waywardgm

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  1. "Good choice, partner. Let's hope we spend a long time on opposite sides of the galaxy from one another!" Lang says, as he tips his hat to Trex while walking backwards up the ramp and into the interior of the ship. Inside, he heaves a sigh of relief, pleased that they avoided fighting in the docking bay where the vessel could get damaged. He watches Six-Tee-Six stomp off, and decides it's best to leave the huge droid alone as requested.
  2. Grrowv: Standing and pushing her chair back, the hulking Togorian follows Ramani out of the room. Her long strides help her catch the man quickly, and she then falls into step beside him. "I've realized neither of us has said thank you. We'd both likely be dead if not for you and your... Cleverness," she growls, haltingly. Anyone looking at her could see this to be true, the wounds across her body would probably have felled a lesser creature and the large woman seems to be operating on sheer willpower and perhaps a hefty portion of anger at the situation, or perhaps her inability in it. However she hides the pain well, her usual bass not tinged with any pitch that would denote suffering. "So you think we might have something tidy in the hold then?" she asks as they arrive in the cargo bay. The Cargo Bay: As before, the bay is separated into a side with two prison cells, and the remainder. This other section is filled with all sorts of cargo crates, some labelled with food products, others with holo-discs, still more with cooking utensils. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the layout here, or the way the cargo is arranged. It is simply stacked up, from wall to wall, slowly spilling out towards the cell area.
  3. "Hell, that's about as honest as ya can get," Lang comments, the grimace on his face clear as he blanches as Dro-Kar's forthright way of approaching the matter. But it's better that than dancing around the truth for a time before just getting into a scrap anyway, he figures. Deciding to pitch in, the Mirialan adds, "Better to be alive and without a ship than dead and still without a ship, friend."
  4. Solan: Finishing his meal, Solan sits back with a contented look on his face. He eyes Chusara, who is still guarding her meal as though it could be stolen at any moment, and then Grrowv, who continues eating stoically. "You are dead right it's corrupt, my mass-produced friend. So much so it's almost like Imperials will completely ignore you if you word things correctly and pay the right credits to the wrong folk." He takes a moment, then raises a hand to his mouth to cover a burp. Manner enough for that, at least. "And if you're this up tight about putting an end to Chak, we can do that for you. Of course, there'd be a price attached. Otherwise I don't hate the idea of dropping him somewhere awful to suffer for a while. If he does make it back to the galaxy after a jungle adventure, he deserves a shot at us again." Grrowv: At this, the large Togorian growls. She looks tired, her wounds, now dressed and attended to by Embeetoo, have clearly taken a toll on her. "I don't see why we'd waste a chance like this, Solan. You know full well the Mark on you isn't going away unless you do something to remove it. Here's an opportunity to get back into the Sun's good books... Or at least out of their bad. He's bargaining power, and I can't believe I'm the one who has to say it."
  5. "Right," Lang replies, a grin on his face that he can't help, "And I imagine that you're not the complicated plan type. We have that in common, at least." Hopping out of the speeder as well, the Marshal moves off to the docking bay office with the hulking Nikto. Looking a little less intimidating, but no less dashing, as he sweeps up with his coat flaring out behind him, Lang greets the droids with a tip of his hat and a smile. "Howdy. I trust you're havin' yourself a nice day here. We're just poppin' in to sort the Queen Scepter, so it'd be mighty kind of y'all to let us through."
  6. "Listen, big feller," Lang begins, measuring his words carefully, "I'm not ignorin' your logic, I just think that these folks are likely on edge what with livin' under the thumb... Hutts have thumbs, right? Either way, livin' under the rule of a tyrant like that. I'd be cautious as a backed up bantha stuck in a corner with kath hounds barkin' in my face." The Mirialan turns to face the hulking droid, completely oblivious to the technical lecture going on, but feigning interest as best he can. "Why don't we all go in and put our best foot, or horizontal balancin' parts that're attached to our leg joints, forward."
  7. Massaging his still swollen jaw, Lang eyes the landing bay with the gaze of a cautious man. "If there was anywhere I'd be lookin' to ambush, this'd be the place. I'd put good credits down that our slimy old pal up in the palace likely knows about this ship too." Running his tongue around the inside of his right cheek, he feels where it's split, and has a moment of hesitation where he thinks a tooth might be loose. "Ah well, smile wasn't anythin' to write home about anyway. Is it our turn to take a crack at the talkin' that comes before the shootin, Dro?"
  8. Solan: "Quermia is no fun anyways, far too rigid to offload any illicit goods like the blasters we've snagged. I mean you could put into port there to get info, maybe check the Holonet, but odds are the ship will get searched and explaining this kinda stuff to officials is never a smooth ride. Gotta grease those palms. Ramani knows what I mean," the Corellian pipes up, his mouth full of the food he had found. Grrowv munches away stoically, her face an expression of distaste but her mouth moving as mechanically as any droid's. "That's on the Perlemian Trade Route, however, and we're headed... Towards Ithor?" Without putting the spoon in his hand down, Solan reaches into a pouch at his waist and drags out a small data cube, clearly old, very well worn. Placing it on the galley table he taps a button on the side of it, and a small hologram springs into life above the tiny device. Waving the spoon at it, the man at least has the grace to swallow his mouthful before saying, "Hell, if I were thinking of running anywhere, it'd be there." The spoon finished moving, pointing to a tiny planet, orbited by two moons. "Phaeda." Chusara: Tucking into the food with gusto, the Twi'lek woman abandons all sense of propriety and simply puts the food away. It's a functional eating, of the sort one might see in military service when on a short deployment rotation or snatching time between patrols or other duties. She eats methodically, taking each chunk of food and biting down, chewing quickly and swallowing a second before placing the next morsel in her mouth. She watches each of the group, her eyes darting around as though she is a cornered animal, worried that someone may take the meal away from her at any moment. At the mention of removing Chak, she pauses for a moment. The rage is clear in her eyes. But she says nothing. She simply continues to eat.
  9. Lowering his pistol, Lang watches Dro-Kar vent his frustrations on the Imperials. He considers stepping in, but as he does, the Nikto finally stops firing. Well, if we didn't have names for ourselves in town, we sure do now. Turning back towards the speeder, he sees the others are in one piece, although they look a little haggard and certainly ready to get a move on. Waiting for everyone else to clamber into the vehicle, the Marshal waits until they are all comfortable before taking the last seat. Hopping into the speeder and holstering his gun in one movement, he takes a few moments to clear his head, wishing the blasted headache he had would go away. "Right then, shall we get movin', folks? Off to get us a way off this rock, correct?"
  10. As the hail of blaster bolts cut through the air, leaving a static smell as they pass, Lang steps back out towards the Stormtroopers, firing his pistol before they get a chance to return to their cover and walking towards them, wrath heavy in each step. As the Mirialan squeezes the trigger, he hears Dro-Kar cry out in pain and anger. You're not the only one who is angry, friendo... He thinks, grimly. His aim is true, and the three shots strike home on one of the Imperial soldiers, puncturing his armor and charring three neat points black against the white plasteel. "You've still got time to get out of here, boys! I ain't gonna tell ya commander if you don't," the Marshal calls out, his voice dripping derision, daring them to leave.