SWKotOR: The Darkest Hour Cometh
What was that?
The lightsaber parts and accompanying crystal clattered loudly to the floor, further demolishing any remaining vestiges of attention. It's manipulator flew onto his feet and hugged the wall as he regained his composure. Often times, Aravel Torlund found himself quietly meditating here in his hotel room on the Raft Nar Space Station, constructing and re-constructing his lightsaber with the Force to hone his abilities, but today something unusual had taken place. He'd never felt anything like it. While concentrating intensely on assembling his weapon, a massive disturbance rocked him and sent him hurdling back to reality. A disturbance in the Force.
While he meditated, Aravel was constantly aware of almost anyone and anything on the station of ten thousand souls. It was like a background noise, but nonetheless still "audible" when one was in a deep trance, always perceptible to a lesser degree by fully-conscious Force sensitives. He could feel the pulses of energy cores and hyperdrives, inanimate machines and droids, heartbeats and whispers. Anything the human ear was deaf to echoed through his mind like a distant gong during meditation, kept in check by calming techniques employed by Jedi since the Order's inception.
Yet something had cried out to him during the process. Something distinct had passed between him and a distant ripple, amplifying a massive shockwave in the Force and disrupting everything. It was the call of fate, magnified enormously as another, or perhaps several, eclipsed it and projected destiny forever outward towards him.
A critical time was approaching. Others who would be pivotal were nearing. Was yet another power at work in the galaxy?
Sitting back down, Aravel resumed his trance, the disturbance long gone by then. He quickly re-assembled his lightsaber and, strapping it into the underside of his vest, exited the small quarters.
Rickett lands on the space station, and immediately strolls out of the "tourist shuttle" and heads to the nearest cantina, blaster in hand. He walks and walks across the space station, for what seems like hours, with thoughts of his current contract going through his mind. He bumps into Aravel, not having a clue what is to come, and just carries on walking. Finally, he reaches the cantina. He hovers in front of the door, taking a deep breath. He puts an Arkanian Silencer on his pistol and sneaks into the cantina, and heads towards the back room. He jolts towards a wall for cover and peeks onward. Two Guards. One Target. He swiftly takes two taps of his trigger, and the two guards suddenly collapse to the ground. The target turns around, his eyes widening. Rickett sprints up to him and slits his throat with his beloved dagger. Bleeding. Dead.
"Easy 10,000 Credits there.." Rickett whispers and smirks, although his eyes full of sadness and resignation.
BEEP BEEP BEEP!!
Rickett checks his communicator, and reads the message.
"Cantina, 22:00, Tomorrow. Come Alone. My Agent will talk more."
Rickett tried to discover who this came from, but just got "Source Unknown".
Staring at his communicator, he pauses for a second. He looks down at the bodies of his victims, remembering what he was doing. He casually walks out, as if it's just another day at the office
((Shouldn't we roleplay in the past tense and not present?
In other news, I'm going to wait for another reply or two before I make my next in-character post.))
((Taak, I'm gonna agree with Penguin here. Pay attention to basically every other RP we have in the DTC. They're all in past tense. Not that present is completely forbidden. It's just not favored, and it's always a good idea to keep your tense the same as everyone else. Makes things easier to read.))
"Raft Nar Space Station," Torin Valko mumbled, checking the navicomputer's current coordinates against those identified for the station. Sure enough, they were in the right place. Torin frowned. He'd expected... what exactly? To come right down to it, he hadn't been sure what he was expecting of the station, but what he was seeing now somehow didn't fit. Funny how you could be let down by an expectation you didn't know you had when you couldn't determine what that expectation was.
"We've arrived," he hollered, hoping that his partner, Kira Ashlund would hear him from wherever in the ship she was. "Raft Nar Space Station."
He paused a beat, then called, "Bit disappointing, to be honest."
((I hope this doesn't tread over the rules too much. Jedi and Sith were said to be able to sense certain intents, though it's not really a full-blown mind-reading most of the time. He wouldn't know specifically what you're after.))
Was someone looking for him?
The bustling hive of people around him could be overwhelming at times. Through the numerous winding corridors of Raft Nar, one constantly felt under threat of suffocation, both from the crowds and the claustrophobic interior. It was amazing anyone could live onboard this thing, and even the thought of living amongst the inner workings of Citadel Station's pipe network was a welcome new suggestion in the crushing depths of this machinized behemoth.
Yet something still called to Aravel from a person, or people, he had not even seen yet, even as he brushed past some klutzy fool spacer. Destiny. He was destined to meet somebody, or several people that day, who would change his life, and perhaps the future of the Galaxy as a whole, forever. He could feel intent of some kind floating in the air, however subtle. It was impossible for him to pinpoint it in the throngs of sentients, clouded with all sorts of determinations, but an over-arching attitude was looming.
Aravel checked his jacket. He had completely forgotten his blaster, leaving him in a predicament if he was forced to defend himself with his lightsaber or the Force. Jedi were hardly trusted by anyone these days, and many sectors of the station were crime hotspots.
If all else failed, he could hide out on Rhen Var until they forgot about him.
