Log:Defiance Guild: How to Hunt a Bounty
How to Hunt a Bounty
OOC Date: July 19, 2017
Location: Formos
Participants: Defiance Bounty Hunter Edition: Tarion Tavers, Stavros, and Hex as GM
The short story: Tarion and Stavros are the worst at bounty hunting.
The long story:
Tarion and Stavros have found themselves in Hex's office. It might actually be Kasia's office that she lets him use sometimes, if he's on good behavior. It's pretty unremarkable; a large desk, a sturdy chair behind it. There's a broken chair in a crate on the floor, someone will take it out eventually, and across the desk, exactly one other chair. You can fight over it. "Ai'jouku," Hex greets the boys, smoking although he's not meant to be smoking in here, "Since both of you are of the bounty hunting persuasion, I have a special task for you. For you in particular, rather than Defiance at large, that is." He presses a button on the desk and holo-readouts appear in the air. A Trandoshan and a Klatoonian, both of which look like nasty business. "This is Sshuurisshish and... uh, shit, who's the other guy... Dorb. Sshuurisshish and Dorb. They used to run weapons for the Hutt Cartel's Outer Rim interests, but have since had a bit of a falling out with their former employers, and they changed their business from weapons to slaves. There is a bounty on each. 20k for the Trandoshan, 15k for the Klatoonian. They're wanted alive, but can be returned to any Hunter Guild outpost, you don't necessarily have to drag them back to Nar. Please collect them, ok ka?"
Stavros makes a solid grab for the chair. "Don't worry, Tarion, you can sit in my lap." Whether he succeeds in his conquest or not, he listens to Hex's briefing. "They still work together? Package deal? Sounds like a good opportunity." He squints. "What's the catch? Is the 'alive' part enough of a catch? It feels like there be more catch going on."
"Sure and Durr, got it," Tarion confirms, coming in and perching on the edge of the chair-filled crate. It's a furniture in its own right, ok ka. "So it's a Hutt Cartel payout? Does Eebua know? Did he put this bounty up? Am I working for that slug because he still owes me a not-coming-after-me-anymore deal," the hunter rants, teetering on the narrow seat. "I guess money is money. We can take my ship. ...do we need a ship? Do we know where they are, or will I need to Gather Information on them?" His eyes turn back to Hex.
"There's maybe probably definitely a catch," Hex shrugs at Stavros. "I dunno what it is. I'm not a bounty hunter. My aspirations are limited to finding a backup duster in case something happens to this one, and convincing my wife to let me buy and install a krikyt farm. I'm going to be of zero assistance. Not Eebua though, this is a bounty from a hutt named Gorull on Nal Hutta itself. Given that Hutts generally don't get along, probably no friend of my man Eebs. You probably do need a ship, they're unlikely to be on Nar and were last seen together on a 4R3 Light Assault Transport called the Fang of the Tooth. Don't ask me. I didn't name it. I get that a fang and a tooth are the same." As for Gathering Information, Hex shrugs, and then makes a shooing gesture. "Figure it out. I have krikyts to research."
Tarion and Stavros space google. They space google so hard. How long did they actually spend on this? Were they distracted by Zeltron Adult Movies and/or Space Price is Right while they were space googling? Who knows? Do they know? They probably don't know. But they both arrive at the same conclusion, some information about a slave-sale on Kessel, with an indication that two men of the appropriate species made a purchase there and are moving to Formos, a dusty, lawless world at the end of the Kessel Run.
"Are all Zeltrons this color there?" Tarion had asked at one point, but now they're circling in on Formos, toward the Red Port. "I call it red because that's easier than trying to learn how to pronounce whatever /that/ word is," he's explaining, tapping the nav computer's screen on the Parallax's dashboard. It's a weird ship, everything about how it flies is a little strange, but it's also awesome and has many guns. "Maybe we'll get lucky." Before long, they're through traffic control and the ship swivels 90 degrees to make a landing.
