Log:Mercs For Money 1: An Unassuming Warehouse Fire
Mercs for Money 1: An Unassuming Warehouse Fire
OOC Date: September 29, 2022
Location: Nar Shaddaa, Warehouse District
Participants: Saturi, Frexl, Warehouse District Prostitutes
It's quiet here. Silent if compared to the rest of Nar Shaddaa. It's the sort of place where passersby walk with their heads down and eyes up. Abandoned warehouses line the street. It's a place between places. The only sort of people with any real business here are those walking through. It's a game of staying alert so that you can pretend to ignore everyone else. It's far from friendly, but not outright hostile. Similar to solid fuel, just don't add oxygen and you should be fine.
If everyone is walking through, what's the problem? Why can't I breathe? Where's the fuel?
Gangs on the lower levels are significantly more dangerous when left unchecked by the corporate security forces. They generally leave each other be, that is, between the violent hot flashes. It's easy to tell the mobsters apart from the lowly hum and drum Gearhead has to offer. They lurk on corners, walk much slower, and boast with their heads held high. It's not uncommon for rivals to be on adjacent street corners, flying the colours for others to see.
<"I've dealt with these gangsters before."> Saturi remarks as she ambles down the street. <"Unless they've suddenly come across a massive amount of credits in the last couple of days, they're going to be too poorly equipped to deal with us."> Her voice, although distorted slightly by her armour's speakers, projects a certain confidence. <"Last I checked, most of them don't even carry blasters."> She takes in a sharp breath of air, letting it out with a nervous sigh. <"I just need you to hold your own while I make my delivery.">
<"There shouldn't be more than a couple of them at the front, but it's hard to tell how many might be inside.">
If you're going to try and look like you belong in a gang-infested part of town while you try to complete a mission... don't forget to bring a Dug!
Wearing plain clothes, or at least the super low-rent mercenary equivalent of plain clothes, Saturi's middle-aged Dug companion looks as if he belongs on these streets. No disguise needed. The fact that he literally passes below most peoples' noses probably also helps, but it's most likely the swoop thug vest, the tattoos, and the very obvious weapon that he's 'concealed' beneath his vest.
A foot and a half of N'Gant-Zarvel still sticks out when you wear such tiny vests.
"Sure, Boss. I can hold my own. For sure, you need it held, Old Frexl, he'll hold it."
Puffing out his chest as he rocks back on the weird arms that he uses as legs (as opposed to the legs that he uses as arms), the mercenary looks, for the briefest of moments, like he wasn't the most... affordable option.
"Gotta question for you though Boss..."
"Hold my own what?"
Saturi can't be certain it isn't a joke, so, she tries to make it as clear as possible. <"But, I think it's to hold onto your own life."> She points down the street to a poorly lit warehouse complex. Unlike the surrounding buildings, it's open. A trio of mobsters are gathered out near the front door, idly watching people as they pass. Her approach continues, but it's not going to be long before they're both attention worthy. <"No misconceptions. It's irrelevant if these people are hurt as long as they stay out of the way, but it's unlikely that they're just going to let us set the building on fire.">
<"I'm going to activate my jetpack in a moment."> Golden eyes flick to the unit on her back, checking it one last time. <"They'll likely be looking at me...for all I know they won't even notice you." She glances down to her dug companion. <"You're pretty unassuming at a distance.">
<"It will take me a few minutes to set all of the charges on the roof...if you run into serious trouble...just shout. I'll hear it.">
"Yeah... my mama always says that assumin' makes you an ass out of me. That's why I don't do it."
Lifting his chin proudly, the unassuming Dug seems to be paying attention. He seems to be keeping up. Let's hope that for just this once appearances don't deceive anybody.
Looking over toward some of the various thugs hanging around, Frexl finds a spot that looks like it'll give him the best view of the area. The fact that it just so happens to be over near the prostitutes is probably one strange, one in a million coincidence.
"Don't worry, Boss. I gotcher back. And yer front. Top half, bottom half. Uh... yeah... don't worry. I'ma go over there and cover yer back, while you do that... thing... we talked about."
He winks one bloodshot orange eye at her. Then he winks the other one. Then he blinks both at the same time. She'll get the message.
Heading over toward the prostitutes, who are in the middle of discussing business with a Trio of Gangsters, Frexl manages to look EXACTLY like he fits in. Mostly by leering and looking ill-washed.
"Hey... ladies! Howzabout you quit talkin' to THESE slobs over here, and pay some attention to ME! On account of... I got more money then they do!"
Saturi comes to a stop and allows her companion to scoot ahead of her. She holds off on making her jump immediately, marginally confused. Surely getting close to mobsters armed with bludgeons and blades isn't the brightest course of action. Golden eyes track Frexl as the dug approaches the trio at the front. She watches as the 'right....footed?' man starts his courting ritual. It's not bright...it's brilliant. Unintentional or not, this is a distraction.
The armoured woman breaks into a jog as Frexl steals the show. She hops up and engages the booster strapped to her back. A bright flash of orange quickly shoots out of view as she ascends towards the roof.
One of the trio catches a glimpse of the brief flame, squinting to the distance before shrugging it off. He's too encapsulated with the situation in front of him to let off the attention.
"Hey! Beat it, ya bum! Don't none of these ladies wanna do any matin' with anything that looks like YOU!"
"Yeah!"