In truth, Aieri Thekla had meant to ply a completely different trade aboard the Raft Nar Space Station--one that involved credits in exchange for pleasure. She did not entirely relish the thought, as one never knew what sort of "clientele" to expect from evening to evening. Still, it surpassed serving drinks in a cantina or emptying and washing the wastepans of patients in one of Raft Nar's three medical facilities. Before she could put her plans into full fruition, however, the Republic had caught onto what she'd intended to do, and offered her a position. They needed a new clandestine agent on Raft Nar. One who would canvas the station and "protect the freedom of the galaxy".
Technically, Ms. Thekla didn't have much of a choice. It was either conscription into the ranks of Republic Intelligence or jail. She picked the former. Becoming a spy had definitely been the right decision, all threats of imprisonment aside. She had helped to protect highly sensitive information and witnesses for the Republic. The only "bad part" had been when she'd gotten entangled with...those mercenaries...Because of them and the frag grenades that they'd thrown in cold blood, Aieri had lost her left eye. Even though the Republic had immediately fitted her with a new and far superior cybernetic one, she still felt like part of her was a machine, and she didn't like that.
I'm still having flashbacks to that day. This can't be good, Aieri thought. I can't work if they start interfering with my missions too much. Argh!
Aieri shook her head rapidly to clear it, readjusting her burgundy silk headscarf and facial veil. She took great care to conceal her more prominent features. She wore the silks, in part, for religious reasons, but as the two people who truly knew her well had discovered, that was only half of the story. She was due to meet one of them, a Twi'lek named Kuiva T'vyl, at one of the cantinas for light refreshments and adult beverages. Aieri was technically on duty, but only on one of her "ground checks". That was where she walked around Raft Nar Station on the lookout for suspicious persons and activities. Thrilling...
When she reached Hyperspace Oasis, the cantina she visited on her off hours, she was surprised to find the crowd alarmed and frightened. Several of them were running out the exit, including--
"Kuiva?!" Aieri dashed toward her scarlet-skinned friend. "What's wrong?"
The Twi'lek stammered several phrases in her native language, but then remembered that humans didn't speak the unique 'head-tail' tongue of her kind. Trying to regain her composure, she translated: "D-d-dead bodies. Three of them. They look like they've been shot. I'm so--so--!" Kuiva bent forward and heaved, as if trying to vomit, but nothing came out of her mouth.
Aieri hugged Kuiva tightly to her. "Run to your apartment. Stay safe. I'm going to investigate and try and figure out what's happened here. It's probably the fault of some drunk with a blaster, or else...mercenary work." She practically spat those words. She hated mercenaries even more than droids, which was saying quite a lot. "I'll contact you on your comlink once it's all clear."
The Twi'lek nodded, with tears streaming down her smooth cheeks, and fled.
As for the agent, she entered the cantina and asked the shaken barkeep: "Sir, what's going on? My friend told me that there are corpses in here."
The Rodian sighed gravely and pointed toward the back room, eyes bulging.
"Credits. Credits for a veteran?....Need transport," were the words that echoed around the claustrophobic and confined halls, passersby scrutinizing the beggar with suspicious stares as they were forced to step, or stumble over the panhandler who nearly took up the entire space of the corridor; a few giving him dirty looks or spitting out muttered comments of indecency that he still heard quite well, and ignored them just the same. Other than that he was left alone by those who'd normally want to beat him for being who he was, or where he was: in their way. With good reason too, as he kept his Wookie Bowcaster present on his lap at all times for all to view and know that he was not a defenseless beggar, but still, he was a beggar just the same.
It had been a series of good luck events that had gotten Alexander Thriist this far, but he should have seen the consequences coming, and he despised himself for it.
Three 'freebies' had come his way recently, free rides that is. He had been taken to a planet that would only take him so far, then on that planet he found a person who'd take him to a mining asteroid in the direction of where he wanted to go, but once on the asteroid he was almost immediately tossed off because of his Sith Trooper uniform, fortunately it had not been out of the airlock. They sent him on the next leaving vessel so fast he'd ended up leaving quite a bit of his belongings behind; fortunately nothing with any sentimental or irreplaceable value....Unless you counted the 7,000 credits he'd been saving up!
Now he was on a space station that was as choked as a bloated Rancor, and he didn't have a credit to his name. But to top it all off he couldn't find a single ship that wouldn't require him to either become a crew member, or to pay the captain, that would take him off of the blasted hunk of rusting durosteel. It seemed like all of the sudden luck and generosity had dried up, and he was stuck begging, and scrounging for small odd-jobs that barely payed a flip!
'The Force hates me,' he thought to himself, as he tried looking as disparaged and beleaguered as possible, a hard thing considering his nasty demeanor which was as natural as a blue-skinned Twi'lek, and he was seeing plenty of those at the moment, enough to know that he wasn't looking pathetic enough.
A loud raucous noise came echoing down the corridor, Thriist lifting his head to see what it was about. People, were screaming their way down the passage like neuro-toxin sniffing banshees, and it was getting on his nerves, but he remained seated, plopped down against the corridor wall, watching as they went hurtling past like they were being chased by invisible specters.
As if the Force had a funny-bone, here came another Twi'lek heaving and sobbing down the hallway, tripping over his outstretched right/normal leg.
She hit the ground hard, but Thriist just stared at her as she struggled and squirmed on the ground like the specter that had been chasing the people had caught her. Only after much deliberation did she push herself to her side, almost immediately looking over into Alexander's face.
He simply stared at her with dead eyes and a caustic look on his face, he asked gruffly, "What's with all the pointless screaming?"
