Log:Night at the Holy Day Inn
Night at the Holy Day Inn
Overview
Heroes of the Republic venture out to meet with a representative of the Black Sun to get their people back and see what the Crime Syndicate could possibly want.
Meta
Plot: Guri/plots/Corellia Dreaming
Date: May 14, 2021
Participants
Groups
Log
With the Coordinates provided, The heroes will find that as they make their way closer and closer to the meeting place - the fighting and decay of war begins to fade away. They will also notice, more and more, the existance black hover cars. These vehicles all contain individuals, falleen and human mostly, wearing tuxedos and standing outside of them looking around. On the final stretch, the street is completely barren with only two vehicles on either side of the road leading to the Conference Hall. The Hall itself, seems almost untouched. There are a few scorched marks on the walls here and there, but either the building has been cleaned up - or it has missed most of the combat. The Conference Hall spans upwards atleast 4 stories, made of the grey durasteel that is commonly seen with structures in the city. The windows have a reddish tint making it hard to see in. There appears to be two double doors to enter with three gentleman dressed impeccably well. One of them has an object in his hand. The Curviture and bulky nature of the object indicates that it is likely not a weapon.
As the party arrives, the man with the electronic device walks up and assists them in getting out - while the other two stand behind him on opposite sides of the entrance. He bows to them, and raises the scanner, "Welcome... For the protection of our guests, I must ensure you don't have any weapons or unauthorized objects." He stands back and waits for the individuals to acqueisce and raise their arms - or not. He gets paid the same no matter how this turns out.
Their arrival is punctuated by the presence of suited sentients, and a requirement that sets an expectation that their weapons, and only form of defense, is forfeited. Aryn was mentored by Leia to know when you should follow the rules, and when you should make your own. When confronted to be scanned, Aryn subtly raised her gloved hand as if to wave the notion off, or maybe it was not a big deal, but she said with a degree of confidence that, "You find no weapons on us. We can pass."
Aryn wasn't a fan of using mind-games but the war and their location in it required a bit of guile to ensure they remained safe. She had no intention of drawing her weapon, if she had one, to cause harm; it was only for defense!
Aryn is dressed in fine Alderaanian garb with a cape buckled stylishly over her shoulders. Her hair is fantastic, brushed straight with braids down each side to keep strands from her youthful face; a face that bears a dark scar over the left eye! "Best be about it then.." Aryn comments, stepping toward the structure their hosts intended for the meet as if she might own it. Someone might need to remind Aryn that she didn't.
Ban Iskender is attired in pale grey and green, his doublet and shoulder cloak of a high collared, militaristic style. Boots and long cuffed gloves are of black leather, and a decorative durasteel saber is sheathed at one side. The gentleman disembarks their transport, offering a hand to any of his fellows who wish aid in stepping out. When politely challenged for weapons, the nobleman unfastens his sword belt, and deposits the elegant blade back in their transport. Even if Aryn's arts would let him pass, openly carrying a weapon inside would not be likely to go well. Best be about it? "Indeed, my Lady."
Flightsuit was as close to formal as Bors was going to get this day, the dashing daring Alderaanian A-Wing aerialist - no diplomat he but one versed in serving for security for people who had little need of it. Save the general. A little armor padding might prove useful should she require a body shield.
Not that armor had saved Bors entirely in the past, judging by the splash of burn scarring by a temple.
The princess's ruse appreciated, silently, while his old and beat up EE-3 carbine was tucked behind his back, to let his flight vest keep it steady and out of sight. "Fantastic. Let us ere find that this day holds more than the common exercises." his service pistol, fired only in training and never since, left at the transport. After all - A-Wings were cramped... He might've had that carbine up his back all day and forgot about it...
And that fashionably intriguing facial marring might serve as proper
'Going the extra mile with Essie Lyle'....so the woman's slogan used to be, anyway. Now, Ambrosia supposes, they are going the extra mile FOR Essie Lyle.
Or what's left of her. The General has been around the block long enough to know that there very well be only enough to fill another giftbox. It's the nature of the game. She herself has packed a parcel or three during the course of her 'retirement'. Merc work kept aging joint limber.
