Log:Hutt Cartel: Consolidation of Power, Pt. 3
A team of negotiators are called in to resolve a labor dispute on Ryloth.
OOC Date: March 23, 2022
Location: Ryloth
Participants: Amal Jha, Borgol the Hutt as Self/GM, Fshmaw, Khalim, Risani, Snogrutt, Trip, Vorcassh
[Borgol the Hutt]
Sovereign, a heavily armed YZ-775 freighter, has been tasked with ferrying the mercenaries and guns of the Hutt Cartel - specifically an extension of Lord Borgol's arm - across the face of Ryloth. The ship maintains its northeastern approach through the band of twilight that comprises much of the habitable zone. That is until it banks slightly toward the night side of the planet. Sovereign crosses through the sky of Ryloth in the direction of a destination. Somewhere that doesn't show up in official registeries of the planet. The cargo compartment has been given over to something of a ready room for the guns-for-hire.
Though Sovereign remains within the twilight zone of the planet, it has tread a little deeper toward the nightzone. As the planet's terrain turns even more barren and, at times, frozen the ship begins to descend. It is toward a stray landing platform that the ship approaches.
[Snogrutt]
Snogrutt is hardly a muscle-for-hire, he's full on employed by the Hutts. This isn't a side-gig, this is what the Gamorrean does for a living! The burly galoot hefts his might axe, waiting impatiently. "neawa kosa naeth efury?" he snuffles, grumbling a little as he paces about the ready room. There's no fancy equipment to check, no comms to setup, no power levels, no safety catches, Snogrutt is about as primitive a warrior as you can get. There is a pause at the buffet table, if you could call it that. He may be a clumsy oaf, but he makes sure there is always food around. Picking up a slightly stale pastry, he stuffs it into his mouth before looking around, warily making sure no one is looking before he reaches for a second one. It may have belonged to someone else but, desserts left adrift? Must be a gift! [Language: Gamorrean]
[Trip]
Trip, the Kushiban, wears a custom set of thick armor to match his small size. Given the proposed terrain, and some knowledge of what to expect from Ryloth, the Lagomorph has employed the use of armor's boots, too. A single half cape hangs from one shoulder and a baldric/bandolier across his small chest, holding his sword (knife) in place at his hip. He draws it in preparation, holding the weapon before his eyes to capture the glittering metal in the glare of artificial light. His voice does not join others just yet.
[Amal Jha]
Amal has, for this particular mission, chosen to go light, rather than dark, and she sat at one of the free seats, clad in her more typical white on white, back straight, so as not to disturb the sheath beneath her duster. She had spoken little, though she had listened to any information which was passed to the team as they made their approach. Once the ship touched down, she'd move to the ramp to disembark. If she felt anything about the mission ahead, she had neither voiced nor expressed any such opinion.
[Khalim]
Occupying a jumpseat along one of the makeshift ready-room's bulkheads, a humanoid fully concealed by a set of enviro-canister modified ubese raider armor goes through a final equipment check. The feel of the Sovereign's descent had been unmistakeable, and a pop of an ear a moment ago had made it clear the end was near. Of this portion of the journey at least. The faux ubese, for it was no Type II atmosphere circulating within that helmet, looks to Snogrutt. A voice scrambled chuckle escapes, a brief static squelch almost alien in tone. <"I can still hear out of one ear, so not quite there yet,"> he replies.
Looking down to the pistol in hand, a smooth-lined and yet clearly oversized heavy model of Mandalorian manufacture, Khalim checks the seal between the weapon's cooling module and the gas chamber that extends into the butt of the weapon. The refill valve's little rubber flap had become dislodged at some point and gauntleted fingers carefully replace it. The weapon is thumbed on, the telltale whine of its barrel-mounted static pulse adaptors heard for a brief moment or two before it is again disengaged. <"Ready,"> he says, mostly to himself, in the form of a low voice scrambled grate.
[Fshmaw]
Fshmaw travelled on his own dime, possibly to avoid buying two seats for a translator? The Star Commuter is parked at the previously-agreed coordinates, the Aqualish dressed in his much-preferred dark peacoat with fur trim? It no longer sees as much use on Tatooine! Condensation billows from his jawline, but he must find the cold invigorating! He beckons his 3P0 valet/footman along, and the 'droid tiptoes obediently after his master...
