Log:O Captain! My Captain!
Calia welcomes Rieve aboard her vessel.
OOC Date: October 27, 2023
Location: The depths of space.
Participants: Rieve Selki, Calia
The rendevous had been arranged, and in the inky blackness of space, two vessels dropped out of hyperspace with a flash of blue, and drifted towards eachother. The rotation of each vessel was sloww and ponderous, and yet they began to match as they drew up and settled into their arranged orbit of eachother. Just two ships drifting in unison, perhaps to anyone who'd spot them, though the chance was one in several billion that they'd hit this spot, or anywhere near, they were just assisting eachother. Or doing various illegal things. It could be one or the other.
Having settled into this rotation, Rieve departed the airlock of the Endara, and drifted slowly towards the Highwayman. Anchored by a line that was first attached to the Highwayman, it ensured a safer return as Rieve slipped into the airlock and stepped aboard. The cycle of the airlock took its time, and Rieve waited for the all clear, and only once granted did he remove his helm with a faint twist and a hiss, to step aboard the vessel proper. Blue hair mussed by the removal of his helm, Rieve stood tall and proud as he dipped into the Highwayman and grinned a most lopsided and toothsome grin. "Permission to come aboard?!" His warm voice rang out, helm tucked beneath his arm, his stance decidedly martial. Ramrod straight, posture perfect, a fencer's stance. And after a good many years, that of a guerilla soldier also.
"I bring brandy, of a decent enough vintage." A pack at his hip is patted. "And warm regards." What more needed to be said?
---
The SoroSuub Luxury 5000 Yacht "Highwayman," far from any celestial body, drifts through the vast emptiness of space. Its gleaming hull, a symbol of luxury and power, catches only the faintest light from a distant sun as it performs a slow, spiraling dance with another freighter. This ballet in the void, elegant and deliberate, belies the frenetic activity within.
Inside the Highwayman, a crew of sentients and droids buzzes with activity. The vessel, larger than your typical freighter, has been modified extensively. Cargo bays, once meant to carry opulent goods, now house a makeshift squadron of older and newer starfighters, standing ready for action. Every inch of space has been repurposed to serve the needs of its rebel occupants.
In the cockpit, a diverse group works in unison. Some man the controls, maintaining the delicate distance from the accompanying freighter, while others are hunched over sensors and navigation systems, calculating emergency hyperspace trajectories. The atmosphere is one of concentrated effort, each member playing their part in this finely tuned orchestra.
In one of the corridors stands Calia, just inside the airlock, her posture relaxed but alert. She wears a leather jacket, and her arms are crossed in a stance that embodies the essence of a seasoned smuggler, at ease yet always ready. Her blonde hair, disturbed by the hiss of the airlock, flutters across her youthful face, lending her a carefree air.
As the airlock opens, Calia's gaze fixes on Rieve stepping through. A smile curls her lips, one of recognition and a shared understanding. "I knew we'd get along," she muses, her voice a mix of amusement and respect. She pushes off from the wall gracefully and gestures towards the multifunctional space that serves as the heart of the ship.
"Welcome aboard, and please, make yourself at home. We can talk in the mess unless you'd prefer one of the private rooms," she says with an almost -- but not quite -- Corellian drawl, leading Rieve through the ship. The Dining Hall, now a Briefing Room, Conference Room, and Mess Hall all rolled into one, stands as a testament to the rebels' adaptability. Once a space of luxury and leisure, it now hums with a different kind of energy, one born of necessity and resilience.
"I'll get us a couple of glasses, either way. You do make quite the entrance... I trust your trip over was uneventful?" By which she meant, of course, his short journey between the ships.
---
"Delightfully uneventful." Rieve replies with a certain ease as he follows along. "Anywhere with a comfortable chair is good with me oui?" That grin softens and widens for an instant as he pulls the bottle of brandy on out from that pack, a bottle that has swirled within the vacuum of space for a few moments, almost touched by the very void! "Travelled from Tion to Y'toub, and then to here, a small journey all things considered and comfortable... nothing too arduous, though I do bring you a slightly non-lethal gift also. A token. Not exactly rare, but sometimes hard to find."