And so it is that the old krayt dragon unfolds herself from the speeder, fixes a steely glare of 'touch me not' upon the scanner-wielding gentleman, and straightens out of her own accord. She remains quiet, sizing up the three fellows, performing a cursory scan of their surroundings, glancing to roof...a good soldier prioritizes survival of her men over politeness. Politeness is best left to those born and bred to it.
The tiniest of smirks puts a little life into otherwise deadpan lips when Aryn steps up to the task. General Greystorm COULD forfeit her little blades; they weren't necessary for killing, only for efficiency's sake. There's no surrendering of her favored accessories thus far, though, so she keeps editorial comments on the invitation's wording to herself. "That's a very smart jacket," she informs the man while breezing by, gravely purr punctuated with a wink.
Unlike the Princess, Chani wears nothing different than her usual forays out. The feyd-cloth robe over cream attire has become a mainstay. Dinner party chic? Hardly. She pauses with the retinue when the bouncer begins to query them regarding weapons, and subtly hikes her brows the next moment that Aryn gestures with her hand. The agreement from the bouncer to let them pass after Aryn's mental implant leads Chani to step by without any further consideration. "I feel underdressed," Chani jokes as they proceed. Chani is both underdressed and out of place. Surrounded by Alderaanian nobles and entering a place where the affluent are coming together? She almost looks like a street urchin given the quality of her garments. At least Lord Thul looks like a servant pilot rather than dressed in his gallantry like the other pair. Chani can only imagine how amusing they look all gathered together.
"..Miss if you could just..." The man motions for her to raise her arms but then she uses her Jedi Mind Trickery. He nods his head, "I Find no weapons on you. You Can Pass." He brings his cuff link up to his lips and speaks again, "I have checked them... They don't have any.." He pauses and looks as Ban quite clearly takes off his sword and places the weapon into the car, "Weapons on them.." The last part is inflected up and confused. He knows they didn't have any weapons, they can pass. However, A weapon was on a person and put in the car. This doesn't make alot of sense. He might need to go home and rethink his life. He motions for them to begin making their way into the Conference Hall. His eyes do linger on the flirtatious Greystorm, but not for long as a slight scuffle can be heard down the road.
He nods his head to them, "Please, Continue." His hand drops to attach the scanner to his belt and then reaches into his 'smart' jacket and moves to remove an object as he begins to make his way towards the end of the street. Off in the distance, a young man on a hover bike can be seen being stopped by the person's at the car they passed before. It can barely be heard what it is about but the words 'Hey, Watch where you're going' and 'This is a public Road' can be heard coming from the unfortunate passerby.
The Doors are opened, leading to an immaculate hallway. They are greeted by a woman, dressed in a soft blue skirt with a blue ribbon around her neck, tied into a bow in front. The black haired Matre De' appears skittish and shy. She motions with her hand, but doesn't say anything as they are lead down a ways and to the right.
They are lead into what appears to have once been a large ball room. The lights above are crafted into fine detail out of what appears to be gold, the lighting focused upwards creating indirect lighting. The walls are painted a soft blue with various emblems, people, and events painted across them. While it is not the finest area ever seen, it is very pretty for Corellia.
In the middle, a long table with 8 chairs are situated. Infront of them are plates and stem glasses, each filled with a reddish liquid.
A blonde figure sits at the far end, and stands as the heroes make their way in. She motions for them to come closer.
"Ahh, My Guests. Come Come." She motions to them. There are two figures on either side of her, neither of them rising and both seeming to stay fairly still. Though, the observant might notice the tiniest hints of a wobble to them. For those who are aware of the Rangers, they would recognize Essie to the woman's right, and her lieutenant to the left - his left arm being bandaged where a hand once was.
"Please. Come, Have a seat. I am glad that you could make it."
Beyond the Woman and the two Rangers, there are also two other men dressed in fine suits at the door that they walked into.
Soft Music from an orchestral piece from corellia can be heard playing.
Aryn nods when Ban responds and laughs softly at Chani's joke of being underdressed. It seemed they all came in varying degrees of dress, each representative of a purpose. Aryn steps right through the doorways and into the corridor, following the path intended for them. She keeps a steady pace, turning her gaze to look over the various regalia fastened to the wall like decorations. One piece stands out to Aryn, a blue banner with gold imagery of Corellia's six pointed star. It was an ancient emblem, and one Aryn recalled from her studies.