She didn't answer, one look at his horrible mug must have been it for her; she grew wide-eyed with terror, shrieked in his face, and then passed out sprawled over his leg like a big red dog.
'I take it back, the Force loves me so much it's made me it's living joke,' he quipped in his mind, a look of resigned frustration crossing his face as he just sat there, hands cupped in front of him, Bowcaster in lap, leg out, and Twi'lek sprawled across it.
((Anyone, feel free to trip over him. It's fun!))
Rickett had spent all day and all night cleaning his blaster and dagger. When the time came, Rickett had gone back to the Cantina, with his blaster holstered and his dagger sheathed. Rickett was standing at the bar, looking round for his contact. He wasn't nervous, he was just cautious. The Cantina was packed with people that day, it could of been anyone, even a group of people on an ambush, that were sent to see the unworthy bounty hunter.
These words had echoed throughout the busy cantina, people bustling to the nearest pazaak tables or the bars. A cloaked, dark figure swiftly walked over to the unaware bounty hunter. He didn't say much. Just the words,
"Aravel Torlund. 1 Billion Credits. 2 Weeks. Anything goes wrong, we kill you." The figure quickly explained, and jolted out of the cantina doors, sliding away from the rushing person and instantly closing again.
Rickett took a sip of ale, and walked back to bed.
(how was this short post? Im a rp newb, and everyones gotta start somewhere:P)
((It was good, truly, but any major time shifts/changes are controlled by the TM. Time moves at a relatively regular/slow rate per post, lest the TM says otherwise. :) Also, a Billion credits is a bit much, even for a Jedi. :lol: ))
((Nevertheless, Taak, I'm going to have to ask you to edit your post for the time content. As it is, having Rickett clean his weapons all day and all night is not only impractical, but it throws off the time table for everyone else whose characters are currently on the station. So maybe just have him clean his weapons until time to meet with his contact =P))
A yelp and a shouted curse went up from the back of the ship as the lights flickered on and off for a half second. A few minutes later, Kira appeared in the cockpit, nursing a burned finger with a wet cloth.
"I don't know where you got this bucket of bolts," she grumbled, flopping into the co-pilot's seat, "But it has an incredibly bad temper."
She had been working on the electrical system while the ship was in-transit - nothing too major, just a few lighting circuits that wouldn't disturb the ship's instruments or engines - and had been finishing up when they dropped from hyperspace. It wasn't until Torin called back that she had been in any hurry to finish up, though...and in that hurry, her hand had slipped. She pulled the cloth off her hand and stuck the injured finger in her mouth. The technician was looking out the viewscreen now, examining the nearing space station.
"How can a space station be disappointing?" she asked around her finger, just now recalling what he had said. Then, a sudden thought hitting her, she asked with a hint of worry, "It...does have cantinas on it. Doesn't it?"
"Hey!" Torin protested. "Ever think maybe it's you with the temper?" He waited a beat, then grinned. "Yeah, I know she's not a lady. Point A to Point B, Kira. Point A to Point B, all I've asked her for and that, she does."
When she asked how a space station could be disappointing, his smile faded and he stared out at the station, as though trying to figure it out. She mentioned the potential lack of a cantina and he chuckled. "Databank says it has at least three. No worries there." He shook his head. "No, it's more..." He shrugged. "I guess maybe I expected it to be bigger, based on what I've heard of it." A beat, and then he grinned. "Well, not that I've heard much about it anyway..."
She made a face at him. "Forget you, Nerfherder." she grumbled, looking away and then back when he spoke again. "I still don't think she likes me being here." she said, putting her legs up on the dashboard and crossing them at the ankle.
Kira wasn't certain when they began referring to the Carmen as if it were a sentient being - or if it had even been referred to as such before she came on board - but it had stuck. Now she was more than just a ship; all she was missing was one of those AI computer personalities that they had in the holonet's space-war dramas.
"Only three?" she asked, sounding almost pitiful as she pulled her finger from her mouth. Examining the burned patch of skin for a moment, she dropped the cloth over top of it again, wrapping it tightly around her knuckle. "At any rate, that's the only thing I can complain about. A space station is a space station is a space station; there's nothing special about them."
Torin shrugged. "Maybe that's why it's disappointing. Somehow, I was expecting something special here..."
He glanced over at her, grinning again. "At any rate, Carmen's gonna just have to get used to you. Don't want you charging into fights that are over your head without someone to back you up," he teased.
HYPERSPACE OASIS CANTINA, RAFT NAR SPACE STATION
After pinging her comrades at the Republic headquarters aboard the station, Aieri slunk into the back room of the cantina to check the bodies. There were three of them. Two appeared to be entry-level guards, both human and male. They were wearing the standard quartz-gray uniforms of the Raft Nar security squadron, but they bore no insignia or stars upon their lapels. Grunts. Too bad. It looks like they never even suspected they'd die today, Aieri thought morosely. Two clean blaster shots to the forehead, one for each of them. Whoever did this knew his work, and was no mere inebriated idiot intending to prove his alcohol-fueled bravado. She gritted her teeth. Assassin. Merc. Bounty hunter. Somebody who's on my 'hot list'.
