Torin walked out into Aril's storefront and leaned against a wall. He looked over the list of places the B2 "medical" droid might be found.

Another mechanic would be good place to check, but the droid was unlikely to go there too often. Even more so for the merchant who resupplied his medical stock.

The junkyard and the cantina seemed the most promising.

"Alright, the cantina first, it's the closest." Torin's voice quietly rumbled as he put the datapad away into his robes.

After a short walk and he was standing in front of a cantina looking up at a statue of a kinrath. He'd found the right place.

Walking in, it took a moment for Torin's eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Gambling, drinking, spacers, and some bored guards who perked up as he entered. Torin slid his hood off his head and the guards looked him over briefly before deciding he wasn't a threat. Torin noticed a weapons rack with a surprising number of blaster rifles. So, this is also a hunter hangout.

A good place to find information.

Torin walked up to the expansive circular bar in the center and the Arcona proprietor approached him.

"What can I get you?" the Arcona asks as he glances back towards the gambling tables where an outburst of raucous shouts attracts the guards attention.
"Tembo's on a real hot streak, you might want to sit away from them."

"I actually have an offer for you, if you can help me. I hoping to hire someone I understand you know and I can offer you a modest finders-fee if you help me find them and I can negotiate a contract."

"Oh, who did you have in mind?" the Arcona turned away from the gambling tables and gave Torin his full attention.

"An old B2 battle droid refitted to provide medical services."

"Ah, Embeetoo. And who are you?"

"I'm Dorin, working on behalf of Aril Nunb who wishes to hire Embeetoo."

"Hire you say? Embeetoo might be difficult to convince."

"Well, that's why Aril hired me, Embeetoo is unique and has a lot to offer someone like Mr Nunb. So what do you say? Do you know where I might find Embeetoo?"

Should I roll Negotiation, Cool, or something else?

Blast, I wanted a sneak peek at that keypad!

Ok, so those checks are the same for me cause I don't think I can justify Warfare as a ship info thing.

Knowledge: Education or Mechanics check on the ship type : 2eA+2eD 1 failure, 1 threat

So not only does Crow not know, he knows MISinformation about it. If you're cool with is, I can add something dumb in on this post. Let me know!

"Bharssk and Lurrk, eh?" the Clone asks, deliberately getting their names wrong. "No sorry, it was Bhurrk and Larsssssk, right? Sorry, my tongue is a bit rough on the old language, there. Nice to meet the both of ya, and yeah, I guess I am one of the last left," this remark is with a hint of sadness in his voice, but not enough that anyone unfamiliar with him would notice. As they proceed into the hangar area, Crow casts his eyes over the ship that is docked in the middle. Unable to discern the type, or anything specific about it, he simply says, "Bloody nice boat you got there, lads! She quick enough to make a trip to Coruscant in less than a week?"

Jedi Ronin, please go ahead and roll a Negotiation against three purple with one setback. This is from your being an unknown to Tek. But also add a boost, as he appreciates your forthright nature - as you've just done what he suggested to Embeetoo; walk up and ask nicely.

Negotiation : 1eA+2eP+1eB+3eD+1eS 1 failure

Huh, I still have an idea of how Torin can find Embeetoo.

To prevent any misunderstanding, I'm holding off posting until the GM has adjudicated the Negotiation check. It is a fairly complex one with 0 successes but 2 advantages and a triumph...

Ok! I am back in the game properly and ready for more adventure!

Embeetoo:

"Human male?" the man responds, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes as he looks up at the droid. "We have names, you know. Mine is Carrig. And yeah, I know the girl you're looking for? What am I going to get out of the deal?" He leans forward, his bushy eyebrows rising a little as he suggests a need for payment of some sort.

Up to you how you want to play this, Weedles! Many options here.

- - - - - - - - - -

Ramani and Eya:

Growwv pauses at Ramani's statement about the blonde woman. "I thought so too," she replies in a low voice, "But the thing with Ord Mantell... There's only two types of law enforcement. Black Sun, and Imperials. I don't like either option and I don't want to get involved, so let's hope that was just a passing of ships in the night, so to speak." She continues pushing the hover trolley, and it's not long before the group has wended its way through the street and into the main port hub.