The pack is patted once again, though Rieve does little to fish that package out for the moment, his hands dealing with the delicacy of Coruscant sourced brandy, and what a delicate package that is indeed. "And what of you? I trust your journey was as boring as mine, uneventful, and merely burdened by the occasional need to depart the controls for a fresh cup of caff, though mine is hardly the greatest quality, but it does keep me awake."
One foot step after the other, swift and measured, following Calia where ever the journey ends. "You've a fine compliment here cheri, they have an inspiration about them, a look of the... uh... how you say? Well lead? I am thinking the word, but you know what I mean." A gesture follows, swift and distinctly Hapan, almost furious at the word not becoming apparent, and yet there's amusement too. "A good crew."
---
Calia's hand raises to the bridge of her nose, rubbing gently between her eyes as her smile tugs a little more broadly. "Oh, frak, the Caluula sector," she muses, though she waves it off dismissively. "I used to owe a guy credits out there. I wonder if he still remembers me."
It's dismissed, though, as Rieve speaks of his own journey, a knowing smile plays across Calia's lips. "You're showing me up here, Rieve. I'm not great at the whole.. present exchange thing. The only thing I've got for you is the pleasure of my company.. which ain't much. I'm sure we could rehydrate some rations for you.. the bantha beef stew isn't too bad if you don't stare at it." Her eyes crinkle at their corners with amusement.
She leads Rieve through the ship's corridors, her strides confident and familiar in this place she calls home. "As for the crew," Calia continues, her voice tinged with pride, "they're more than just good. They're basically family. Most of us have been around for years, at this point... watching it all grow, all working together to try not to die." She speaks with the fondness of a captain who knows and values her crew deeply. "I don't know about well led, though. Somewhere along the lines, I heard somebody say that those that don't /want/ to lead make the best leaders. If that's so, I must be frakkin' amazing at it."
Eyes glinting with playful mischief as they cut over to Rieve again, just for a moment, Calia gestures towards the Dining Hall doors, which are keyed open by a droid waiting faithfully by the panel.
"Greeting, Captains," it greets warmly. "May I get you anything?"
Inside, there's a massive window that looks out into space. Half the room is mess hall style seating, big tables and chairs. The other half is dominated by a large holoprojector for briefings with chairs surrounding it all the way around. There are a few more comfortable spots closer to the window, though.
"No thanks, Tee-Nine. I'm just going to grab a couple of glasses." And then Calia gestures towards a pair of the latter chairs, set aside from the general hustle of the ship. "If you want to grab a seat, make yourself comfortable," she says, indicating the chairs. "I'll be right over."
She's already on her way to a little makeshift bar in the corner -- complete with bartender droid! It's not stocked well, and certainly not with anything that looks expensive, but it seems to keep the crew happy enough.
---
Rieve grins and looks to Calia as she leads him through the vessel to the dining room, where upon he's greeted by Tee-Nine. "I think we've all ended up where we need to be, one way or another oui?..." There's a beat, a pause, a smile, and a gentle tilt of the head to the welcoming droid. "Thank you, truly." Advancing towards a cosy spot, his own quest fulfilled with the bottle of brandy, he moves to set his helm down and settle upon the gestured to spot. A breath of relief and a lazy little stretch, like some contented loth cat basking beneath the rays of the sun. The bottle soon follows, set down before him, and the aforementioned box is drawn from his slung bag and set beside the brandy.
"Family, oui. Lost one, gained another... a much larger family at that. Which is of course why I am here." Rieve leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees as he hunches slightly. "My cell has dwindled, war is tiring amongst other things... the resources we 'ave are better put to use elsewhere, other how... the base of operations we have is simply unwieldy and too expensive to run... it guzzles fuel like a Hutt guzzles foul liquor, and even then I do think the 'Utt is leaking like a sieve." His lips quirk into a smile, showing off that gap-toothed charm as he lifts his gaze to Calia.
Another beat, the gentlest of pauses, and Rieve's grin widens. "What would you say to joining forces, combining our efforts... our focus was on Chandrila, but the Rebellion focuses on Iridonia and Sarkhai... we're spread thin, and sure efforts might well be needed elsewhere, but I think we can all see how important Iridonia and Sarkhai are. There's a spark. Oh such a bright spark."
---
Calia returns a moment later with those empty glasses in one hand and a little container of ice cubes with tongs sticking out in the other, setting them both down on the table for Rieve before she settles in to her own seat.
