Log:First Order: Tonight the Music Seems So Loud
First Order: Tonight the Music Seems So Loud
OOC Date: December 17, 2018
Location: Belderone
Participants: First Order: Ciferni, Emma Starflare, Arvis Locke, and Hadrix Rol; Knights of Ren: Oran Arcantael and Kylo Ren as GM
BELDERONE
It's been years since the Empire used this planet in the Outer Rim as a production center for some of its most devastating tools of destruction, and in the intervening time there have come to be those among the local populace who welcome the First Order's rise and those who resent it, depending to a large degree on how those same individuals remember the Empire.
Despite its location on the periphery of galactic society, Belderone has been experiencing something of a cultural renaissance, and the city that the Vanguard has been dispatched to is replendent, relatively speaking. Today the emissaries of the First Order are not openly branded as such, arriving in a sleek, unmarked shuttle outside of a large concert hall. Before the landing ramp opens, Kylo appears from somewhere deeper within the ship, wrapped in his black battle garments, helmet held in one hand. "Tonight you are not members of the Vanguard. You're here to gather information that the First Order can't. So you will be someone else. There's a VIP at tonight's performance. Find out where he is and gain access to his location. Then bring him to me." A name is not given; evidently 'VIP' is information enough, because the Supreme Leader dons his helmet and smacks the button to lower the landing ramp with a fist, striding down it without any further explanation. Nor does he appear to be joining them, as the masked man heads away from the concert hall.
A short walk and a broad flight of ornate stairs mark the way to the front doors, a wide assembly with four polished glass sliding entrances to choose from, and finely dressed conductors (bouncers) at each of them, busily checking invitations, tickets, and identification as well-dressed guests proceed inside. A portfolio of fake IDs sits next to the landing ramp exit, but no invitations or tickets.
"Now, /this/ is the sort of...the sort of..." Arvis snaps his fingers a few times, trying to find the word. He doesn't. "...thing I could get into." He smiles broadly, looking around. He pulls his ID from the pocket of his finest Kuat-y clothes and looks it over. "Damon Haram, cultivator of fine arts and antiquities. We'll see, if, uh, if I can do Mr. Haram justice this evening, won't we?" he asks of whoever is near him.
A more discrete mission? Well, this was why Emma had been undertaking her further training for a while now. With the briefing given, they can't exactly be running around in their trooper armor. Even the form-fitting white and black tailored 'merc' armor she often prefered as her 'free agent' cover would draw far too much attention. Hair down, the Vanguard officer and sniper had swapped her combat gear for her black evening gown that flattered her form but hung just the right way she could keep a blaster pistol concealed as long as noone got handsy. Taking up the fake ID she turns it over, memorizing the details before looking between the others. "If the Knights cannot get us in through their means, we may have to resort to more traditional tactics."
Ciferni looks comfortable in the civilian clothes for this mission, given his recent living in them for years. At least he doesn't smell like a Hutt's ready room. "What, professional acting?" He rolls his shoulder and regards Locke a moment, before introducing himself from the ID he's already memorized: "Jorgen Simmin, security readiness consultant. We're going to have a fine time." His Coruscanti accent has a faint drawl, one that apparently he isn't putting on.
Oran Arcantael looks like he belongs in sleek, unmarked shuttles, at somewhere that could be described as having a cultural renaissance... his clothing, bespoke; his attitude, supercilious. IDs are shuffled through until he finds one that's short and dark enough to suit, and he's frowning at the ID. "Well, pleasure to meet you, Damon Haram," he dryly greets Arvis. "Ever your obedient servant... Alexdari Marfell." Frown. He's determined to find something objectionable about this, but nothing comes immediately to mind, so he merely exhales and then looks over the group. Arvis, Emma.... Ciferni... double take... eye narrow? It's that look where you think you've met someone out of context, but can't place it. "Shall we?" the Knight invites at large, and then heads for the polished doors and the bouncers, radiating complete confidence. How misplaced is it?