Around the area is the usual stream of people, ships are departing on the midday timetable as normal, there is a small argument between a Nautolan and a droid about the concept of packing fragile objects, but otherwise the main thoroughfare of the port is doing what it does best. Solan pulls out his comm and calls a number, waiting with an excited look on his face. "Good day, Mr. T'Vont, we are at the port," he says, doing his best to keep his voice neutral, belying the fervor he is displaying, "Yes, that's fine. We'd be happy to meet you there. Alright, we will see you in a few minutes."

The Corellian hangs up and turns to face his partner, the Balosar and the scarred human girl. "We're on. Docking Bay Fifty Four. Someone will let us in once we buzz the comm there. Let's roll!" Solan steps out with a flourish, clearly happy with the way the situation in unfolding.

"Well," Growwv mutters, not quite under her breath, "At least he's enjoying himself..."

- - - - - - - - - -

Torin:

"Do I know where you might find Embeetoo?" echoes the Arcona, scratching absently at his arm as he holds the Kel Dor's gaze. "Well, if you'd arrived but a moment ago, I would have pointed to that stool right there," and he does, holding out a thin arm and extending a finger to indicate a specific place at the bar. "Problem is, the tin can left to find someone. Seems to be the day for it."

At the back of the cantina a ruckus ensues when someone gambling is accused of winning too much to be playing legitimately. Fists are flying and credit chips spill everywhere before the toughs that police bad behavior in the place step in to bash some heads together and quiet everyone down. "Sorry about that," Tek intones, a rote apology for something he doesn't really care about, "And for not being able to help. I can say the droid walked down that street when he left." The extended finger shifts to stab at the long lane running perpendicular to the cantina, back towards the market area of town.

"Best of luck finding him. I'd also suggest you keep an eye out for any Clones. Might help you!" Tek finishes with a small chuckle, before going back to his normal chores to keep the place running smoothly.

Because of the failure he legitimately doesn't know anything to specify an area, but he did indicate the correct street. And the time frame between you and Embee is so small you have a good chance to catch up! Good luck!

- - - - - - - - - - -

CR-0216:

Bhurrk laughs, his sibilant hiss echoing around the large bay, "The ssstonesss on thisss one. So casssual with gunsss pointed at him! Would that we had you with usss back on Tatooine!" he says after his mirth has subsided, "You would have been perfect for that job!" The other Trandoshan, who hasn't spoken a word yet, clicks his jaw and frowns at Bhurrk. "Oh husssh, Larssk. Having a good conversssation for once is nice. Chak is all busssinesssss and you... Well, we know the isssssue there."

They move into the center of the bay, Bhurrk moving around in front of Crow to sit on a stacked pile of crates, looking at the Clone now. Larssk stays behind him, the shotgun still aimed directly at the old soldier. "Sssee, Larssk got on the bad ssside of the wrong Hutt," the more green tinged Trandoshan begins, "Sssaid sssome thingsss that the Hutt didn't take kindly to. Gave him a choice. Fight in the gladiator pitsss below hisss palace or cut out hisss own tongue. Our verbossse friend here is the resssult."

Gliding back down the ramp from the ship, the Devaronian speaks into a commlink, with Crow only able to catch the final parts of the conversation. "Of course, one of my associates will allow you entry once you ring the doorbell. Very good. I look forward to meeting with you, Mr. Zegg." Clicking it off and putting it back in his coat pocket, the horned alien strides over to the trio of men in the middle of the bay. "Alright, they're on their way. Larssk, you and I will be here, waiting. Bhurrk, let them in when they arrive. Clone... What are you good at?"

Eya had noticed the woman. Hadn't wanted to look too closely, lest she be seen looking. She grimaces at Growwv's comment. "Let's hope," she agrees, and leaves it at that. While Solan comms the client—or should that be "mark?"—Eya lets herself fall back to the back of the group. Ears sharp, eyes open. Just in case. And if that woman is looking for Eya—well, she probably isn't. Probably. Hopefully.

