Log:Resistance: A List
A List
OOC Date: December 10, 2019
Location: Rori
Participants: Sar Yavok, Ambrosia Greystorm, The Resistance
Briefing Room - Rori Command Tower - Beacon Outpost, Rori
A large hexagonal chamber, dark until motion activated lights activate audibly upon entry, with perhaps fifty chairs arranged facing a hologram projector at the center of the room.
Beyond a control console built into the base of the projector, there are only a scattered few control panels to govern the otherwise bare area's scant lighting. The smells of stale air and dust indicate that this room is not often used to capacity, which may also explain the crates stacked against the wall near the turbolift entrances, as the briefing room has become overflow storage for the rest of the command tower. -===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-===-=
[Sar Yavok]
The Briefing Room! Beep beep boop. Holo's everywhere. You've seen the movies.
The doors of the turbolift open and Lt. Colonel Sar Yavok steps through them. The man's a rare sight these days, truth be told, having been assigned to various different black ops and information gathering details over the spanse of the Galaxy. But he's here today, so something important must have happened to drag him away from...such...lavish living.
"Has anyone seen the General?" he asks of a duo of intelligence officers. "Or...any General?" he continues.
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
One of the officers looks up from the tinkering they're doing to the lousy little holo terminal - the sole centerpiece of this dusty room. (honestly, nah, it's probably not dusty anymore)
"The Brigadier General was spotted in the brig earlier today. Briefly. Prior to that, she was checking on a data transfer of the Koressa Ayn footage." Which is so unhelpful as to where she is /now/. Sorry. *Tinker*Tinker*
[Sar Yavok]
"I don't know what a Koressa Ayn is, but I believe you," Sar admits, sucking his teeth and resting his hands on his hips. The Colonel grunts and looks around for a moment before he moves over to the holo terminal to give the thing a small, gentle kick with the tip of his boot. Anything to pass the time, really.
The outline of his pack of cigarillos is briefly thumbed at through his jacket, but he remembers how mad everybody got the last time he lit up in the briefing room, so he grunts and drops his hand away from the temptation.
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
The second intel nerd sighs as the terminal's console shudders under the rap of Sar's boot and his pliars loses its grip on that wire he'd /almost/ lined up with the other through the impossibly narrow splicing band that this second-rate kit affords them to use. A pair of brown eyes - oggly huge behind the set of magnifying work lenses - peer out and up at the culprit.
"Is there something you need? Would it help if we comm'd her?" <Waywards> Strand Korsen says, "Little Esmerelda is settling into her new winter cabana. She braceleted my arm a few times and then burrowed into the coconut shavings."
[Sar Yavok]
"No, I don't need anything," Sar begins, looking over at the officer. "I'm just a member of the brass asking for another member of the brass. Was gonna ask her to hang out and make daisy chains," the Colonel grumbles pointedly.
"Whaddyou think?" he adds, frowning at the aforementioned 'nerd'.
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
Well, when ya put it that way...
Nerd number 2 disappears while the more helpful nerd number 1 picks up where nerd 2 left out and halfway vanishes inside the console. "Idiot," can be heard, muffled within.
And then.....they wait. A buzzing voice calls over the common comm channel for general Greystorm to report to the Briefing room. It receives no response. At least, not right away. A second attempt is made a couple minutes later and a rapid and VERY grouchy sounding grunt answers back. So. Maybe that was a 'yes'.
[Sar Yavok]
Sliding a small data chip out of his pocket, Sar looks the thing over. It's a sort of reassurance, it would seem, as the man begins fidgeting less while he's looking at it. Helpful when you're waiting for a busy woman like General Greystorm to wrap up whatever she's doing.
"Just as well-oiled as ever," Sar says to nobody in particular as he turns to lean back against the holo terminal, intent on interrupting every bit of maintenance work that he can today. The data chip is studied for a moment or two longer, but it's eventually tucked back into his breast pocket, and his meaty arms are folded over his chest.
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
"Don't I know it," grunts the Intel officer-turned tech. G'damn downsizing.
One of the /few/ points Ambrosia Greystorm has in the 'good wife' corner is that she's a lightening-fast shower taker. Which is how she gets from grouching at her commlink from under a head of suds to appearing in the command tower's briefing room doorway in....8 minutes.
It's a long walk, okay?
"Look who's back from the brink," she announces to no one but /the man/ and the pair of legs visible from underneath the holo console. Her hands continue to braid back wet hair. Namely, the last six inches of its substantial length. Not her usual updo, but this is what you get with a spontaneous summons. "I trust you've met our houseguest in the brig?"