"If they think we're Boba Fett's ghost, they're probably going to run like hell, so let's try not to get the ship involved unless we have, all right?" Stavros appreciates a unique and weird ship, but is more concerned with getting the job done at the moment. "I don't think those letters are even Aurebesh," he says with a glance at the navcomputer. "We know anything about local weapon laws? I'm bringing my rifle in pieces." He grabs the duffel bag and prepares to disembark. "Though the heavy armor might give the game away, too," he says over the comm channel."
The Kessel Run is a narrow corridor of navigable space that snakes between the asteroid fields and black hole clusters that separate Formos from the prison planet Kessel. After the Run terminates in an asteroid-filled Nebula called the Pit, most pilots proceed to Formos to link up with more defined hyperspace lanes to reach the rest of the wider galaxy. It's a useful place for spacers to refuel, navigate, and engage in some dubious R&R, but Formos is still overall a forbidding, arid world with few inhabitants and a grim reputation. It's unlikely that anyone would call this place home if not for the planet's relevance to hyperspace travel, but it also doesn't seem like the kind of place where people are going to run from a Firespray just because it is, indeed, a firespray.
Upon landing at Tarion's designated Red Port, the weather is hot, windy, dusty. A gross town made of squatty industrial buildings lies ahead of you, busy enough to have multiple cantinas. No one immediately in evidence is a Trandoshan, a Klatoonian, or holding a slave sale.
"Who knows," Tarion replies, plucking up his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. He's already wearing his grey armor because he always is. "If someone gives us shit we'll shoot them unless it looks like more of them will shoot back than there are of us." He hits the keycode to open the landing ramp, and then laughs. "Oh, krif, I hope it's breathable atmosphere. Seems fine though." They didn't depressurize so it must be good! Leading the way, he strolls down the landing ramp. "Do you think they have any Zeltron performers in town? I kind of think it'd be valuable field research. I'm still a little miffed we didn't stay on Zeltros longer." He scans left and right, looking at the other ships. "None of these look like that Fangtooth thing."
Stavros decides preparation is the better part of valor, and upon seeing the squalid and squat little town, decides to put his rifle together, after all. "I don't either, but would you park it out in the open with a price on your head?" He is completely oblivious to that little irony. "Let's be yokels, I've got an idea." He ducks into a cantina, looks around for anyone matching the descriptions or at least the right species, before heading for the bar.
There is indeed no Fang of the Tooth to be seen in their immediate vicinity, but the bros have selected the busiest port on the best nav stop for a notorious smuggling route. Not every ship or docking area is visible from where they've landed the Firespray. This being a smuggling town, various establishments of ill repute aren't hard to find. There are numerous cantinas, a few gambling dens that offer a number of chance games at which to lose money, and you know that neon Twi'lek girl sign over yonder has to indicate either a strip joint or a brothel. It is one of the Cantinas that Stavros selects though, and thus they enter.
This place is small but packed; a high number of humans are here, but a good number of aliens, as well. Six-armed Xexto musicians are playing traditional Troiken percussion music, which is great if you have acquired a taste for it, and probably less great if you haven't. A human woman who slept in her makeup sits alone at the bar radiating hangover, a Tritonite dressed in rags wanders from table to table, clicking at people in an insectoid language. The bartender looks like Zarya from Overwatch but she's Zabrak. She is wiping down the frame of a cross-stitch that says 'if you start a fight I will end the fight and then I will end you.' It is embroidered with cute flowers.
"Well, I mean, not every day," Tarion replies, slipping in behind Stavros and looking around as his eyes adjust to the light. The space racist is happy to see a good smattering of humans in the joint, although there's a loud clanging noise from some weirdos over in the corner that makes him wince. "They are not gonna have blue moon lagoon monsoons," he mutters under his breath, headed for the bar as well. "Well howdy there," he greets the bartender, eying that cross-stitch. "That there mud mining is hard work but cheap bricks is cheap bricks, ha ha." A nice false laugh, and he swallows awkwardly. "...makes a man thirsty."
