====== Chapter 2: Oh, it's You... ====== //Obligation:// 56 - Le'ela (Disgraced) //Destiny Pool:// `li` `li` `li` `da` `da` ===== Setting ===== {{:courierservice:pasted:20170804-224307.png}} //Planet:// Silas //City:// Gold Creek //District:// Landing Zone The loading bay doors open with a hiss revealing dusty Gold Creek at dusk. A thin layer of ruddy dirt coats everything. It gathers in the corner and blows on the wind. Like sand, it gets everywhere. The air is heavy with the smell of spice refinement. The spice mines were easy to pick out upon approach a few miles outside of town. Now in the setting sun, the spice processing plants stand out in dark contrast against the burning sky. The distant lights of the factory twinkle like stars. Tall fences topped with vibro-wire surround the facility. Smoke spews from its many stacks. The crew bring their attention to the foreground of their vista. Crumby building are scattered before them connected by a rough semblance of streets. The few inhabitants of Gold Creek that you see are Jabiimas, humanoid creature with large, protruding black eyes that allow them to see well in dim places. They appear short, strong, but their unblinking eyes seem dim. They keep their faces down as the hurry to their destinations. Though he has no officially recognised title, Greebus Martikus runs the underside of Gold Creek. And when you're dealing with a spice town, you know there's a lucrative business hiding somewhere in all those shadows. In Gold Creek, spice is everything, and whoever controls the spice controls Gold Creek. Since acquiring the position of Slorn, Greebus has increased the market value of Gold Creek's spice by 300%, which has earned him respect from most, and fear from the rest. He's an important man who has stayed alive this long by staying on his feet and being unpredictable. ---- //Jumping-off points:// // * How will you track Greebus down?// // * How do your characters feel about the spice trade?// // * What has Le'ela shared about her history with Gold Creek?// // * How has the last mission changed your approach to this one?// // * How does the blowing dust affect you?// // * Where do you go from here?// ===== Gus's Imporiumsss ===== Le'ela steps out into the dusty evening air, shielding her good eye from the simultaneous blasts of both the bright setting sun and the force of the wind and sand that suddenly assaulted it. The familiar scent of spice tickled her nose, particularly pungent today as the wind was blowing the smoke in their direction. She eyes the familiar streets and buildings that line them, scanning the faces of anyone she sees, looking for anyone familiar. She has a few contacts she knows she can trust. There are also a good many others she would like to avoid. "Follow me," she says. "I know someone who may be able to help us find Greebus." Sheb gestures down a busy street and starts to move towards it.  She pauses and looks at the crew.  "It's in a bit of an unsavory part of town, so we need to try not to draw too much attention to ourselves. Otherwise we may find ourselves in a difficult position." T1-NY lets out a low electronic whine as the dust swirls about him. He'd JUST finished cleaning his leg servos this morning! This mission had better go smoother than the last one, he'd rather spend his time NOT consoling or rescuing organics.\\ \\ <> he says innocently while scanning the area for any opportunities for financial enrichment. The zeltron hugs a nondescript tan cloak around him tightly. "Hey, I like attention. But not violent attention, if possible. Bloody spice traders are crazy AND dangerous. I don't know why the Empire doesn't completely crack down on them - other than the fact that they operate on hell-holes like this." He spits dust out of his mouth, careful to aim away from the wind; he's trying to get into a more low-class, scummy mindset. Hmm, maybe the Crud Duster persona will fit here... "Hey, Le'ela, is there a cheap weapons shop around here? I need a blunt, half-rusted knife for my character. A splintered cudgel might work, too. I mean, we have to check in some weapons if we're going to see a crime boss. We wouldn't want to give any wrong impressions." Then he realizes that there is something in his pocket - he had absent-mindedly picked up something used to prop open a door in the last mission. He pulls it out - a [[http://swrpg.viluppo.net/equipment/weapons/1887/|blade breaker]]. Interesting. Le'ela was suddenly aware of the pulsing clang that could be heard amidst the bustle of the city and the howling of the wind.  It was almost something you can feel rather than hear, and it was always there.  The deep sounds from the factory resonated within her, and it made her uneasy. As they walked she would comment on various things as they passed by.  They turned a corner and she suddenly stopped talking.  They had entered a more dangerous part of town. She was deep in thought and didn't see the figure in the shadows who stepped out in front of Le'ela as she drew near. He was a little shorter than her, broad of shoulders, and his cloak billowed and whipped around him, just like... //Flashback// //She first arrived in Gold Creek 1 year ago. She and her gang had been departing from another city on Silas when one of the engines misfired while attempting to leave atmo, causing the engine to slam into reverse. Skippy compensated as best as he could and guided them in for a rough landing in the nearest clearcut area he could find; an active spice field.// //Their crash shook them up pretty badly. Most of the crew had acquired at least a few scrape and abrasions from the impact. Jimowitz had it worst. As the smallest crew member, he was in the crawlspace securing their fuel when the impact happened. A canister of Rhydonium flung free and smashed him against the wall, pinning him there. // //When she regained her senses, Le'ela pulled herself together and immediately began to survey the damage. She kicked out a shattered window in the cockpit and clamoured out onto the windswept spice field. The first thing she saw was a man, a little shorter than herself, broad of shoulders, his cloak billowing and whipping around him. She called out to him for help, and he nodded his head in assent, and trudged towards her. // //When he drew near, Le'ela recognised him as a Jabiimas, a commonly indentured species here on Silas. He regarded her as she explained what happened with lifeless eyes, and yet his gaze was unmistakably intent. Soon other Jabiimas began to appear, shuffling their curious gait, their dark eyes equally dim. The first one gave orders to the others as they appeared in a slow, yawning like language Le'ela was unfamiliar with. Slowly tools and medical supplies began to appear.// //30 minutes later, Skippy and two others emerged from the ship carrying the still, bloodied body of Jimowitz. The tiny Drall's shallow breathing and broken body made Le'ela's heart stop. The leader who in Basic was called Sma'tug, didn't hesitate for a moment. He carefully and easily lifted the tiny body up in his large arms, and deftly hopped on a nearby speeder, which then sped off into the distance. // //Later that evening, Sma'tug returned and took Le'ela on the speeder to see Jimowitz. Sma'tug's wife, she learned, was an accomplished healer. Le'ela entered the Sma' household and found Jimowitz laid out on a table, heavily sedated but stable. Speaking slowly in Basic, she was told that he would live, but the road to recovery stretched long and painfully before him. Before leaving their humble home, Sma-tug intoduced Le'ela to the rest of his family. Sma'alo, his youngest child and only son, was hardly any bigger than the Drall laid on on the table before them.