Log:Quest of the Violet Knight Part 3
Quest of the Violet Knight Part 3
OOC Date: April 15, 2021 (Optional)
Location: Kijimi Fleet
Participants: Rogue Squadron, Jedi Order, Zandra naMuriel, Yari, Ax, Aryn Cortess, Callax Dalso, Tallissan Lintra, Jax Greystorm
The Starbird Tavern, as it appears to be named, is a sad echo of the hardy and hearty establishment its predecessor was.
Hammered bulkhead, remolded at the corners sits more or less stable over six metal poles of mismatched origins, bolted to the deck plating. Beneath this counter, a crate turned on its side holds various forms of drinkware. Behind the counter, a couple stacked crates support several large jugs that are obviously no longer holding water, but some other offcolor liquid. More miscellaneous gear and gizmos are heaped in a semi-organized pile behind that and to the side, including a hallikset.
A tarpaulin tents up on one end alongside the scrap heap in back and angles down toward the floor, where it's been tied to the deck. A shabbier curtain of sorts blocks most of the view at whatever sleeping arrangement might exist inside.
This is just one of many such creative housing arrangements to be found amid merchant and service stalls.
A tense moment passes them all by while Galen assesses the situation. Takes a beat to recover from the surprise of seeing his daughter standing here as witness to what new lows the good ole Kijimi resolve has sunk them.
At least she'd had the foresight to not bring the baby.
He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, lips pursed in a sturdy, bear trap of a line before holding that breath and casting off a long look to the right...to the left...both hands rising accordingly to direct their line of sight.
"How d'ya fancy what you've seen so far?" It's clearly a rhetorical question. "Haven't even been into the more densely populated holds. Not to worry," his hand signs that last sentence for Yari's benefit. "We won't be going that far in fer what you're looking for."
His left hand stays aloft and strokes at the half-inch of bristly growth coating his jaw. "And y'can disregard the 'Ambassador' nonsense. Round here, the title 'bar keep' s'basically the same thing." A thickly calloused palm slaps the counter a second time, only this time there's a sort of affection harbored in the slap. "Behind our pedestal here, we help keep the peace. We listen to problems, concoct schemes to solve problems, and then when said schemes backfire in our patrons' drunken faces, we tell'em it was all their idea. If things work out, well, it's our wisdom what done it, then." Shrug. Politics, amirite? "Yari tell you she was born in a tavern? Thulpin, of all days." A little nod, jaw jutting to the side. "Had t'close the bar all night. Regulars didn't let us live it down for...well, I s'pect some might still hold a grudge."
A faint crinkle in his crow's feet hints at a tease. "So. What d'ya think?"
Is it a test or a search for an honest answer, or both? What /Yari/ thinks is written plainly upon her face, eyes moistening for the first time as she stares past him to the shabby tent. Is that meant to be the Starbird Inn?
Galen's unwavering stare is managed as neutrally as a man can under these circumstances, for all of six seconds, before he half turns his back and goes reaching under the bar.
Zandra listens to the speech, the young jedi glancing over at Yari. She takes a breath and lets it out, some of the tension leaving her. "I'm glad we were here to help, but I am equally certain those pirates will return," she says softly. "And as for what I think? I think that you all need a new planet, honestly. I think you are an incredibly strong, creative people who deserve a chance to flourish and ply the obvious ingenuity in more productive ways for yourselves." It says a lot, probably through not saying anything specific.
Zandra is earnest here, as she adds a bit more, thoughtfully. "And I think that if you all are willing, we'd like to at least help with your quarantine - if only by making sure that the supplies make it to someone who will put them appropriately in place to fix the air circulation, and provde medicine - well, I think that one might be halfway there. This is, admittedly, not why I was coming here. But now that I am here and can see how strong you are, and how a little bit of supplies might be just the thing, I will make that offer. It seems to me to be a fair payment, truthfully."
~ Ax just follows along, lingering back a bit and keeping an eye on Zan. Truly, there wasn't much for him to do here other than make sure there wasn't anything horrible going to happen.
Then, the horrible happens. Fully sealed flightsuit when the helmet is on means that the rest of the suit is also pretty well protected from not only vacuum, but also fingernails and the Echani was tensing up. One of those acute itches right near the middle of the back, and even if he could reach it, he knows it would do no good because of the suit. With a scrunched up nose and shifting shoulders, he's struggling through this. The things one does for friends... ~
"This flotilla is a floundering carrion being picked apart piece by bloody piece; a corpse whose defense denies local aid because they are too proud to receive it. I have walked these corridors smelling disease and death; it is etched upon the face of your people and yet they all stay defiant for what reason? Forgive me, Zandra, but it must be said. These people are dying, Galen. Is it so hard to trust the Republic?" Aryn finally pulled back her hood to reveal that she had come with the group to treat with the Kijimi folk. As her hood fell, her blonde strands follow, cupping a scarred face with bright blue eyes. Aryn's hands return to the small of her back, clasping there as she stands her ground.