The transparent front of Stavros's helmet slides up, making his face visible as he approaches the bar. Holding his rifle in his right hand, and pointing at the ceiling with no particular control, the Zeltron says to the bartender. "Nice sign. I picked the right bar." With a slight smile, he says, "I'll take two shots of something strong."
"I'm here for a slave sale." Stavros doesn't hide his distaste. "Think this might be the wrong port, though. I haven't seen the person I'm meeting."
The bartender looks pathologically unimpressed with the both of them. "You don't make bricks," she blandly accuses Tarion. "You might make people shit bricks." It's Stavros to whom Zabrak Zarya turns her attention, however, not yet producing the 2 shots of something strong. "You want a slave sale?" she echoes, in a flat tone that's hard to read. "Whatcha want a slave sale for, pinkerton?"
"...we want to make bricks," Tarion answers the Zabrak, explaining the need for slaves. "Gotta get enough of 'em to dig the mud and stomp the straw in." Cough. He glances at Stavros, like either 'back me up' or 'help I can't stop talking', it's hard to say which.
Stavros rolls his eyes to the heavens at the words carried aloft on Tarion's voice. He shakes his head slowly. "Shut. Up." Then he returns his eyes to the intimidatingly large yet arousingly muscular Zabrak. "They're profitable in Hutt Space and our ship has holding cells. I don't need to draw a map, do I? 'Cause I'm really bad at those."
"Slaaaaaaave?" They've been overheard. Nearby at the bar, one of a Troig's two heads has turned towards the Defiance bounty hunters. The other head is just busy drinking, so they only have 50% Troig Head Attention here. "Ahh'll be your slaaaaaayve," it offers in a high, reedy voice.
"Shut up, Skup!" Zarya Zabrak frowns at the Troig, and then turns her impassive stare back on Tarion and Stavros, producing the two shots, finally. Who knows what that alcohol is, the bottle is unlabeled. "Okay boys," she shrugs. "You want that kind of thing, it's not here, but my sister Marci-Mai can hook you up with the right information. Here's what you need to do. Go down First Street until you see an alley in between Horl's Moving Company and Jabbro's Bail Bonds. Left down the alley. First left. Second right. There will be a metal door says '42' on it. Go into the room past the door. It's part of an old industrial facility so it's got some weird coolant leaks but don't worry about it. Marci-May will see you enter from a camera near the ceiling and come get you and she'll get you everything you want to know about the slave trade on Formos." She looks back and forth between the two men. In a dry, dry tone, "You want me to draw you a map?"
"Mercy Me, got it," Tarion replies, nodding. It's amazing, his unique charms have rendered Zarbya a pliant and helpful tool in his gifted hands. He's also going to repeat all the directions to be sure he remembers them. "Down First, turn at Howl's Moving Corltil, left, left, right, 42. Got it." It should be noted that he's not paying the best attention, too busy letting his eyes wander up and down Zarbya's toned, toned arms. "Sounds good to me."
Stavros listens carefully to the directions. Then thinks them through. "That might be good," he confesses. "As long as you're better at it than me." He taps the directions into his bracer datapad though. "First Street. Alley between Horl's and Jabbro's. Left, first left, ... right. Is that the first or second right? And she'll be watching us on the camera and everything is going to work out perfectly." He nods, awaiting clarification on that one part.
Zabrak Zarya is toned, but not too cut, strong like a warrior, but also willowy like a dancer, with curves in all the right places.... jk lol Zabrak Zarya is built like a truck, she's ripped af, and her curves in all the right places are like a terrifying six pack and aggressively perfect triceps. She clarifies directions for Stavros, then walks away to deal with hangover lady, who is crying, but also definitely wants another Sullustan gin.