[Risani]
Risani breathes deep as she broods in silence off to one side of the modified cargo berth. Perched on the edge of a seat near the bulkhead, she has her weight settled forward on her elbows, themselves anchored on her leather-clad knees. Those gold-flecked, slit-pupils eyes of her linger on the durasteel floor as if she could pierce through the layers of armored hull to view the celestial canvas beyond. With the shift in vector, her tufted ears perk, and she lifts her gaze to the horizon line. Time to work.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and others, please set your comm units to the appropriate frequency," Risani intones sweetly, her cloying voice offering a strange juxtaposition against what would no doubt devolve in to a shoot-out yet again. "If you do not have an appropriate earpiece, please see me about that and ensure that you select the appropriate style for your physiology." As she rises to her full height, the felinoid drags with her a large black case that she hefts on to a nearby cargo crate. Click click! Opening it reveals a handful of espionage type equipment - nothing particularly special. "The over-ear varieties are for those with humanoid-esque ears. For those such as myself, please use the clip-on and take care that it does not pinch too hard. Closer to the base of the ear is better." Demonstrating, she clips her own comm in to place like a morose piece of jewelry. Its tiny speaker directs itself in to her ear canal.
"As much as you all love killing other beings, it is expensive to replace skilled help so perhaps it would be in our best interests to perhaps set aside our murderous tendencies and consider a discussion at first before discharging every blaster at our disposal."
Unlike the rest of the group, Risani only has her leathers and the pouch lashed at her hip as armaments. No blaster, no knives, no giant axes. Probably doomed.
[Vorcassh]
Hutts pay well, but one has to work for those credits. Vorcassh is pulling double duty in that regard as banks the Sovereign one last time. Nothing too rough for the 'Motivational Therapists' within waiting to deploy, but neither was it slow. He dips the ship lower, plotting for a potentially hostile landing. Squealing from the back. Some day, the Ubese may need to learn Gamorrean, today is not that day. The droid assists with that issue. The heavily modified helmets speech-scrambling vocorder comes across the ship intercom. <"Patience, my large porcine associate. Have a snack."> There is a feral smile under that helmet on the Ubese' face. Snogrutt gets gassy. Low along the surface, aside from the suddenly low altitude, Vorcassh does his best impression of flying casually. Just some rich kid in a joyride of his parents ship. He adds a little side to side sway to that effect. <"ETA: Shortly."> He left that specifically vague, and rolls his eyes at Risani. That one is probably doomed.
[Borgol the Hutt]
Sovereign begins to descend for its landing. The destination is an off-the-grid landing platform that only barely stands out from the otherwise barren landscape that straddles the shadowy, practically invisible line between the twilight and night zones. When the ship gradually settles in for a landing with a heavy thump, it's not long before the landing platform itself begins to descend. Strobing yellow and red lights provide warning to those on the landing platform to be mindful of their surroundings. The sound of crackling ice can be heard as the platform lowers, likely shattering it on the various components of the landing platform as it lowers.
The landing platform-turned-lift continues down the vertical shaft, while above a blast door closes to seal the tunnel and facility below away from the frigid elements of Ryloth.
For those with appropriate equipment or innate senses of such things, one could hazard a guess that the lift has lowered nearly fifth of a mile before it finally comes to a halt. Already there is a welcoming committee present on the subterranean floor. The three humans look quite full of themselves as they stand, ready to receive the visitors. Even before anyone can so much as utter a syllable, the human in the center of the trio lifts a hand in acknowledgment of the arriving guests as he calls out, "This ain't Borgoola's operation anymore and we don't recognize that nephew of his. We're calling ourselves the Free Union of Ryllworkers. You hear to negotiate trade? Gotta tell you, old contracts need to be renegotiated," he offers as way of warning for prospective business arrangements.
