killed in a transport explosion.
Krik patiently wets his lips and then lifts the newly rolled and tucked slip of paper, running it along the tip of his tongue before pursing his lips further to the bittersweet taste of Corellia's finest. A thoughtful murmur escapes the depths of his throat as he looks down to the cigarra and seals it closed. "Chatterbox, reporting for duty as ordered," he offers the reply with a volume just above the general background noises whilst his eyes scan the area around. He begins to sit back in his chair and square his shoulders, rolling the cigarra within his right hand's fingers before slipping it to the side of his mouth in order to search for a lighter. It's under his jacket. In the meantime, he's looking in the bar's direction for one reason or another.
"What is it that you wanted from us?" No sir, no nice to see all of you. Two years was long enough, three would have been better. Before she her dedication to her CAG rob her of her senses. Lead her away from her perfectly happy life in the Empire. Now she's nothing to go back to, certainly not that hairy beast losing his clothes at the sabacc table.
Casting a look back over her shoulder, Vernista makes a general sweep of the room with her green eyes. She lifts her drink and as the male amongst the small gathering group looks her way. Shifting in her seat, the Kiffar shows the length of her leg that is not covered by battleskirt or boots before she winks at him. Taking a long pull from the blue bubbling liquid she turns back to the bar and smirks at the small sabacc game nearby. The poor bothan is indeed losing his shirt, and he seems not to mind as he pulls it off and slings it over his head. The smelly material tumbles through the air to land on the face of a server and she gasps, shuddering and wiggling out from beneath it to let it mix to the sticky floor.
Taija smirks at Krik. "Wait until you hear the assignment before you go reporting for anything." There's just a bit of daring to her words, the same inclination sliding into her smile. Her eyes flip towards Talisa and she takes a sip of her beer. Afterwards her hands reach into her jacket and she produces a couple hundred credits and tosses it to both of them. "To cover your travel fares." She clears her throat and looks between them both. "I won't rob you of more time. I'll come straight to the point: I ran into our Force Marshal Inrokana at a shop on the Wheel yesterday." Yes, he's alive. "We talked for five minutes about a potential job opportunity. How would either of you feel about flying TIE's again? In combat."
Slowly, the stick of light narcotic rolls along Krik's lips from right to the left and he tips his chin respectfully to the armored woman's winking gesture before directing himself to those at the table. He lights the tip with a roll of his wrist and snapping flicker of a simple lighter contraption. It's pocketed alongside his silver case. His right hand comes up to sweep back over the scalp of his head. "Most anything is better than living here, not all of course." There's a plaintive look to Talisa and then to Taija; comrades, yes, but it's been ages. It's hard to smile after so long. He's appreciative though and makes a small gesture of a wave. He won't be interrupting until the proposal is made and while listening he reaches forward to nonchalantly accept the cred. "Depends," he remarks, "On who for."
"So, he didn't really die." Why is Tali not surprised. "He just left us to twist in the wind for three years while he did what? Sun himself on a desert oasis on Tattooine?" A hand reaches out, her left, to try to snag the smoke from between Krik's lips, the gesture like a memory of the past brought into the present, "And now. He's back, and we're supposed to be lining up for duty?" No smile, no anger, just cold hard facts, and a lot of something very much like hatred.
"Krieg." Its a plain answer to who they would be working for. "But since he's already peace'd out once, I would rather you consider this job to be one where you are working for me. He pays your way, he provides the shelter and food. He issues the orders." She looks between them. "But if he decides to die again or run off, that's his choice. Its not a choice I will make again for that group. We stay, we stand, we fight." Her eyes settle on Tali and she shrugs. "I'm not your superior officer anymore unless you sign on for this. I contacted you two first, seeing as how you are some of the best pilots we had. If you're happy where you are, you're welcome to walk. But considering where the shit its left us? I don't know about you but I haven't had two weeks in the same place for two years. You line up for whatever you want but I'm signed-on. I'll be his operations officer and lead pilot."
The music of the band switches up and begins a more lingering tune and it is overcome by the conversation in the room. Its the best place for them to be honest, yet those green eyes at the bar are giving due attention in scant portions to the group. Finishing off her drink, Vernista stands, pushing away from the bar to traverse that worn and disgusting floor towards the Sabacc game the Bothan is losing at. She slides in, melding with the crowd and puts her around Talisa's once companion. She leans down and begins to converse with him, not hiding anything at all and using what she can to get some more information.