Outside, it's still hot. Still dusty. The directions aren't that hard to follow, since Stavros has properly recorded him, and sure enough, the trustworthy bartender wasn't wrong, there is a metal door there that says 42. Should they interact with it, it seems solid and heavy, but pushes inward. The room inside is pretty sparse: Cement floor, concrete walls, the only furniture is a cheap folding type card table. There is, again, one chair; Whether Tarion is still welcome to sit on Stav's lap remains to be seen. A limp, glossy magazine wilts on the table surface. It seems to be full of pictures of bikini clad Twi'lek and human girls, and is titled SPACE ILLUSTRATED. A small camera is perched in the corner between wall and ceiling, just the one camera, one corner.
Of course they interact with the door. It's firm and unyielding, that door, but Tarion pushes it in nonetheless, looking around the sparse space. Before they can start debbating who should get the chair, he picks up the magazine. "Hey, check it out. Is this a slave catalog? Do they have Zeltrons in here?" Preoccupied. "This looks like somebody's beating or beating-off cave," the hunter comments, squinting at the camera. "Mercy Me! I uh, we found your reading material, and we're ready to buy some" oh yeah yokels "some-a them there slave wham-myn! Like in the- this here reading materiyal." He flips through, stopping at the sight of something pink, but it's not a Zeltron, it's a weird red tatted-up Twi'lek. "Oh, gross."
The Zeltron follows him in. "They make slave catalogs?" Stavros's eyebrows rise. "Good for business, maybe-" He stares at the camera. "Why are we meeting with a camera? I don't even think it has a speaker. ... does it have a microphone? Marci-Mai, shouldn't there be a screen in here showing you?" Stavros glances over his shoulder, looking the room and entrance over again.
The good news is that the room is very easy to enter. The bad news is that the metal door clangs solidly shut behind them, and there appears to be no way to open it again from the interior of the room, nor any other exit, hatch, or window. Lured in by the slave catalog! 60% of the time, it works every time! The camera does not respond to their questions, and it's hard to say if it does have any kind of speaker. A soft hissing noise begins, and from tiny vents near the ceiling, clouds of white fog begin to emerge.
You feel very sleepy all of a sudden and you definitely have a bad feeling about this.
"Wait a second," Tarion utters, wasting air. "...there is no Mercy, this is a trap. That Zabrak seemed so /nice./" The betrayal! "The magazine must activate the gas." Brilliant deduction. He's starting to stagger a little, bumping into Stavros. "She seemed... so nice..."
An unreasonable man needs an unreasonable plan in a situation like this. Stavro stakes a deep breath before the gas is (visibly, at any rate) near him. If they want chemical warfare, then chemical warfare they shall have! With as much concentration as he can muster while being affected by soporific chemicals, he thinks sexy thoughts, glancing at the magazine for inspiration as he falls to the ground. He may be down for the count, but he is also surrounded be an intense and invisible cloud of pheromones. Ladies who aren't wearing gas masks, beware!
Bad luck for our heroes. Maybe they shouldn't have trusted that sexy Zabrak? Or maybe they shouldn't have led off immediately with Hi We're Slavers? Or maybe this is the universe's justice for how they so meanly ignored the Troig who offered to be their slaaaaaayve? They don't know. Everything goes dark.
How long were they unconscious? It's very hard to determine, but consciousness does slowly return, and they are... no longer in Mercy's Space Illustrated Trap Chamber. Everything is different. Vision is blurry at first, but it eventually begins to clear, and it looks like... they're snuggling! PROFESSION: SNUGGLER! Wait, wait no, that isn't right. Not snuggling. Just tied up, but face to face. They can get a short distance apart, but it's less than 12 inches of space. The best bounty hunters in the galaxy are in the holding cell of a ship, a low-tech affair with durasteel bars, and they're wearing prison-like jumpsuits, not their original gear. There is a crate outside the cell, crudely labeled SLAVE STUFF. Stavros has, for some reason, lipstick kiss marks all over his face and neck.
Standing outside the cell are a Trandoshan and a Klatoonian, peering at their cargo. "Somebody told me as thems was tryina get to the slave market," remarks the Klatoonian. The Trandoshan seems skeptical. "No chanssssse. They were not even in the right ccccccccity for that."