When they arrive in the ballroom, Aryn's gaze flicks from their guide to the hostess, studying her a moment before glancing to the other pair of guests. Aryn's face contorts a bit in discomfort; it was a face she made when she knew something was fundamentally wrong with the situation. Savages, she thought, carving people up for theatrics.
She pulls her glove on tighter, the tension 'tick-tick-tick'ing when her fingers flexed, a well-known nervous habit of hers. "Might we the pleasure of knowing whom we sit with?" Aryn takes a place at the table but does not sit yet. It seems she's still deciding if she should. She looks to Amber briefly, then to Ban.
Ban Iskender notes with dry humor to Chani, "A woman of quality cannot be underdressed, Mistress Tahn; rather, your attire is.. daringly minimalist." The gentleman walks with straight backed dignity among the others until shown into the ballroom. His manner is stoic by the time Guri rises to greet them, with the pair of unsteady rangers beside her. "Madame," he greets her, evenly. Ban moves to a chair, giving Aryn a small nod, but remaining standing until the greetings are concluded.
Bors says nothing more, yet, though he does give Chani a playful nudge just as they enter the room with their 'host'. Instead of talking, the nobleman is humming, under his breath and low enough for someone 'dangerously close' to hear him anyway. There's snazzy remarks in him. So many. SUCH remarks to be made.
That one guy's fancy jacket, that other ones OH so mirror shined shoes. Why it is like walking past dance-mirror balls in a swanky fine dancing and dining club.
And other people are asking the questions, so all the better to keep quiet while dipping into a shallow bow and slipping to General Graystorm's flank, still smiling that 500 watt smile. Rather than the full teeth version that has caused glare blindness.
There's something uncanny about the decor that strikes a chord of familiarity in 'grumpy' Greystorm when they enter the ballroom. Her steps slow upon entry, gaze canting upward whilst a tickling sense of deja vu creeps up her nape. Is this...Did she and Kort have their reception here, those thirty years ago? No. Maybe? No. Irrelevant.
"There are other means through which to communicate a desire for dinner guests..." Ambrosia continues on ahead, sparing Essie a glance and small nod on her way by. Aryn, Ban, Bors, Chani - they are all swept passively by similar flits of the eyes and she strolls the length of table on precisely measured strides. When she's reached the opposing end, she about-faces the ninety degrees with a metallic 'click' of stilleto heels and examines Guri from across the divide. Both hands fold neatly over the chair's back and she pulls it out to slip into the seat without hesitation. "Baiting the brave denizens of Corellia only to abuse them within your snare...." A singular uptick of brow, right side. The left appears as though it /wants/ to follow suit but just can't quite get there. "That isn't very nice," Amber chides softly.
One long leg crosses comfortably over the other and she plucks up the fine stemware in hand to sniff at the contents. "My days of playing at pretense are long behind me, so let's skip ahead to the bit where I graciously inquire..." *teensie sip* "What the hell do you want?" *Swirl* "Unless of course your kitchen staff is gifted at carving more edible forms of meat. I could be entertained awhile longer over a decent steak."
Cue mirthless smile and a slight tilt of head that sets her earrings a'swaying. "Ration packs are sustainable but they are not enjoyable."
The well worn leather of her knee-length boots remains quiet with each step she takes, but Chani does not silence the subtle tap of each sole against the floor. Her feyd-cloth robe has only a narrow window open in the front, exposing the cream, layered tunic, a leather strip of belt, and the loose trousers beneath. Cast back from her head and draped about her shoulders is the robe's hood, leaving her head exposed. It's the only thing that is. The young Naboo native's dark hair is swept meticulously back and fashioned into a bun that keeps the tresses out of her face and off her neck. Even her hands are hidden by the large sleeves swaying at her sides. It's difficult to tell where they might open thanks to the folds of them, just like the folds of the robe make it impossible to discern any shapes beneath it.
