Log:New Republic: Codru Connection

New Republic: Codru Connection

OOC Date: February 2, 2021
Location: Munto Codru
Participants: Ambrosia Greystorm(GM), Nerys Greystorm, Jax Greystorm(NPC Daxon Grayshade), Karas Darkwing(NPC Roja Ross)

A tainted mist hangs in the air of Codru Capital. Squadrons of Republic and First Order fighters have been swarming the skies. An endless rotation of FO transports have been dropping into port, bringing wave after wave of reinforcements to push back Republic defensive positions while local militia groups take the fighting to the streets...

It's a tense time, to say the least.

Along the SW quadrant of Codru Capital's outer rim lies the Tappratine's Tale, a tavern named for the colony of tappratine residing in an ancient tree shading the majority of its windows. The encroaching vegetation creates an intimate closeness between patrons and local wildlife, in this way. By day, the winged mammals can be seen grooming and snoozing and quibbling among themselves. By night, they take flight and purloin fish from city ponds and fountains alike - or did, before the violence rocked the Capital. The tavern is just one of many small businesses standing between the wilds of Munto Codru and the stability of city life.

A stability that is now on the verge of total capitulation.

Although the establishment rests on the city's outskirts, you can still smell a hint of ozone, hear the ominous screams of interceptors when dogfights breach atmo, and see the carbon scoring where errant blaster bolts have missed their marks. Tappratine's Tale is a fragile refuge, where residents can tuck in to avoid a fracas in the streets and still share a moment of normalcy, a drink. Political upheaval typically comes in the form of carefully constructed coups, here, so this violent clash between two foreign entities is unncommon. It is unwelcomed. It is also impossible to escape, now. All's left to do is pick a side, ride the storm, and hope you're on the winning team.

There is a lull in the distant echoes of turretfire. A sign that the generators have failed, again. It's the fourth time this morning. Dead-eyed expressions reside here in the tavern, every ear weary and every thought divided among a multitude of concerns. Among those seemingly staring into space is a Zeuol woman, one hand limply cupped around a half empty mug. Its contents are as black as her eyes. To her left, a Codru-Ji woman fills the remainder of booth space with four, busy arms. Two are occupied with a datapad. One is lifting a mug to her lips. One is resting atop a discarded fur cloak dumped on the bench between them.

There's an older Codru-Ji tending bar - more preoccupied with watching live vid feeds streaming on the single holovid in the joint. They aren't professional holonet quality casts, more likely some locally acquired footage transmitted with amateur tech. The three other bodies presently in here consist of two stranded spacer types and a grizzled looking Codru-Ji man who may or may not be asleep in his chair.

Get in fast, avoid kicking up too much dust on the sensors, drop ship and get on the ground. The plan was simple, right? Right. Nerys had handed out equipment as the small contingent had crowded together into the back of the skipray they had 'borrowed' for the mission. "No need to land, just come in as low as you can before making a mess," Nerys had offered the pilot, whose power-armored bulk barely seemed to want to fit in the pilot's seat. Well, that's what he got for being tall. Nerys had handed off two grav belts, one to each of her compatriots. "I'm assuming you know how these work, yes?" Step out and trust to the winds...and gravity. She checked herself, the backpack which looked like the sort of thing anyone who needed to fit all of their worldly possessions into whatever they could find, even peeking into the outer compartment, "You too cramped in there Bitty?" The tiny droid arm which poked out of the bag might have succeeded in giving Nerys the middle finger, if the droid had not had only two fingers on that hand, "Wonderful, you just stay in there, in case we need you."

And then they were ready for the drop, and Nerys slipped her helmet on, sealing herself inside, before she popped the entry, or in this case exit ramp, and stepped out into nothing, trusting her own grav belt to get her to ground without incident. With luck, it would be a short walk to the tavern where they were set to meet their contact.

LT. Daxon Grayshade was standing there dressed in civilian clothing. He checked his standard issue New Republic blaster pistol. He then holsters it. Then looking towards the tiny Red Head, "Yes Ma'am. I am familiar with the operation of the standard gravity belt." He examines it to make sure it's in working order. Then he slips it around his waist and tugs tightly. Then when the signal for deployment is given. There's a slight grunt of annoyance as he bails from a perfectly working space craft into the waiting arms of Condru's gravity.