// Le'ela shook her head and shoved the reverie aside. She knew the figure before her could not be Sma'tug. She stood her ground, tensing for the worst. The Jabiimas, however, didn't even regard them as he shuffled past on his own personal errand. Le'ela took a calming breath, trying to master the clattering she felt within her fingers and heart. "We're almost there," she said simply. A couple minutes later, she pulled open the door to a rusty shop. The interior of the small space seemed part pawn shop, part mechanic shop and part hardware store. A Chadra-Fan sat behind the counter, feet propped up, dozing. "This is Gus," she said, positioning herself out of sight from any windows. "He's helped me out a few times before." She then jingled a few credits she had in her pocket, and Gus sleepily opened one eye and regarded Barrett. "Ohhh, I see tourists," he said stretching and yawning. "What can I sells yous?" Gus helped rebuild Le'ela's first ship (at a hefty price). He's well connected to the underworld, but keeps his bat-like little paws meticulously clean, so the local authorities don't give him any grief. Sma'alo's death didn't affect his pocket-book, so he has no grudge against Le'ela. Barrett glances over at Le'ela, then says roughly, "The name's Crud." He spits on the floor, as if getting more grit out of his mouth. "We're here on a job. Heard you might know some people, maybe even set up a meeting." Gus's eyes grow wide, then narrow shrewdly, then grow sleepy. "Sawwy. Cussomers only." He then leans back in his chair again, with one eye peeking open. T1-NY quickly scans his memory banks of previous encounters with "businessbeings" to decide what might most work with Gus. Credits? Cajoling? Intimidation? Grevious bodily injury? A droid could only hope... Knowledge/underworld or Skullduggery roll perhaps? Normal Underworld check with a boost because he really loves doing business. `su` `su` `su` `su` It's obvious that Gus is a man of business more than an underworld thug. Looking around the shop, you notice: * shiny things * unique things * foreign things * expensive things T1-NY lets out a coded whistle to Barrett. <>, he says while letting the distinctive clink of credit sticks clatter loudly from inside his chassis. Then he remembers the last time the "Crud" persona fronted the operation... not exactly the schmoozing type. Just ask the mayor. Ah... good times...\\ \\ Snapping himself out of his microseconds of revery, T1-NY rolls up to Gus, hoping he understands droidspeak, as surely a man of business would.\\ \\ <> he says with a knowing pivot of his dome. Gus opens his "sleepy" eyes, puts his feet on the ground and leans over his grubby counter. "Ohhh, Tourist wantsss Meeting of the Mindsss, yess? Here in Spice City we call that Birthday Cake. Yessss, I's got Birthday Cake for Tourist. Good price too! Just a fews days oldsss. 500 credits. Special Price for Special Tourist." Gus's eyes are alert and sharp. Barrett casually puts his hand on T1's dome and taps twice - //good cop, bad cop approach// - then glares at Gus. "500! Look, pal, we're not some frakkin' sightseers from Coruscant. How about a Special Price for a Special Le'ela? 100 credits down, and 200 after this meeting." He's approaching this with Negotiation. Maybe Le'ela can help out, too. Le'ela steps towards Gus rubbing her hands together. She has a stern look on her face. "We don't want any trouble here." She opens her palm wide which primes her shock glove. She spits into her hand, the liquid causing sparks to fly off the glove, the glob sizzling loudly before disappearing in a puff of smoke. "But...." She looks at her gloves and lets them and the silence finish her sentence for her i just bought some coercion points so let's see how that would work on him Ok. Cut the foreplay then. Coercion check. Hard. One boost from Barrett being your Harbinger, one boost from the element of surprise, and one `ad` because of the reputation those gloves have in town. Upgraded once because Gus gets belligerent when he's cornered, again because he's well connected and he knows you'll pay dearly if you hurt him, and once again because he's legitimately hurt that you would spit on your "professional" relationship you've had up until now. So..., `pr` `pr` `pr` `bo` `bo` `ch` `ch` `ch` `ad` `su` `su` `su` `su` `su` `tr` `de` The Camaasi and Chadra-Fan lock glares, each willing the other to break first. Finally after an interminable silence, they both start chortling through their grim visages. (`tr`) They both begin to laugh, and Gus looks both relieved and little nervous. "Le'elas, you old dog! What yous doing in Spice City? This is no good place for you, this is. I thought Sma'Laa scareds you away good last times you were here!" Le'ela looks slightly uncomfortable at the mention of Sma'alo's mother. She nods and brushes past the topic, explaining that they need to see Greebus. "Ooooooowee! That is some Birthday Cake, Le'elas! You askss for some BIG slice of Birthday Cakes! Good things you come to Gus! He has all the biggest cakes in Spice City! I give you Le'elas Special Deals because you risk yo' life to comessss here. 400 credits!" They haggle for some time. It's a friendly, but aggressive affair. Finally they settle on 250 credits. (`su` `su` `su` `su` `su`) T1-NY lets out a high-pitch whistle audible only to himself... what was he thinking, offering up his own credits?! That blasted dust must have clogged his Frugality Core... damn dust, it gets EVERYWHERE. Still, it takes money to make money, as the organics say... so he extends a grappler full of credit sticks to Gus. "I's don't know where Big Slorn Man is, because he alwayssss somewhere new," Gus continues after credits have been exchanged. "But yous goes to old brewery near edgess of town. You wear thisss, and you get your Birthday Cakes, oh yeasss, Le'elas." Gus pulls a pin out of his pocket and pins it to her blast vest It's a fancy letter 'G' made of polished metal. It gleams even in the dim light. (`ad`) (Tucking `de` away to be revealed later.) Barrett looks around the shop for something that is cheap, but looks really expensive, perhaps jewelry. You never know when a con opportunity will present itself. And if there were any interesting artifacts he might consider buying something unique." He comes across a rose coloured glass bulb with atomizer. He gives it a squirt, and perfume puffs out. "That's 'Sanguine' by Ophelia," comments Gus from the counter where he's catching up with Le'ela. "Very rares, but I give you special Le'elas Friends Discountsss. 25 credits." T1-NY scans the room for a moment... Arcturan Oil Jigger... "Genuwine" Slevak Q-Ray Bracelets... wait a minute... was that...\\ \\ T1-NY lets out an excited squeal before dampening his audio circuits. Gus had authentic "Not Bootlegged" copies of the latest season of "As Coruscant Turns"!! He tries to conceal his giddiness as he grabs the holovids, feigning calm as he presents them to Gus.\\ \\ <> he asks, hoping it won't drain the bank. "Very rares, but I give you special Le'elas Friends Discountsss. 25 credits." Not wasting even a single processor cycle to consider it, T1-NY tosses a credit stick at Gus with delight and tucks the holovids into the most protected corner of his chassis for later. These episodes deserved to be savored, watched at an organic's pace -- not uploaded at full speed into his core. Finally, something to do during the flights between jobs besides controlling the urge to terminate all biologicals! ===== Ye Olde Brewery ===== {{:courierservice:pasted:20170813-215614.png}} The trio leave the odd shop and make their way through the growing shadows towards the edge of town. The old brewery isn't hard to find. The doors have been shuttered, but there is still a casual trickle of people coming in and out through a side door. The inside of the facility is an odd mix. Makeshift lights have been strung up at various junctures around the twists and turns of the insides. People of all kinds can be seen moving in and out from the various corners, each cautiously going about their surreptitious affairs. Some tables for business can be spotted here and there. There is a large open area with the best lighting and the highest concentration of passersby. If you want to be seen, this seems to be the best place to be. As they make their way through the shadowy den, Le'ela reflects on how Gus has never failed to come through for her. A trip to Gold Creek is never complete without calling on the Chadra-Fan for something... //Flashback// //The patching up of their ship, the Nimbus, was slow moving before Gus was involved. Parts and pieces were "impossible to find" and extra hands for the work were just unavailable. That all changed once Sma'tug introduced Le'ela to the Gus. He proved that, for enough credits, anything was possible and available. Repairs started to move slowly, then picked up pace, and then within the the week, they were working on plans for their departure.