What is quite visible is Chani's expression. It is not one that is pleased. The young woman's dark gaze settles on the man with the bandaged hand and then snaps towards the blonde who is indicating for them to sit. Chani does not, although she approaches the table to be near Aryn. She's not sure she wants to sit at all. Eating? Out of the question. Her stomach is nauseous at the sight of someone who has been maimed purely for the purpose of provoking a meeting. She doesn't talk, either. What she does is breathe to get her heart rate and her emotions under control. Opening her mouth would likely lead her to admonishing their would-be hostess and that's not a very diplomatic thing to do.
The blue orbs of the woman move to Aryn as she speaks. Her head tilting just barely to the right, they slowly move down the frame of the Alderaan Princess - stopping at the hands with a certain curiosity. Though it is only for a few moments before continuing to go down her frame. A deep breath, and her tongue comes out to softly wet her lips, "Ofcourse. Manners. I apologize." Her voice is quite melodic. Any device meant to record sound would detect that the pitch is very precise with an almost systematic deviation. While not to cheerful, it is definetly very pleasant - if not hypnotic - to most species. She dips her head forward, "My name is Guri. I was tempted to send a proxy, or perhaps come infront of you in much.." She looks down, "Different.. Attire. However, I know that it is important that a bond of trust is built for any relationship to prosper." Another pause and breath, "I would love to know your names?"
She looks to Ban as he makes his way in, her eyes also going down his frame - though she seems to take a few more moments. Bors is given the same treatment - though nothing is said between the two at the moment.
She stops and focuses on Ambrosia as she speaks, her eyes just staring at the moment. There isn't much emotion that can be seen from her as the words come out. Whether these are impacting to her or not seems relatively unknown. The Mirthless smile is returned, and she motions to Essie and the Lieutenant, "You, ofcourse, know Essie and her lieutenant." She reaches down to the table to touch an object, "I took something you cared about because I wanted to set the Tenor of this date." She leans forward, "I want to be honest with you. Had I come to you and just had a conversation, It wouldn't have had the.." She Pauses, "Gravitas. That this does." She then pushes the button, activating the hologram and slides it over to Ambrosia. It shows an image of a Truck - those with in it appear to be the rest of the people that went with Essie and the lieutenant. There is another slow breath from Guri, "You will see on that hologram and the list under it that the rest of the soldiers are just now being returned to one of your forward bases. Safe and Secure. There are only three that are still under my care." She motions to Essie and the Lieutenant, "You can observe these two. I give you my word that neither of them will die by my hand, or anyone that is under my charge, while they are here. As long as we have a conversation - nothing more will happen to them."
Her eyes flick over to Chani who has stayed silent for the moment. Her head tilts and she nods her head, "I like your Cloak." An odd thing to say. She looks back to Ambrosia, "Feel free to contact your forward base to confirm what I've said.." A slight smirk, "But now to business. I was wondering if any of you can tell me what the over all plans are for the criminal elements of Corellia once it has been liberated? Have you thought of what you are going to do to rebuild?"
There's another pause, ".. Will the Military, or even the Republic Government get to choose at all? Afterall, you seem awfully divided.."
"You may call me Aryn." She responds in turn, then grows quiet to listen to the conversation between Amber and Guri. The predicament they find themselves in warrants the question: "Should we find need of future conversation, will we need to send a severed hand too? Forgive me, but the signals here are mixed. Normally, conversations happen all the time with the Republic, absent the brutality."
"To your question: I imagine the Republic will conduct its role in the war much as it has, and when the fighting has done, and we have won presumably, Corellia and her constituents will rule absent the tyrannical presence of the First Order within its system. I imagine the Corellian people will decide for themselves what part they play after that, to include your.. enterprise."
"If one sets aside the criminal element, is aught left of Corellia?" Ban intones with a wry edge coloring his solemnity, before naming himself, "Captain Ban Iskender. With the suitable dramatics accomplished, would you be so good as to release these two to be tended, whilst this discussion proceeds, madame?"
A slight, but curt, nod at Aryn's explanation of Corellia's independent control of their own system and how they will handle the criminal elements. Hands folding behind his back in a 'lazy' parade rest - remaining to Ambrosia's right, close to the table and potentially where she might spy a means to grab his concealed armament if the situation calls for it. At least if she doesn't leave him to do it himself.