[Snogrutt]
As the ramp lowers, Snogrutt is one of the first heading down the ramp. Leading from the front, the bruiser looks up as he is addressed by the Supervisor, "tearh ofiraaphaa hoomejaaph pu haamoz zoos hageav..." he mumbles, glancing over his shoulder. Snogrutt's a dutiful mercenary, however, he only bashes in the heads of people who he is told to.. or who try to attack him first. These three seem fairly unarmed and not likely to kick off. Of course, the Gamorrean likes to play to the racial stereotypes, snuffling and snorting as he glowers at the Supervisors, not offering any words of diplomacy.. oh no.. that is for the more well-mannered members of the crew! [Language: Gamorrean]
[Trip]
When addressed by the cadre awaiting them at the foot of the ramp, Trip is made to smirk a bucktoothed grin and trade from holding his weapon with his right to his left and point its tip. "That is warning one," Trip distinguishes in a threatening tone as his fur changes from its neutral white to a simmering orange.
"I am Consigliere to Lord Chrouda, and a representative to Lord Borgol. Neither care what it is you deem to call yourselves, only that this operation has failed to meet expectations. Now, you may be under some notion that you have control here, but it is only a notion. We are not here to negotiate new contracts, we are here to bring this operation back within working expectations."
Trip steps forward, heavy footfalls clanking thanks to the armor. "I assume you are the one in charge of this? I will give you one chance to adjust your heading and become part of the solution. Failure to comply will lead to a change in management. In all this fine labor pool, at some point, I think I will find someone amenable.. to reason."
"What will it be, good folk?"
[Amal Jha]
Amal stepped down along with the rest of the team, allowing a few to precede her. She knew quite well, how little she blended in, and the echani appeared to be using that to her advantage, as she drew her weapon. Although she kept the rapier pointed towards the ground, the crackle of plasma snap-hissed in the air as the crimson light washed across the white of her clothing. She might not be known on this world, but perhaps she was betting that the weapon, and those who usually wielded it were. Fear was a powerful motivator. as Trip spoke, she stepped forward to stand slightly back and to the right of the Consigliere.
[Khalim]
Khalim files out alongside the rest, helmet shifting from left to right in a handful of repeated sweeps. The move allows the ubese suit's integrated vision-plus scanner the widest possible swath of imagery to process. Borgol's team of therapists are unlicensed but eager to help and they soon find themselves facing three sad cases of 'grand delusion'.
The faux ubese flanks the pot-bellied Gamorrean, a side-long glance sent to his porcine comrade-of-the-moment as what he imagines are threats are squealed and grunted. Others begin making their cases, but Khalim simply fixes that singular lens-band upon the leader of this little revolt. <"Understand that as the assumed leader of this rebellion, you are responsible for the deaths you invite."> A gaunteted hand gestures at those assembled near him. Borgol's A... no, B..., okay, Z Team. <"Understand that I am probably the least interested in putting a hole in your chest, and I'm banned from an entire Cluster, labeled terrorist and forbidden entry at pain of death. You should consider your choices as if this is the most consequential moment of your lives, for it is."> Each word comes voice scrambled, expressions of formed static.
[Fshmaw]
Fshmaw's facility with the dim, and crowds, and distraction is such that he can move "efifea jiharo" and "uhefevus kelaelasoo," or natural noises. He melts into the available darkness, moving between breaths, with pauses and beneath active notice. Prowling for 'the inevitable survivors,' should there be... any... [Language: aqualish]
[Risani]
With tiny Trip exercising his outsized ego and stature when compared to his size, Risani is content to just go with the flow and remains the silent study for the moment. The color change on the part of the lagomorph earns lofted brows but otherwise the Farghul merely lingers near the cargo container and peers in to the darkness. Those felinoid pupils of hers grow wide as they are buffeted by shadow. Preternatural voracity drinks in every scrap of light it can scavenge to reveal something indistinct even to her at this distance.
"Be aware," Risani articulates softly over the comms, "three tunnels. 9, 12, and 3 o'clock. Beings observing, can not tell if they are armed." She shifts her weight as she stands, wrapping her arms about her torso as if fighting against the chill.
[Vorcassh]
There have been worse starts in history. Seeing Snogrutt in his full form is quite interesting even for the Ubese Xenophobe. The angular helmet Vorcassh wears cants to one side watching this job unfold. The Kushiban trying diplomacy was incredibly unexpected, and no one is going to believe him back home. Amal's unique weapon, it's distracting at the very least. Deep down, Vorcassh wants to tinker with it.
