Log:Ko Hentota Nights II: Returning the Favour

Ko Hentota Nights II: Returning the Favour

OOC Date: November 18, 2022
Location: Nar Shaddaa
Participants: Pilha Aino (GM), Frexl,

Somehow, Frexl managed to gently persuade the merc that was left standing to reveal where his company hangs out. Pilha didn't ask, and suddenly had to go do a thing while Frexl handled the questioning. So, here they are. A few days later, the pair gather. The short human, and even shorter Dug. Lounging in a caf that is open to the street a block down from the bar where the mercs hang out. Or hung out, in the case of the dead ones.

"Ok," Pilha says as she sets her cup of stimcaf down. "Plan is, you create a distraction. I'll then approach and search the place, see if I can find any info about who paid them to attack. And if I don't find anything, you grab one and have a little chat. Sound good?"

"Gaack! Can you believe these prices... FOURTEEN credits... that's about... eight Wupiupi, maybe NINE?"

Tossing the digital receipt away in disgust, one of Nar Shaddaa's most reputable Dugs (by default) shakes his head and clicks his tongue a few times.

In front of him, an enormous pastry has been whittled down into a much smaller pastry. Judging by the crumbs on Frexl's face, he's the one who did the whittling. The doughy remnants of the pastry are still crawling with small, wriggling maggot-like creatures, who presumably thought that the pastry was their entire planet until it got devoured by a Dug with jacked up teeth and bad breath.

That makes Frexl their God, and ultimately their destruction.

"Caff was warm, pastry's too doughy, the waitress didn't say NOTHIN' about my new hat... and they want NINE Wupiupi!? I tell ya, it's..."

His voice trails off, and his attention returns to the woman whose job this ostensibly is.

"I mean... yeah, yeah, sounds good. Distraction's what I'm best at."

As he empties the rest of his flask into his half-empty cup of caff, the Dug looks down the street toward the club, the bloodshot veins in his eyes practically throbbing. Getting up from his seat, he leaves the chair pulled back from the table, and does not leave a tip.

Pilha Aino narrows her eyes and cants her head to one side. The vagueness of the Dug's response makes her hesitate for a second. Then he's gone, so Pilha sighs and puts her hemet on. <<Just make it loud,>> she tells the Dug. As if she needs to. She too, stands, and heads into the crowds of the Hub, waiting for Frexl to make his move.

The Smuggler's Moon is one of the places in this crappy Galaxy where a Dug can still wander down the road drinking rum and carrying a carbine, and nobody really looks twice. So far, not much distraction is occuring. Frexl, on the other hand, seems VERY distracted, as the up lid on his caff doesn't really seem to work well with his camel-like mouth. He's bitterly regretting putting the rest of his rum into the caff right now.

Sure, it makes the caff taste better, but it makes the rum taste worse.

It's a short walk, which is good, since he walks on his arms, but he seems to be more wobbly than normal. Maybe he got more rum than it seemed?

There doesn't seem to really be a proper 'bouncer' outside. Rather, a couple of rough-looking humans wearing mostly-matching jackets are posted up in front of the door. One of them is snorting spice off of a hunting knife.

"Hey there boys... nice jackets. Do they make them in men's sizes though?"

The gang member snorting spice takes a loooooong sniff and jerks his head up. His bloodshot eyes lose focus and he wavers, staring at the Dug. He raises his hand and swipes at the air. "Little... alien..." he murmurs. The other gang member, leaning against the wall next to the door to the bar with his arms folded and chewing a cocktail stick, glowers at Frexl. "What did you say, boy?" he snarls.

Despite the clear advantages the mercs have in both size and numbers, Frexl doesn't seem even remotely worried. After all, they're only human, right?

"Who me? What did I say? I just said I like your jackets. Might get one just like 'em for my granny. She's quite ill..."

This doesn't seem to be an answer that the mercenaries find especially pleasing. Which really says more about them than it does about anybody else.

"Looks real comfortable. What's that say on there... Smiling Sweatpants?"

One of the mercenaries nearly bursts a blood vessel. "IT SAYS SNARLIN' SERPENTS!"

Frexl shrugs, with the wrong set of arms. "Oh well. I don't read Basic so good. It's Nar Shaddaa, learn Huttese ya fruggin' scabs!"

Pilha hangs back, subtly watching the confrontation reach its inevitable conclusion. The mercs snarl and begin to walk toward the Dug. "C'mere you foot-handed sithstain, we'll beat you into a pulp," says the one not high on spice.