She stepped over toward the third corpse and almost began to retch, as Kuiva had been attempting to do a few moments ago. Young, female, and Twi'lek. Just like my poor friend. I hope she's all right! As for this one.... The victim did not appear to be a dancer. Her slightly-pronounced orange musculature, thick leather jacket and pants proved that to be true. Maybe she was a smuggler, or someone working for one of the crime lords on this station. No space hub exists that doesn't have at least one lurking around the corner. She still felt sorry for the Twi'lek, though. Her throat was slit. Nasty way to go. Why didn't the killer shoot her in the head, too? Aieri shook her head disgustedly. Stabbings and lacerations were personal.
Or a trademark signature. Whoever did this, they're dead. I'll see to it.
Suddenly, a voice startled her out of her reverie:
"Agent Thekla? Thanks for alerting us to the situation here. Status report?"
She gazed upward. "Dead. All three of them. Two shot, and one bled out."
"That's unfortunate," said Republic officer Dane Tirtin. "And a galactic crime."
Well, guys, we need to find a way for Aravel to bump into everyone else. I also seemed to think there were more people looking for me than there are...I'm still a little confused as to exactly what everyone's doing in coming here. My idea pool for milling around is kind of running dry...this post will be cut a little short.))
Chaos. Something was wrong.
Aravel neither saw nor heard a thing. Something was causing people to trip over each other in horror, though, and a river of humans and aliens alike were practically streaming in a stampede from the nearest cantina. He headed in that direction, preparing himself for whatever might have been waiting around the corner. Reaching into his coat, he fished out his lightsaber and tucked it into his saber arm's sleeve.
The cantina was filled with smoke, either from cigarras or blaster impacts. It was nearly empty now, save for the quickly gathering mob of RNSF security officers. Three bodies, two clearly shot and the other's throat slit, were strewn bloodily over the floor. Aravel kicked aside some garbage that had piled up during the clientele's hasty escape.
"What's going on here?" he asked in the most official tone possible.
HYPERSPACE OASIS CANTINA, BACK ROOM
"Back off! This is a crime scene, not a photo opportunity for space tourists!" barked another Republic officer, Dane Tirtin's brusque and curly-haired assistant. However, once she took a good look at Aravel, she cleared her throat. "Er, I beg your pardon. This whole business is a mess--people flocking out of the cantina and no one except Ms. Thekla here knowing what in space is going on. My name is Kay Olande, and I hope you'll accept my humblest apologies." She gestured to the man to her left. "Dane Tirtin, my immediate supervisor." Kay then cast a glance over toward Aieri. "Aieri Thekla, reconnaissance." The agent stepped forward, nodding once toward Aravel.
Kay smiled a little too broadly at Aravel, as if to say, Pleased to meet you, but you, not I, must get out of the way. "Pleased to meet you," she said out loud. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we've got three stiffening corpses to haul to the morgue."
As he walked toward the cantina, Rickett felt a sense of unaccomplishment. He remembered, he left the bodies in the cantina.
"Goddamit.." He thought. He hoped there was nothing there to trace the kill back to him. He swiftly paced back there anyway, just to check the crime scene. As he entered the cantina, he saw an electronic "POLICE, DO NOT CROSS" banner going through the passage to where his target was. Aravel was stood just beyond the banner, only rickett didn't know who he was at this point. To him, he was just a young robed man. Still, he looked like no republic investigator, what did he have to do with the investigation let alone why he had an interest in it? It mattered not, for it seemed they still had no idea who had committed the murder. Rickett looked onwards at the robed man, paused, and turned around, walking away for a drink.
((Much better, Taak ^.^))
"Yeah yeah yeah," she muttered, waving a dismissive hand at her partner. "Let's just get this cranky girl docked; I need a drink." A flashing light on the dash caught her attention, drawing a smirk from Kira. "And apparently, so does she."
The typical docking proceedures took them an additional fifteen minutes to complete. When the Carmen was finally docked, Kira got up out of the co-pilot's chair and stretched her arms as if she had been sitting there for hours. Once her shoulder had popped satisfyingly, she turned to scratching the middle of her back as she turned around.
"Well then," she said, already walking back towards the living quarters. "I think it's your turn to deal with the docking attendant this time. I'm gonna go get my **** together."
Once Kira was out of earshot, Torin chuckled and shook his head. "Give her time, Carmen dear. After all, she does happen to be one of the more competent mechanics who's ever laid hands on you."
Contacting the docking attendant and getting things hashed out was a long and boring process. The attendant wanted a lot of money, Torin wanted fuel and the assurance that Carmen wouldn't be touched in their absence. The attendant wanted more money and to know who was on the crew, Torin complained at both demands. Tired of the hassle, the attendant dropped the names and raised the price. In return, Torin gave half the credits and fake names. The attendant was happy, Torin was something less than. As soon as he'd been assured that the ship would be connected to a fuel supply, Torin returned to the ship and found Kira.
"If the station's current layout is anything resembling this six-year-old map, we're docked almost right across from one of the cantinas," he said.
((Argh, sorry about disappearing for two days without warning.
More on topic, once everyone's near enough, there will be...ehm...more trouble. Still, though, I don't have much to write about until I can get everyone closer together. Bear with me here...))
Aravel looked over the corpses one more time. Turning back to face Kay, he conspicuously scratched the back of his head in an attempt to flash her his lightsaber. Just in case that one didn't work, he attempted to levitate a small cup on the counter several inches off the ground. It clattered back down loudly, though it wasn't his intention to alert everyone in the room. Stepping back as if to head back outside, Aravel waited for a response from the officer.