Grunting as he adjusts his suit, Hadrix frowns - clearly not liking being out of armor. Adjusting the cape that is part of his outfit and starts down the ramp, reaching behind himself to adjust his pistol, using the cape to block the movement - he isn't going unarmed unless he's ordered too. "I think I should have had Oran's tailor take care of the attire..." he shrugs a little, looking down at the chest and trouser legs of the suit he is dressed in. He picks up one of the IDs, "Gram Cheuanni... alright..." he tucks away his identification and moves to follow Oran.
Hadrix couldn't have afforded Oran's tailor, but it's okay.
The sounds of orchestral tuning resonate from within the building as the disguised Orderites approach the entrances, where the conductors are waiting with stern expressions, curled mustachios, coiffed hair, and holstered stun batons. The approach past the landing pads is covered in plush red carpeting, and on the whole this is a fancy establishment for fancy people to enjoy fancy music, sculpted facades and friezes rising high above the entrances. "Invitation and ID, please, sirs and madam," the nearest conbouncer requests expectantly, eying Hadrix's ill-fitting clothing.
"Aren't you just," is Arvis's response to Oran, accompanied with a sly grin. The Kuat-native pulls his fitted coat tighter and approaches the doorman. Holding his ID out to the man, Arvis reaches down to pat at his pockets. "Oh, my goodness. This...this is embarrassing. Alexdari, dear; you did remember to pack the tickets, didn't you? Of course you didn't." The man sighs and looks to the doorman pleadingly, "I swear I just had them. Could I get inside to speak with the host? He'll know me. Professor Damon Haram. I'll be just a moment." He moves to try and slip by.
Without the display of those mind-magics that the knights are ment to be famous for, Emma sighs softly and leans forwards, drawing her ID past her neckline and holding it there. Military doctorine would generally resort to such an underhanded tactic, but all was fair when it came to clandestine work. The more time spent staring near her cleavage, the less time spent realising she hadn't truely shown a ticket. With that, the woman makes to move forwards and flutters her eyelashes. "Thank you so much."
Of course, even if it worked, it was only going to get her through the door.
"Always ready for 'traditional tactics' if need be," Ciferni murmurs, moving to follow the polished one who looks In Charge. His resting business face is enlivened briefly by curiosity at Oran, but a mission is no place to ask questions. Not when there's bouncers to get past. He waits his turn in line behind his comrades. He watches Arvis do a decent impression of being old, implicating 'Haram', and looks thoughtful. Not paying close attention to Emma, he waits patiently to observe, his own ID flicking between his fingers.
Thank god they brought a Knight, so he can... not use those creepy mind powers that they're known for. Everyone is roundly denied a chance to see the ticket checkers stutter in confusion with a wave of a hand and the group just handily passed through... instead, it's just garden variety bluffing, lying, acting the roles. Oran rolls his eyes so hard he seems at risk of spraining something and then informs Arvis Locke aka Damon Haram, "/You/ left them on the yacht, on the way back to Coruscant from Spira. Honestly. This is how we end up at completely /pedestrian/ entrances with the rest of the /unwashed masses/." Addressing the bouncer, he shakes his head. "Stop wasting everyone's time and let us past. The only reason we're even at this entrance is that your organization's turn-over is embarrassingly swift, and it's an entirely new crew of inconvenience from one gala to the next. I own this building, and if you do not allow myself and my companions access to the premises, I will summarily have /you/ evicted from them."
"I'm sorry sir but I must ask you to step to the side," the conductor haughtily informs Arvis, aka Damon Haram, before pausing for a long second to survey Emma's erm... identification. "...right this way, madam," and she is ushered inside, while the others are left with the unwashed masses until Oran's outburst, leading to a stupefied conference between the nearest three of them before a creaky apology is offered to "Master Beldin, so sorry to keep you waiting, of course you and your... associates," eyeball at Hadrix, "are more than welcome. Please, if there's anything I can do...." Elipses. Elipses everywhere. In the face of such status, the serving class never seem to actually end a sentence, for fear that doing so might be taken as impudence.