But it's good to give people options.
Ban's note about Corellia forces his expression into one of a man who might have had bad repto-avian. Or perhaps a blot of mustard and unexpectedly spoiled tuber - all in the effort to stifle the snicker that Bors has trying to break free. It feels so self satisfied... it doesn't need him. It's got to break free. Father knows. Mother knows it wants to break free.
"I might venture a series of inter-connected pyramid schemes suddenly bereft of people - leaving only worm chewed edifice..."
Ambrosia's left hand angles just high enough off table to let the inbound projector roost under palm. She draws it to self the remaining four inches and dips her chin in focus of the holographic content. The graying rebel's face smooths over like glass - weathering of age aside - and she observes the list in calm, collected silence.
Aryn speaks well enough for any of them, Ban raises a valid point, and Bors elaborates colorfully. It's on the tail end of that creative quip that she starkly clears her throat and passes the man an inscrutible look before volleying the same across the way to Guri.
"Where's the third?" She does /not/ elaborate.
There are members of their group who bear the authority to negotiate on the New Republic's half. Chani has no doubt that Princess Cortess and General Greystorm have the situation well in hand. She also has no doubt that her name is not needed for this very purpose. The introductions begin, but the Naboo woman remains silent. She even remains silent once their hostess compliments the robe that she's wearing. It's Aryn that her gaze rests on as the woman questions communication methods with all the knife-tongued efficiency of a politician casually taking jabs at an opponent. Chani cannot, however, stop herself from looking over to Bors with an expression best described as bewildered and disturbed in one. Shiraya help them all.
"Depending on who that Severed hand belongs to - you could quite possibly get a much faster response then you ever would have if you knocked on my door." Guri responds back to Aryn, looking at her. An eyebrow raises and a shake her head, "Come now, you must know that the New Republic is one of the largest bureacratic institutions in the galaxy, rivaled only by that of the First Order." A soft inhale and slight chuckle, "I'll admit though, I like your Candor. Even if it seems misplaced." She brings up the glass as she sits and motions for them to do so, "So if the Corellians wished to become involved in the slave trade and start mass selling Twi'leks - you're ok with that?" Her voice lowers a moment, skeptically, "Really?"
Her eyes look to Ban as he makes his offer, the chuckle gone and her face becoming more neutral. She licks her lips yet again, "..Certainly." She motions and the two seem unsteady, unsure. They begin to gently rise - but her hand comes up, "If everyone here will show all the weapons have on their person - including the ones you dont want me to see - and everyone tells me what their real positions are. I'd be surprised if you are bureacrats or military personnel."
She then motions with her hand, "Then I'll be more then happy to let these two specifically go. Which will just leave one more to be returned upon the ending of this conversation." Her eyes move to Bors, "That is a very interesting metaphor." She watches him curiously, then shakes her head, "Though I have.. No idea what it means."
She glances over to Aryn and at the question of the third, a wink is given, "Safe."
A slight frown is given as Chani doesn't talk and she watches her a moment, "You can join as well." A brief pause and she motion to the others, "You are here because you bring value to this group. I would be very interested in your thoughts."
She then addresses the group, as she speaks - waiters begin to come out. They serve delicacies from Alderaan to Coruscant. She doesn't eat herself, but does take a sip.
"Shall we get straight to business?" She snaps her fingers and the holgram changes infront of them - it shows a picture of Corellia broken down into its various counties - there are symbols showing the differing gangs and crime elements that exist. She begins speaking, her voice taking a more authoritative tone, "As you can see, your efforts have created a pretty large power vaccuum. This is dangerous - not only for your efforts, but the citizenry." Brief pause, "So I wanted to propose a deal. I have the ability to guide you and assist you in cleaning out any of these gangs that would pose a threat to the government of corellia and are actively trying to help the first order. I will be happy to assist with both monetary resources and our own men. I only ask one thing.."
She looks to Ambrosia specifically, "The New Republic does truly what cutie over here has proposed.. and does not concern itself with internal affairs. When Corellia finds itself with a thriving and patriotic wave of trust in Black Sun - and the people yearn to allow for their embrace no matter what the police and political forces say - The Republic stays out of it."