When Tarion's eyes open, they're looking into the face of a dreamy pink- wait, light red- wait, it's Stavros. The worst bounty hunter in the galaxy jolts back. "Shit, we're in a tight spot," he hisses, realizing he's tied up and stuck looking ahead at the other man. "...we're in a tight spot."
Stavros blinks, but it doesn't get that grainy feeling out of his eyes. He tries to wipe his eye, and succeeds only at scratching his arm a bit. He looks sideways - anywhere but Tarion! - to the Klatoonian and Trandoshan outside the cell. "Hey, is it too late to make a purchase? This is my first time on Formos. I think maybe I got off on the wrong foot. Do you usually gas customers?" He wiggles where he is wound up. "Doesn't that hurt repeat business?"
"These idiots really think that a few manacles are gonna keep us locked up in here?" The kissy-marks on Stavros' face have not escaped Tarion's notice, and there's no way in hell he's waiting around to get loved up by a Trandoshan lizard man. "They don't know who they're dealing with. The best" worst "bounty hunters in- hell, probably this whole ship." The smart-mouthed, dumb-headed man starts wriggling around, working his hands in the cuffs as best he can, and then puuuushing against his own back. There's a little pop and a whimper, coupled with the appropriate facial expression before he goes back to smirking. "It's not even real pain, it's my cybernetic." Except it's absolutely real pain. But at any rate, his left hand is out. "Do you have some kind of Zeltron acid spit or something we can use to get through there? If not spit, then uh... maybe... you know. ...did they leave the slave catalog in here?"
Stavros works his hands about, twisting until he can get a hand around to a vulnerable spot and weaken the entire structure. It takes him about half a minute to realize he is making no progress whatsoever. "Tarion, shut up!" he hisses. "Be helpless! Think newborn baby thoughts!"
He calls out, "Dorb! That's your name, right? Can we make a deal here? I've been kidnapped before. I know this is business. You want to make credits. I don't know that I can get you enough credits to make it worth your while, but-" he leans outward, as conspiratorially as he can manage. "-I think I can get you something better, something most people can't buy. Dorb-" he leans his head out as far as he can. "My sister loves me very much." He raises his eyebrows. "She'd do anything to get me back." Dramatic pause. "Have you ever been with a Zeltron?"
Dorb! It's Dorb! "DAT MEEEEE," cheerful Dorb voice echoes down the corridor. Sshuurisshish must be ignoring him, because it's only Dorb who pops into view, ready for a new and exciting round of torment the bound up captives. OR ARE THEY? Dorb isn't perceptive enough to get that Tarion's free, as long as Tarion is relatively stealthy. So he just seems in a pretty good mood, he has a very positive feeling about this. For what it's worth, by the way, neither he nor the Trandoshan have the right shape lips for the smooch marks, so Mercy probably was actually watching and probably did sell you out and probably did kiss some pin--- light red dude.
Dorb doesn't want to kiss a light red dude, but he's listening at 'sister', all the same. "I tried'a get wit a Zeltron girl once," he hedges, taking a step closer. "She said no an she hit me wit her shoe."
"What? You didn't tell me you had a sister," Tarion hisses jealously, holding his hands behind his back. "And you're gonna sell her out to /Dor-/ hello Dorb! Don't feel bad, buddy, I tried once too and she clawed me on the face. Really rude. I think this is a different Zeltron though." Look at all the helping.
"I think we've all been there," Stavros says with sympathy, despite his position. "And stiletto heels are the worst, right? But Dorb, you have to make a choice, and it needs to be an informed decision. In my bracer computer, I have her picture. It's keyed to my fingerprint and password. He feebly reaches a hand out towards the bars. "Little help? I just need one hand free."