There is a short burst less than a quarter of a second long from his speech-scrambled vocorder on the helmet as the False Ubese speaks! Khalim is here on behalf of Borgol, so this makes Khalim's existence inviolate. Someday, he will peel the pretender out of that shell one way or another. The Aqualish performs Space-Ninja Vanish. Risani's warning comes over the comms. There is a sub-vocal transmission, while not scrambled, it is a vocorder-tone across the shared comms. <<"Acknowledged.">>
Several moments of consideration pass before Vorcassh speaks up. <"Lord Borgol gave clear instructions. Replace the management as necessary. This leaves two questions."> The DL-44 holstered on his chest blurs into existence. <"Are you management?"> A half second later, a DL-54 blurs into existence off his left thigh. Both are pointed at the potential manager human. <"Do you need replacement?"> There is a full pause. <"Or just a cost of living adjustment?">
[Borgol the Hutt]
The three men exchange a look first when Snogrutt steps forward and begins to Gamorrean at them. They look rather confused by the alien's apparent speech, but the overall point is likely received as they subconsciously take a step or two back. Then in comes Trip and Khalim both to deliver their individual insights into the situation of the three Ryllworkers. Emotions and thoughts flicker across the faces of the three men. At some point each of them seems to display emotions of concern, confusion, fear, and then finally resolve as their brows knit and the one in the center states firmly, "Listen here, we've been keeping this facility operational for the better part of three years and we want something back for that investment in our time. Most of the folk here are slaves in all but name and this is the first taste of freedom they've ever had!"
Then Risani quietly utters something among the group of hired guns and Vorcassh isn't exactly subtle in the drawing of his own weapons, which immediately results in the one in the center lifting his hands and displaying his open palms as he promptly begins damage control to assuage any itchy trigger fingers, "Uh, well, yeah, we run this operation, but put the blasters away. Ain't nothing but some curious workers back there! Maybe even some children too! Our families are here!" the one in the center tries to explain.
The Guy to the right then picks up where the one in the middle leaves off, "We're just trying to get a little slice of independence! Make a little for ourselves, have some piece of a better life for a change! You all walk away now? We'll pay you double, in ryll, what the Hutts are paying you!"
For the moment none of the men appear ready to attack. They seem ready to hold their ground in pursuit of their so-called independence, but none of them seem ready to throw the first punch or fire the first shot in the interest of maintaining that independence.
[Snogrutt]
Snogrutt... while perhaps a bit of a simpleton, is not un-intillegent. Knowing full well his negotiating skills are limited, he elects to keep his snout shut! The big axe is held in both hands, not in a threatening manner but merely because that's the only way he has to hold the heavy thing! His hands tighten their grip on the handle, readying himself, though his eyes start to peer into the areas behind the Supervisor and his crew, not glancing over his shoulder but, readying himself to react to some threat should the conversation suddenly turn kinetic.
[Trip]
Trip sucks in a hard breath, closing his eyes as his conscience threatens to lean toward executing the trio, or working with them. The less violent course surfaces for now, but he marks this as, "Warning two, do not presume to insult us by bribing my companions into serving your motives. I will be abundantly clear, /this time/."
"I can appreciate the sweet taste of freedom you evoke. It touches morale, inspires better work. However, it is not in our power to grant you the freedom you seek. The best way you can help, and simultaneously help your people, is by complying and submitting to Lord Borgolo's will. This facility and operation will return to the jurisdiction of our generous Lord, it will operate within the stated parameters of the original agreement unless his Lordship decrees it will work harder, and in return you are permitted to remain to manage. I can respect initiative, but there are limits to it. Over reach, and it looks like insubordination. Will you serve the Hutts?" Trip asks pointedly, his fur changing again to a neutral white, his ears standing erect, alert, and facing the group addressing them.