Drills and simulations can only do so much to prepare for actual possible combat. But Roja was appointed to come onto this mission, so having been dressed in plain clothes does make him feel a little comfortable but the light armor under his clothes doesn't make him very comfortable just in case something happens. Still Roja is a Sgt now so he knows what his mission is. Sitting in the ship, his eyes were closed as they come to their dropzone. When a gravbelt has been passed to him he puts it on. The question of jumping off a perfectly good ship goes out his mind when Nerys and Lt. Grayshade deploy from the ship. "Oh krif." he says and he moves to the entrance of the ship and drops. He almost yelps as he drops from the ship but the gravbelt engages and he follows down with the others.

Vuvi Yumnista looks to her companion at table, offers naught but a singular blink, then turns her enormous, black hole of a stare to the holovid 'news' flashing across screen over the old man's pointy ears. Such emotionless, expressionless orbs betray nothing when they eventually turn away and pass another idle study over the current inhabitants of Tappratine's Tale. Notes are made. A light drumming of pallid fingertips on tabletop cease their rhythm and go to her lap. Then brush through the heavy cords of ivory locks bundled back from her scalp into a hefty topknot. Thin, pink lips comment idly to the Codru-Ji company.

"Time races, when one does nothing."

The bartender flicks an ear with a snort and goes back to wiping out some already clean glasses. "One needn't do anything, if time does all the legwork. Eh, Akka?"

"Mm?" The four-armed woman dominating the space to Yumnista's left looks up from her datapad with low-lidded eyes. Disinterest reads plainly on her face.

Once Nerys was down, she turned, ensuring that the two who had come with her were in one piece. Two pieces, you know what she means. "Don't worry, she offered to Roja, "It gets easier the more times you do it. Mayhem will send us a signal when he's found a place to hunker down and wait for pickup." Once again, Nerys checked herself, ensuring that she had everything she had dropped out of the ship with before she made to set off in the direction of the tavern. She moved as well as on might expect, in the over and under growth, not to mention the detritus of battles too close to the city, "If anyone asks, you're with me." And then there they were and Nerys was stepping inside, allowing her figure to darken the door for only a moment, before she cleared the way for anyone coming in behind her.

Daxon lands and makes sure that he's in one piece. He's in the process of removing the belt and hiding it when he hears Nerys command about it gets easier. He shakes his head no it doesn't. Though as they start to make their way towards the tavern Daxon's walk becomes less of the trained walk of a soldiers and something more akin to the swagger of a smuggler. Maybe it doesn't have the proper fear and unease one would expect from a civilian in such a situation but how many lazer for brain fool hart smugglers are doing just what Daxon is, at this moment across the galaxy? we're probably better off not knowing. "Anything you say, boss lady." He looks back to make sure Roja was still with them.

Roja touches down and stumbles a little bit, though he's more happy to be on the ground than anything. "Thanks." he says to Nerys. He does offer her a small smile, he turns off the gravbelt and takes it off placing it in his pack. He adjust his long jacket. He feels what little he has on him and he adjusts his goggles on his head and he takes a look around them. He looks normal right? Yeah he think he does. He begins moving through the undergrowth, "Copy that." he says to Nerys as they make their way to the tavern. He looks around to keep watch as they make their way towards this tavern.

One of the two spacer folk - a human with orange, spiked hair - crosses behind the trio as they enter and relocates himself from table to bar. His previous companion - a Wroonian woman - remains where she was, slowly lowering her pointed stare from the new arrivals once it's evident that they aren't here to shoot up the place. Probably. Not right away? She unobtrusively clears her throat and goes back to peeling a warty looking fruit.

The grizzled, scarred up Codru-Ji motionless in his chair remains as such. His eyes are open just a hair, but considering the indigenous adults of this world sleep standing up, it's hard to tell just how much consciousness is involved in his straight-spined posture there. There IS a mostly empty cup of tea in front of him.

"Ho!" the tavern's tender greets the newcomers with a dip of brow. "Wise to take advantage of the quiet, friends. Never known when they'll kick off again."