She listens, relaxed in her seat but certainly not inattentive -- anything but. There's a sharpness to her eyes that goes beyond those twenty-five-or-so years. A maturity and number of experiences that don't match the race. Something Rieve himself would be familiar with from looking in the mirror.
"I'd tell you not to give me any of that fate mumbo-jumbo," Calia muses, smiling a bit, "but I was on Rishi yesterday and saw my first /actual/ Jedi. Lightsaber and all. The guy a drekkin' blaster bolt /in his hand/. Crazy." Pause. "Still, that's not me, but.. well.. I don't hate where I ended up. It'd be hard to ask to be surrounded by better people."
She nods, though.
"We have a lot of places to focus on... too many places to focus on. Chandrila, Sarkhai, Iridonia, Kashyyyk... and that's barely scratching the surface. Of course, then we play the delicate game of 'Don't get the planet blown up by the Sith laser.'" She smiles grimly. "There's only so much help we can provide until they decide to make yet another example... what we need is a way to defend against that. The galaxy will eventually get tired of living in fear of that, but it won't happen soon enough for most."
Her smile softens a bit, though.
"I'd love to join forces. It's always risky -- more resources in one place makes us a more vulnerable target, but there's only so much we can do fighting smaller battles. The Outriders have been doing it for years.. picking off little convoys here and there. But we're growing. With our resources combined, maybe we can get out there and start making some /real/ changes.. changes that people can actually feel."
---
"Oui... the Chandrilan Partisans have struck a few blows here and there, fifteen years... we've done some good." Rieve grins and leans back, before finally remembering the reason for those glasses, and with a deft tug and twist, the cork is popped and the brandy flows freely into each glass in turn, Calia's first, and then his own. "And oui, the Sith are nothing if not blunt and crude in their response, it was like the Empire, it was all they had. Violence. Threats. And genocide. They just escalate and escalate, and now we're at the point that should they have a hissy fit, a temper-tantrum, they just blow up a planet to teach its peoples a lesson. It is uninspired. Crude. Lacking in morals and even a hint of thought or nuance. They are thugs. Brutes. Little else. Thugs in well tailored uniforms."
Rieve snorts, his nose wrinkling in utter disdain as he speaks of the Sith with such hatred evident, that surge just welling within his heart for a moment until he falls silent and exhales. His glass is lifted and raised to Calia. "They will likely resort to such tactics again. But eventually, it will be the only thing they have. And that will the start of their downfall... every action we take now will lead to it, and aid their fall."
Another breath, and Rieve sits a little taller, a little straighter, his bright blue eyes fixed upon Calia and his smile widening from that moment of face-contorting hatred of a moment ago. "Lets hit them where it hurts. Again. And again. And again. It will be my honour to stand beside you, truly, and I know Tali will likewise relish the fight ahead." The very word tinged with that warm lilting accent of his, his glass hovering within his grasp, awaiting that necessary clink before even a sip is taken.
---
There's a lot to be said for camaraderie in these environments -- hiding out in the void, sharing a drink, commiserating over battles fought, won, and lost as well as the fight yet to come. Like every rebellion past, the odds were statistically impossible. Every protocol droid in a billion parsecs knew that and would be happy to share that information without even a necessary query. This whole thing was suicide. All of it. If not today, then tomorrow or the next day.
But like every rebellion before them, they had hope. All of them. They had justice in the hearts. They were fighting for /good/, and that meant something. Even if it didn't mean anything to the weirdly mystical forces in the galaxy, it meant something to those doing the fighting, and it kept them fighting... over and over and over again.
Calia leans forward as she listens, taking that drink as she slides one leg smoothly across the other, watching and listening to Rieve with little nods of understanding and small smiles of both sympathy and encouragement. They may have come from different worlds, but they were fighting the same fight. They were here together. No matter their history, their paths had converged.
"Well said," she muses, her smile large enough to touch her eyes. "We'll hit them. And we'll keep hitting them. /Together/. Let's remind them how strong a rebellion can really be when it's fueled by a galaxy full of suffering. Let's take these bastards down."
And then there's the clink of glass as she reaches out to touch them together, smiling a final time before she brings it back to her lips for a healthy swallow, her eyes closing as she does.
---