Dorb isn't convinced, because y'all rolled really badly, and Tarion is really knocking him out of the zone. Also he doesn't really seem like he cares a lot about the picture, she's a chick and a Zeltron, what else matters. He steps right up to the bars, peering at them. "I let you free, I get to get wit your sister?"
"I mean, that's not decided yet," Tarion mutters, still wanting the sister for himself. But he hushes up for once, and doesn't deliberately sabotage this long shot of a plan.
Stavros gives Tarion a stern look, then sighs as he looks back at Dorb. "You have no idea how much I hate this, but when you don't have money-" He half-shrugs and nods to Dorb. "You let me out, and I'll hook you up."
Dorb glares at Tarion. Who's this ass, tryin'a come up on his hot Zeltron action? Girl Zeltron action? Nobody wants Stavros Zeltron action, except possibly Mercy, who has also possibly written her comm number on him somewhere. Between the imaginary competition with Tarion for the imaginary sister and the empathy, and the overall persuasion... Dorb is convinced. Or at least part convinced. He opens up the SLAVE STUFF box and pulls out the bracer with the computer, reaching through the bars to offer it toward Stavros. "Show me her."
"She's never gonna want you," Tarion can't resist muttering in the background, because he absolutely does not have the willpower to avoid fucking this up.
"She's never gonna want you," Tarion can't resist muttering in the background, because he absolutely does not have the willpower to avoid fucking this up.
Dorb frowns at Tarion. "WHAT YOU SAY?" Fix it, Stavros!
"He's just jealous, Dorb," Stavros tells the Klatoonian. "He knows he doesn't have a chance with her, while she will be very, _very_ grateful.. to _you_." He moves his hands, sort of. "I'll show you her picture, if you free my hands. I can't work a datapad with my tongue yet, like she can. I'll never live up to her," he says with a sigh.
Poor Dorb. It's hard to be Dorb. No one appreciates how hard it is to be Dorb. He looks about ready for this all to go straight to hell when Tarion starts talking, because Tarion talking makes things go straight to hell, no matter the situation. But Stavros jumps back in to the rescue, and with enticing thoughts about working datapads with tongues. Dorb is into that, super into that, he didn't even know he was into that until now. And honestly, someone else being jealous of him, that's pretty nice. "Okay," he says, and opens the door to the cell, stepping inside. Dorb isn't the smartest.
Tarion sits there smiling sweetly while Dorb unlocks the door, wrapping his right hand's fingers around the still-closed manacle his left wrist was in. Patiently, patiently, he waits for the jailer to come in and get ready to release Stavros. And then, without waiting for him to, you know, uncuff the Zeltron, he leaps into action, swinging wildly with a haymaker at the unsuspecting Dorb. Unfortunately his feet are still cuffed, and the swing combines with unexpected foot-ward resistance to send him toppling into the bars. Not good. "Krif," he hisses, trying to get himself balanced again. "Not good."
"What are you doing?" Stavros hisses at Tarion. Lots of hissing today. "I made a deal with him! Nobody needs to get hurt over this. Love is better than war, man. Dorb will have the best three nights and days of his life, and we put this whole misunderstanding behind us." He looks back at Dorb. "I told you- he's jealous. But he saved my butt once, so please don't kill him. She wouldn't like him, but knowing you killed someone will be a real buzzkill. You don't want to spoil the mood!"
"OI!" Dorb roars at Tarion, "How'd yous get loose?!" He dodges handily, owing to the cuffed feet, and seems about to walk over and try to punch Tarion's lights out, when the melodious voice of Stavros reaches his ears again. Three days. Three nights. He knows that Sshuurisshish would be so mad at him right now, but Sshuurisshish is a very attractive Trandoshan, okay, he doesn't have any trouble getting affection, not like how Dorb does. So he glares at Tarion, hisses with narrow eyes, "No hot sister for YOU," and then sets about... undoing Stavros's bonds. "I'm done you a solid, here," he insists. "I'm done you a solid. Don't go back on it. You owe me a sister."
Tarion just stays down there, propped up against the bars, trying to think this through. Somehow, some way, diplomacy, the worst idea ever, is working.