Inside the lobby, a magnificent scene greets the eye, crystal chandeliers with thousands of miniature lights woven in with the glass, towering statues of humanoid and alien forms in revealing garments that seem to drape and hang despite being carved from stone or sculpted from metal. The sounds of instruments increases and a pair of double doors waits across the room where the general public is heading in to find their seats. Twin stairways arch in glorious rapture around and above them, where the highest of classes move with pomp and circumstance to their private boxes.
"Well done, Master Beldin. Now let's get you a drink," is Arvis's answer to all of /that/. The older man cuts loose from everyone and starts a'minglin'. A casual joke here, a biting critique on Jedhan impressionism there; and before you know it, he's casually stepped aside and begun speaking into the comlink tucked wired into his cuff-link under the guise of taking a sip of space champagne. <<Rance Kehl. Box 4N. Anyone have eyes on it?>>
Well...it worked, didn't it? Emma moves into the hall only moments before everyone else, she herself moving to retrieve a drink. <Negative,> she speaks lightly, <think that's out guy? I'm sure people here like to talk about who's important.> Her voice is hushed, lest she be heard talking to herself.
Ciferni's grinning now at Alexdari's high class outrage, which seems to have answered some vague questions he had upon seeing the man. He shunts the grin into a smirk directed at the gatekeeper as they are ushered through. The lobby is expansive, offering Cif plenty of opportunity to move around, acting within cover and mission to inspect. He makes no show of hearing voices in his ear, but scratches his ear thoughtfully as he eyes a staff door. <<Boxes are upstairs. I'm going to head up there and see what the layout is like. Anyone have any visuals?>> He lingers long enough to be located before taking one of the stairs, per the signage.
Oran does generally give the impression that this is absolutely not the first time he's had a rich guy fit at a checkpoint and been let in past said checkpoint because of it. Were the other times an act? Maybe... probably not? "I will collect on the drink owed," he informs Arvis, before they part ways and a short time later, the comm comes in. <<We are proceeding to 4N directly,>> he confirms, before joining Ciferni to head up the stairs. The taller man gets another /look/, another sign that Oran is trying to put some pieces together here, but he hasn't seemed to come to any conclusions worth voicing. At least none while they're pretending to be other people. "L... M... N," he eyes the rows. "Four. Just there? ...I hope people aren't paying very much for these. These are the VIP boxes? Appalling."
Drawing a small nerf leather pack from an inside pocket, Hadrix produces an expensive cigarra (from his own private stash). Moving to pace uto Emma, briefly, he mutters "Interesting smoke a mirrors tactic." And then he focuses back on his cigarra, clips it, and jams it in the corner of his mouth, lighting it with a tinder-stick popped on his thumbnail as he enters the overly extravagent room. Letting the smoke wreath around his head. While his hand is near his mouth, he repeats into his commbead, <<"No eyes, yet, but I see a path, moving en route, in case he's our mark, flanking Ciferni">> keeping his tone low as he moves to escort posture just behind and to the side of the other trooper's movement.
Onstage, the performance has begun, an opera singer striding onto the stage, a man carrying a long prop of a sniper rifle nearly as long as his own body. His booming baritone swells up into the rafters as he begins to tell a tale of love and betrayal, feud and deceit, and his plan to assassinate a rival for his lover's affections, punctuated by crashing, discordant orchestral hits.
The private box is far from empty, as can be viewed by the translucent rear wall of tinted privacy transparisteel. At least four silhouettes are visible inside. A small control panel rests on the glass, or otherwise it'd be easy to imagine that there was actually no door to enter the box.
<<Very good. I'll remain down here. Do let me know how it goes,>> Arvis says, before commencing with his sip. He clears his throat and returns to a group he was chatting with. "As I was saying before I ran off to collect this bubbled vintage; you're a fool if you think that Nondo Bapos is deserving of a place among the great impressionists. His elementary implementation of color alone would have him laughed out of any /real/ collection. I..." he gestures to his chest with that shiny hand and continues, "Much prefer the works of Jables Bompton. Especially his grey period. /That/ is an artist."