She smirks, "I also would love for you to allow the people of Chandrilla to make the same choices."
"The Republic is an entity that requires systems to request membership. It is not one to subjugate or coerce worlds into membership. If Corellia wished to get into the slave trade, it would be their choice. However, if they wish to participate as a member of the Republic, they must sign a treaty agreeing to the Republic's laws. That is how it has always been."
There is a faint clicking noise that interrupts Aryn, and she looks away in an attempt to find its source. What was that?
This negotiation had a dangerous edge to it and Aryn wasn't going to be complicit by sitting down and welcoming an ambush. She remains standing, partly for her objection to negotiate with criminals, and also because she feels she should be alert. Not that any other comment would add to the discussion, but the thing Guri requested was something the Republic already did! "Are those your negotiations then? You want us to tell the Republic to remain uninvolved; and we are to go to the people of Chandrila and lobby a revote to request permission to rejoin the Republic again?"
Ban Iskender gives a slightly terse exhale, voicing to their hostess, "Madame, I commend your command of dramatics, but your tactics are ill chosen: threats of force and extortion are.. quite possibly the very worst tacks you could have chosen. Still," gloved hands move to show both open palms, "I am Lord Ban Iskender, Captain of New Alderaan's Vice-royal Lir Dragoons. I come to you wholly unarmed, and say plainly before all and sundry: the Republic is here to drive out the neo-Imperials. If Corellians do not wish to join the Republic afterward, then they shall not. The Republic will only become your enemy if- by your actions- you make yourself a foe. The Resistance was composed largely of outlaws and criminals, such folk often loathe Imperial oppression. Free Corellia first. Let them choose your way, if you can. But release those soldiers you hold now, if you truly desire any dialogue to proceed.'
Head cocking to one side, expression turning to a hard, suspicious, frown Bors's eyes flick to Amber now, moving to Guri and back as he goes a certain sort of still. The hands that were folded behind his back now shifting some - left down at his side, thumb hooked into his belt and the right held so that either he might move or keep Amber's way clear while he keeps his eyes riveted on the woman who has mained and threatened for this meeting.
He's just playing the part of assigned help and he remains lapsed in silence and close to the general. If anyone knew anything of the New Republic though - he clearly wears Black Squadron's colors in the flight suit he is dressed in. Other than that he simply moves his grin to full fledged tooth-sparklingly brilliance.
"Followed your invitation's instruction to the letter," Ambrosia indulges a sip. "No rifles, sabers, vibroblades...I even left my old Torch in my bunk as added courtesy and it's been by my side through ....what." A look goes up to Bors there like he ought to know the answer to the question unasked. "Forty years of service? Almost." A light scoff and she watches the parade of servers but does not appear to be overly interested in what they're putting on plate. "If you're disappointed to see how a lady General accessorizes her evening attire, then perhaps you ought fire your messenger."
But, as requested, Ambrosia stands and turns in a slow, slow circle, hands held aloft, half way to head. The belt at her waist appears to occupy a datapad but also a sheathed six inches of something stout. Technically, it's been /shown/. Her hands rise ever more slowly to her hair, eyes uplifting toward the ceiling, eyeing the seams and corners in particular. Perhaps she, too, has heard the mystery noise. Mini rail gun firing up? Not sustained enough of a noise. Auto-sniper? Perhaps. Then again, maybe it's just the cochlear implants misbehaving.
A cascade of silver and gold spills over her shoulders and spine then as she completes her turn-about. Twin throwing blades are balanced delicately on her fingers, held out from self. "You're invited to take them, of course, if it would put your heart to ease." She stiffly lowers back into her chair and lets the little blades drop unceremoniously onto table. "My name is Ambrosia Greystorm, General and Commander of this Army and if I wanted you wiped from the map, I'd have dispatched a little air support rather than waste my time going toe to toe." A mildly apologetic look goes to Essie. "I'd be surprised if you didn't already know that. Having acquired coordinates to deposit your thoughtful invitation, surely you did your research on who was in residence, no?"
