Log:Hold Your Fire

Slow your trigger finger, bro!

OOC Date: May 2, 2016
Location: Arcadia HQ
Participants: Stavros, Uli Gosse, Arcadia

Long story short: Uli tells Stavros what's what about who decides when to bring down the hammer. It isn't Stavros.

The whole story:

The rooms above and behind the the Blue Light are incomplete. It's sealed against the elements, but its former use as a large, dusty, musty storage unit is still evident in the form of a box. There is the framework for additional walls, and tape marking various locations for various purposes. There are marks where other boxes have previously sat for a long and recently been moved. Part of the floor is nicely carpeted; the rest is still the bare duracrete from before.

Arcadia had to spring into action faster than expected, though, so a ratty couch and several mismatched chairs, some folding, one reclining, and one that looks like a legit office chair with wheels are scattered around the room. There are also some computer terminals in front of a few of the chairs.

Stavros himself is among the future walls with a particularly well-made sandwich before him. The cheese is a bit melted, the sourdough bread lightly toasted after having a small smear of butter put on it, and the meat - well, it's hard to say exactly what it is, but it smells delicious and appears to have been grilled medium rare. He is chewing slowly, relishing each bite with sounds of deep enjoyment that could easily give the wrong impression about what he is doing.

Uli is at the very top of the stair when he hears the noise. He rolls his eyes and very nearly descends back down. Then, he smells food and puts it together. When he steps the rest of the way, he makes a point of making nosy footfalls. He's heading towards a pile of gear dumped after the latest job. He isn't going to be the first to say something, it seems.

Stavros doesn't hear the approach until Uli wants his approach to be heard, at which point, his head swivels all the way over his right shoulder. Still chewing, he spins the rotating chair he is sitting in so that he's facing the pickpocket. When the construction is complete, there will be a wall blocking line of sight from one location to the other, but for now, it's open. He slides the chair closer with his feet. "Hey, Uli. Kasia left with the cybernetics last night." Mission accomplished. Right?

Uli doesn't say anything. He just looks at Stavros, then makes a soft grunting sound. He bends over to sort out his gear from the others, soiled from clean. He swings an empty bag down and shoves the clean stuff into it.

The Zeltron looks from Uli to his sandwich until the former grunts. Then his eyes narrow slightly, in concentration rather than annoyance while he watches Uli pack. He wipes off a stool with one hand, puts the sandwich down on it, and steps closer, to where he is right next to Uli's item transfer, where he crouches down on his heels. "Something's eating you." He crosses his arms around his knees. "Same thing as yesterday?" He doesn't know what that was, either, but it feels similar.

"Your magical Zeltron empathy telling you that?" Uli shoves a shirt rather firmly into the bag. "Or just your common sense?" There's acid in his tone and a sharpness to his words. "The fact that you don't know why is part of the goddamn problem."

"You don't like how the op went," Stavros acknowledges. "I knew that. I figured you'd talk about it when you were ready to." He frowns. "I'm not sure why, though. Odds were always high they'd have to die - them trying to pull an ambush just made it happen sooner."

"You know that if I knew that was going to happen, I would not have had you at the front to talk and delay them." Stavros tries to meet Uli's eyes. "You know that, right?"

"They //weren't// trying to pull an ambush. They were paying for the shipment in //guns//. Who ambushes someone by walking them over to a crate to inspect it?" Uli looks up from what he's doing, jaw clenched. "It was a bad call to open fire. And it could have gotten us all killed."

"They were?" The frown is joined by lowered eyebrows. Stavros hazards the guess, "People who prefer their targets up close and easy to hit when they draw a weapon from the stash?" He shakes his head, thinking for a moment.

"I don't know, Uli. I saw them uncover a whole bunch of weapons in the back of that hover speeder, when we were expecting to see credits, and he was reaching for one." His shoulders rise in a shrug. "Shooting someone with the goods he thought you were selling them is straight from a holonovella."

"If he'd pulled that surprise gun and shot you down, when I had the opportunity to prevent it-" Stavros's expression is pained. "I don't intend to have to go tell Yvie 'Uli died because I didn't pull the trigger when I had the shot.'"

"It was //under control//," says Uli emphatically, and with the full strength of his conviction behind it. "They weren't suspicious. We could have gotten out of the way. We could have...-" he stops and bites the edge of his lip hard enough to almost draw blood. He grips a shirt tightly before shoving it in the bag. "And what would you have told her if they shot me because I didn't get a chance to get behind cover before you provoked them?"