"If he's paying, and providing and ordering, then we're really not working for you, are we? Except that we are, because he doesn't have the balls to come out in the open. He didn't three years ago when he went underground. And nevermind the fact that I don't imagine any of us have had a night's sleep since it happened, or a moment of feeling like we didn't have to look over our shoulder waiting for the firing squad waiting for all of us." Yes, there's a hell of a lot of anger there, "So tell me exactly why I'm supposed to do anything that he wants us to do ever again?"
A 'puh' escapes Krik's lips as Tali takes hold of his bit of cigarra. The breathless little sigh is shifted about into a brief chuckle under his breath and she manages to get something of a smile from him. The past is just that powerful. "Keep it," is mentioned to his squadron leader before her executive officer reproduces both case and lighter in order to craft another. He takes his time with this one. It's a near-ceremonial thing. "I've hard feelings. Sure, who wouldn't?" He glances up to the women. "Shaddaa is going to be the death of me. I'm lost to my family, clan. I live in a… less than desirable position. Still, in all due respect of years past, it's going to take more than five karkin' minutes to convince us."
Taija just listens to the pair and nods. "I don't expect you to jump on this like a couple of bitches in heat." She takes a drag on the smoke and lifts her arm to ash it. "Fact is, I jumped on board because I'm tired and I'm broke. I need the work. Doing illegal bounty jobs and buying up fake IDs sucks. Frankly, I doubt any of us doing work befitting us." She shakes her head and reaches for the beer lazily, her movement lethargic overall. There's no anger, no animosity. Taija's just zenned out. "I'm probably about as happy as you guys are. Possibly less-so. The difference is that I don't see this as much of a choice. It sucks to have had this happen but look, its a job opportunity flying in combat again. You don't want to do what he says?" A shrug. "Fine. Whatever. Do what I say then. If this turns out to be a crackpot scheme to get your money like those frakkin Corellian Finance Minister emails? Walk. There's no contracts to sign as far as I know. For God’s sake we're a bunch of people who walked on our last contracts to the Empire. Signing new ones might be the damned most back asswards thing I could think of."
"I don't know about the two of you, but I've been getting mostly good work. Still flying. Going where I want to go, seeing what I want to see. hell, I fly naked sometimes, when I have a mind to." Just you know, when she's not being hunted by scavengers or pirates. And she's probably kidding about the naked part. Probably. "I have no idea how you ended up a bounty hunter, Blackjack, your aim was always piss poor. Like a Hutt trying to make it in the front door." If you know what I mean. A spark of the woman's old humour is nothing to snort at. Nor is the strength of the smoke she stole from the man sitting across from her. "Still haven't said what sort of combat and under whose banner."
"I get by. There was a tramp freighter I crewed with a while back, the Delilah Blu-…" He stops sealing his cigarra with the slide of a thumb thanks to Tali's admission of nakedness. "Blue," murmurs Krik before he makes the conversation grow awkward or something. It had just caught him off-guard and now he's back to sticking the bit between his lips in order to freely light it. "Yeah, I'm interested in the banner." He speaks up in a gruffer tone of voice thanks to the cigarra and he smokes it slowly, relishing in it while it produces an idle haze in front of his right eye. "I miss the thrill but I'm just not willing to make the same mistakes my last flight career."
"Its amazing what you can learn when you have to, Drone," Taija deadpans. Jealousy? Maybe. She did tell her she could walk back to her job if she wanted to. But she hasn't left yet. "What kind of combat? Same kind we had after we left the Empire but a bit more of a challenge." Because that wasn't challenging enough?? "From what it sounds like we're putting together a small strike force for right now. The only banner is our own." Another drag from the smoke. The GCPT just takes her time on the exhale. "Guerrilla warfare against the ones who don't like us so much anymore. Shoot-n-scoot, boom-n-zoom. Knowing him? Probably a lot of the same stuff we used before." Top of the line. "The 'Marsh has a base hidden off somewhere. Can't say where exactly around a place like this, but it will, heh, fit the needs of the mission. Might be workin with the Confeds, CSA, Republic.. you name it. And you both know the order he belonged to." Its no secret among this group that he's a Jedi. "I don't know what kind of shit he's got planned, but we're trained combat personnel and some of the best. We've also managed to survive for two years on the run. I would imagine we might be looking at some cloak and dagger in addition to our old tricks of aerial gunnery."
"So back from the dead and back to doing the same old thing. What is he thinking of doing against the Republic?" They're no bunch of saints either, despite the current party line through most of the galaxy. But her attention seems mostly on Krik. And it has nothing to do with the fact that she made him take a mental stumble. It's her way to be a bit out there, and he just happens to have the right parts. And more to do with the fact that three years ago, he was her right hand, her sounding board, her XO. Her rock when the rest of the world was tumbling down around her. The way a good wingman should be. "If Cropduster's in, so am I."