[Amal Jha]
Amal, looking away from the three, hearing the report from Risani, turned her attention to the tunnels which had been pointed out. She did not, however, move to either investigate the tunnels, nor to move away from the 'diplomatic' team. Hutts were diplomatic, yes? Mostly no. She was entirely content to remain as backup. She did speak softly, sotoa voce, to the group, or at least those who had bothered with the comms systems, "I can make some cobbled together weapons being held by those in the tunnels, boards with nails, pipes, nothing of any concern. The sort of thing slaves or the weaponless might cobble together. Nothing that would be an immediate threat.
[Khalim]
<"Taste of freedom."> The faux ubese repeats the foreman's words with that emotionless forced-static vocabulation. <"You stand here, having stolen from a Hutt Lord, and you tell his agents, to their faces, that you are looking for... a little for yourselves."> There's a subtle shake of the head, as words appear to fail the man beneath layers of duralloy and fabric.
There's a tensing of the faux ubese's right fight and it becomes obvious that gauntlet is in fact a shock glove. There's an arc of blue as the charge begins playing a fist that's now held out. Not a strike, it simply... closes with the foreman. Slowly. Very slowly. <"When you toy with a kajidic it may seem you're pushing without resistance."> The glove inches closer. <"You feel you've got an argument. A cause."> Closer still, inch by inch. <"And you become careless. You don't realize how fast and far you've fallen. Until you hit the ground."> That glove nearly touches, as intended to give its lesson, when it suddenly sparks! A little shower of blue cascades and the implement dies, leaving Khalim little more to do but look down at stare at the newly impotent weapon. He takes a step back, smacks its integrated powerpack, and it charges back to life!
<"You get the picture.">
[Fshmaw]
Fshmaw circles in silence, perhaps having practiced in the pitch black icewater of Ando. He awaits his moment, adjusting against being pinned in a corner or at a bad angle. He stays on the move, breath held, noiseless and invisible...
[Risani]
There are enough eyes on the Kushiban. Risani's mind sets to wandering. Less removed from her bestial ancestry than some bipedal sentients, she allows instinct to carry her as it will. For the observer this amounts to her pacing the edges of the landing pad with a slow, deliberate mincing step. Each footfall is punctuated by a swish of her tail and a change in vector for her gaze as she systematically studies each quadrant of some internal map of her immediate locale. Those felinoid eyes, nearly black for their widened pupils struggling to pierce the gloom, miss little. It does not take her long for her to find something amiss along the struts that drive the mechanism to raise and lower the lift.
"Is anyone skilled in demolitions?" Risani intones flatly as she kneels down to study the explosive devices rigged around the service lighting on the lift's supports. "If not, we may have a problem." An understatement if there was any to be had in this exact moment. Even so, her voice remains cool and measured and the quickening of her heart is suppressed to ensure she remains steady.
[Vorcassh]
There is visible bristling from the Ubese, (The REAL one), at the mention of walking away in the face of a bribe. The speech-scrambling vocorder of his modified Raider armor carries the exasperation of the sheer stupidity here. <"Are you brain dead? Crossing a Hutt twice? Lord Borgol won't stop sending teams here to target you AND your families."> The guns stay firmly pointed at the Humans face, silently proclaiming he is the first that will die if he continues his current choice of action. Finally stark Ubese Xenophobic Rage slips through the speech-scrambler. <"No bribe for me, keep it up and I'll turn the femurs of your younglings into drumsticks for the band."> Vorcassh seriously enjoys Max Rebo, and Rage is his Religion. This probably is not going to help Trip one bit. Khalim speaks a lot of sense as well. He will never hear that from Vorcassh. Ever. Risani makes her fateful announcement. All Vorcassh can do is simply pointedly ensure the human negotiator can see him apply his finger to the firing stud, and apply partial pressure. <"If those go off. You are still the first to die right along with us.">
[Borgol the Hutt]
The one in the center seems to take Trip's words with the greatest weight. That's also while Vorcassh has a blaster pistol pointed toward his face. He prepares to answer Trip's remarks, but pauses when Risani announces the need for a demolitions expert. The supervisor in the center keeps his hands still and plainly visible as he begins stumbling over his words to explain, "Those are only there because they were put there, I promise you that. A precaution against this place fallin' into the wrong hands, from what we were told. If someone tries to force their way in or gets in and we know we ain't making it out? We're to blow it and disable the lift. We," he places emphasis on that use of 'WE', "don't want to get trapped down here so let's not go usin' it, okay?" He takes a deep breath, releases it with puffed out cheeks and then continues in order to answer Trip directly, "I don't want any trouble. You ain't wrong, we got aspirations and... we just want a fair shake is all. We got families here and while we ain't slaves, we ain't being paid near enough to call what we've got a life. I ain't looking to get everyone killed though and," he trails off. It seems that the combined efforts outright intimidation and diplomatic avenues is slowly bearing fruit.