Then she has to speed up again—lest Solan leave the rest of them behind—which completely ruins her attempt to scope out the situation. Blast it, she thinks, hurrying along behind. "Docking Bay Fifty-Four?" she quietly confirms, once caught up to Solan. "Understood."

Embeetoo wasn’t shocked by this mundane development, rather he was just simply miffed. On the one hand the human’s request for payment was not unreasonable, in fact under a different circumstance would even go so far as to consider it wise. To be fair, if the droid was completely unaware of his situation and had the processing power of a bantha youth maybe he would have made a similar advance. But in all seriousness, the man wished for payment? The ignorance of organics never ceased to amaze him.

“Human male” the droid began again, his droning, murky deep voice a tad bit lower than what it was originally, “here I am, a feared hulking chunk of metal, spikes, and weaponry, a former elite soldier and veteran of the Clone Wars, standing in full view of not only your current, but your future clientele. Do you see anyone coming in, now or whenever I am here?” He glares over to the businessmen fumbling around and unceremoniously huffing and shuffling towards the exit at a surprisingly brisk pace, most of the pedestrians cautiously keeping a clear distance from the battle unit, “What you are ‘going to get’ is my leave, human male. And, if this information proves to be folly, I will come back and do nothing but stand outside the entrance while your customers sulk away until your profits shrivel into dust. And trust me, I have all the time in the galaxy”.

The B2 unit bends down to eye level with the thick set ape, his fingers tapping against his vibro-bayonet and his sensor glowing a deep red. The cook had stopped his bustling, peering at the machine with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty while the waitress continues to munch on her pastry. “I sincerely have no problem with you, or your business” said the droid, taking a bit of a lighter tone in both his speech and his sensor, believing his point had been made. “I simply want reliable answers, then I will be out of your hair for good. Now, what do you have regarding the scarred one; tell and I shall be off quickly as I came”.

Embeetoo, the smoothest of negotiators

Ramani frowns at Grrowv. “She could be Black Sun, but my credits are on her being either just a random being there by chance, or some sort of Imperial spook. Can’t explain it, there was just something about her.”

He walks with the group into the main port hub, discussing the details of the contract between himself and Eya and the odd pair of blaster-thieves. He tries his best to get as much out of the deal for himself and the other hired hand, the strange scarred girl, but realizes he doesn't have many chips to bargain with.

As the small group walks into the starport he is, as usual, mindful of any observer that seem like they might be looking too closely on the group. In his line of work it paid to be careful.

After Solan hears from the Devaronian, Ramani peers his eyes. Was this a trap? He usually had a good sense for such things. And here they are, with the merchandise, walking into a docking bay where the Devaronian’s ship is ready to depart. Knowing he has at least two dangerous Trandoshans with him, and possibly other crewmates.

He spots one of the many public computer terminals for visitors and runs to it, downloading a floorplan of the port to his datapad. Looking at the screen he pinpoints Docking Bay 54 and zooms in to enlarge the area, allowing the others to see what he’s doing and to familiarize themselves with the layout.

“Are we sure your friend Mr. T’Vont is on the level here? He isn’t about to just shoot us and rob the rifles to, eh, increase his profit margin, right?”

The Balosar discretely checks the charge on his blaster pistol, resting against his left side under his lovely synth-leather jacket.

You never did post your decision regarding the Negotiation check. The one with 0 successes, 2 advantages and a triumph. A tricky one, I’ll admit. I’m fine with you adjucating the results without the need for IC back-and forth to get to terms. Some things are best done off-camera!

"Thank you," Torin nodded to the Arcona and walked back out into the bustling city and up the street the Kinrath's proprietor had told him. A B2 battle droid and a clone? Today could not get any weirder.

Torin paused when he got to the intersection and was bumped as other pedestrians pushed past him. He reached out with the Force, opening his senses to the Cosmic Force to see into the shadows of the future.

Foresight Force Power : 2eF 1 Light Side, 1 Dark Side

Something indistinct was approaching that would change the direction of Torin's life and he knew it now.