// //Le'ela and her crew, Skippy, Trigger and Skye camped out on the floor of Sma'tug's living room. Jimowitz was still unresponsive but showed small improvements every day under Sma'laa's ministrations. She was a wonder worker of healing, and each of her children shared their parent's kind, compassionate nature.// //Soon, only cosmetic fixes to the Nimbus were left remaining. That night, the four of them lay in their blankets and spoke quietly of what their next step would be.// //Their planning was interrupted by a loud crash in the kitchen and the sound of an angry voice. Le'ela crawled to the door leading to the kitchen and edged it open. Peering through the crack, she saw Sma'tug and Sma'laa enter in a hurry. // //"Sma-tug," the angry voice bellowed, "Spice production for your squad is down this week. Greebus wants to see you. Now!"// //"We have been caring for stranded strangers. We as a people are oath bound to help those in need..." he began.// //From her position, Le'ela saw strong arms grab a hold of their host and drag him out of view. // //"No, wait," Sma-laa shrieked. "Why are you taking him!?! Why are you taking him in the middle of the night!?" Le'ela quickly untangled herself from her blankets and jumped to her feet. She swung the door open just in time to see a large Besalisk backhand Sma'laa. // //"Sma-tug is no longer your concern," he spat. "I suggest you prepare your son to take his place in the mines at dawn." With that, he turned and left the shattered home. Le'ela saw the burly gang standing outside, holding up the slumping Jabiimas whom she now considered her friend. Another blow to his gut doubled him over. A running kick to the head snapped him backwards. The Besalisk barked out an order, and the thugs jumped onto speeders and disappeared, dragging their captive behind them.// //Le'ela was tense all over, fighting every emotion coursing through her body and heart. She was about to take a step forward after the attackers when she felt a hand grasp desperately to her arm. She looked and saw Sma'laa, on her knees, her large black eyes wet and panicking. "My baby! They'll come for my baby! Please, if my husband has shown you any kindness, do not let this fate fall to my child. Take him away from here. Tonight. Right away! Please, they've taken so much. Don't let them take my baby."// Le'ela pulled her mind back from the past; from those pleading black eyes that haunted her sleep. Barrett coughs loudly, and repeats himself. "So, Le'ela, in case you missed it the first two times, I was asking if you know what this Greebus guy looks like. Are we just supposed to flash around that pin until someone talks to us? Should I start up a shell game to get attention? This is your turf - if I should do something to help, just let me know." If Le'ela doesn't have ideas, Barrett's just going to start talking to random people about needing to find Greebus (and drawing attention so that T1 can be sneaky and lurk in the shadows, watching for watchers or stalkers and probably picking pockets, right?) :) I mean, we're just delivering a package, how hard could that be? T1-NY is too busy scanning the crowd for more "opportunities" to notice Le'ela's fade to the past. With this much activity, there must surely be a few good marks... and given what he's seen so far, maybe even some new contacts. Oh, and their target. Er, client. Whatever gets the credits. "A shell game, huh?" Le'ela ponders the idea for a moment. "Well I've never met Greebus personally. Only every dealt with his cronies. But the thing about Gold Creek is that you never have to look very far to find trouble. It always seems to find you." She turns to Barrett and smiles. "You like games of chance. I think i know how we can both get something we want." Le'ela points to an empty table and turns to Barrett. "Why don't you set up shop here? Play a few games and take a few credits from a few gamers. I'm sure if we hang out here for a while we'll find what we're looking for. " she gives Barrett a hard look. "But try not to cheat the wrong person. We don't want any unnecessary attention." A tall human with a facial scar is within earshot of the Caamasi's last words. He had in fact been subtly moving towards them since they'd entered the den and Arynd had seen the letter G pinned on her top. "If you are looking to avoid unneeded attention, wearing Gus's symbol is possibly not the way to go about it." His voice is quiet and altogether non-threatening, but his clothes and the exceptionally large blaster on his hip meant that might not always be the case. "But since you have my attention, let's see why Gus sent you and whether or not it matters." Le'ela looked to Barrett for approval. She knew that this was the kind of opportunity they had been hoping for, and here it had just fallen into their laps. It just seemed too easy. To trust this stranger with their mission could be either a great help or a tragic disaster. And the scar across his face spoke of an untold, potentially gruesome history. Her instincts were something she could usually rely on, but this place had an effect on her, sapping all her confidence in her ability as a leader. She suddenly found herself patting her vest in search of a flask she knew wasn't there. The falleen notices Le'ela hesitate, so he steps forward to improvise. He smiles broadly and offers to shake hands. "I'm Skip Jyn'N'Tahnyx, and this is Le'ela Turan'ga - she and Gus go way back. You are...?" Barrett intentionally fails to introduce T1-NY, assuming he'll find a shadow to watch from and be an element of surprise in case things go sour. T1-NY is just about to slip some credits out of the pocket of a Quarren that clearly needed them less than he did when he notices someone walking up to Barrett & Le'ela. A subtle hand signal from Barrett confirms T1-NY's thought process - best to continue PickpocketMode and stay out of sight. It'd be bad enough if things went akimbo and the organics got injured, but what if he was there and his paintjob got scorched?! T1-NY shudders just to think of it as he wheels behind a nearby corner and cranks up the gain on his audio sensors. Arynd ignores the Fallen's offer of a handshake, having heard rumors of their ability to sway others, and not wanting to find out the truth for himself. "Name's Arynd. I don't know Gus personally, but I know of him, and the circles he travels in. I haven't heard of any of you, however, so I'm assuming offworlders. That gives us something in common, for what it's worth." His eyes harden and his voice sharpens, "However, you still haven't told me why you are here, wearing his symbol." Barrett gracefully slicks back his hair with his outstretched hand, used to this sort of thing from humans. "Good to meet you, Arynd. Fellow travellers in this lonely galaxy, eh? We are just humble employees of DX30's Courier Service - excellent pay and bonuses; not dangerous work, Very Easy." He rolls his eyes slightly. Barrett pauses for a second to size up Arynd. At least he hasn't drawn any weapons - a nice improvement over most recent humans