Callax opens their mouth, only to close it when Aryn opens hers. A glance is flicked to the Jedi, lips pursing faintly at the words that come out of it. Their expression flattens out a bit, then, then adds in a gentle, if somewhat pointed tone, "You're doing well with what you have, Galen. But perhaps it might be time to accept a bit of help."
Of all the pilots that had flown for the defense of the flotilla, only a few remain, Tallie among them. She has let the Jedi deal with the man that she understands is Yari's father. What is behind the seeming strife between the two of them is still unclear but it requires an effort on her part not to jump in and take Yari's side.
Aryn's speech regarding the pride of the Kijimi folk overruling a common sense attitude toward aid in their dire situation is rational and sensible. These folk remind her of the one pilot in Rogue who grew up among the FO. This pilot remains suspicious of so much of the world as though the filter of FO indoctrination colors her world.
Tapping a finger to her chin, she edges forward, still keeping her silence until Callax's words, "You won't be beholding to anyone for the help you receive," she adds.
Galen straightens out with some reluctance, holding in his clutch a potbellied, wooden stein - actually a vase - and a smallish metal pitcher. Might've served cream, in a prior life. He leans on hip toward the jugs and thunks one of the vessels atop it. No motion is without substantial thought and purpose, it would seem, as he listens. Listens to it all.
"We've a few potentials in mind," he replies to the girl who piped up first, lips forming a little smirk at her placating affirmations. Ax and all his quiet stoicism is given another once-over while he stands there, before focus goes to the Doctor. The lady doctor, that is, formerly hidden within her robes. His chin angles up a notch, eyes narrowing, and that mirthless smirk grows bigger still. "Look at you, all the way up here." The man's head bobs into an acknowledging nod and for a hot minute, it's not clear how he's going to swallow that honest assessment of their situation.
"Haven't been turnin' away all help," he finally says, looking from Callax to Yari, then back to his trade. "S'why we put the sickest of the bunch in the outlyin ships. Easier to dispose of the dead, sure, but it's also more efficent access for inbound medical aid. Much as it seems t'the contrary, these people aren't suicidal. You wanna treat our sick, they'll comply. They just want their old lives back, t'go back t'what they know. Lot of'em can't do that, settling on Republic soil. Y'think they like bein' cooped up in here?" A tsk and headshake. "Nah. But what's the alternative, hey? How many bodies aboard you think went t'fancy universities and know anythin more'n what they learned on the streets of Kijimi City or out there, runnin gray market deals, mm?" A dip of brow casts a knowing look in their direction. "It's a lose, lose situation. Down there, we lose our independence. Up here, s'those damn raiders. They hit our flanks a time or two, never linger long considering the neighborhood. What's a bigger problem is when our rotation of supply seekers make their runs. Lost a lot o'goods that way. D'know how we've last this long, but here we are."
Galen angles the wooden vase under a jug. "Only so many times a man can drink recycled piss water afore he tires of the taste. This," Galen bonks the stopcock with a fist and pours a healthy amount into the improv drinkware, "is /upcycling/." The filled cup is slid and sloshed toward their side of the counter. "Have an ale. Talking is thirsty work."
Gaunlet thrown. Will anyone pick it up?
Jax had remained quiet for a moment as questions were askes and the situation was assessed. He wasn't dress as a jedi and didn't carry a lightsaber so who knew who he was on the other side. Jax steps up, "Sith Spawn, if that's what it's going to take for us to talk. I'll warn you I'm a lightweight these days." He picks up the cup and takes a pull.
Zandra isn't very big, it's true. She looks at Galen, and arches a brow, and then the young woman reaches for the upcycled ale without another word. "Talking is very definitely thirsty work," she says. She doesn't hesitate, though she does look a bit odd at the smell of it. She manages to drink a solid amount too, before she sets the drinking vase down. "Thank you for the hospitality, Galen. I look forward to returning it one day." Funny thing is, that's not a threat, and Zandra is still cool as a cucumber. Jedi have more than just mind tricks, perhaps. Certainly, this whatever it is doesn't seem to be affecting Zandra too badly. She turns a bright smile Galen's way.