[Sar Yavok]
"General," Sar says, standing up straight as Amber enters the room. There's a fondness in his addressing of the woman that's reserved for maybe three people in the entire Galaxy.
"I have," the Colonel admits. "Too polite. Pisses me off," he adds, his left hand coming to rest atop his holster as he assumes 'at ease' for himself.
"But that's beside the point. I've been in touch with Maz Kanata, and I've got some important information to share with you."
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
"He is a particular sort," Greystorm mumbles, flipping her braid back over shoulder and coming to stand on the /other/ side of holo fixer guy. Her chin almost disappear into neck as she peers at whatever progress has been made. "But I rather like him." She would. "He's been of some help already, though I'm sure not for noble reasons." Ambrosia squats down alongside the console tinkerer and asks
"We gonna be able to use this thing yet?"
"Almost....have...it." *ZAP*
[Sar Yavok]
"I'll leave the liking him to you, Amber. General," Sar corrects, trying not to seem overly familiar with his commanding officer.
Having watched the fumbling nerds for an overlong amount of time, Sar's simmering annoyance finally boils over and he snaps the arc wrench from the man's hands and kneels down next to the terminal. With a steady hand, a few quick solders are done and the dislodged panel is replaced. Sar slaps the button atop the terminal and it flickers to life. "There," he grunts, deactivating the arch wrench and tossing it back to the incompetent intelligence officer.
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
"..." Those eyes say so much but the mouth so little, because hierarchy. "Thank you. Colonel." A glance goes to Ambrosia as he dusts to his feet and collects the few tools spread around. "It'll be a pleasure to resume what it is I do /best/." Which is analyze data, not replace faulty wiring. This is what happens, when your personnel gets purged every year by some hard-hitting, base-flushing smack from enemy forces.
"I believe you've found a new calling," Greystorm dryly quips from her vantage point of Sar at work for those seven seconds he was down there. "But, you were saying? A visit to Maz, was it? Is she still inhabiting that rubble?"
[Sar Yavok]
"Somethin' like that," is Sar's answer to the woman with a smirk, as he produces the data chip he'd been looking over earlier. He slips it into an open slot on the terminal and taps in a few commands.
"She's not, no. At least, that's not where I ran into her. Tracked her down on Ikkrukk. She was doing some sort of...Maz business, I guess. Pirating? Who knows? Anyway, she passed word to me that the First Order's been doing some housekeeping. Says they've got a list of names. Former rebels, dissenters, hell...people that take the Supreme Leader's name in vain," he explains, the holo pulling up a scrolling list of names, occupations...and supposed crimes. Unfortunately, the names are encrypted.
"This," he points to the encrypted list, "Is a beak-whetter that was handed out to advertise some sort of black market intelligence auction. The main lot's supposedly the full list of names that the Order's going off of. General...we get our hands on that list...and we could have a damn Resistance, again."
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
"And if not, at least we've a consolation prize." Ambrosia eyes the encrypted scoll thoughtfully with one hand hung up, hooked o'er the base of her neck. 1.3 minute showers do NOT adequately soak tired muscles. "Where and when is this auction scheduled to take place?" There's a glint of desire in her eye, the longer she stares at the projected list. Lips curled up the one side still pliable as nature intended, whilst the other corner merely twitch-crooks its sentiment to the best of its nerve-damaged ability.
[Sar Yavok]
"Coronet City, in about one standard week's time," Sar explains, looking over to the woman, bathed in the deep blue of the holoprojector. "I don't know what the running rate is on First Order hit-lists is, but...I'm pretty sure we can't afford it. I think our best bet is to send a team in undercover and see if they can't secure the list through other means," the Colonel advises.
The list itself, while encrypted is not entirely so; the initials of the names are quite legible. As previously stated, it's a tease. So there's just enough information to make people who might be scared about the well-being of their family members shell out hard-earned money for peace of mind.
The most damning piece of the list is the section at the very bottom; the bit that lists the names of those New Republic loyalists that have already been apprehended. Or worse.
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
Ambrosia nods slowly, hand sliding around to rub at her jaw instead. "We've still got a few contacts there in the Rangers and Essie Lyle's crew. Maybe they can scout out some of those 'means'. Price pending, I've a decent sum stored away in my own coffers. Dunno what else I'd spend it on. Food and lodging's covered, all children are grown...why not fuel our war machine?" As she's already done a time or three before.