he's offered to shake hands with. Of course, Arynd doesn't look like he has any eligible daughters. Roll the dice - what harm could it do to open up? "Any chance you can get us a meeting with Greebus Martikus? We just have to deliver a package and get his signature, and then we're leaving this dump." Le’ela senses the threatening tone and body language from Arynd and a spark in her confidence is reignited. “I **do** know Gus personally,” she retorts. “As my friend here has pointed out, we go way back. I’m wearing his pin because we made a deal. He helps us to find someone we are looking for,” she raises her shock gloves slightly and pumps her first, “and I help him stay in business for at least one more day.” She locks eyes with Arynd, challenging him. She hopes no one notices the slight tremble in her fist, a combination of nerves and anxiety. T1-NY devotes 95% of his processing power to the tense standoff, not wanting to miss a cue of any kind. The other 5% notices a curious rat sniffing around his wheels and automatically runs a DRM subroutine, zapping it with the arc welder. The miasma of burnt rat hovers over his hiding place, increasing T1-NY's happiness buffer by 2.5%. As they are conversing, a large Besalisk strides through the crowd, quickly approaching them. "Arynd! Greebus wants to talk to you." He places a meaty hand on the human's shoulder and leans in a little closer. The smell of spicy smoked meats still hangs on his breath. "He's moved to location J-8. And I would hurry if I were you. He sounded pretty mad." His face twisted into an ugly leer as he began to chuckle. He takes a step back, giving the impression that he's here to escort you. T1-NY sees the organics looking ready to leave and engages his stealth protocols in preparation. Stealth roll against `di` `di` `se` `se` \\ Result: `fa` `fa` `fa` `ad` `ad` `ad` As T1-NY starts to retreat back into the maze of alleyways he's ensconced in, the dead rat's brethren scurry out from beneath a dilapidated hovercart. Wanting to prevent any stealth-destroying noise from nosy rats, T1-NY engages his extermination circuits and quietly zaps a few more of the vermin. The electricity arcs quite interestingly over one of them due to some odd device held in its jaw. T1-NY pries the object loose and tucks it into his chassis for later inspection, and then swivels his dome to ensure he still has line of sight on his crew.\\ \\ A loud snuffling causes him to refocus his attention back down the alleyway. The rats had friends. LOTS of friends. A fur-matted torrent flows out of a large gap in the wall, beady eyes gleaming in the light of T1-NY's now-inadequate arc welder. His happiness buffer drops well below minimum thresholds upon realization he will not be able to eliminate all the advancing pests. His processing power devoted to fending off the gnawing horde, T1-NY doesn't realize he had backed out into sight of the cluster of fleshlings. So much for a discreet tail (rats notwithstanding)... While walking, the Besalisk looks back over his shoulder, partially out of habit, partially due to that quiet voice of instincts telling him something was not right. His gaze lingered there, over his shoulder, for longer than usual. In fact, he continued to look over his shoulder, processing what he saw behind him for a full minute before saying, "Yo Arynd. Let's pick up the pace a bit." ===== Location J-8 ===== {{:torvik:pasted:20170818-224548.png}} Arynd and the Besalisk lead the crew towards a nearby dive called "The Edge of Despair". It looks pretty run down, but there are a few paying customers still inside, slowly sipping watered down drinks. The four of them jog in and firmly close the door behind them. The barkeep looks up from the counter when he hears you walk in, then gives an apprehensive nod. He reaches under the bar, then throws the Besalisk a key. "Thanks, Sam" he says in reply. Sam avoids eye contact, looking down at the ubiquitous glass he's ubiquitously drying. The Besalisk leads the way to the back, where the key unlocks a dimly lit backroom. He opens the door and stands back for Arynd to enter. The whole walk over, Arynd's mind has been racing over what Greebus wants to talk with him about; formulating answers to any number of blunt questions he will probably be asked. If he made the right moves now, he could hopefully buy himself a bit more time and take an opportunity to gauge just how much the Spice Lord knew already. "You wanted to see Greebus," he said to the Barrett and Le'ela. "Here's your chance." He then gestured to the open door, allowing them to go in first. Meanwhile, T1-NY reaches the bar door, flings it open and dives inside. He slams the door shut again, then quickly begins to pile tables and chairs in front of it. The deluge hits the Edge of Despair like a torrent. The entire building is rocked by it. The lights flicker. Dust settles down through the air from unseen places. The sound of tiny claws scrabbling on the exterior grows in intensity as the level of rats running into the building increases. T1-NY looks out the window. They are awash in a sea of brown and black fur. No on is prepared for the flash (rat) flood. No one ever is. The rat level climbs, and soon their furry bodies are pressed up against the window. Higher and higher it rises. Halfway up the window, now 3/4 up the window, threatening to blot out the moonlight. The front door begins to bulge from the pressure. It wasn't designed to withstand this kind of force. It will surely buckle and break any moment now. Then as quickly as it came, it subsides. The rats drain from the outside the window. The door relaxes. The gnawing noises fade away. Soon, everything is back to normal, minus the occasional 3-legged rat, struggling to catch-up with his herd. Relieved, T1-NY heaves an electronic sigh, and turns his attention to the interior of the bar. All eyes are on him. The glass Sam has been drying slips from his grip and falls to the ground, smashing. //Meanwhile, in the back room...// They entered the room and counted eight burly men, each armed with heavy blasters. Arynd took his mind off of his alibi permutations just long enough to hear a voice deep in the back of his mind alert him to the trap he had walked into. An instant later, the butt of a stun baton was rammed into the base of his skull. He stood for a moment, appropriately stunned, before collapsing to his hands and knees. In unison, each of the armoured men drew their blasters and levelled them at the newcomers. The only sound in the room was the hum of power converters and the grunts of Arynd, trying to shake off the effects of 1.21 kilowatts of electricity coursing through his grey matter. Then, from behind one of sneering men, came a voice. "Welcome back, Le'ela. My eyes didn't think they would ever have the pleasure of seeing you again." The Caamasi did a double take as she tried to place the familiar voice. //Flashback// //Le'ela and her crew gathered their things quickly as Sma'laa gathered her son's belongings. She hurriedly placed as much as she could into a small duffel bag, as Sma'alo himself stood in the kitchen, sleepily rubbing his eyes. // //"Will the port authority let us leave with him?" Skippy was asking Le'ela as they hurried about the small house.// //"I don't know," she responded.// //"What will we do if the Nimbus can't fly"// //"I don't know," she responded again.// //"Will they come after us??"// //"Dammit Skippy, I don't know! What's important now is that we grab the kid and get out of here. Stop asking me about the details because I don't know them." Le'ela hurried out of the room, desperate to avoid the question that was on each of their minds.// //She went into the kitchen, where Sma'laa was on one knee, looking earnestly into Sma'alo's face and speaking softly and swiftly. Both of their faces were tear-streaked, but otherwise stoic. A casual observer would have never guessed just how deeply their hearts were being torn to pieces.