"I see. Well, then, I'll be on my way," he said, beginning to turn away.
HYPERSPACE OASIS CANTINA, BACK ROOM, BEHIND POLICE LINES
Once she saw both the lightsaber and the mysteriously-levitating cup of caf on a nearby table, Kay Olande's dark eyes grew wide. "Wait, sir, please," she said suddenly. "You're a Jedi? I'm very glad to find that out. You guys may not be detectives or private investigators, but you always work in the interests of justice and peacekeeping. At least, that's what I've heard on the holonews about the Order." She gave him a warm smile. "If you would, could you examine the bodies for evidence that's--out of the ordinary, so to speak? I know Aieri said there are two shot and one with her throat slit, but I am very curious to see if there are other signs of foul play afoot." Her thick, purple-glossed lips tightened into a thin line. "Signs that only Jedi can detect."
Aieri Thekla then stepped toward her superior. "Anything else I can do?"
Kay nodded. "Make sure no one crosses the DO NOT CROSS police tape."
The agent gave a quick salute and went to stand at the front of the cantina.
As he hovered around the bar, Rickett had taken a small sip of his ale, turning his head. He just about saw what was happening in the back room on the other side of the cantina. He had seen the young, robed man wave his hand, and all of a sudden, a cup rose from a table near him. A Jedi!? What did he possibly have to do with the victim?! Rickett was slowly getting more and more worried. There was a risk with taking anonymous contracts, but when a Jedi is involved, there is cause for concern. He had inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. Rickett told himself in his mind over and over that it was fine, and there was nothing to lead him to the crime. He hoped. He didn't fully know what powers jedi possessed, so he was uncertain.
"Stop working yourself up Rickett, your a bounty hunter, this is a regular thing, get over it." Rickett had whispered to himself.
As he kept his eye on the back room, he went back to his drink, taking one sip at a time. He didn't want to get drunk, he needed to concentrate on the crime scene.
"Excellent!" she grinned, adjusting the way her jacket was lying on her shoulder. At her hip was the Mandalorian heavy blaster that she never left home without; it was her pride, it was her joy, it might as well have been her kid for all the care she gave to it. It certainly meant more to her than any human being did at the moment.
She had been on her way out when Torin caught her, having met her half way, and with hand on his shoulder, she turned him about and started him back the way he came. "What the hell are we waiting for? C'mon - let's go get some juma. Nosies for first round!"
HYPERSPACE OASIS CANTINA, FRONT ROOM
Aieri Thekla noticed something rather odd. Most of the regular patrons of the Hyperspace Oasis had fled, seeking other and more secure places of drunken refuge, but one man still lingered. His eyes were both weary and wary, as if he'd already had one too many. The way he gripped his drink in that white-knuckled way made the Republic Intelligence Agent wonder what he had to be afraid of, or what he had to hide. Thus, she readjusted her veil to reveal her lips for a split second and smiled at the man. From the looks of him, he's a soldier, Aieri thought, or a soldier-for-hire. Nevertheless, innocent until proven guilty...
"Don't be alarmed, sir," said the agent. "My name's Aieri Thekla. And you are?"
((Anyone care for some action?))
Aravel nodded in acknowledgment to the officer. "I'll go take a look. Please, though, don't let too many people know who I am if you can."
Stooping to examine the bodies, he closed his eyes and attempted to sense a footprint in the Force around the victims, something even non-Force users tended to leave behind minutely. There was no telling who had done it for certain, and it clearly wasn't any of the Republic agents in the cantina. Finding the culprit in a station that packed was unlikely at best, with the intents of thousands of sentiens crowding out any chance at a pinpoint-accurate search. Still, though, suspects were viable. The guy in the corner seemed suspicious.
"Apart from the blaster and blade kills, there's not much to see here. I can't sense much beyond someone in this general area. Ms. Olande, I suggest we quesion that man over there, in the corner. It's difficult to tell who might have been behind this, but we should start with him, since he's the nearest person to the crime scene. Are there any security feeds in here?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Aravel noticed a ripple in the air. A cloaked shape was standing near the door. He was skilled at hiding, but a sudden movement to avoid Aravel as he took a step towards the wall had given him away. Rather than cause another commotion, however, he decided to leave the figure be for the moment, electing to keep an eye on it instead.
As Torin and Kira left the dock, the Carmen automatically sealed itself to await their return. Torin didn't trust the docking attendant and he was sure the feeling was mutual in spite of the fact that he'd seemed very happy with the amount of money Torin had given him. Torin saw to his satisfaction that the fuel lines were already connected and running, which meant all that was needed now was a good drink.
But of course, there was a problem.
"Wouldn't you know it," he grunted, surveying the police tape. "Closest cantina to our ship and it's a crime scene when we wanna use it..."
"F*ck," Rickett hissed. He was getting old, and he got slower. He was observing what was happening at the crime scene, but as he swiftly jumped across the room, he swore to god that cloaked jedi over there saw him. He didn't want to make a scene, and of course he didn't know for certain, so he just kept to the shadows and transfixed his eyes onto the jedi. He wanted to get the jedi alone, and interrogate him on what he has to do with the crime. Those Republic officers need to leave..but how?
(I'm up for some action penguin:))
((Wait, Taak, your character is the cloaked guy? I meant for something...well...completely different. It's okay if you're cloaked and watching too, mind you, but it feels like I'm controlling you to just force your character to be the guy suddenly standing there...