Krik reaches up in order to pluck free the smoking stick from betwixt his lips and hold it nearer to the edge of the table before him, inclining his head thoughtfully to the side and taking the moment to look elsewhere. He watches a passing Rodian. After another one of his deep, thoughtful sounds are produced he places the cigarra back to the side of his mouth and lets it hang there as he looks between the two women sitting before him. "We don't have much to lose as is, not that I'm suggesting we have much to gain either. This gives us a chance to right some wrongs the only way we know how. This ace is in the pot then." He flashes Taija a brief, wry smile before giving a stiff nod of his head. With a look to his CO, he gives off another nod. Reassuringly decisive.
Taija snorts. "Seriously? You think someone like Marsha is about to start kicking stones over in the New Republic?" Its not quite mocking but there is some humor to it. "Right. You got another good joke I ain't heard before?" She shakes her head and lifts the smoke to her lips. Its set on the side of her mouth and deposited to be smoked. She then glances to Krik to await his answer. "I'm inclined to agree whole-heartedly. I sure wouldn't mind the chance to kick the Empire in the testicles one more time, regardless." She doesn't allow herself to smile until the end. The slightest hint of a nod towards the tall pilot. "Damned glad to hear it. So… Drone? Ready to lead another squadron?" Most of her focus is here on this table, the cigarette bouncing as she speaks.
"I meant, more would he expect us to ride their coattails or not, not if he thought he could take them on as well." The man might be shit in Tali's mind, but she's pretty sure he's not that stupid. Pretty sure. She's still working her way down her stolen smoke, "So who else are we having coming on board?" If she's going to be leading anything, she's going to know who's ass she's going to be kicking when push comes to shove."
Krik nearly snorts and clears his throat before reaching forward to claim one of the bottles of alcohol loitering about their table. He's promised to offer his dogfighting skills to this little excursion and so now he can get pointedly drunk, or near to it. The smoke he has is put out with his off-hand and then placed into one of the pockets on his jacket just prior to him taking a patient little pull. He then tips further for a longer second one. "I'll admit," he remarks after swallowing, "I haven't bothered keeping tabs on anyone over these years."
Taija shrugs. "I don't plan to be kissing anyone's ass. If Marsha wants us to follow him, he's got some making up to do. I'm not following half-baked orders or plans. We keep our ops legitimate - like our targets. If the Republic wants us to airy fairy around and guard their shipment of X-Wing Barbie and Y-Wing Ken from point A to B I'm going to laugh and go plan someplace else for us to be in the meantime. After I give them the finger. I plan to beat ass in the biblical sense." Apparently the old CAG isn't willing to frak around anymore. "We do this, we go all the way. Us. If he bows out, I'm taking his damned ship, the crew, and everything he owns. Someone will have to kill me before I give the order to scatter again." There's some of that old bloodthirsty aggression. "As for people? I've gotta talk to Loncheval tomorrow after I hook up with Marsha and get his equipment." New toys. She rocks out a list of some of the best pilots they left with, eventually petering out because she needs a few squadrons worth. The smoke is removed from her lips as she begins and is flicked absently into the tray with her thumb after every few names. With Krik's comment she nods. "I spent a pretty credit to keep tabs on some of you. You guys are hard people to track down."
Tali settles back, making her own mental lists as each of the names are called. Thankfully, for her, perhaps, as she doesn't want to lose a hand, she doesn't try to steal Krik's liquor too. "As soon as I get the names, I'll start working them into squadrons." Some she knew well, some she didn't, so it'll take time to make groups that work well together in the time constraints we have. She might have problems with some, hell, a lot of this, but she still remembers how to do her job.
"Well, I'll," Krik looks down at the bottle in his right hand as he tilts it up into the light. He knits his eyebrows thoughtfully down at it and then wrinkles the bridge of his nose in idle distaste. To what, he doesn't particular elaborate on. "I'll do what I do best, field some of Drone's responsibilities. I'd like to take a look at the incoming hardware first though." He takes another pull in the middle of focusing on Taija. Pay back her credit spent in following him, hell no. He's getting straight to business instead.
Work them into squadrons. "Outstanding, Duval. I don't know if you guys still have uniforms and flight suits but if you do, dig them up and iron out the unwanted folds. I've got runners out with notes going to about two hundred different pilots. Not all will sign on. Some won't be alive. But I'll have a list going to you right off the bat." Sits up more, leaning forward on the table. She was aiming her smoke at Talisa. Pivoting on the elbow, it swings towards Krik. "That's exactly what I want you doing. I'm not going to fly some piece of shit TIE fighter first gen with thirty thousand hours on the frame. Further, any kind of ordnance we have coming in I want you to inspect. Missiles, laser systems, anything. Then I want you to start looking for any kind of upgrades we can get. Think you can handle that?" She's back.