"Hang on, hang on. Just let me put my blaster down..."

Setting his blaster down respectfully near an obliging dumpster, Frexl looks as if the threat of getting pummeled doesn't give him much pause. After all, they're only human, right?

"Oh... and my caff... don't wanna spill that." He takes a sip from his caff, and only half of it dribbles down his chin and onto his neck folds.

"There, that's all I gotta put down. Wait, I gotta put down my datapad."

The datapad gets set next to the blaster carbine and the rum-filled caff, with the screen down for extra protection.

"And my granny's prison shiv... that's a family heirloom." The only family heirloom that Frexl owns is set down near the dumpster, next to the blaster carbine, the rum-filled caff, and the datapad.

Meanwhile, the mercenaries look kind of perplexed.

"Should be it, I'm ready now for-- oh wait, forgot I was keepin' this carbohydrate paste pouch in my vest. Can't have that gettin' punctured..."

The carbohydrate paste pouch is set down near the dumpster, next to the blaster carbine, the rum-filled caff, the datapad, and his granny's prison shiv.

"HEY! Quit stallin', and take yer beatin'!"

Okay, now the mercs are getting antsy.

"Fine... go ahead, try and hit me, yes?"

Both of the mercenaries try to punch Frexl, and both of them are embarrasingly unsuccessful.

The mercs watch incredulously and with a growing sense of wariness as Frexl sets aside his belongings. One merc swings at Frexl and misses, overbalacing and falls on the grimy pavement. He yells as his nice gang jacket gets all mussed up. The other swings at Frexl and misses as well. That doesn't stop them. It makes them madder. The merc standing yells in anger and dives at the Dug with his arms outstretched.

Pilha, taking the momemnt, sneaks past the distracted mercenaries and into the bar. The place is empty, so she swiftly heads through the bar into the back office. There's a filing cabinet and a desk. Pilha hurriedly searches through both, pulling draws, rifling through papers, throwing apple cores and burger wrappers over her shoulder as she digs through the detritus. Nothing... nothing... Ah-hah! The woman finds a datapad. Hoping Frexl is keeping the game up outside, she quickly pulls out her UCI and slots it into the datapad, taking a risk to find out if there's anything useful on it.

Predictably, Frexl is a wiry, jumpy fracker. Just look at him. As he nimbly leaps out of the way of both of the mercenaries second round of attacks, he has enough time to actually do an exaggerated yawn in between the first one's attempted punch and the second one's similarly failed punch.

This is an embarrassing day for the Snarling Serpents, but let's keep in mind that they also gunned down a whole bunch of dudes not that long ago, so let's not let our guard down too much, right?

"Dammit! Get 'im, Morris!"

"Can't, he's... Hrrrgh! He won't stand still. STAND STILL!"

Frexl does not stand still, prefering to let them continue tiring themselves out.

"Gotta say boys, that seems like terrible advice. I'm gonna ignore it, I think. But maybe I'll give some advice to the two of YOUZE!" Under the humming strip light in the back office, Pilha settles herself down in a chair in front of the desk. She crosses her left leg over her right and leans back. She even sighs comfortably. She hooks her datapad in to the other datapad and gets to work. Tap tap tap. Thirty seconds and she finds what she needs, an entry referring to payment linked to the address where Pilha and Frexl were attacked. "Bingo," says Pilha. She copies it across to her datapad, then unhooks the datapad and leaves it and the turned over office. Let the mercs scratch their heads. She heads out and, seeing the fight still going on, slips past.

Not interested in hearing Frexl's advice, the mercenaries continue to try and attack him. They continue to miss, however, though it can't be easy punching a weird spidery creature that's less than four feet tall.

"My advice is, you oughta quit bein' filthy SCABS, head down to your local chapter of the Galactic Mercenary Workers... and get yerselves into the UNION apprenticeship!"

So slow at their punches, that Frexl is able to actually dispense quality career advice. Though who knows if these guys will take it.

"Wait... you're in the union? BULLSHIT!"

One of the mercenaries holds back, though he keeps up his guard.

"Am so! If you'll hold up, I've got my union card right here somewhere.

Surprisingly, the mercenaries do, in fact hold up.

Just long enough for Frexl to grab his carbine, and...

BLAST 'EM BOTH!

"That's what you get for killin' my pals, scutbags."

These guys may or may not have been involved.