Unless I mention "another" distinct cloaked person during this scene, I'm interacting with the NPC following me/us.))
Something wasn't right here.
First, the strangely random killing, then a guy quietly sitting in the corner after the massacre went down right next to him, and now an obviously cloaked person skulking around the scene. Murderer or otherwise, Aravel only got a worse and worse feeling about their stalker and his intents. Edging closer and closer to the figure, Aravel slowly forced it into a corner inconspicuously. Finally, when he couldn't move any closer without touching their stalker, he went straight for it's throat, or at least where he assumed that was. The two fell to the floor in a noisy brawl as Aravel attempted to subdue the person.
It uncloaked during the ensuing mélee. A masked man in a tight black bodysuit appeared underneath Aravel as the two violently kicked and punched at each other. The assassin abruptly ignited a blood red lightsaber while he threw his Jedi foe off of himself, assuming an Ataru stance and unsuccessfully attempted to be-leg his enemy in the process. Aravel, in turn, ignited his own lightsaber and fell back on his dueling-superior Makashi, simply side-stepping the aggressive swipe at his thigh. Responding in kind to his assailant, Aravel brought his lightsaber down on his dark enemy's blade and attempted to push him down.
"Everyone down!" he shouted.
Suddenly distracted from her questioning of the man at the bar by the shout of the Jedi, Aieri stood up, reaching up to detach the long, silver overtunic she usually wore. Underneath it, she wore a burgundy suede bodysuit, but kept the silver silk wrappings tight over her hair and face. As a Republic Intelligence agent, she wasn't one to run and hide when danger struck. She may have lost an eye, but that was not due to cowardice on her own part. Rather, it was due to her overdeveloped sense of bravado, which usually served her quite well...
Unsheathing a vibroblade with a cortosis weave from her belt, she sprung toward the assailant with the red lightsaber. Now's your chance to run for it, the spy thought, casting one last glance at the suspect she had been questioning. For now, I've got bigger fish to fry, but I'll be watching you...
(Bit of a misunderstanding here guys, disregard my last post and just remember my post of watching from the bar. I just realised that Tysyacha probably meant me when she was questioning a man at the bar. Whoops, won't happen again :S))
Rickett looked at this so called Aieri Thekla for a moment. She stared onward, waiting for him to answer. Then, in the background, a man shouted. Rickett looked over Alieri's shoulder as she turned around to look at the commotion. Ah, it was the jedi, and it seemed he was in battle with a..sith? Civillians and drunks all crouched down beneath tables and ran out of the cantina door. Rickett caught sight of Alieri looking back at him as she ran off towards the battle. She had unsheathed a Vibroblade, and looked at the attacker.
What should I do, Rickett thought, I could make my escape if I wished so I don't have to be questioned, but these people could use my help..
Rickett ran around the commotion, and walked through the door. The revolving door closed behind him.
Rickett pulled out his blaster pistol, sprinted bback in and rolled towards the jedi. He crouched down next to the jedi and took aim. He looked at the robed jedi, gave him a swift stern nod and looked back at the assailant. He shot the attacker in the head, only for the bolt to be deflected by the attackers lightsaber. Didn't work..so he took the more literal approach. He pulled out his precious dagger, ran toward the attacker and sliced his arm, only to be thrown against the wall by the sith's power. A republic officer ran toward the injured war veteran to tend to his wounds.
"It's up to you now, kids!" Rickett smirked at Aleiri and the jedi.
Swiftly ducking, Aravel avoided a swing at his neck and kicked the Sith assassin down to the ground with a mighty thrust of his leg. His still-armed opponent thrashed and struck at the Jedi all the way down, with the end result being his own dismemberment at the hands of Aravel. Just as soon as the assassin was killed, however, several more cloaked figures appeared in the direction of the entrance and charged into the cantina, wielding lightsabers of their own. More assassins, all identically clothed like the first.
"Ms. Olande, do you have any reinforcements? This fight is too much for us!" Aravel said as he prepared to use Force Judgment on the advancing assassins.
Kira's demeanor immediately darkened, her good humor evaporating in the light of the yellow tape that blocked off the entrance to the cantina.
"You have got to be f*cking kidding me!" she cried, going up to the yellow tape. She put her hands on the top of the plastic strip, looking not unlike a kid longingly staring at a long-loved toy beyond reach in a store front window. "That would happen to m--Force!"
She caught sight of the lightsabers' glow a moment before a renegade piece of debris - the remnants of a table that had a second ago been used as a projectile by one of the robed men - ricocheted off a wall and sailed right by where her head had been a blink of an eye ago. The spacer rose from her frantic crouch with a very dark look on her face.
"Throw tables at me, will you??" she said, immediately unholstering her blaster and letting loose a barrage of bolts at the robed men.
When more attackers barged into the cantina, the republic soldiers had temporarily tended to Rickett's wounds, leaving him intact enough to fight. Rickett drew his blaster pistol from out of it's holster. There was way too many of these robed attackers. Five, maybe Six. Two of them stood on the left side of the cantina. The attackers seemed to be getting in a formation, to trap the jedi. Rickett looked upward to see a large electrical cantina sign above the two on the left. He shot the sign, causing it to fall, giving the attackers a temporary electrical injury. As they hovered for the moment, Rickett ran up, blasted one of them in the head and shoved his dagger into the other one. He landed next to the jedi and looked at the two he attacked. The one he shot was already dead on the ground, and the other one slowly dropped to the floor. As the attacker died, Rickett crouched towards the bodies, thrusting his dagger out of one of them.