"Yes, sir, they seem to be." Ciferni's respectful honorific seems automatic, either from general habit or to the individual. He pitches his voice lower. "How far is our delivery spot? Walking or carrying? One's a bit more obvious." It's like he's done this sort of thing before. The number of figures inside brings a slow breath, and he adds, "Probably should only take one outta that crowd."
<<Find a discreet exit, we're likely to have need of it. Are you talking about art? Are you talking to random degenerates about art right now?>> Oran comms to Arvis. He can't hear him... but it's an educated guess. Back at the box, he eyes Ciferni and Hadrix and remarks, "I'm hoping for cooperation. But when does anything ever go as planned?" He spends a moment in contemplation of the box and its controls, then reaches forward and makes a small flicking motion toward the control panel, like flipping a switch. The transparisteel plates slide cleanly open, and he greets dryly, if politely, "Beg pardon. Rance Kehl?"
Drawing what would be a collar on a jawa, but more of a bracelet on a normal human, Hadrix palms one of them new securetech collars he had acquired in his off hand while his right reaches beneath his jacket, to the small of his back to half draw his blaster pistol - using the cape still to try and conceal his actions . "I have a means of encouragment if we walk him..." he finally cracks a grin as he provides his idea for how to handle package delivery, breathing smoke out through his nostrils. When the door opens and Oran speaks he surveys the group in the box, slowly drawing the pistol out the rest of the way, keeping it hidden between his muscular buttocks and the lower reaches of the cape.
Inside the box, four heads all turn towards the unexpected opening of the door. One of them is a very well-to-do looking individual slightly better dressed than Oran: his shirt is not white, it's bone. His jacket is not tweed, it's houndstooth. His cufflinks are real Mon Calamari coral, which is ~highly~ illegal. Was, when the Republic existed. He's flanked on one side by a pair of bodyguards, one buff, one thin, and on the other side by... a totally regular guy. The guy waves.
The bodyguards aren't waving, but they are putting their hands in their jacket pockets, the shapes of gun barrels visible through the material. "And who is this troupe of uncouth ruffians arrived to disturb my enjoyment of one of the finest arias yet voiced?" the wealthy man wonders aloud, quirking a brow. "The bloodbath is meant to occur in the second act, gentlemen. You would do well to step off before then."
"Ridiculous!" barks Arvis, ignoring the opera for the opportunity to argue art in the lobby. "Bompton's dabbling in cubism was /miles/ ahead of anything else on Jedha at the time. He's single-handedly responsible for their Period of Enlightenment!" Arvis angrily sips down the rest of his champagne, handing it off to a passing server.
Ciferni's eyes widen a touch at the easy remote picking move by Oran, but now is not the time to work out how he did it. There was a basic plan, Oran is executing on it right now, so Ciferni keeps his right hand hovering at the front of his jacket as he steps in just behind and to the other side of the Knight from Hadrix. Casual waving guy gets a nod, at least, before the stormtrooper settles into the alert waiting before all hell breaks loose, per regulation.
<<Get. Up here. There is a Situation,>> Oran comms to Arvis, which is a little awkward because the people in front of them can hear him say that, and thus determine that there's at least one more pooper at this party. "Sorry about that," he smiles at the group of four, "I'm also rather sorry you consider this to be anywhere in the top twenty arias of anyone's list. I am embarrassed for you. Come with us please, Mr. Kehl. I assume you're Mr. Kehl? If not, do correct the error posthaste, lest we have some upsetting results in misidentification." He reaches out toward the Buff Bodyguard and makes a brief motion with one hand, and there's a sickening crunch as the poor man's neck snaps. Oran lets him hang there a moment longer, because he's extra, then drops the corpse. "Your compliance is not optional."
Hadrix's grin shows teeth when he sees the armed guards reaching for weapons. The waving guy is given a polite, enough, nod but eyes remain on the guards. He notes Ciferni moving into position and when he watches Oran do that wierd hand wibbildy wahboobibly like he did on Thyferra, and again on Corellia he isn't the least surprise to see a man suddenly look like he tried to make out with a Houk while giving a rude gesture to a wookiee... you know, neck snapperooni. His pistol is up and pointed at Skinny, and while he has no quips at this time - his melee weapon is on the ship, so he can't ax them any questions, so he just winks and puts almost too much pressure on the trigger.