// //After a few moments more, the private moment was finished, and Sma'laa brought her youngest child to Le'ela. "You be good, and do exactly what Captain Le'ela tells you to do. She'll keep you safe while you're out in space. Then one day, you come back to me and we'll be a family again. Ok?"// //"Yes, mother," he replied simply. // //Le'ela looked down at her newest crew member. 10 or 11 years old, and his safety depended on her and her alone. She looked up at Sma'laa, then over to the table where Jimowitz still lay, unchanged over the week, except for the removal of some bandages. "Is there any way..." she left the question hanging, unable to properly form it.// //"No, Le'ela. His body is still too damaged. If you tried to move him, his internal wounds would open again, and this time there would be no saving him." Sma'laa looked intently with her dark eyes. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of him, just like you will of my son. When he's well enough to travel, I'll try to get papers to have him moved to a real health facility in a real city. Until then, he'll be safe here." She reached out and gave Le'ela's shoulder a squeeze. "Please. Hurry."// //Their present situation came crashing back in on her. The others were packed and waiting to go. Le'ela looked down at Sma'alo, told him to shoulder his bag, and follow her. They left the Sma' house. None of them dared to look back.// //They skirted through darkened alleys. The streets seemed empty, but they took no chances. The four of them formed up around the young Jabiimas to prevent any undue attention. When they reached the Nimbus, Le'ela keyed in her passcode and the door stiffly opened for her once more. // //They relaxed just slightly once they were inside and away from possible curious eyes in the dark. Each crew member set about their pre-flight preparations. Skippy warmed up the console and inputted their flightpath. Skye ran through the entire ship, securing everything that was loose. Trigger was reviewing engine diagnostics, watching for any irregularities. Le'ela took it upon herself to get into the crawlspace and load the reactor with Rhydonium. // //When she came back up, she saw Sma'alo, standing where she left him, trembling, looking uncertain and scared, duffel bag still in hand. She walked up to him, put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and knelt down to look at him in the face. "It's going to be ok," she said simply. // //He returned her gaze for a moment, then dropped his bag and flung his arms around her neck, and wept into her fur. Uncomfortable with this awkward display of emotion, she stiffly patted his back. // //"Le'ela, Diagnostics are go!" Trigger called out from his terminal in the cockpit.// //"Cabin is secured," Skye called out from the galley.// //"Flightplan is locked in," Skippy called from the navigation display.// //Le'ela sighed once more, thinking about the crew member they were leaving behind. "Fuel supply is primed," she called out. "Strap in everyone. We're ready to go." She then picked up the small duffel bag, took Sma'alo by the hand and led him to the cockpit where she helped him stow his gear and buckle in to Jimowitz's seat. // //The engine then roared to life, and soon they were lifting off from the ground, beginning the adventure that would take them away from Gold Creek.// "Hello Captain." Jimowitz stood before her, aided by a wooden cane. The Drall's face had aged considerably over the past year. It was care worn but his eyes were laden with malice. "So nice of you to drop by. I was just talking to Gus about a little project we're working on together," he unconsciously glances at the guns the his thugs are carrying, "when he mentioned that you were in town and wanting to talk to Greebus." (`de`) Arynd of course recognised Jimowitz. For a little under a year now, the Drall had been working in Gold Creek. He was too weak and frail to be put to work in the spice mines, and he took that opportunity to worm his way closer in with Greebus. The Spice Lord liked the little guy for obvious reasons, and gave him a lot independence. Arynd always found something mistrustful about the him, but that could be said of 95% of Gold Creek. Jimowitz shook his head and the playful irony had left his voice. "I've never been much of a priority for you, have I? Just dump me here and leave me, right? Well, more bad news for Bad New Le'ela; Greebus isn't available to see you. He's a bit busy. But maybe we'll put you down in a spice mine and you can work there until he has some time, ya know? Because, slacking and lolley-gagging isn't allowed in Gold Creek. You either earn your keep or your dead, ya know? I had to learn that the hard way." "And as for you, Arynd. I'm sorry you had to get mixed up in this like this. But there are some changes coming to Gold Creek, and it's just for the best this way. Don't worry. You'll be taken care of." Arynd spat to clear the ozone taste from his mouth as his mind tried to race. A little difficult considering the residual charge dancing behind his eyes. He just needed more time. Barrett carefully observes the interactions between everyone. Maybe he can perceive some approaches that will be effective in changing the tone of this encounter. Choices! - Hard Perception check to find an in for changing the tone (this stand-off has been almost a year in the making) - Normal Outer Rim check to put yourself in Jimowitz's general milieu - Normal Underworld check to understand the world Jimowitz has been forced into He is focusing more on the immediate conflict, so he rolls Perception: `fa``fa``ad` - so nothing to change the tone. Does he have time to think through his Underworld knowledge and make that check? Or he notices something that might be useful to Le'ela's next check for that `ad` and pass a boost die on? ---- //Meanwhile, in the front of the bar... // Sam and the three patrons are staring at T1-NY. The backroom the rest of the crew have entered is out of sight, down a hall behind the bar that leads to the 'freshers. T1-NY collects his rattled processor threads and swivels to face the larger, balder organics. <>, he says as he waves a gore-encrusted arc welder in the direction of the window. Flipping a 30cr stick onto the bar, his sensors surreptitiously study Sam. <> Perception check to better get a feel for Sam & the room in general:\\ `su` `su` `su` `th` Sam boggles a little, struggling to handle the cash he was discretely counting behind the bar while also trying to grab up the credit stick. His face clearly broadcasts his guilty feelings to anyone looking his way. It's obvious that he just took money for something against his better judgement. The patrons of the bar quickly lose interest in T1-NY. They're here to detach from the world and themselves. They've seen weirder and want to forget far worse. Figuring Sam will be too busy (guiltily) counting his credits to care, T1-NY once again extends his fur-matted arc welder and waves it in the general direction of the refresher hallway. <> he says, wheeling in the direction the others headed. As soon as he's out of sight of Sam & the other patrons, T1-NY activates his stealth protocols and heads for the backroom door. Sam nods absently, trying to play it cool like he wasn't caught red-handed selling his loyalty. Then as T1-NY wheels off, he realizes what he just acquiesced to. He quickly bangs on the back wall, dropping his credits in the process. Once in the hallway, T1-NY sees two Trandoshans getting to their feet, heavy blasters strapped and ready to be readied. They're looking straight ahead, flanking a closed door. They think they're subtly regarding the droid, but, you know... Trandoshans don't really understand subtlety. T1-NY switch to planning processor B, yet again pointing with his viscera-laden appendage as he calmly wheels into the refresher. Once inside, he quietly