"I'll take that," Rickett said, as he smirked, rolling back to the jedi.
Aieri ducked and whirled as fast as she could between the fighting figures and the falling bodies. She managed to stab one of the assassins, right in the middle of his unprotected back, with her vibroblade before he had a chance to turn around and slit her throat. Noticing that both the Jedi and the man she had been questioning earlier had excellent fighting skills, she smiled underneath her veil. These fools don't stand a chance, she thought, whether they are truly Sith, or merely some hired killers with counterfeit lightsabers. Such people do exist, she thought disgustedly as she decapitated another uncloaked man. Fortunately for us, they're not existing for very long...
Kay Olande, herself a Republic officer, tried not to fire more shots than were absolutely necessary. Not only did she want to avoid hitting civilian patrons, or those who were trying to fight alongside her, but she also wanted to lessen the damages that the Headquarters aboard the station would have to fork over once this wreck of a cantina was finally put to rights!
Once the smoke and screams finally seemed to stop, all looked around....
((Anyone up for a little...destruction? Hehe...))
After the last assassin's cleanly severed head went rolling, the cantina was quiet, if only for a moment.
"Well, then," Aravel said with finality. "That's over with."
Chance decided to mock the Jedi. Mere seconds after the comment, the entire station rocked with a tremendous rumble that put the largest earthquake to shame, throwing every standing person hard down on the ground. Yet more assassins, exposed by the abrupt shift in footing, appeared from every conceivable direction and attacked at once. Every other bystander in the cantina not involved in the incident was quickly cut down, adding to the growing pile of bodies. Blaster fire could distinctly be heard coming from within the depths of the station's catacombs, accompanied by sounds of ferocious melee combat.
Alexander had been getting money! He was surprised, the Twi'lek draped across his leg had proven useful, most passersby believing that he was collecting credits for the poor girl lying across his now asleep leg.
But all too soon his good fortune was turned around as he heard the distinct sound of blaster fire echoing down the corridor.
'No! No, no, no, no, no, I don't need this right now!' he thought to himself agitatedly, knowing that fighting meant problems for him. Which was all too true as security started filing through the tiny halls, ushering people out of the corridors to prevent casualties in case the fighting broke out into the area. Not only that but the Twi'lek woman was starting to come to, moaning like she had the worst hangover ever, she began to wriggle around on his numb leg. Both were bad because, he was losing the people giving him credits, and the reason he was getting credits was getting up, and he very well couldn't knock her out again, at least, not with all the security in the area.
A few more blaster shots rang out, Thriist rolling his eyes as he sighed angrily to himself and with a grunt and a snarl he hauled himself up on his feat, nearly throwing the Twi'lek across the corridor as she fell from his leg while he stood; she moaned painfully in turn.
"Here, for your help, a contribution," he muttered, throwing a credit chit beside her. After that he hobbled his way down the corridor, weaving through the thinning crowd and avoiding security officers as he curiously went to investigate ((yeah, that's redundant, I know)) what was causing his misfortune.
He finally made it within sight of the yellow holotape that was draped across the main entrance of the Hyperspace Oasis Cantina, shrugging his right shoulder a bit to adjust the weight of his bowcaster which he was holding up. His 'instincts' went wild as he scanned the entrance while he approached, his gut telling him that their were familiar problems from his past lurking within that place ((not familiar as in he knows Aravel, or the specific Sith attacking him, that is)).
Suddenly he realized there was someone at the entrance as he approached, and she was firing into the cantina, red hot bolts flying back at her as she did so. Alexander tensed up, he wasn't too sure about joining in on what was going on, but he seemed to be drawn to what was happening.
He stepped up beside the woman, begrudging any idea of being hit in the head by return fire - or being shot by the seemingly ticked woman - he looked in on the scene and froze, it was the Sith, combating some security guards and officers, and a Jedi; great, if Sith weren't enough there was a Jedi there to make things worse.
He looked over at the woman beside him firing in on the Sith, then back in on the scene; one was on the ground that he saw smoking blaster holes in it's back - he could guess that she'd caught him off guard and tore his back up with her spastic fire. Two others had turned towards her and were deflecting her shots back at her, but seemed unable to advance as she was firing at them with such crazed gusto. But if she kept it up, one of the deflected shots would hit her - or even him.
Alexander lowered his shouldered bowcaster, holding the weapon's stock under his arm he hip-fired into the cantina, pouring in energy encased bolts of death. The two Sith were overwhelmed, the shear number of blaster bolts, and the added power of the caster rounds was too much: first, one was clipped in the shoulder as he was caught off guard by a caster round from one of Thriist's first shots, then the other, distracted by the sudden new threat that was the caster fire, was hit several times by blaster fire in the arms, from there it turned into a shootout between Alexander and the woman as they rained down fire on the two, clipping them at first, but eventually they began taking full body shots. By this time the Sith were dead or dying, but as they fell they twitch with the fire of the two gunman....Or the gunman and gunwoman.
As the Sith fell and the two stopped, Alexander looked over at his shooting partner, he blew a slight laugh through his nose as he shouldered his weapon and tilted his head sideways and downward, lolling it lazily on his scarred neck.