As for the Zeuol and Codru-Ji pair at booth in the rear, they pass an obligatory once-over Nerys, Daxon...Roja. Then it's back to scrolling through datapad for Akka and sipping that oily sludge of a beverage, for Sgt Yumnista. A glint of light ripples over her eyes as they roll downward to glance at chronometer.

• Sip*

Nerys, once her eyes had adjusted to the change in light levels, lifted a hand in greeting to the bartender, before she headed that way, "You'd think they'd have more respect for a girl just trying to enjoy a drink." She lifted her hands, slipping off the helmet she'd been wearing, her hair tightly braided hair still perfectly coifed. The helmet was clipped to her belt as she made her way through the bar, glancing this way and that, as one did to avoid running into people, naturally, "A glass of whiskey for me, if you've got it. And," she glanced back to Daxton and Roja, "Whatever they're having."

Daxon had missed the tails as he saddles up to the bar next to Nerys, "I'll take an Corellian ale' He shrugs as he leans back against the bar to survey the scene not knowing he missed their escort.

Roja follows the other two in and he finds a place next to them at the bar, "Do you have Mountain Rain Fizzyglug?" he asks. Yeah not everyone drinks alcohol! He looks around for a moment, "You would think but some people would, but it appears not here." he says to her.

"Haven't seen a ship in longer than I'd like to admit. All comes down to trying to find the credits to pay passage. Not holding out much hope. Came for some backpacking, stayed for a war, it would seem." Nerys passed along a handful of credits, enough to cover the drinks and a generous tip, before she took a shot of her whiskey, as if to steady herself when the sounds of the drumbeats of war started up again, "Refresher in the back?" She slipped from the seat she had only just bellied up to to make her way there.

As the booze arrives and Nerys makes idle chatter about ships, Daxon takes up his bottle of ale and takes a sip. He finds himself looking into the black eyes orbs of Vuvi Yumnista. He raises the bottle in a cheerful salute, "Miss." Then goes to take a drink. He knows their watching him watch them.

Roja smiles when he gets his drink he's pretty young but still he's a capable man. He nods his head, "Honestly Rain is better than the Mist honestly." he syas to the barkeep, "The Mist is far superior, in my honest opinion." he chuckles.

"Always useful advice indeed," Nerys offered, moving to step around the Codru-Ji who had just stepped up to the bar, her eyes looking down, rather pointedly, at the fly swimming in the tea he had most certainly not been drinking, "That's unfortunate." And then she was on her way, heading back towards the refreshers, though she paused midway, taking a knee to adjust her right boot, darned thing, having stopped just by the table where the sentient who looked like the Lt. Yumnista they had been directed to was sitting. When she spoke her voice was low, hopefully low enough to pass only to the booth, "I'm here about the advert. Grindstone still for sale?"

Daxon sips his beer and looks at Roja, "Not exactly a lively happy go lucky crowd." He shrugs, "What did your fizzpop fortune say?" He's watching the scene unfold. He wasn't moving for a blaster yet.

Drinking his fizzpop, Roja allows himself to calm as he hears the boom of the outside guns. He sighs a little bit as he sips his drink, the Mountain Mist is really good. "It says sunny days are here again." eh smiles as he uses the reflection of his glass to help him see around him a little. HIs jacket wasn't fully zipped up which gives him free movement. "So how're you feeling?" he asks Daxon.

"Grindstone?" the Zeuol woman lowers her mug from mouth and averts her stare from Daxon to the redhaired woman tying her shoe nearby. "I suppose that depends on the type. What do you need it for?" Her Codru companion, Akka, pretends not to notice or care, switching off her datapad and tucking it away onto belt.

Nerys, taking her time to adjust her boot, because, really, you did not want to be out in a place like this with a foot covered in blisters, switched to the other, just to be safe. It was like changing the lights on a speeder. You never replaced just one. Again, she kept her voice low, "An axe." It really was a good thing the place didn't have much traffic, or she'd be rather inconveniently blocking foot traffic. But darn it, boots. A frown, as she looked up, head tilting as though listening for something. "Sounds like they're getting excitable out there."