"Well, best to meet my destiny head on. If I'm going to find it then looking for a B2 battle droid and also keeping an eye out for a clone trooper might be the way to do it," Torin mused to himself. "Will the clone still follow orders and kill a Jedi? Or would he shoot the B2 first?" It had been some time since Torin had used his lightsaber in battle but today he feared would be an exception.

Torin made his way toward the space port and the medical supplies dealer - he'd purchased some goods not too long ago there and the owner might be willing to give him some clues about the B2....

You never did post your decision regarding the Negotiation check. The one with 0 successes, 2 advantages and a triumph. A tricky one, I’ll admit. I’m fine with you adjucating the results without the need for IC back-and forth to get to terms. Some things are best done off-camera!

Dear me, you are correct! I will sort that out today - please bear with me! Just waiting on primus, he emailed me saying he's been a tad unwell this week.

Hey soz team, been laid up sick as a dog for the last few days. Thanks wayward for being so chill about it!

What am I good at? Crow asks himself. Getting into trouble. That's what. "You put me somewhere high, with clean line of sight on whatever it is you're worried about, with a high caliber blaster with a scope, and you'll see I can be very good at removing concerns from your life," he speaks flatly, and before the Devaronian can say it, the Clone continues, "But I doubt you'll want to let me out of your sight or let me point a gun at anyone's back... So what say I just stand here looking menacing?"

I know it's not much of a post, but I can't engage the writing brain too good today.

Putting the post up very shortly. Hope you feel better, primus!

Ramani and Eya:

Result of the Negotiation check: Solan is not quite across it, but is thoroughly impressed with your gumption and guile. Next time you try any social check on him, you can upgrade it once (either add a green if all yellow, or change a green to a yellow)

Solan scrubs a hand through his messy hair. "Black Sun? You think? Maybe I should join up, if there are women like her running around it'd keep a criminal like me honest." As soon as he finishes the sentence, the hulking Togorian pushing the hover trolley erupts into laughter, a huge, booming sound that carries around the room. Solan stops and glares at her, and as she wipes away tears of mirth she struggles to keep a straight face. "What?" the Corellian asks, "I can be honest... Sometimes."

He then strides off, walking with an air of supreme confidence. Grrowv takes a moment, then follows, still chuckling a little as the walks. "Docking Bay Fifty-Four!" Solan both confirms to Eya and says as the group arrives. To the side of the massive bay door is a small code pad, which the Corellian moves over to and taps some buttons on. A moment later a snide and sibilant voice comes across, electronically distorted on the comm.

"Ssstate your namesss and busssinesssss."

Growwv nods to Ramani and Eya, tightening her grip on the hover trolley that is stacked with a crate full of Imperial E-11 blaster rifles. "Well kid, that's proof Chak is here," Solan smiles at the Balosar, "And you wanted to get in on this. Feel free to work that silver tongue, I'm going to give my golden one a rest."

Go ahead and take the lead Kymrel! This is where Ramani should shine. Note, the conversations from here may be a bit quicker so I will do my best to reply fast.

- - - - - - - - - -

CR-0216:

Stroking his sharp, vectored chin, the Devaronian muses for a few moments. His eyes travel up and down the Clone, surveying the armor that was once spotless and the weathered face that was once respected around the galaxy. "You're right, I don't want you pointing a gun at me when I can't see you. Stand over there," he points towards the side of the bay, well within eye line but removed from the open area in the middle, "And keep your gun ready. I doubt the people coming here have the stones to try anything... But if they do you make sure they don't get away."

Waving his hand dismissively, the horned alien turns his attention to his clothes, smoothing out his coat and checking to make sure he looks up to scratch. A moment later the entire bay is pierced by a loud buzzing sound, as someone arrives at the entry. Finishing his preening, the Devaronian indicates to the Trandoshan standing by the door. "Go ahead and let them in, Bhurrk."

- - - - - - - - - -

Torin:

Great use of that Force power, Jedi Ronin! I know you didn't use the Dark Side pip, but since you rolled it you can have some scary insights as well.