~ Ax was still dealing with that damnable itch, and it was getting worse. His face was making a few gestures and he was slowly inching his way back towards the wall, and to the edge of a door. Once there, he's leaning against it and slowly shifting his shoulders left and right. Everyone else was going for a drink, and normally the Echani would be all over it, but that damned itch!
"UGH!" Ax exclaims, failing to scratch it. Pulling a hinged cylinder with a good many engravings on it from his belt, he flicks his wrist. The cylinder folds out to full length and Ax goes to jabbing it down his back, through the opening at his neck where his helmet attaches. Hopefully, the hinged hilt lightsaber didn't ignite, though it would likely cure the itch if it did. ~
"I daresay our definitions of well are quite the contrary, Commander Dalso. Well insinuates some sense of stability, a system of preventing unneeded death and casualty and providing defense. At this rate, the First Order will send a posthumous gift basket for finishing the job they started." Aryn replies, answering his pointed tone with no sense of subtlety. Kijimi folk appreciated harsh truths, and sweetening words had not worked well the first time between the aristocracy and the hearty folk of ice.
Aryn shifted, turning her chin back to Galen, "Tis true though, what Commander Lintra says. -- Though I understand your position, I feel the Kijimi folk are not given the credit they deserve. Sure, there are few fancy titles or university papers, but no one needed a degree to turn a wrench, to make something from little, and make it work. There is still work to be found, Republic or otherwise. Your people can learn, and this collection of souls proves it. Alderaan is gone. Hosnia is gone. If they can find a way, so too, can these people, and I challenge you to help us find it, sir." Aryn glances to the drink poured, her brow perking slightly. "After a drink, of course. Whatever is customary."
She takes her glass and without hesitation, downs it. The glass lingers a moment, the back of her gloved hand stationed upon her cheek as if she might struggle to swallow, yet. There it goes, and she places the glass back down. "Not a label that I am familiar," She admits, then manages a slight laugh.
"I'm sure you're right," Callax says to Aryn mildly. "After all, my crew is only /half/ Kijimi. I'm sure there are truths for me to learn yet." And then they reach for the glass, knowing the doom that likely comes but not seeking to blanch before it. Callax has had a lot of rotgut in their time - and no shortage of recycled grey water. But the hit of that homebrew starship pruno hits them like a brick. "Oh, Gods of Blood," Callax murmurs after a moment of letting the stuff burn its way down - and then finds a bulkhead to slide down and sit next to as their engineered nerves respond to the drink in their gullet with a synchronized chorus of 'you must be kidding.' They sit there now, head between armored knees, not quite ready to puke it up but eight shades of dizzy for sure.
"Galen," Callax says weakly, "You let any of your people sneak that back on board my ship, I'll be billing you for all the sickbay hours to follow."
Piss and ale are inextricably tied to one another. Ask anyone who has drank a flagon or more with friends. Upcycled urine into ale, gives Tallie pause. Relying on an old saw, she decides that drinking might make relations with the Kijimi stronger if it doesn't kill her. She is wholeheartedly for helping people undermined by the FO.
Following Zandra's and the other's unflinching example, she waits for the flagon to be passed her way. Callax's reaction nearly unnerves her. Watching the old man, she wonders where the Kijimi people would be willing to settle and where a suitable planet would be. When it's her turn, she takes a healthy drink from a glass, then, eyes watering, raises it to the old man, Galen. She has never had worse, but at least her knees don't buckle.
Jax lets out a cough and hits his chest after he sits it down. "That's not something to come out of retirement on. If that gets too rough thankfully I got an astromech to fly." He shakes his head. Lets not tell Amber about this. Aryn Cortess (AC) pages: I don't think Aryn will say anymore on the topic though. This was a conversation a long time coming! Apologies for stepping in.
"Well, poke me a purrgil..."
Galen's brows go mildly aloft while he observes the readiness with which they accept this drinking challenge, questionable source and all. His folded arms unfold to go about filling a couple battered metal cups to supply the apparent demand. He hadn't expected this avid response. Mental notes are made and lastly, he fields Yari her own cup, which she gulps down like it IS water. After a long sniff. Not because she's skeptical of how many health code violations the beverage contains, but because she's genuine interested in what ingredients and grains he'd gotten his hands on to brew.
For the first time since their arrival, a little smile threatens to creep across Yari's cheeks.