"By the Force woman, I don't know if your stupid enough, or crazy enough, but you're some kind of something to go pickin' fights with Sith," he said to her in his gruff, cantankerous manner, blinking his reddened, hollow eyes slowly. He paused and looked at her, staring her straight in the eyes like he was trying to drill holes into her head, then he continued, "But I've gotta say, you're my kind of person, crazy, stupid, or not. After all, not many people beyond those who're crazy or stupid will try gunning down Sith like that. Can't say I'm too sane either since I don't even know you from a Rodian, but when I'm impressed, I'm impressed."
He lifted his head back up and looked in on the cantina and the events occurring within. He looked back over at the woman and with half-lidded, dead eyes, he shrugged, returning to looking in on the cantina, not even caring if he got a response, only to have his footing nearly knocked out from under him as the station rumbled with tremendous force.
Sith seeming to grow from the walls themselves came pouring out, cutting down anyone around them, and anyone with a weapon and capable of fighting ended up embroiled in heated combat with said Sith.
"The FORCE!!! Why me!?' he thought as he lowered his bowcaster once more, but bringing the weapon up to his shoulder this time for better aim, he began firing on a set of Sith he saw advancing on him, or them, if the woman was still next to him, he couldn't tell considering all of his focus was on killing the Sith assassins baring down on him.
((Well, if you don't want me messing with what you were doing FFWM12, then I'll change my post. Just tell me, and I'll change how he comes to the cantina, etc.))
"That's what you get for standing between Kira and a good drink," Torin offered good-naturedly, first drawing his blasters. Then as the attacking Sith seemed to realize they had attackers outside the cantina as well, he swore under his breath and reached for the sword hilt tucked away inside his jacket. The hilt in his hand, his arm extended outward toward one of the charging Sith, he waited. Thinking he had an easy kill, the Sith raised his saber to deal the final blow.
"Checkmate," Torin said softly, pressing a button on the side of the hilt. The heavy blade telescoped out, plunging through the Sith's chest. The man gasped, unprepared for such a fatal blow. He struggled to remain on his feet as Torin pulled his sword back. He tried feebly to raise his saber to block Torin's next swing, but all he succeeded in doing was a feeble twitch of the arm. Then, his head was separated from his body and he knew no more.
Turning from that one, Torin scowled into the bar. "How would you like to try on some of these reflexes, boys?" he murmured. Though no one heard him, one more Sith turned to face him. He brandished the sword with a wicked grin and called out, "Come on over. I got room."
With a war cry, the Sith charged, driving her saber straight for Torin's torso. In a series of swift motions, he batted the blow away, drew one of his array of knives, and stabbed aggressively downward at a slight angle. The blade pierced her shoulder and drove clear to the hilt, its tip finding her heart.
A third Sith saw him, but hesitated to attack. Fully facing Torin, he turned his back to the Jedi, a fatal mistake...
((Penguin, I'm gonna PM you on an idea I had for Torin. I'd like your approval before I fully write him as I'm considering.))
((Holy cow, Archon!))
The station rocked again, this time much harder. Debris from various objects attached to what used to be the ceiling came crashing down around everyone, smashing some and trapping others.
Rolling out of the cantina as angry blaster bolts and sharp debris crowded the air, Aravel entered the larger fray, stabbing a Sith through the chest in one clean motion as he returned to his feet. People were still running to and fro, limiting the engagement options to swordplay and other close-range techniques. Force Judgment was still to experimental to try in the midst of a station packed to the brim with innocents. Contemplating a method of escape, he continued to hack through the endlessly growing horde of murderous Sith who were appearing all around them. There had to be a way to escape this living prison, but Aravel had come by transport craft and not his own starship. Then it hit him. Someone had to have a ship, and the sentients fighting alongside him were the most calm candidates for hitching a ride out of the hellhole station.
"Does anyone have a ship? I have nowhere to run, and these Sith are hunting me!" Aravel turned and spotted another assassin, who had turned his back to face a spacer wielding a blade of some sort. A single backstab later and the Sith was finished, one more out of a few dozen of the growing mob. Finally, Aravel, about to be overrun, relented and unleashed his Force Judgment in the direction of the nearest Sith, weakening them with a pulse of greenish-blue energy from his fingertips. Each fell quickly, still stunned from the abrupt attack and unable to adequately defend themselves.
((Slight char control of FFWM's Kira, with permission of the author of course. :) ))
Torin snorted. "That's a fine admission to make when requesting passage away," he observed. "Take a Jedi on board and all these fine Sith warriors will be all over you like flies on a pile of Bantha dung."
Swiping his sword through another assassin's midsection, Torin glanced at Kira. "We should be going, though. We'll get our drink on somewhere else, preferably somewhere that's not overrun with Sith assassins..." The station shook yet again and Torin added, "... and also preferably somewhere that's not falling apart."
He glanced at the Jedi. "I've no fear of Sith," he said. "Being a Jedi, I'm sure you can keep up with slowpoke ordinary folks like myself and my mechanic friend, so I'll not tell you that you're not welcome. We have a ship and we're getting out of here. Let's go."
At last distracted from her alcohol-deprived rage, Kira stared in disbelief at her partner's invitation to the Jedi, but by that point, Torin had already turned and was making a beeline straight for Carmen.
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