Except for the pair of men flanking the man in the center. Each of them speaks up, voicing their discontent with this idea of just giving up on their idea of freedom, "Come on, Bilee! Don't bow down to these hired guns. We should stick to the plan and see this through!"
Guy and Dude seem quite intent on seeing that plan through, as they said. The supervisor in the center seems considerably less certain after the latest efforts of the negotiators and the sheer presence of the durasteel fist that backs up those peaceful overtures.
[Trip]
"I appreciate you seeing reason, sir. Step to one side please and commit your next action to ensuring this explosive my companions have found does not combust. Your life, and ours, will depend on that." Trip says with a dismissive wave, showing stern resolve despite the looming shadow of death that could follow. He resolves with an inward thought, that at least it would be instant.
"The remaining two have exhausted my patience and warnings. Execute them immediately for standing in defiance of our Lord Hutt, and not bowing to reason. Justice must be served, afterall. The way I see it, these two are responsible for /this one/'s lapse in judgement."
[Snogrutt]
Snogrutt was getting bored! And the two assistants seemed to be getting on little Trip's nerves! The Gamorrean just waits patiently until the 'Boss' of the day gives the command and Snogrutt takes a swing! Where once there stood the 'Dude', there is now just a body. The vibro-ax cleanly cleaves the man into little bits, the Gamorrean stepping back, looking quite pleased with his work. He didn't have to do anything sneaky, the thug took the hit with grace.. if not a little bit of a surprised look as the ax tore him asunder. Snogrutt beams happily, looking to Trip, "gafoonu zoos?" [Language: Gamorrean]
[Amal Jha]
As Trip concluded the negotiations, and gave his orders, Amal stepped forward, the elegance of her movements in their way a fine counterpoint to the sheet strength of the Gamorrean, the pair stepping forward to complete the task that had been given to them. As one was taken apart by an axe, Amal's whip did for the other. A stab of the rapier through the chest, before she withdrew it and used the whip to take the former Hutt cartel employee's head, leaving the pieces to fall to the ground. A flick of her wrist cleared what detritus was left on her blade before she stepped forward, ending up flanking the sole representative of the erstwhile independent corporation.
[Borgol the Hutt]
It all happens so far. Trip declares the two managers lives forfeit and then almost as suddenly Snogrutt and Amal Jha step forward to carry out those executions. There's some babbled shouts to the effect, "Wait, no, don'--augghghghgh!" as in the case of one of the pair he is quite literally given a rather gruesome, hacked end. The attack is both swift and brutal. Something that will surely be spoken about in quiet whispers well into the future of this facility that, by all rights, doesn't exist. That swift action, tempered with a touch of restraint, will surely resonate in the minds of these people for a long, long time.
The supervisor standing between the two ruined bodies keeps his hands up and begins to babble, with hands that visibly tremble in fear, "The det charges only blow if they're given the signal to," he says with a lone finger pointing toward his own pocket. It's clear that he has no intention of reaching for that detonator. He then looks to his left. He looks to his right. Then he lurches forward. That's when a chowdery concoction begins to spill from his guts to the cavern floor.
The message is well received.
The losses are minimal and production is almost guaranteed to return to normal now. This will surely warrant a gold star and bonus from the Lord Borgol the Hutt.
[Trip]
"Remarkable finality, my friends; well struck." Trip says, witnessing the succinct execution for both disgruntled rebels. "Justice is served, but Lord Borgol is benevolent. You, /sir/, wanted more for pay, more of a life, yes?" A subtle gesture makes a pass toward the recently departed, signifying them. "Your pay is doubled, henceforth. Provided you run operations in accordance going forward. I trust.. I will not have to visit again?"