"This is currency, my friend," Galen tips Yari's now emptied and returned glass toward the melting Callax. "You should only be so lucky. Men pay what little they can, for a sip o'this. Trading, bartering...honest-got goods became a rarity months ago. Now it's mostly whatever they've stolen from eachother." A loose gesture back to the junk heap and Hallikset laid preciously atop. "Was traded that, just last week. Used t'play for our patrons...maybe I will again. Someday."
Another look goes to Aryn, dark and brooding, but along comes an interruption. His wilted tent-house ripples and flaps like someone's stirring within. A woman emerges, dressed in some creatively mended rags - used t'be a man's shirt - and sidles quietly up to Galen, giving the assembled group of outsiders a wary look. Galen's spine acquires just a bit more rigidity. A subtle aversion of eye contact, dropping of voice, and a "Not now," rumbled to her.
Yari, ever vigilant, narrows her eyes from where she stands and an increasingly perturbed expression begins to flush her features. Accusation burns hot in her glare, which Galen pointedly ignores and motions for someone - anyone - to give him an empty glass. His hands ought be kept busy.
"I know that jabberin little thing what led you here didn't do it just cause you're on crusade to restore our dignity. You're lookin for someone. If I had t'guess, based on the aforementioned need....Babu." Frik? Flik? He can't remember the second part, so sticks with the first. "This the case?" He stares straight ahead, jaw growing tight while the woman just hovers there between bar and tent, looking awkward as all get out. After a beat, she tries to interject herself with a little reach out toward Zandra. "I like your hair."
Jabbering little thing? Must be her, right? Zandra arches a brow, and shrugs a bit. She's been called worse. "Babu Frik, yes," she says. "That's who I'm looking for. The rest of these folk are honestly helping me out." A pause, "And I'm glad they are, because it gave us a chance to chase off pirates. Which I'm still tempted to track them down," she murmurs. Bet she's not the only pilot with that thought. "A long time ago, I started a quest of sorts to have a drink in every bar in the galaxy. One day I might get that finished, but I certainly never expected to have a drink in this particular bar." She flashes a genuine smile Galen's way.
She then glances to the new arrival, but with a glance at Yari taking in the expression on her face. "Thank you," she says to the new arrival, with a small half bow for the compliment. "Believe it or not, it's not dyed." Because she gets that question a lot - it's the only odd thing about her, really, otherwise, she just looks like a boring normal human.
Aryn grows quiet then, watching the exchange, her cheeks a bit more red from the consumption of alcohol. There's little more to be said without hindering their mission and/or stretching the Kijimi patience. Aryn seems content, and remains so to one side, her hands returning to their post at the small of her back.
It takes Callax a moment to catch their breath, but they're back up again, cup in hand. "Aye, I know," Callax tells Galen, putting the cup back on the counter. "But don't go selling it to any of the lads crewing my boat. They'll end up loading torpedoes into the reactor and hyperfuel out the tubes." A wincing smile, and then they take another deep breath. "All the same. What help /will/ you accept? The doctor is earnest, and she's absolutely trustworthy. Why not hear her out?" And then there's a new woman, and Yari is making with dagger eyes, so Callax goes again to stand at the side of her Ranger. Nudges her gently with an armored shoulder.
Tallie's eyes flick from Callax to Yari then back to her father and the newcomer. Galen's suspicion of their motives coincides with what Tallie's friend, the doctor, had told her. Living conditions, untenable for a generation under the FO, had gone from bad to worse after the attack. With little or no help offered to them by the rest of the Galaxy, they had come to expect the worst of outsiders.
Reluctant to add her advice to the others; Tallie plans to talk with Yari and her friend about what might be done privately and publicly to help. For now, Corellia looms large for her and, except for this personal mission, occupies all her time.
Jax watches the interaction between daughter, father, and friend. He shakes his head. Though at the moment he feels its best to keep quiet. Let Zandra and the others handle the diplomacy.
"The doctor and I are well acquainted," Galen answers Callax in short, then fumbles with the belt hanging around his waist. Its loosening allows for him to tug apart the wrapped layer of tunic, exposing a great deal of some salt'n'pepper chest curls and - more of point - a large, too-smooth patch of skin, square in the middle of his chest. It is a scar, flesh and tissues madeover by a great deal of bacta. "She's what kept Yari from makin that flight alone." A long look leveled on Aryn that's one hell of a poker face. "An' more recently we had an appointment t'see bout the girl's ears, but..." A more direct look at Yari, then, who is doing a good job at pretending she doesn't notice. Can't hear you....if she looks away. Which she's doing, because glowering at this woman who might've shacked up with her widowed father is the only way she can voice her distress and not be slapped into some binders, maybe. The tiniest of looks goes to Callax's shoulder bump.