Stavros nods. "You definitely have." He takes his first free steps, then leans down to pick up the computer bracer from the floor of the cage and dusts it off. "I need to start this up. If he promises to behave, please undo his legs, too. You've been really good to me, Dorb. You deserve to see what you're getting." He presses a button. "That's weird. It's low-power." The Zeltron walks over to the box and begins rummaging through it. "Where is it? Ah, here." He walks away from the box and holds up the bracer, fastened to his arm, where Dorb will have to look away from the box to see it. "You ready, Dorb?" When Tarion has been released, he presses a button, and on the screen comes up - a picture of Siya.
Tarion is watching to see what Stavros's sexy sister looks like too, and when the screen comes on, his mouth drops open slightly. "Hole-y /shit./"
Dorb does as he's told. This is what his partner likes best about him, truth be told, but it it doesn't work out so great when horny-ass Dorb is literally letting the prisoners go because he's that desperate and compliant. But he thinks there's no way they'd betray him, right?! RIGHT. So he does uncuff both of them, hands and feet, and then gasps. "So pink," he is enchanted. "All dose curves wot are in all the right places."
"Yep!" Then Stavros looks over his shoulder, to where Tarion has doubtless retrieved his weapons and gear and is ready to take the Klatoonian out- only to have his eyes widen. He shifts the bracer further from his face, and hits a button to go to another picture - also Siya - and mouths to Tarion "What's wrong with you?" He looks from Tarion- to the SLAVE STUFF box - to Tarion- to the SLAVE STUFF box.
"She's your /sister?/" Tarion mouths back, horrified, followed with "What kind of people /are/ you???" Frowning, he wanders aimlessly toward the box and pulls out his rifle, pointing it at Dorb. "Smile for the pretty lady." VOOM. A bright blue flash goes rocketing from the barrel of the gun, dropping Dorb like a rock, the poor guy. "...she'd have just clawed you up anyway, it was /totally/ the same Zeltron. That's my bad, big D." Tarion pats the fallen fellow on the shoulder while he's popping the manacles onto him.
Stavros kicks Dorb once in the ribs, to be sure he's actually out, before revealing his evil plan: "I was kidnapped, Tarion. I don't have any family!" He grabs his armor and begins to suit up. It's a bit muffled, but the end can be heard once the helmet is secured: "-is _not_ my sister, you speciesist. You think all Zeltrons are related?" He's smirking now, though, as he puts his pistol back in its holster, and checks his rifle over for damage. Seeing none, he takes a quick peek down the hall that the Trandoshan disappeared down. "This one's going to be harder."
Sshuurisshish, the brains of the operation, captain of the Fang of the Tooth, is a little bit smarter than their a-Dorb-able Klatoonian. There's no hollering, no 'what was that noise,' no 'are you okay Big D, buddy.' He seems to have put two and two together that if blaster fire's gone off inside the ship, something's not right. A low hum noise sounds and then all the lights go out, except for dim emergency lighting.
Tarion hops back into his armored trousers, literally, dragging ol' Dorb out of the cell behind him. "Need a kriffing hovercart for his fat arse," he comments off-hand. "And can I just say, the stories I've heard, it'd be hard for you Zeltrosnians to /not/ all be related. I heard about the stuff that goes on and none of it was sniper rounds to doorframes. Boy, if I ever see that sorry excuse for a Zeltrosni-ite again, we will have /words/. Ruined my whole visit." It's him. It was Stavros. Tarion has never seemed to connect that day with Stavros showing up again in the Pulse on Nar Shaddaa. When the lights go out, he just keeps right on going. "This would be a great time to have my helmet with me but it scrunches my hair. Good thing there's a light on my..." fiddle... "Okay, that is not a light. I don't have a light."
"I sure am glad this suit is vacuum-sealed," Stavros says quietly. In the darkness, its nightvision activates, giving him a view of everything, though it is a bit green-tinted. He raises his rifle and begins to advance down the hall. "I'll go in front, thanks. Since I can actually _see_."