Sip*
"You may consider my silence a protest against the abhorrent treatment of your hostages." Chani is not going to mince words. When the blonde woman attempts to engage her, the young Naboo native meets her gaze without any semblance of hesitation. It is unwavering, as is Chani's relaxed pose. Like the Princess of Alderaan, Chani continues to stand rather than be seated. The food being placed on the table is ignored outright. The robe she wears keeps hidden the subtle bend in her knees that ensures her stance is well-balanced and not restrictive of blood flow. It keeps hidden the arms that continue to remain at rest at her sides as well. The only thing that Chani moves with any frequency is her chin and gaze as it shifts from one participant to the next.
Click. Click. Click. Guri stays sitted back as she watches the various individuals as the speak. When both Aryn and Ban talk, She opens her mouth to respond but then it would Amber responds only to be quickly followed by Chani. She shakes her head and frowns. Click. Click. Click. She slowly stands, her eyes closing a moment. While this seems dramatic, the grace and eloquence she moves with continues. It's as if her body isn't responding to any of the outward stresses - that it was simply moving of its own accord. Her eyes open and she stares at Ambrosia, "No. No. No. Dear, You have no idea what you are doing - or how to work with others. You really should stay to military affairs. You have no idea how to deal with these things." She takes a step back and motions - the two gaurds at the door walk forward, reaching up to their cuffs as they speak into it. They pull out Blaster Pistols though they stay below.
Click. Click. Click. The 'head' of the Black Sun motions to the lieutentn of Essies, "Did you ever question why I took this man's hand? Certainly you did your research on me as well? You see, I don't care about people." She motions to them, "None of you... matter to me." This said even faced, sincere - which is a weird juxtaposition with the melodic tone. Her hands come under her breasts as she takes a deep breath. Click. Click. Click.
"Here is how things are going to go. Black Sun will be moving into Corellia, and we will be installing ourselves as the supplier of choice. If the republic stays back and doesn't worry itself with our affairs - I am willing to work with you on what we supply. If not, then the whole gambit... Omwatti, Twi'lek.. Death Sticks.. Assassinations.. any and all ages."
"It wont only stop there.." Click. Click. Click "It wont only stop there. We will also be moving into member planets of the Republic. It's already a fore gone conclusion. You can't stop it. You can only sway the direction."
She dips her head and exhales, "Capitalism.." Her eyes open and she looks at them again, "Capitalism.. Is what I care about."
Click. Click. Click
"You'll be recieving information on a gang hangout where the First Order is getting their guns. I intend to remove that facility. It would be in your best interest to assist. After all, those weapons and people are all just a product to me. I'm sure you'd hate to see what I do when I'm mad."
Click. Click. Click Chhhhhhh-THUNK. The Table visibly moves down - as if the floor under it gives way. It only moves less then a meter though.
The 'Woman' reaches to take the table cloth and pulls it off. She is able to move the material with out any of the plates or drinks falling. Her movements and grace are almost unnatural. The 'Table' as it were appears to be a bio-box, almost looking like a safe. With in it, a human can be seen - hooked up to several machines. The Safe is under thick reinforced glass. Several tubes are hooked up to the individual as red liquid is slowly being drained from him.
"This would be your third person.. Safe, as I say. If the calculations are correct - he has about thirty seconds to live before the blood loss is to much." She motions to the corner where a vial can be seen, "Blood from the Lieutenant. He'll need that for the antidote."
She takes a step back as the two men move around them and to her side.
"I wouldn't suggest weapons or explosives - it's very very delicate technology. Each of you should be able to insert 5 individual codes at the same time.. Which will open it up. I assume one of you is a doctor." She pauses a moment, "You'll need to do that now, any delay and the man might die." She begins to take a step away, and snaps her fingers, "Oh.. and there's a teenager outside with a gun to his head - should you decide this man's life is worth trying to take me in. Focus on your task here and everyone lives."
As a final piece, she looks to Aryn and then Ban a moment and smiles faintly, "I think you two will be the representatives I talk to going forward - should we want to do business and you don't want to see more soldiers die." A soft inhale.
"I hope you enjoy your night." She then begins to make her way out.
There is sudden action and Aryn was right to doubt the civility of their hostess, AND rebel by not sitting. The relief of not using this death device as a table had not manifested yet, because Aryn is mortified by the contraption and its prisoner. "Oh no," She exclaims, looking about the device to discern a way to deactivate it. In her obscurity, Aryn tried to will the Force to open the device but she found nothing which she could form a connection with.