All sorts of piss and vinegar today.
"Anyway." Galen jerks his modesty back together and stuffs things into place. "Biggest need up here is food and medicine. Water. Some spare maintenance bits for repairs..." and of course a planet that'll appease the majority rule. Scouts are on continuous dispatch to nose around neighboring systems and beyond though, so it's a work in progress. But he's not keen to share where!!
The mystery woman meanwhile has realization dawning across her face and like she is impervious or just that oblivious to Yari's death glares, she points at the taller, younger woman. "/This/ is her, ain't it? Oh, what a lovely..." her hands have found a poor choice in target, reaching out to stroke at Yari's face like she's some doll. Yari's initial flinch back can go nowhere, because Callax bod is there, but her left hand comes up to deflect and long fingers encircle 'round the you'll-never-be-my-mother's wrist.
There is no squeezing, no wrenching, just a halting hold and slow, deliberately downward pull to encourage the woman's arm back to self.
"So thing 'bout Ba--" Galen's breath catches in his throat, seeing the sudden coulda-been altercation occur and he flushes red in the neck. "HELDA!" So that's her name. "Will you please, just...this is business." A motion to those present and pleading look in his eye. Helda seems to be adequately offended by Yari's rejection anyway, so she has no problems flashing the lot of them a discourteous gesture and marches off to meld into the rest of the depravity down here.
Galen sighs.
"Babu Frik..." a pause to look up and around as if waiting for another interruption to emerge. "Is not here. Went t'bring him a little slurry from Helda's pot three days ago and he wasn't there. Place was a right mess, though. After some rooting around, I found his surveillance drone. Gave me a face of who might've been the last person TO see him, 'fore they turned it off. Turns out I know the guy. As well a tavern keep might might know a man who frequents his brew. We've got him in a hole at the moment. Can't get the kriffer to talk, but it's only been a couple days. See how thirsty he is by tomorrow."
Zan watches the little altercation quietly, and as Helda takes her leave, Zan doesn't say anything to her. There's really just nothing that can be said at this point. Instead, she turns her gaze to Galen. "The Doc is a very good doctor," she says easily with a glance towards Aryn and a smile. Then back to the topic, and a brow arches. "That sounds ominous," she says softly. Now she frowns a bit, looking slighly worried. "I can't say I'm really good at interrogation, honestly." She's sort of managed to get some information out of someone once, but it wasn't pretty.
Aryn nods to Callax in quiet thanks for his support on the matter, appearing relieved when the Bar Keep made Ambassador retorts; first by speaking of their history, and it had been a long one, then to the components of what they needed to function and survive. Aryn nods her head to acknowledge it, matching Galen's gaze with one of her own: She looks at him, or was it through him? Using the Force, she marshals a subtle influence to hear what may be said behind that ice carved expression. To Yari's predicament, the hearing one, Aryn makes no comment. The war kept them all busy, so it was only a matter of scheduling that needed addressing.
The other matter that Yari faced, this Helda, Aryn observed impassively. Yari was capable of defending herself, and conveying her message clearly. The defiant display and strength of the red head brought a subtle smile to Aryn's lips. Observing strength of this nature was rare, inspiring. To the matter of Babu Frik, Aryn trusted Zandra's judgement since this was her mission, and further input from Aryn was not made as to not muddy the waters any more than they were already.
"Oh!" Callax's eyes brighten faintly at the idea of prisoners. "Well I'm sure that...the Jedi can convince him." Yes. The Jedi. That's /just/ what they were going to say before totally remembering that bloodthirsty meltdown they had in the space around this place. Instead they smile, nodding along, and gives Yari another gentle bump. Solidarity meant here, after all, not reprisal. Gives her sort of an 'I know, right?' kind of look from the corner of their eye.
A discreet beep takes Tallie's attention away from the family drama between Helda and Yari. She raises her eyebrows, flashing Callax a faint smile as she fishes out the datapad from a pouch on her belt. The ale is left on the bar as she pulls off to a corner to read the message.
Aware that another obstacle has reared its head in Zandra's search to make the recovered droid operational; Tallie loses the train of events as she concentrates on the datapad. She will have to ask Zandra. Slipping the datapad back into place at her belt, she goes to Callax's side, raising her voice to include Yari.
"Where did your little friend go? She was here one minute and then gone. I need to find my ship and get back to Chandrila. There are developments on Corellia."