Through the murk and veiled shades of the future, the Force visits Torin in a tangible manifestation of images. A large woman, feline features, standing over a human male, possibly wounded. An old Clone and a hulking Battle Droid firing their guns. The feeling of someone embracing the Dark Side. A docking bay, number fifty something. Anger. Fear. Large shadows, moving fast. Rank upon rank of faceless soldiers. A ship, desperately fleeing one much larger, as though prey escaping predator. All of this starts coming faster and faster, until it culminates in a crescendo of feeling within the Kel Dor that leaves him breathless.

Then the world returns to normal and all the sound comes back into the street. No one has noticed the second that stretched into a lifetime for the Jedi.

- - - - - - - - - -

Embeetoo:

I need a Coercion check, please! 2 purple. Add a boost because terrifying images right there. I will edit this with the reaction once I know what you rolled.

EDIT: Nice work, you scary metal man.

The human's frown gives way to wide eyed horror as he realizes the ramifications of his words. "I... I... I didn't..." he stammers helplessly. His chair makes a horrible screeching noise as he pushes it away from the table, trying to stand up on legs that are jellied with fear. From the other side of the room the Togrutan waitress stands up from her break and walks over to the table where Embeetoo is looming. She gives the human a look of both pity and contempt before turning to face the solid droid.

"Listen, don't make a mess of this cafe, ok? I need the money from this job," she says with a thin lipped smile, part placation and part pleading. "That scarred girl, she was here earlier. Ended up taking to Solan, he's a smuggler of sorts, and agreeing to help him with some work. They headed towards the port, but I don't know if that was their final destination. Now if you'd please get out before this guy wets himself and I have to clean it, that would be great."

Ramani smiles at the banter about the Black Sun, but only for a moment. “I have had some … prior dealings with the Black Sun. Let’s just say that when they send a woman like that after you it can mean one of two things. The first option is better. In that case, she’s been sent to seduce you to get to something you have, to blackmail you with some high-quality holos of your encounter. The second option is simple. She’s there to kill you. And she’ll probably succeed.”

The Balosar observes his surroundings with great interest as he approaches Docking Bay 54. If they are walking into an ambush, there will be someone observing the approach from the outside. Could be through a security camera or an inconspicuous droid, but if the operation is low-rent the easiest way will be to have someone walk past them, or hang out somewhere along the route to the docking bay.

As Ramani slows down to look at the surroundings, Solan and Grrowv push on ahead and get to Docking Bay 54. The jovial Balosar passes Eya and whispers to her as he passes. “Be ready for trouble, kiddo. If they look like they’re about to shoot me, look menacing and help me convince them not to. If someone shoots me, shoot him right back. Hard. In the head. Until he stops twitching. And then all his friends. I’m counting on you.”

When what is probably a Trandoshan speaks to them through the intercom, the three beings see a change in Ramani’s mannerism as he walks to the door. His slouch is gone as is his grin. He walks in short, measured steps, chest inflated slightly, shoulders pushed a little back and his head held high. “Let’s do this,” he mumbles to nobody in particular.

Ramani presses the button of the intercom. “We have no interest discussing our business through a comsystem,” he says in a cold, hard voice. He is back in the persona he was for so many years. The gangster who’s in charge of any situation. The gangster that will have someone shot and fed to the Ragnoon-lizards if someone does or says the wrong thing. “We are here with a shipment. Your boss is expecting us and I don’t like hallways.”

There is a slight pause, and then the doors open. Ramani looks at Solan, Grrowv and Eya, giving them a little nod, before stepping inside. He doesn’t go very far, taking only a couple of steps into the docking bay before pausing, and looking around. He takes his time looking at the two Trandoshians. If he’s surprised to see a middle-aged clone in there it doesn’t show. He looks over the ship docked in the bay, before his eyes finally come to rest on the well-dressed Devaronian.

He does a little shrug, before looking back at his three friends and motioning them forward with a small head-movement. As he passes the Trandoshian who opened the door he merely nods. The lizard seems rather annoyed at his fairly rude response, but Ramani has learned a long time ago that annoying the henchmen of people like the Devaronian is fine. In fact, it sometimes even amused the bosses to see the underlings put in their place. Within reason, of course. And he isn’t here to deal with the hired help. He’s here to deal with the boss.