Down in the lobby, things are getting heated. "Bompton can't even draw a straight line! His cubist nonsense is more like a bunch of flabby boxes!" the uncultured swine maintains vehemently. "I like Toemaa Konkat. There's a /real/ artist for you. A child with grasser cheese on his fingers could make passable forgeries of Bompton."
Whatever tension the scene in the box held is broken with the thicc bodyguard's neck, and to the crashing of the cymbals below, the tiny space erupts with blasterfire. The thin man pulls the trigger, blowing a flaming hole in his jacket pocket as he decides he's had enough of Hadrix's menacing. The regular dude, so cheerful, happily pulls a gun of his own and pops a shot off at Ciferni's head, while Rance, unable to take the insult to his favorite aria lying down, pulls a fancy chromed weapon from the armrest to silence the Knight of Ren.
On stage, the action is heating up as the members of two rival families march in proud defiance of each other, lead from the rear by the lover's rival, and as each side takes turns singing back threats and soliloquys on the justice of their own aggrieved histories that have brought them here in conflict today, his would-be assassin lines up a shot from high in an on-set tower. At the last moment, however, the sniper rifle turns towards Box 4N, and a lance of bright green plasma goes wailing over the audience's heads.
Arvis Locke laughs loudly, even throwing his head back at the absolute nonsense that his conversation partner is spouting. "We're done here."
Then there's gunshots happening. Arvis shoves his current opponent out of the way with the help of his /mechanical digits/ and produces his blaster pistol from his expertly-tailored and well-hidden shoulder holster. Barging into the auditorium, Arvis raises the SE-44c and fires a pair of bolts at the singer. <<Do we have the target? Exfil, now!>>
Ciferni gets that look again as hell breaks loose before him in ways he hadn't quite envisoned in his head. The hanging corpse threatens his focus for a split second before he's pulling his pistol out of his shoulder holster and covering the party on his side of the room... which is Timm. Friendly Timm, who takes a shot at him, and then Plan F gets fully underway. He aims and fires his pistol... and nothing happens. Cursing bad powercells, he drops the pistol to dig for his vibroblade. Throwing himself forward low, Ciferni takes the few steps in a small, cheap, certainly not high class cramped little viewing box to takes a strong slash at Timm with the blade. It's a good effort, borne of frustration at powercells.
<<Working on it,>> Oran assures Arvis that the exfiltration is underway. <<What in stars just happened down--?>> "Can you NOT?" he breaks off as Rance Kehl interrupts his call with a shot, yanking the weapon out of his hand with... those strange strings of nothingness that tie him to apparently unrelated objects and persons. Kehl is disarmed, his flashy weapon clattering to the side. "Stand down your men or they're all going to die," Oran states, flatly. "Hadrix, if you can make the shot, kill the sniper on stage before he has another chance to fire again, or there'll be hell to pay."
Hadrix learned an important lesson in training - being menancing to the point that a person attacks out of fear or frustration is still to his advantage. With the shot from skinny going so far wide the tactical shift to the side was barely needed. All the same he moves forward, sweeping in and out of fire-lanes as he goes, "Kriffing hells!? Did he actually shoot at you!?" the friendly guy... Of all people, took a shot - sonova... Can't trust anyone. There's still laughter in his voice at his exclamation as he takes the order from Oran, sweeping to take two shots at the sniper, at least hoping to get the man's head down as his blaster bolts go notably wide.
"Drop your weapons," Rance growls as the weapon is pulled from his hand, standing there clasping and unclasping the same hand into a fist, frustrated at the situation. "You've disarmed me with your charm, my friend. I'm dying to see what's next-" BZAP, the assassin's rifle blasts again, and a sizzling green bolt smashes into the wealthy gentleman from behind, knocking him forward against one of the plush seats. The audience is divided, half in terror at the abrupt descent into REAL murder, and half delighted at the realism of the special effects on display here, "Simply breathtaking!" drifting up amid screams and shouts of alarm. In the high setpiece, the assassin is bent over his weapon, doggedly refusing to give up his chance at taking out the target.