"Zandra if you like, I am willing to talk to the man in the hold." Jax then looks to Galen, "If I can get him to talk, Will that allow him have some water before tomorrow?" The Corellian says and looking back to Callax at the mention of jedi. Then shrugs, "If I can get him to talk."
Tallie can raise her voice all she wants, but it's all empty air between Yari's ears! She DOES note the sudden /there/ness though and turns her head accordingly to eavesdrop with a stare at Tallissan's mouth as the two converse.
Galen grunts about "Brunar. If he talks, sure, give'em as a big a gulp as he wants. Hell, y'can even take him with you. S'got no family here. Lives alone." In other words, there's no one to miss him.
"C'mon." Galen takes any of the discarded cup and dumps them unceremoniously into a big bowl on the floor. "Y'wanna question the guy? Be my guest." He takes a moment to collect a few things from inside his tent, tuck into his clothing for protection, then just walks away from his open-air hovel. "Hope ya don't mind cramped spaces..." words of warning to beckon them along. If they so dare.
Zandra nods to Jax, smiling his way. "I'll come with you, if you want," she says. "I feel I should be involved, since I started all this. I hope that Babu is okay though. From what I've heard, I'm not so sure he's too well able to defend himself?" She takes a breath, and shrugs. "Thank you for the assist, Galen."
"I should like to see your most ill. If I might diagnose what afflicts them, I can order a treatment, maybe even an airborne one to go out through your vents." Aryn says, glancing up briefly. She pulls out a datapad to make true to her word, and steps away, pausing only to draw her hood back up.
"Galen." Callax clears their throat, smiling faintly. "I'm going to go back - the Rangers may have found some of those pilots, and we'll see to see to them." Whatever /that/ means. A nod to them all. "I'll see about having /Relentless/ stick around and look after you all, assuming the Alderaanians don't mind. Their space, after all." A nod to Aryn, and then Tallie, after giving Yari's shoulder a squeeze. "C'mon, Commander. Tell me what's up as we walk?"
After catching Galen's eye and dipping her head in farewell, Tallie calls out to Zandra and Jax, "I'll see you on Chandrila side. I hope you find out where he is!" The young pilot turns to Yari, making sure she can read her lips after her earlier gaff with the girl. "I hope I see you on Chandrila. We'll be in touch. Good bye."
Catching up with Callax, "You know the way? All power to you. It is getting hotter on Corellia..." Their voices fade as they leave the room.
"I can't ride two in my X-wing. So I guess he'll be staying here. Unless you can have Callax take him off your hands." Jax says as he starts to follow Galen. He looks around for a moment, "Makes sense with space being at a premium."
Yari lifts her hand in farewell, then...er...wait.
Is she meant to stay? Go? Where in the hell does she belong? There's words about Relentless being said and her baby's still aboard that ship. An anxious look gets thrown in the direction of Galen's turned back as after the man offers Callax a curt nod g'day.
Time stretches slowly for the gal in this moment, watching the distance between the two parties grow...
With a downward ducking of her head and reconfiguration of fuzzy hood, she treks some long bootstride after Callax and his pilot friend.
"I'll arrange for you and that other doctor of yours, wherever he went, to get a docking permit for the quarantine vessel. Just give us...a moment." Galen is a man on a mission. He moves with determined ease through the masses, leading the interrogation party through a snaking trail of fading tread tape, rubbish, and a couple cut-throughs of some 'hospitality' tents. The newcomers are met with mostly apathetic glances - seeing as how they are /with/ a local - but every now and again they pick up a tail for a little ways. Galen ends up leading them through a narrow pass - blast doors still functional - into an adjacent cargo hold/miniature city of this bulky. Down a clattering jaunt of metal grate steps, to a cargo lift.
The lift is designed to load/offload with other ships in a vacuum, and so in contained within an airlock system, underfoot. It's the edge of this large, rectangular hatch that Galen stops.
The hatch in the deck floor is wide open, granting an unobstructed view of the lump of a Devaronian slumped against the lift's softly illuminated walls. Some four meters down. The backlit panels appear to be fairly smooth, so flight risk is minimal, unless he'd fancied a punch through the exterior airlock door serving as his floor, but likely someone had jammed those controls. Just in case.
A couple people give Galen a little upnod as the group approaches, then fixes silent stares on the others.
"He talkin yet?" Galen inquires, looking down on their man.
"Nothin of import," one of them replies with a shrug.
"Well. Brunar! I've brought some friends for you. Figured you need a little company."