Ramani walks slowly towards the Devaronian. “Chak T'Vont, I presume. Your reputation precedes you. I’m Ramani Fenn. Those are my associates, Solan, Grrowv and Eya.” The Balosar puts his hand under his jacket, and quickly draws out a packet of deathsticks. This is a move he’s made many, many times before. It’s designed to get the bodyguards to show how skittish they are, so he uses his peripheral vision to gauge their reactions. With this little trick he can usually see if the hitters brought to a deal are professionals or not. Amateurs tended to react, even pulling a weapon, thinking he’s reaching for a gun. Pros tended to stay very, very still.

The Balosar opens the small packet and offers the Devaronian a deathstick, before taking one for himself. “Have one,” he says in a slightly rough voice. “You won’t get better; those are imported directly from an associate on Balosar for me. Smooth like melted butter on toast. Not the common stuff you find on the street,” he lies blithely.

He puts the stick between his lips, but does not snap off the end, content to leave the stick inert in his mouth for now. This is another trick he’s used so many times in the past. Even people like him who are addicted to deathsticks always get a little relaxed when puffing one of those things. And relaxed beings are easier to deal with.

In a carefully practiced move he grabs the stick from his mouth, holding it in his left hand and draws a sharp breath. His mannerism says that the time for pleasantries is over and it’s time for business. And performed so as to not to draw attention to the fact that he hasn’t activated his deathstick. As if to say that he’s willing to set aside the good things in life for just a little time to finish this deal.

“So, to business. Would you care to see the merchandise? We have 50 brand-new E11 blaster rifles in that crate. Emperor’s finest. You have an endless supply of buyers out on the rim, where you’re headed. Nobody cares they fell off the back of an Imperial speeder out there. All they care about is that they are getting quality blasters renowned for accuracy and durability. And they will pay a pretty premium for that.”

Ramani walks to the crate, motioning for Solan and Grrowv to open it up. “Isn’t that a pretty sight? Let’s not make this complicated. Take a look at the goods and make me an offer I can’t refuse. I know you’re on a schedule and so am I.”

If there is someone or something suspicious on the way through the spaceport I would hope Ramani’s experience dealing with crooks and law enforcement might give him a perception check to spot something is amiss. If so, I’ll edit the post.

In my post I assumed the lizard would open the doors for us, allowing us to get inside. If you think I’ve gone too far, and that he would give us more trouble as we try to get in, just let me know and I’ll edit that.

Ramani’s efforts once inside the docking bay are aimed at showing the Devaronian that he, and his friends, are cool, level-headed business-beings who are willing to negotiate a reasonable price, but are not chumps that can be messed with. If I can roll a Charm check to see if Ramani makes a good impression on the Devaronian I need to know the difficulty. Then it's down to Negotiation I guess, unless the Devaronian has other plans. Like shooting us all and stealing the weapons....

Once Embeetoo gets to the spaceport I plan on posting IC that Torin has spotted him and is tailing him and following him into the space port (as Torin's vision guides him to the space port and he can check with the medical shop on the way there...)

Coercion roll against kaf owner for information. : 1eA+1eB+2eD 2 successes, 2 threat

​

Well, that's a surprise to me considering his abysmal social skills but I'll take it.

The corners of Eya's mouth twitch as Ramani gives her her 'orders.' She nods and steps back, swinging the long sports bag around in the same smooth motion. One hand pulls the zipper down, as quickly as can be managed. Then, once the bag is open, she reaches in and pulls out a slugthrower rifle. The barrel is dark gray metal, catching the harsh, industrial lighting of the docking bay and reflecting it as a dim luster. The grip is dark, reddish faux-wood, ridged for a firmer grasp. Hanging from it is a rifle strap, which Eya slips on. One hand stays under the weapon, keeping it from dangling. Safety or not, no one likes a rifle dangling nearby—probably because of the overconfident hotshots who choose 'not.'