"I'm fine." Daxon says and shakes his head at the fortune, "Those things are never right. Though I hear theres a machine on Smugglers moon that's always accurate." He frowns as he drinks his beer. "Sounds like that blaster fire is getting closer. Perhaps it getting time to move on where there is a sunnier disposition." His eyes settling on the orange hair guy.

Sgt Yumnista nods and knocks Akka lightly in a tricep with a knuckle. Her ear is angled toward Nerys, listening, but eyes are fixed forward on something. Or someone. A vague motion of finger directs Akka's attention (if it wasn't already there) to Jebbe, the man who'd been complaining about his tea. Jebbe's complaints have gone quiet and he's instead moving with sure feet toward the door. Comlink in hand.

Akka's on it! She rises, leaving her fur cloak behind, and flashes Nerys one sharp-toothed smile before stalking out after her kin.

"Best to keep sharp, times like these." A pasty finger motions for Nerys to get up. "Have a seat, if you're so inclined. One's just opened up." Whether Nerys sits or not is her prerogative, but Yumnista's crooking finger commands her to come closer and melodic voice drops lower.

"I've got something for your axe, all right." The uncanny eyes and their pink, fleshy rims do not take their gaze off the door as her left hand goes on the move, palming something on the sly into Nerys' hand and pressing it there under guise of a hand shake. It's a data chit. Finally, she turns to /look/ at the courier-in-disguise. "It'll give it a fine edge."

And then her voice is reduced to but a whisper as she rocks back just enough to tug up her boot from the floor and tie a genuinely loosened lace. "Akka gets the credit for this intel. My platoon's been embedded here almost a week. Civilians have been assets, mostly. Still. Get your tails to your extraction point, and fast. I don't like the way our napping 'friend' was watching us."

The bartender flips a trio of rude gestures at Jebbe while dumping his returned mug in the sink and makes a smart retort, something about Wyrwulves having better manners.

Nerys, having finally managed to get her boots just right. Trust her, it was a job, rose, sliding into the seat as she was so instructed. She did glance down to see if the disappearing Akka had left a drink behind, but alas. The hand she shook, withdrawing it only after the chit had been palmed, and Nerys tucked it away for safe keeping, under the guise of adjusting her armor. She did not raise her voice. if anything, now that she was closer, it dropped lower, "I appreciate the recommendation. I could use a fine axe." And then, she nodded, as she fell silent long enough to listen. "We're going. If we see him on the way out, we might see to it that he has an accident. But movement is the priority. Thank you." Three dead agents did not make a mission a success. And then, Nerys slid back out of the booth, turning to move to rejoin her compatriots. Time to get gone. As she walked, she reached back to adjust her backpack, tapping the side, right where Bitty's eye would be. The droid knew the signal.

"Time to be heading out for sure." Daxon says with a frown. The last of his beer finished in a long pull. Then he stands up and stretching. Then he goes to amble for the door which means he's going outside to make sure there's not a trap waiting for the intel or it's current holder, Nerys.

"Yeah, it's about that time." he says as he pays for his and Daxons drink. "Thanks." he says as eh looks to the barkeep. "I may try this place out again if I'm ever around." he says. With that he follows out behind Daxon, he gives a glance to Nerys to see if she was about ready to head out with them.

"Ssroi'a," Sgt Yumnista grumbles under breath, following a tiny chirp from the comlink on HER waist. An impassive stare (a hardened glare, on the inside) watches the three comrades depart. She rises abruptly from her seat, takes the cloak, and bustles her way through a short but narrow hall to refresher. The window's already been opened, anticipating this very moment.

GROUND PATROL

Evidently enough of the STs have leaked through the Republic's defensive line, or they're being dropped in some place else. However it's come to pass, there is a miniature battle playing out down the street as the remnants of a Stormtrooper squad give chase to a few civilian militia. Maybe they'll pick each other off before the fray reaches Tappratine's Tale...

The two Codru-Ji patrons have both fled the scene, not wanting to stick around and find out. Are they together? Apart? In a melee of their own? Only the trees can say. One thing is clear - the team sent to pickup Sergeant's gift for Command is going to have to rely on their own swiftness to get to safer ground.