Stavros swallows, Adam's apple dipping as he looks down at the bag. His fingers tap out a staccato rhythm against his knees before he looks back up and says, "I'd probably have told her they went for guns and I didn't stop them fast enough." Because he didn't know otherwise.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, shoulders slumping. "I should have trusted you to see it through." His lips purse, his mouth opens, and then closes again.

He can't seem to think of anything appropriate to say until he finally says, "I'm sorry. I'm not used to this much - nuance."

"If you're going to lead us, you have to be slower on the trigger. You have to trust us. I have good instincts for this shit. I survived on this planet, in criminal circles on my own." That's not a brag from Uli - it's a statement of fact. "Even if they had suspected we weren't their original buyers, they might not have tried to kill us right away. Men like that just want to make a sale. They're not overly concerned with to who."

"I know you did," Stavros says quietly. For all that Uli is older than him, the Zeltron has always, in a way, viewed him as a little brother. Some of that seems to evaporate while he stares up at him. "My fast trigger finger has saved lives before, but - it isn't my instincts we need, right now. It's yours, it's Kelnas's, it's Yan's."

He runs a hand along, but not through, his hair, absentmindedly ensuring it's still in the right place. It is. "Okay. I'll hold off unless I see a trigger being pulled, as long as we have a code phrase - different every mission, if necessary, and one for any old time - for you to say when you _want_ me to go weapons free." He tilts his head to one side. "Because eventually something's going to go very, very wrong, and if you have to figure out a subtle way to tell me to cover you, it'll be bad. I can hold back, as long as I know you _will_ tell me when you need me."

"Trust me, I'm a shit shot. I //am// going to tell the sniper when he should fire." Uli grits his teeth and exhales slowly through lips and nose at the same time. It makes sort of an animalistic sound. "The person who is on the ground should make that call unless it's out of our field of vision. You can't read the situation from up in the rafters. And frankly, we'll last longer even on this shithole of a moon if we don't leave such a big trail of bodies in our wake. Someone's going to notice us."

He seems to be calming now. He's still irritated, but he's less like a pot about to bubble over.

"Yeah, I'd prefer a lower body count, too," Stavros admits. "This was our first time planning something this elaborate. I'll try to find a better way to deal with interference, next time." He looks over at the bag, then back at Uli. "There will be a next time. And I'm going to make mistakes again; that's guaranteed." Stavros raises an eyebrow and half-smiles. "Will you still be here to tell me when I've got my head up my ass?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Stav," Uli grabs a shirt - a dirty one - then tosses it at his face. "I'm just gathering up my stinky shit. I changed once we got back because I was sweating like a bastard," a beat, as he mutters, "...and nearly pissed myself." Hard to tell if that's serious.

Stavros's nose wrinkles again, but no one can see, as his head now has Uli's shirt over it. "I can't judge," he says, leaning forward and shaking his head from side to side so the shirt will fall off. "If I'm ever telling everone about the Battle of the Forty-third Underpass, remind me to leave out that my pants were better camouflage at the end than at the beginning." He smiles wryly at the memory of his own misfortune: "It's the only gang war I've been in that involved heavy artillery. Never again."

"I'm not comfortable with that kind of firefight," as if anyone sane is? Uli stoops to scoop up his dirty shirt. "There are ways to reduce our risk. We're not Rebel Yell with a corporation behind us. Anyone gets hurt and gets put out of commission for long, that's going to hurt us. Foolish risk aside, we can't afford it. When you've been on your own as much as I have, you get an instinct for risk versus reward."

Stavros rises back up to his feet. "Copy that. It sounds like the cargo trade itself was touch-and-go, too. Shooting would have definitely made that worse." He flexes and stretches his hands as he returns to his office chair and reclaims his dinner. "You should tell the chef you want today's staff special before you go do laundry, Uli. It's incredible."

"Not really hungry," says Uli as he returns to stuffing his things in the bag. He's moved, apparently, from anger, to irritation, to something similar to a sulk, but not quite as immature. He sighs and zips up the bag. "I hope this Twi'lek is worth all this trouble."

"He's a good guy," Stavros confirms. "And we can use the practice, either way. Show us where to up our game. Give the contractors time to finish the office already."

"Yeah, well, just as long as there's a payday here, too. I don't want to be making less getting shot at than I was making hauling cargo. Yvie'd throw a fit." Uli tugs the bag back up on to his shoulder, then lifts a hand and turns. "See ya, man."

Stavros raises a hand. "Later, Uli." Then he returns to his sandwich. Fewer inappropriate sound effects now, though. He's thoughtful.