"Seeing is overrated," Tarion replies, coming behind with the rifle. That ought to make you feel better, Stav. "-wait, you said it's vacuum-sealed? But... the gas. You-" He stops talking suddenly, listening intently for what he's hearing. "Someone's moving that way." He points toward the aft of the ship. The large, perky aft with just the right amount of cargo space.
Stavros turns around, looking - where else? - at the fine aft. Now in Full-Spectrum Nightvision(tm)! He aims that way with his rifle, too, and leads the way. "Whatever you do," he tells Tarion, "Don't shoot me." With that out of the way, he takes each corner and junction and potential obstacle carefully, covering it with his weapon. He even glances up a few times. "Do Trandoshans climb?"
"What do I look like, a zoologist?" Tarion replies, sticking close to Stavros with his rifle held at the ready. "I know I heard something, though. Sounded like footsteps. Maybe it's a slave whammin, drawn in by your Zeltroonian wiles." .... "It's dark."
"It's very dark. Okay, follow me closely- now stop! There." Stavros looks down. "There's a tripwire here. Probably a mine. I'll disarm it, just - listen really hard, and watch for movement. Shoot anything that moves that's not me." He crouches next to the bomb, putting his rifle between himself and the wall that the device is mounted on. He runs a finger along it, finding the connection wire, and deactivates the laser before removing power to the detonators, removing the detonators themselves from the explosive, and then dropping all three in duffel bag. He lifts his rifle. The whole thing took probably ninety seconds. "We're clear. Let's move on."
They move down the corridor and through the darkness; it isn't a huge ship and it doesn't take long. There are no more traps, or if there were, they didn't take a path that brings them into contact with them. Eventually they end up in a partially filled cargo bay. The emergency lighting is brighter here, but their target has taken cover behind boxes, and he's already in a position to shoot.
"I'll weaken him, you stun him down, okay?" Best plan ever. Stavros comes around the corner with the barrel first, leaning out slightly. He sees a bit of lizard in his scope and immediately fires. "He's down! Go... uh...." He scoots closer, gun still up in case of an unknown third party. "Oh, shit. I got him. I got him _really_ good. You have a medkit?" Stavros looks down at the lizard and gets out of the way. "I always heard their hides were something else," he mutters.
"Krif," Tarion curses, hurrying forward immediately without waiting to see if the Trandoshan is actually dead. It was a /really/ good hit. He pulls out his medpack and starts dumping sunscreen into the wound, then some actual bacta before administering chest compressions. "...stay with me, stay with me, don't go, I need to spend you." After much longer than it really took to conclude this, he concludes, "He's dead." Letting out a sigh, he straightens to his feet, wiping some excess SPF 30 on his trousers. "Dammit Stavros, I think he was the pricey one. To make up for it, I'll split this with you 60-40 on Dorb and 70-30 on this guy, because I did mess up your plan on Dorb. So you can have a whole 40% of his bounty." He's so fair.
Well, Sshuurisshish WAS the brains of the operation... now his brains are splattered all over the crate behind him, he slumps to the ground, and no amount of sunscreen can save him now. This may also be something the Bounty Hunters' Guild takes a dim view of, considering the capture contract specifically said live capture. They are unlikely to pay out Sshuurisshish's bounty, though they will for poor Dorb, most certainly. He must be waking up, bound and jailed now, because his voice can be heard groggily yelling through the ship, "Wot... wot... Does this mean I don't get to shag your siiiiisteeeeeeerrr?"
So, no 20k for the lizard. But Hex sent you on this mission, and Hex would have probably advocated headshot for slavers in the first place, so maybe if you ask nicely and don't let Tarion do the negotiating...
There is no one else aboard the ship, and all's well that ends well; the only task remaining is to turn in their quarry. A job well done!
A job ... mostly done!
Kinda badly done!
A JOB!