closes the door, turns on the water, and starts scanning the room for anything useful... maybe a power conduit? Or a brick of explosives dropped by an inebriated patron... a droid can dream. The fresher has one toilet (cracked), a rusted out sink (murky water constantly runs in a slow stream from the faucet), a hazy, pockmarked reflective surface that used to suffice for a mirror, and a grime covered garbage can. Daunting Perception check to find anything of use in this place, plus one setback for the single flickering light bulb awkwardly placed in an obstructed location. `su` `th` `th` - I guess the fur didn't block T1-NY's sensors! (There's a power conduit, right? :-D ) G'ah. That's it. Next chapter will have some //really// tough challenges! ;-) T1-NY notices a faint humming. He turns off the water and the light. Sure enough, the sound is coming from behind the "mirror". He flicks the light back on and pries off the chromey surface with a clatter (`th`). He finds a power conduit... box. A very, very rusty box. Lots and lots of rust on it. (`th`) Lots. T1-NY tugs at the conduit's door, trying to work it open despite the rust, using all his (lack of) might. As he's working away, an identification subprocess suddenly bubbles up to the forefront of his CPU queue... that thing he took from the rat, maybe it'd be useful. He retrieves it from his chassis and takes a closer scan... no wonder he didn't recognize it at first! The rats had nearly gnawed it beyond recognition, but it was a container of WD-7F (128, as those poor non-hexadecimal organics would call it) - perfect for clearing up that rust. A brief query as to WHY rats would be so interested in it flickered through his processor - maybe it was like synthehol to them? Or (he shudders) laxative?\\ \\ With a flick of his dome he dismisses the line of thought and shakes the can, then empties it out onto the rusted conduit cover. Mere milliseconds later (quite the improvement over the original formula!) the rust falls off the box into the water, utterly failing to make the liquid look any worse. The cover swings open silently as T1-NY chortles to himself at the sight of power sparking from the conduit.\\ \\ Time for Plan B.2 -- T1-NY turns the water on full bore, using the remnants of the "mirror" and the garbage can to direct it in the general direction of the refresher door, and then works on carefully pulling out some of the conduit wires. //Meanwhile, in the backroom...// Le'ela stares into the face of Jimowitz with a kind of awe.  It's a face that has been changed over the last year.  She remembers his smile, the caring demeanor he once had as a loyal member of her crew. There was no smiling on this face now.  The brow creased with the stress of a long painful recovery and the hard labor he did to earn his favor with Gus. She pleaded with him.  "Jim, you don't understand.  I left you in good hands.  Sma'laa was supposed to take care of you.  And i tried to come back for you, but.... but" her voice trailed off as she lapsed into another reverie< ---- It had been six months since Le'ela had left Jimowitz in Gold Creek, and 4 months since her ill fated mission that saw her standing in front of Sma'laa wailing and threatening her to never return.  Nevertheless she was aboard a charter flight back to Gold Creek with the aim of bringing Jim back home. She knew it was risky, but she couldn't leave her comrade behind. She owed it to him to try to get him back. The ship landed at the space port and passengers began to filter off the ship.  As Le'ela approached the door she hard voices from the ground that made her freeze. "A Camaasi? Yea there's one on the ship.   Yea that looks like her. What did she do?" A muffled voice uttered something she couldn't hear.  She peered out a window and saw an ugly Zabrak looking armed and dangerous.  A bounty hunter. Barely on the planet and already she was going to have a change in plans.  She ducked and hurried  towards the galley of the ship.  The Zabrak was pushing his way past other passengers up the rickety stair. Le'ela pressed herself between two racks of food trays and primed her shock glove. The loud click and whirr of the generator reverberated through the cabin of the ship.  She heard the Zabrak pause momentarily, then quickened footsteps heading in her direction. "Come out, Camaasi, and I'll bring you to Sma'laa alive.  The 'dead ' bounty is higher, but she wants the pleasure of killing you herself.  And who am i to deny her that right?" The Zabrak was now in front of her, a cart of dirty trays the only thing separating them. He turned his head towards the high pitched sound of Le'ela's shock gloves. He raised the pistol to her face.  "Looks like I'm going to have to kill you instead," he said. "Not if i kill you first," she stated.  She pushed the cart towards the Zabrak, who stopped it easily.  The sudden stop in momentum toppled the many drink glasses on the trays, their contents spilling all over the Zabrak.  He raised his arm to block a glass hurtling towards his face, and in the same moment Le'ela splayed her fingers, the wire filaments shooting out towards the Zabrak.  A few tinged off the plastic trays but one of the five found its way through the chaotic cart and into his arm the various liquids on his body amplifying the current from the glove. His body seized and convulsed before crashing to the ground. Le'ela emerged from her hiding spot, stepping over the lifeless body of the Zabrak. Time to go, she thought. Jim would have to wait.  It killed her to leave him, but she would be no good to him dead either. ---- "But i couldn't get to you, it wasn't safe. Any time i tried to get close to Gold Creek someone would come for me.  You have to believe me" Looking for some sympathy here? Long shot roll that Jim has pity on poor old Le'ela? "Pity, Le'ela? You've come here for pity?? No no, this is Gold Creek. The only thing that's available here is spice, and it's cost is blood. Lots and lots of blood." Jimowitz took a step closer to Le'ela. "You know, I should be showing your gratitude, right? If you hadn't abandoned me here, then I would be like the rest of the gang. Dead. Skippy. Trigger. Skye. Sma'alo. They're all dead. You killed them all. And you would have killed me out on your botched mission too. But now, instead, I have all this," and he gestured to the vicinity with his he cane. "No, Le'ela, I have no pity for you. All you know how to do is destroy. You ruined my life. Sma'laa's life. And the lives of anyone who cared about the others. And for that, you should die too. But instead, I'll show you gratitude." Jimowitz turned his back on her and hobbled over to the armed men in the room. "We're in middle of reorganising things here in Gold Creek. When that's done, I'll spare you life in the same way you spared mine. I think I'll put you in the North mine." Jimowtiz's flunky's began to chuckle and leer at that. He turned to them, and shared in their private joke, then whispered conspiratorially back over his shoulder, "(The North Mine is where they lock up all the criminals.) Don't be apprehensive. They're all fine young gentlemen. And very lonely for female company. I'm sure the first day alone you'll meet a lot of them. They'll help break you in. Show you the ropes. Demonstrate how they use their tools. How to bash away at the unrelenting rock until they finally break through, and find the creamy spice that lays hidden away beneath the surface. How to reach deep inside and to get at the very best spice. To work the ground and sweat until all that spice is yours. Then, when the job is done, you go back to your bunk, so you can rest and come back fresh tomorrow and do it all over again. And you do it again and again and again, until there's no spice left. That's what you'll learn in the North Mine, Le'ela. And every day, I hope you think of them; of Skippy, Trigger, Skye and Sma'alo. I hope their faces stay