Tali stubs out the last of her smoke, before she settles back. Given Krik's reaction to the bottle, she's not even going to try it. There's a nod that's all business, as she hears the duties being parceled out. Works for her. "Hayseed always was better at doing the paperwork." Never let it be said that she'd ever forget that he came from Kiffex. "I assume we've got a place we need to be meeting up at? That's not this dive?" Although, as her head turns, trailing the figure of a rather..tidy looking, and non-furry spacer, "This place has its perks."
"I might have kept up with an old uniform or two," maybe, and Krik's maybes and might haves tend to be of courses and yeses. He nods to the both of them before settling down with a moment of lingering quiet. The alcohol is strong and a specialty he doesn't prefer but he doesn't let it get the best of him and continues to sip from the bottle. With Taija's question, he reflexively smiles and offers an, "Of course." That smile only slightly sours, if only because he most likely really would be a farmer if not an ace pilot. "She…" He looks away from watching Talisa and back to Taija, "Does have a point aside from checking out every vaguely male-thing that walks by."
"Yeah. Got a place." She only chuckles at the jab to Krik's home. She takes out a pen and writes something down in the corner of a napkin. She does it twice. Each one is torn off and handed to either one of the pilots. "Be there tomorrow at nineteen hundred hours local with all your gear packed and ready to go. If you need an extra day, take it. I'll be back there or have someone meet you. From there, we'll meet at the base of operations." She takes a smoke drag from the cigarette, her final, and then stubs it out. The smoke is let off like a dragon from her nose as she smiles. "Yeah? I stopped looking at tail when I got married. He used to get flustered when I'd look at a guy." Well she's certainly Kuati.
"You're just upset because I didn't look at you when you walked by." But that's neither here nor there, as a hand reaches across the table. The first time she's done so. She did not pick up the credits Taija tried to hand over for the price of their fare to this little slice of heaven. "I'd better go and get my supplies from the ship I came in on." Clearly, from her tone, the Bothan, who's now down practically to his skivvies, can go hang, "Looking never hurt anyone." That's all she's saying. And Tali does a lot of looking.
Krik sets his bottle down before reaching up with a hand to sweep over the breadth of his chest, offhandedly checking for bull's eyes now that he's definitely the target of teasing affection once again. He would check his backside if he could. For now, he shrugs to Tali's claims, "I'm sure you make exceptions when I'm not looking. You know you want to." In trying to further avoid her bait he reaches forward in order to take up the address scrawled down. After it's glanced over, he folds it between forefinger and middle and tucks it out of sight into a pocket before shifting in his seat. He gruffly remarks, "I've got a good feeling about this."
Taija moves around to stand from the table. "Cash on the top is yours. Call it a finder’s fee. Donate it to a charity or send it home if you want. Hell, leave it as a tip if you feel the need." She lifts the beer and takes a final pull on it before setting it back down. "You get stuff or hang out and watch the local flavor. I've gotta get off this rock." She clears her throat and picks up the stetson. "Yeah, I've got a good feeling, too. We stick together, there's no ass we can't kick or stretch of space we can't fight our way into or out of." And that ain't bluster. "Show up in civvies but be ready for the life all over again. None of the bullshit, all the high points. Check six." She taps the brim of her hat as if to salute and moves off for the door.
Once Taija is on her way out, so too is Tali. And she does pick up some of the credits. Some she can leave as a tip, but leaving that much? That's going to raise more eyebrows than she and the rest of the trio need. Idle hands brush off her clothes, before she starts away from the table, a hand drifting back to offer itself to Krik. For all the world, she looks like a woman about to lead her latest conquest back to her lair. An act, but a good one, a practiced one that works well for cover. Give them an answer they understand and they don't go looking for the truth. "Come on, my little (hee!) farmer boy, I'm going to let you walk me back to my room."
"Copy that, Blackjack," replies Krik. He takes a moment out of getting up in order to pinch the bridge of his nose and then clear it. "Such a wretched little hive, I'll almost miss the scummy pollution." He then looks up and over to Tali and her offered hand. There's the start of a smug, interested smirk at that offer but it disappears before it reaches anything interesting and so he wordlessly rises in order to escort her out of the cantina. In the process, he's finding his half-smoked cigarra in order to light it up and smoke the rest of it down. "One day, you're going to actually use Krik for once. I'm going to like that day."