She falls in step behind Ramani, her expression going cold and, yes, somewhat menacing. She'd loom if she could, but she's both too young and a bit too short to pull that off. Still, as she follows the Balosar in, there's something predatory in the way she moves. Her eyes narrow, going from naturally widened to utterly focused, ocean-blue pupils darting back and forth as she surveys the area. The motion stops, for a moment, on Crow. What is he doing here? she thinks, briefly startled. But the answer is obvious—he's here doing exactly the same thing she is: guarding someone. To cover her surprise, she lingers over each of the Trandoshans as well.

Her adrenaline spikes when Ramani pulls his deathstick stunt; yes, it gathers useful reactions, but does he have no sense of self-preservation? Bodyguard or not—and, more relevantly, Force training or not—she can't fling a blaster bolt through the air. That requires a very particular tool, one she never received. When the Trandoshans don't prove so trigger-happy as to start a shootout then and there, Eya relaxes slightly. Her blood is definitely pumping now, though any unconscious hope for combat already evaporated at the sight of Crow.

Yes, things are certainly getting interesting—and not in a good way.

Censors strike again. *headdesk*

Editing the post now.

Please someone, find the cure to this endless flu I have...

Shouldering his pack and standing up, CT-0216 holds the rifle across his chest, on an angle that has it pointed at the durasteel floor but ready to be aimed at a moments notice. His right finger sits across the trigger guard, an inch away from being able to fire it, but safe from accidental discharges. Long years of drills have this ingrained into the Clone. As Bhurrk moves over to the door to let in the guests, Crow takes a quick measure of ranges. The whole bay is large, but well within distance for his rifle. The meet is going down fifteen meters away. The bay door is around forty-five. Slightly off to the side is the ship, around twenty-odd meters. All of these are a little closer than he'd like, but easy shots if things go bad.

The Trandoshan opens the door, and the first thing Crow spots is a familiar face, scarred and young. Eya, he recognizes her immediately, they'd only parted ways recently, Why am I not bloody surprised? Seems we're both drawn to trouble. In front of her struts a Balosar, confident or cocky, the Clone couldn't tell yet. Behind them strolled a Corellian male and a broad shouldered Togorian... Woman? Yes. Definitely female. Still had arms as big as Crow's torso.

Other than giving the most imperceptible of nods to Eya when her eyes pass over him, the Clone remains motionless, even when the Balosar reaches into his coat. Hell, if you want to shoot someone, don't let me stop you. Only person I care about in this room other than myself is that unlucky kid right there, he muses ruefully. “Chak T'Vont, I presume. Your reputation precedes you. I’m Ramani Fenn. Those are my associates, Solan, Grrowv and Eya. Have one. You won’t get better; those are imported directly from an associate on Balosar for me. Smooth like melted butter on toast. Not the common stuff you find on the street."

Well, the Balosar was confident. Had he even seen the Clone? What about the weapons the Trandoshans were holding. Blind swagger, or just blind? “So, to business. Would you care to see the merchandise? We have 50 brand-new E11 blaster rifles in that crate. Emperor’s finest. You have an endless supply of buyers out on the rim, where you’re headed. Nobody cares they fell off the back of an Imperial speeder out there. All they care about is that they are getting quality blasters renowned for accuracy and durability. And they will pay a pretty premium for that. Isn’t that a pretty sight?" When the Togorian opens the crate, Crow can't see the contents, but he can tell the goods are legit by the reactions of the others. " Let’s not make this complicated. Take a look at the goods and make me an offer I can’t refuse. I know you’re on a schedule and so am I.”

Out on the Rim? Crow wonders as they talk, I thought the Devaronian was going to the Core... Bloody stupid old man, you got bloody played, didn't you? Reign in that temper. If you do anything silly now you'll never get off Ord Mantell.

Torin and Embetoo are now cleared for action - the Coercion check was brilliant work, Weedles.

Sending you healthy thoughts, primus. Drink lots of water and get some Vitamin C into you.

I really do love the perfect mess this is shaping up to be.

Wait until the "main event" starts!