As he should have predicted, there is no warm welcome for Frexl. Neither from the lovely prostitutes, nor from the gentlemen with whom they were discussing business arrangements. But, as he rubs his weird flesh mustache with his weird little handfoot, Frexl looks 'almost' sinister enough to be a businessman himself.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe these ladies just don't know what they've been missin' all this time?"
The ladies do not look won over at all.
"Nah... we don't service Dugs. Last time we did that Charity here got herself a terrible rash."
"Ran damn near all the way down to my toes. Doctors thought they'd have to amputate."
Smiling a bit sheepishly, Frexl stops twirling his fleshtache.
"That wouldn't have happened to been my cousin Rozney, would it? Big Dug, probably about... a meter and a half tall, red spots down the back?"
"YEAH THAT'S HIM! You said he's your cousin?"
"Just a second cousin."
Burning down a duracrete warehouse isn't an easy task. It takes abnormally dangerous explosives, specialized knowledge, and a significant amount of planning. If Saturi had attempt to set out all of these charges in a pinch, she would have been more prone to a failure, but thanks to ingenious social engineering, the world is her oyster. Well, at least the roof of the building.
She works as quickly as possible to plant the fire bombs across the top of the warehouse. Her work is efficient and effective, rapidly deploying each of the devices along the structure's supports.
Down below, an Ithorian emerges from the front. He's not too far off in age from Frexl, maybe a little older. The dusty-looking man staggers right up to the trio of mobsters with rage in his eyes. His leathery hand reaches out, slapping one of the men in the back of the head. "ulwan shag copah jee!" The Ithorian's neck-mounted translator is old and busted, the small droid's voice warped to the point of unintelligible. "D'emperiolo killee hakku stoopa nibobo!" He gestures at the prostitutes, then to the dug. [Language: Huttese]
"Whoa, whoa, whoaaaaa there!" This has taken a bit of a turn, and Frexl's genius plan to draw attention might be working just a bit too well for his liking. Some of the prostitutes have already cut and run though, which isn't nothing. Kind of ruins their value as a distraction, but Frexl was right on the cusp of forming a real connection with the one called Charity.
She's still got both her legs and everything.
Nobody seems to be listening to him, and the thugs are getting pretty aggressive with the old Ithorian. With only a split second to make a decision, and very little brainpower to make it with, the Dug pulls himself up on his tiptoes, and stretches his neck out. The folds of his neck inflate, making him look both regal and ridiculous in equal proportion.
"I SAID WHOAAAAAA THERE!" He shouts, extremely loudly. Like, intimidatingly loudly. Or so one would think.
But the thugs just turn back, give him a look, and all start laughing as if on cue.
"Well then... uh... EAT LASERS, SCUTBAGS!"
Reaching into his vest, the Dug pulls out his trusty, slightly rusty, old N'Gant-Zarvel carbine, and cocks it.
What was humourous at first isn't funny anymore! All of the mobsters recoil as soon as Frexl draws out the carbine and points it at them. The older Ithorian scrambles back through the front of the warehouse at full speed, too afraid to be hurt in a fight. The trio look at each other for solidarity before drawing weapons from their belt. As predicted, none of them are armed with blasters. Holding out bludgeons and blades, they're ready to go toe-to-toe with the dug before them.
Meanwhile, Saturi has finished her work on the roof. The armoured woman ambles over to the ledge of the building at a relaxed pace. On her arrival, she peers down at the street, spotting the encounter below. She takes a moment to ponder how things could have unfolded, failing to jump into action. Content to watch from above, at least for the moment.
For a second, it looks like there's about to be major bloodshed, and probably the majority of it Frexl-flavored. But rather than fire directly at the goons, the Dug holds the carbine out with one hand, and shoots right at the nearest thug's weapon!
What is this unexpected act of mercy? Surely they'll kick him out of the mercenary's union for this?
When the bludgeoning instruments go flying away from two of the mook's hands, they suddenly have an attitude adjustment.
"Now LISSEN UP! I ain't a crummy scab like the three of YOUZE! I'm a highly-skilled, highly-trained, UNION Mercenary. That's right, Galactic Mercenary Workers' Local Eight Million, Five Thirty-Two..."
"And fortunately for you mooks, I'm here ta TAKE APPLICATIONS!"
Saturi observes as Frexl blasts a pair of weapons from mobster hands. She smirks as the last goon decides to drop their blade. Her impressed facial expression is short lived though, the building still needs to burn. The woman springs into the air with the aid of her rocket pack. Floating over the street in plain sight, she reaches into one of her attachment points to draw out a remote detonator.
With the press of a button, the planted explosives go off. It isn't anything like what you see on the HoloVideos. It's significantly less exciting. The concusive force of the blast vibrates the street for a brief second. Eventually, the roof starts to cave and burn in a mess of smoldering black smoke.
Peering through her visor, the Pantoran shoots one last glance to those below. She offers a wave of the hand before turning to fly off down the street.
If Frexl had tried over and over, he'd have never found a better punctuation for the end of his sentence. Backlit against the burning building, he actually DOES look like a highly-skilled, highly-trained mercenary.
Let's not tell the mooks any different, shall we?
"Uh... uh... the ol' Eight Oh Oh Oh Five Three Two, you say?"
"Is it true you guys get dental care? And... a comprehensive vision plan?"
The Dug smiles, and gives a quick, jaunty salute to the rapidly retreating firebug.
"Buddy, we got both of them things. And a sweet, sweet pension..."