Now that half of the audience is recoiling in terror, a few are making their way to the exits, bumping and jostling Arvis to and fro. He takes another duo of shots, but these fly very wide, likely killing stagehands. But like, serious, who's gonna miss 'em?
"You all is my friends for life," the totally average fellow promises, dropping his weapon to the ground with a dopey smile. The tall, lanky bodyguard looks less pleased about it, but he's dropped his gun as well. What's the deal with this Timm guy??
"Get him in binders and get him out of here before he bloody well dies on us," Oran instructs Ciferni and Hadrix. "Kill the other two." But they dropped their weapons! Apparently he doesn't care. "...And get me those coral cufflinks." Yeah, he noticed. He did. The Knight doesn't wait to see if the instructions are carried out; he seems to have full confidence that they will be, and his attention switches to striding to the edge of the balcony. Pandemonium. Arvis. Aw, hi Arvis. Sniper, stage. The whole scene is assessed for a moment, then he reaches out both hands, and closes his eyes.... focus for a moment, brow furrowed as though he's trying to lift something heavy. After a few moments, there's a tremendous, horrifying SNAP, BOOM, and the crowd screams again as part of the special effects equipment malfunctions. A heavy beam, and an apparatus to move actors up and down off the stage, along with its support scaffolding -- it all falls, and the man with the gun? Tragically crushed beneath. He exhales, then comms Arvis, <<We'll be there presently.>>
"Why in all the hells of all the worlds does that shabuir tell me to shoot someone if he's just going to use his blasted horror-holovid-child anti-savior mind hooboo-jooboo..." grumbling as Hadrix turns towards slim, at least appeased when he is given the kill order. He doesn't take much time to aim, as time is of the essence, aiming for Skinny's center of mass as he takes a pair of shots, hoping to open up the man's guts... and he does - they explode out of his back, some sailing out over the crowd. Yay! Now it's one of the best Arias ever improvised!!!
It's a tough moment, here, as Rance is mostly incapacitated by the oozing wound in his back, and Timm watches in horror as his new friends gun down the lanky gent. Nervous eyes turn towards the three interlopers. "You're all friends with ol' Timm, right? Ol' Timm'd never harm a hair on your heads," he promises, empty hands raised.
Below, a sizeable portion of the audience is attempting to flee their seats, the more panicked members climbing over into the next row behind them, while a vocal minority watches with rapt awe and naked delight at the spectacle they're beholding as a significant portion of the set is destroyed in the realest destruction ever witnessed on stage.
Ciferni nods at Oran, stepping back from Timm, whose undying friendship means nothing to Oran, apparently. "Sorry, you heard our orders." And he is sorry, really; just not enough to disobey. There's a lesson about life here, somewhere, or choice of employers. The crashing over by the stage is Someone Else's Problem as he reaches to the back of his belt to pull out a pair of binders, moving to secure Rance Kehl. Then the cufflinks are plucked off and pocketed. "Mind hooboo-jooboo," Cif remarks absently, as his comrade goes about cleaning up. "Come on." A sharp nudge into Kehl's back hopefully gets him going out the door.
"Beg pardon?" Oran turns from the destruction on stage to turn towards Hadrix... with whom he does not look pleased. "Are you in need of an explanation regarding why I'd rather neutralize the threat through mundane means first if possible, /trooper/? Or do you want a personalized demonstration of my blasted horror-holovid-child anti-savior mind hooboo-jooboo? Hit your mark next time and we won't have to have this discussion." He's got no compassion for the body guards. Not even Timm. Once Kehl is in binders, he gestures impatiently, "Let's go," and then steps out of the box and away.
Ciferni straightface waits until Oran is finished commentary, and pushes their charge out after the Knight. Plan F typically works, but boy does it leave a mess.
The target secured, the mission... more or less covert, the First Order In Disguise is able to successfully exit the opera hall under cover of the mass exodus of the other patrons of the arts. Another mission done.