with you and you remember that you're down there because you failed them. You failed them, Le'ela. You failed us all." Destiny point flip //Destiny Pool:// `li` `li` `li` `li` `da` Everyone is so engrossed by Jimowitz's speech, they don't notice the rusty brown water that has been seeping under the door and has now covered the floor. knowledge Underworld roll results: `su``su``su` `th``th``th` Destiny point flip //Destiny Pool:// `li` `li` `li` `da` `da` The water is pooling around the feet of Jimowitz's crew. Le'ela, Barrett and Arynd are standing on a bulge in the flooring, with the the brown water moating around them. Finally having his head clear, Arynd understood the backstabbing going on. And was rather disappointed by it all. "Jimowitz, right? If you wanted to talk about a change in leadership of this dusty speck of crap rock, you might have offered me a drink. But taking down the new guy isn't going to get the rest of Greebus's guys in line, and you sure as hell aren't going to play this off on me." He pulled himself off his hands, and snarled at the would be kingpin. "I was looking to get off this rock anyway. Slip me some funding and we can go our separate ways, you richer with knowledge, me with credits. Or go jump into a black hole, I don't really care either way." Jimowitz turns his attention to Arynd. "I think I have all the knowledge I need. I doubt very much you would have anything of interest for me." His tone is dismissive, but his body language remains open. Barrett finds himself outside of the centre of attention, which is unusual, but somewhat refreshing in this case, judging by the weapons surrounding him. He finds his mind wandering slightly at the posturing and speeches, but suddenly an idea pops into his head when Jimbo here talks about mines. The Survivor, a revolutionary, who happens to be a zeltron... he has successfully overthrown 5 major spice operations in 3 systems and recently made galactic news (flip Destiny point for my next check). “Jimowitz, you've convinced me. Your desperate situation has been made clear to me by your actions and words, and perhaps I will forgive your poorly veiled threats against my companions.” He turns and addresses everyone in the room, raising his chin slightly in a heroic pose. “Hope has come to Silas. The slaves shall be set free, the chains shall be broken. I am Kel'seer, The Survivor of Shashin!” He raises his arm in the 3-fingered Survivor salute. Upgraded, average deception roll (setback die neutralized by his Convincing Demeanor; I'll go ahead and flip a destiny point to upgrade my check. Destiny point flip //Destiny Pool:// `li` `li` `da` `da` `da` Results: `su``su``ad` - I had to use my once per session Second Chances talent to reroll a blank yellow die, which came up with the 2 uncancelled successes... he's just a lucky gambler! “I have the expertise, the connections, and the power. My reputation alone may be enough to avoid bloodshed if you arrange the meeting with Greebus – his surrender to you is a mere formality. You're lucky that Le'ela cared enough for you to bring me here.” `ad` = I just improved Le'ela's chance at reconciliation? . Jimowitz peers at the Zeltron, then his eyes widen. He had heard of the Survivor, and it was altogether possible that this legend had heard of their plight here in Gold Creek beneath Greebus. How clandestine. How fortunate. This will help their cause immensely! "So Le'ela brought the great Survivor here to free us from our oppression. Well, bless my stars!" Jimowitz sucked back and spat in Le'ela's face. Then turned to Barrett and did the same. (They both noted independently how __surprisingly frothy his saliva was__.) "**We** didn't ask for your help. **We** don't want your help. **We** don't need your help. You want to negotiate with Greebus?! We want him dead! You want to avoid bloodshed?! Everyone one in Gold Creek is willing to lay down their lives in order to bring about this change. You're hoping to glorify Le'ela? To make her a hero? After what she's done. After what she's taken. Sma'laa lost her life, trying to bring justice to Le'ela! And you think you can saunter in here, command terms of surrender to Greebus and fix what Le'ela has destroyed? Oh, Survivor. How did you ever survive so long?" Jimowitz takes a moment to try and catch his breath. "I'll tell you what. You made the trip all the way out here, so I'll do you a kindness. I'll kill you first. (`ad`) Nice, quick, painless. And then we'll broadcast it all across the whole entire galaxy. And we'll show them that Gold Creek means business. That no one can come here and take anything from us ever again. Not Spice Lords. Not Foreign Heroes. No one. Nothing. It will end here and we will have our lives back and they will be our own. And no one, **no one**, will take it away from us again." //Meanwhile, in the loo...// T1-NY hears muffled speech through the wall and... was that the heavy tread of goons outside the door? Eager to give a jolt to the ego of the thugs, he finishes pulling out a length of conduit wiring. Running a quick hydrodynamic flow calculation, he figures only the guards outside should be in the jolt zone. Sure, he's no plumber droid, but how hard can water flow rate be? With an overamperage running through his DRMdeLight processor at the thought of what may come of it, T1-NY ensures he's on a dry (though still unnaturally sticky) patch of the floor and is about to drop the wire into the sink... Destiny point flip //Destiny Pool:// `li` `li` `li` `da` `da` ...when the door opens. An elderly Drall stands in the doorway, dressed in black. He looks up and pauses for a moment, absorbing the scene before him. "Oh." Another pause. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise someone was in here." He cocks his head to the side. "I didn't realise that droids needed to use... the, ummm, well since you don't eat you can't... you know... can you?" He cocks his head to the other side. "Oh! You must be a maintenance droid. Fixing some...thing, I suppose? Well that's good. Good up-keep is important. I've just been doing some up-keep to my house too. I guess that's something you and I have in common." He dodders on for a while, all the while seeming very interested in T1-NY. His feet, naturally, are deep in a puddle of water, but he doesn't seem to notice. T1-NY considers having a flicker of guilt pass across his main core, then realizes no one else, including Barrett, will know about it. Free pass for organicide!\\ \\ Having settled that brief moment of conscience (thanks goodness for droid logic!), T1-NY sends the signal to his grasper to drop the wire. Per GM, something flickers across T1-NY's subprocessors as he begins to drop the wire. \\ Hard underworld check: `su` `su` `su` `tr` `th` `th` `th` T1-NY suddenly notes that something about the old Drall's clothing has been subtly changing while he stood there chatting about 'cleaning house'. His clothing isn't as black as it once was. Suddenly small, dark red splatters are starting to appear. Organic, red splatters. Slowly drying and coming to light. (`su`) And was that grey matter in his fur? (`su`) And something silvery on his wrist, obscured by his jacket. Maybe, a wrist-mounted disruptor pistol? (`su`) Then something else triggers from his memory bank. As he was keeping ahead of the rat pack, he noted something that didn't make sense in the moment. In the darkness, he noted a local youth defacing the side of a wall with grafitti. He couldn't make out the figure on the wall, but there was a large red X being sprayed over top of it. Could it have been a crude picture of a Drall being X'd out? (`tr`) Then from the hallway, "What the hell is with the water?!" The Drall turned from the 'fresher and addressed the unseen voice. "Don't worry, Jerome. We're using an oil based version this time. The water will help it spread faster." Then turning back to T1-NY. "Well, it's been nice chatting with you. But I need finish cleaning house. Don't worry too much about your work here. In a few minutes, it won't matter." As he turned to walk away, the wire bounced on the sink once, causing errant sparks to fly and began to fall again, just as the water level reached T1-NY's island of ick. (`th` x 3) T1-NY quickly registers a new respect for the aged organic... clearly this is someone accustomed to violence against other biologicals. Less work for T1-NY to do later. His sensors override his revery as they note the wire about to light things up again, and his grasper tightens its grip, jerking the wire up.