The droid, satisfied with tis answer, turned towards the jiggling mass beside him, fumbling in his chair. How pathetic, not even a sign of composure, of bravery. If the Republic threw men let him against the Separatist hordes maybe his kill count would be a bit higher than just 28 clones (and a few various miscreants). At least the Torgrutan had some sense, and though he sensed a bit of discomfort from her he could tell she was the only reasonable one her. He appreciated the resolve, and so would do as asked. “Your compliance is appreciated, Togrutan female. It is good to see someone with an ounce of sense around this pit. I shall leave in peace…” As he turned toward the road, he pivoted his body in almost a 180 degree angle, his sensor blood red once more and his voice rumbling once more, “pray this information is accurate”.

As he creaked on his way, Embeetoo reflected on his new found knowledge. So, the girl was right across the street from the bar the whole time. Oh well, no point crying over spilt juri juice. The task should be simple enou- how exactly would he convince the girl to tell him where the clone is? Embeetoo stopped in the dusty street for a second, his gear whirring and buzzing in utter annoyance and displeasure. By Chaos! How in the world was he supposed to gather any information from her?! How could he be so short sighted?! The youth would never crumble like the annoying blob did moments earlier, and his grasp on human “charm” and “negotiation” was admittedly abysmal!

Pedestrains backed away slowly from the piercing hissing and grinding of the furious droid as it stompped toward the port. Even in its emotionless face, you could almost feel the heat of his rage, the depths of his spite. Slowly, however, as he neared the port the B2 regained his composure, having thought he had found the answer. A job perhaps, a favor for a favor. Surely a level headed being (besides “Bar Ally” it seemed) would jump on the chance for someone else to deal with their dirty work. Though he didn’t enjoy such mindless work, he would endure it for the chanc eof battle, the chance to join with a man who HAD to have worthy assignments, a way off this rock, and a chance to find a mechanic that could fix his “problem”. With his luck though, the old troop would probably be a darn field medic.

Embeetoo drew a deep drone before catching the port in view, a few plods away from his favorite medical depot. The toydarian was an adequate merchant, always had a good deal on stimsticks. Embeetoo emitted a quiet beep: he wondered if stimsticks stirred in kaf would be a pleasant combination, bitter and woody but energizing none the less. The droid was a bit puzzled why he would think of something so off topic, but soon shook it from his mind and continued toward port. Soon though, the “Crippled Kinrath” came into view. Perhaps he should go inside, report his findings to “Bar Ally” and maybe even tell of his spontaneous idea. He looked to the port, then back to the bar, not understanding why his thoughts were fluxuating away from his mission. The old Arcona would probably appreciate it… after port? Before port? Why was he so distracted? He never thought this much about the cantina, so why was he dwelling on it? Anger began to rage inside him again, confused and discomforted by his distraction. Again, the grinding and droning began, and again his sensor grew faintly red.

Whatever he felt, he didn’t like it, not in the slightest. His bayonet ejected and retracted over and over as he did what had become common to him: standing in the middle of the street and getting miffed about things he understood not. It lasted only a few seconds though, and once more his mind was set upon the port, as he climbed the steep steps to the dim interior, unknowingly about to take the first steps into something greater, something far more chaotic…

​

I agree, things are shaping up quite nicely. Can't wait to see what unfolds for everyone

Also, I'm in position for you Ronin

Jedi Ronin, are you off seeking a master in some faraway land?

Busy weekend

Torin walked quickly down the sidewalk, he could see the toydarian med merchant fluttering around the front of his store cheerily engaging passerbys.

Torin went over in his mind how he would approach the conversation...when Torin felt a nudge in the Force drawing his attention up the street towards the space port. There was a small ripple of people moving away from someone ahead. Once enough people had cleared the way and Torin got closer he could see a B2 super battle droid making it's way directly towards the space port. He hadn't seen a droid march that way since the war - it was definitely going somewhere with a purpose. Was it dangerous? Aril had mentioned he had unique programming and modifications but it would always fundamentally be a battle droid designed to cripple the Republic.

"There may be something much more important than my current job at stake here...and that is the port from my vision. I can guess where it's headed - some docking bay in the 50's..." Torin thought as he quickened his pace and headed for the port.