The failure is short-lived because she goes to one of the code input devices only to find that a code was waiting for her. "These have codes on them-- Use them to disengage the device so he may live!"
When addressed by Guri, Aryn does not respond. Her focus is on the life that's in jeopardy, not to mention the other alleged souls held captive by their goons!
Ban Iskender's stoicism throughout Guri's monologue slips into revulsion at the revealed mechanism and it's unfortunate occupant. "I've this one," he voices, stepping swiftly to the nearest position, with an eye briefly spared from the task to take note of whether Guri's goons are accompanying their employer out of the room. No pithy banter from the gentleman, nor eloquent words. Neither threats nor warnings.
Tensing and almost moving to do something that might have resulted in plasma bursts, Bors swallows hard when he looks to the person trapped in the bio-box. Eyes narrowed but moving towards one of the controls where the codes are found to set the release for the captive. All pretense of being benign and pleasant gone and there is only malice held in the gaze flicking towards Guri and her goons.
Likened to his fellow nobleman, he keeps his tongue and focuses on the work he must perform over the task he'd much rather be occupying him. Expression having become a carven masked of concentration married to disgust and only looking to Amber once his part of the work is done and codes are entered.
"Can't stop it, my ass..." Ambrosia grumbles, scraping the chair backward with an abruptly stiff rise from her seat and staring down at the unfortunate soul tethered within their own coffin. It might just be the nerve damage keeping her face so impassive and void of empathy, but...."Show'er what *I* can giftwrap in a box," she mutters. Might not. Unlike this Guri gal form the Black Sun, Ambrosia from the GreyStorm works for the team who upholds the moral highground so she's under contract to place nice.
For now.
It's only a matter of time though before the galaxy's worst grandmother decides she's ready to retire - again - and burns however many lives she has left enacting some vengeance and tying up loose ends. Today...is not that day. "Nice t'see ya again, Essie," she says in a weirdly conversational tone while leaning over and squinting at the terminal in front of her. Ambrosia's idea of hostage negotiations is to shoot the hostage, take away the cards. It's tactical, simple, quick. The powers that were and still are tend to frown upon that method though, so she's tried her best to engage in 'conversation'. See what happens when she's made to talk first, shoot later?
Numbers. Okay. Focus.
"Glad it ain't you in this box. Cortess, you think you can patch him?" FINALLY she punches in the last numeric symbol after a tricky letter. BLIP They only scramble a little bit in her brain, these days, but it was definitely breath-holding entry.
"She's in no position to go making demands about how the Republic does or does not take action, are we in agreement? We're here to uproot and evict the Order - let's not forget that. Once that job's done, it's Corellia's burden to determine who it does or does not allow to have a go at puppet master. Don't give a wort's ass whose emblem is on those slaver ships runnin about, we'll deal with'em all the same as we've been." Y'know...what little force IS dedicated to such while the military proper is out on war campaigns. But that's not the point! The old battleaxe is riled. THAT is the point.
Like Ban and Aryn, Chani immediately dismisses the blonde from her thoughts and turns her attention towards the console. She has no time for delusions of grandeur when someone's life is at stake. "I've got this one," She calls to the others, robe hem swirling around her feet and hands quickly rising to input the necessary code into the console. The demeanor of her voice may maintain some sort of calm, but she is anything but. This kind of sadistic psycopathy is traumatizing to see, nevermind what long-term and horible effects it might have on the psyche of the person being forced to endure it. Whatever pretense of a negotiation that existed is through. Ensuring the survival of the interred individual is the only thing that matters.
It wont take long before the box is open, and the counter measures to save the man's life are given. When the victims are returned back to base and put into medical - toxicology will find a mild sedative had been used with all of them - though there would be no last impacting - save for the loss of hand and possibly mental issues going forward. There would be a very scared kid left outside, but no worse for the wear either. It would seem that he was kept at arms length. Whether it had been a waste of people's nights - or something that would spread was anyone's guess.. But everyone got home safe - and that was ultimately the goal for some.