\\ \\ When T1-NY looks back up, the Drall is nearly back to the hallway. Well, if the organics were going to live another day (for now), perhaps he could just confuse the situation a bit? With his auxiliary grappler T1-NY turns off the water flow and tosses the sparking cable into the now-still sink. C'mon circuit breaker... Meanwhile, in the back room... Jimowitz stopped dead and stared at the Zeltron. He had indeed heard of The Survivor, but he never imagined such a famous figure would appear here. And now of all times. "I'm honoured, sir. You bring with you much prestige. We have heard of your efforts to help those in need and marvel at your exploits. But I'm afraid we have not crossed paths under the proper circumstances. The Camassii that led you here owes me several life debts. She was foolish enough to show her face here, and now it's time to collect. If you still want to aid us in our quest after I take care of her, we welcome you. But I understand if you want to turn around and leave us." "Now, Arynd." The Drall said, turning his attention to the human, just as T1-NY's cable hit the sink of water. The resulting short circuit from the combination of water and electricity was powerful enough to blow the entire block’s transformer with a thunderous explosion, plunging the whole area in darkness. The backroom of the Edge of Despair suddenly became very black, but for a moment only. With a flick of their thumbs, each of Jimowitz’s men flicked on the 3 mega-amp flashlight that was attached to the barrel of each of their blasters. This feature was a useful standard issue down in the mines, where a sudden bright light could comically blind a docile Jabiimas for some cheap laughs. Eight bright lights were raking the room, keeping tabs on the five them. Aryn looked tense and a little angry. Le’ela seemed visibly shaken. The Zeltron was looking about for an advantage to be gained from the sudden darkness. His droid was standing behind and beside him a bit, his own flashlight powering up. (Wait, had that droid always been there?) The other Drall was standing in the middle of the room, hands folded neatly before him; his face crumbled with a frown. (No, wait. He for sure wasn’t there before.) “Greebus!” Jimowitz exclaimed, “What are you doing here?” T1-NY’s floodlight clicked on, filling the room with a dim light and deep, dancing shadows. Jim squinted a bit in an effort to cover his surprise and alarm. “I’m cleaning house, Jimowitz. It’s been brought to my attention that some dark corners are allowing bad, harmful things to breed and flourish. So I decided to take some time today and bring some bright, purifying light to those dark places.” Jim stood stock-still, quickly calculating his next move. “How could you, Jimowitz? I treated you like a member of my own family. Like my own grandson, and you repay me with like this?” The intensity of Greebus’s words was building as was his breathing rate. “I allow you to come into my city, my home, allow you to live here, and you thank me by bringing this bloodshed?” “Greebus,” Jim said, almost apologetically, “the only blood that needs to be shed is yours.” With that, he nodded his head, and all eight blasters were evenly levelled at the Spice Lord. Eight fingers began to squeeze eight triggers, when it sounded out. The word “Stop” filled the room like nothing they had heard before; filled with anger and hatred and power. They each looked at Greebus, not sure if what they had heard was real or not. The old Drall stood in the centre of the room, fists clenched, breathing hard, eyes alight with fury. “Put your guns down,” he commanded. His words seemed to carry authority and rang in the ears of those assembled. A couple looked at each other questioningly. One even began to stoop down in obedience, before stopping himself. Greebus repeated himself, upping his intensity and the emotion behind his words. “**Put. Your Guns. Down!**” This time the command was irresistible. All eight gun men lowered their blasters and then set them on the ground at their feet. Greebus looked relieved. He quickly tried to regain control of his breathing, and his hands trembled slightly. “That’s better. Now sit here until I return and tell you what to do next.” Jimowitz watched in horror as his men surrendered him to their enemy. His eyes were like that of a caged animal. Desperately, he reached for one of the blasters on the ground. Greebus raised his right hand, made a gesture, and Jimowitz was blown backwards, the top of his head missing. He crumbled to the ground, his face frozen in anger and pain. “You four,” Greebus said, “come with me.” Greebus led them out of the room. Down the hallway, other men dressed in the same black clothes as Greebus, were emptying cartons on a slick substance on the floor everywhere. “Make sure you get the walls too,” he instructed. Two men then began soaking the wall of the room they had just exited. The whole place smelled like a chemical locker, or a fuel depo. They walked through the front room of the Edge of Despair. Sam was sprawled out on his counter, just like Jimowitz was, credits having fallen from his dead hands to the floor below. The other patrons who were sitting at tables when they entered were nowhere to be scene. Greebus led the crew of the Cheery Butler outside into the night, and the men in black followed them. When they were a stone’s throw away from the building, Greebus gave a signal. A moment later, one last man in black ran out of the front door, torch in hand. Through the windows, those assembled saw flames dance inside, joyous to be consuming such a delicious building. ===== Fire Light ===== {{:courierservice:pasted:20170826-091451.png}} The men in black disperse just as quietly as they came, leaving the crew alone with Greebus. "I'm sorry for the trouble Jim caused you, Le'ela. Though it shouldn't have come as a surprise to you. Since Sma'laa's disappearance, he's been losing his grip, little by little." Le'ela looks on, stunned. She's not sure how to process everything that's happened here in Gold Creek. T1-NY opens up his compartment and retrieves the package to be delivered to Greebus. The Drall's eyes light up a little. Barrett hands him a datapad to sign. After signing on the dotted line Greebus takes the package. "Thank you for this. Now if you'll excuse me, Arynd and I have a bit more work to be done here tonight. However, if there's ever anything I need in exchange for saving your lives today, I'll let you know." T1-NY attempts a clunky (but impressive for a droid) bow. <>\\ \\ It was also good to observe the power structures within the planet's (and therefore, Greebus') underworld, and to consider some "permanent deactivations" of his own that could prove useful, but T1-NY wasn't going to vocalize THAT. Greebus seemed a bit... unstable... to try for an actual alliance with. Greebus and Arynd turn their attention to the Edge of Despair, now fully engulfed in flames. Arynd was disappointed by the loss of Jimowitz. He was a good puppet. Easily manipulated. But if Greebus thought the instigator of the uprising was dead and gone, it would make it easier for him to continue the work. Then again, does anyone really know what was going on in Greebus's mind? The trio then boarded the Cheery Butler, eager to leave this dark place.