Log:Resistance: Recruiting David
Resistance: Recruiting David
OOC Date: December 29, 2017
Location: Nar Shaddaa
Participants: David Ironside, Hazar Jast, Ambrosia Greystorm
Sometimes, you gotta mix it up a little. Rather than arrange a meetup with eager Ironside in her typical dump of an alley behind Mazzo's Beauty Barn (it's a whorehouse), LC Greystorm has opted to class it up a bit by taking this talk to the Corellian District and....the Golden Orb. It's a high-end joint. Fancy dress, big wallets, big flavor, quiet voices. It's everything she's not.
As such, Ambrosia's had the foresight to request a private dining room - seats about eight - in the rear of the place under the name of her alter ego used on this year's diplomacy infiltrations. Madame Tyruni, some aristocratic Dowager from the Core. Here on 'business' (drugs). To fit the part, she's dressed to the nines and is on her second glass of wine, waiting at the head of their private table. "My courier should be arriving shortly," she'd informed the wait staff.
This place is fancy enough that poor Hazar feels really out of place. But if he's going to do a job he's going to try his best to do it well. Wearing the same clothes he usually does will probably let him slide by as courier, thankfully. When he arrives at the Orb he explains himself to the first person to approach him, "Courier for Madame Tyruni." As he gets inside and is shown where to go he follows the directions very carefully, afraid of screwing up his objective of getting to his boss.
As he finally reaches the private dining room he scans it for threats and gives Greystorm a nod. Once he's done that he moves to stand by in the corner, trying to act as professional as can be. "This can't be it, this is too fancy.." That's David Ironside's first thought to himself as he wanders into the Golden Orb. After all, didn't the Rebel Alliance use back alleys and remote planets for their operations? Something must be wrong. Something isn't right. Absentmindedly, David ignores the maitre d' who's been asking him his business repeatedly. The young pilot is definitely not dressed for this place, and it shows on every face that looks in his direction. "I'm here to see.. uh.." David checks his datapad when he snaps out of it. "Madame Tyruni?"
"...Ah." The Maitre'd finishes giving David a third once-over and with a pinched expression that is less smile and more 'what stinks', gestures for the riff-raff to follow him on back. Whatever sort of business the old Heiress is in, he cannot fathom its legitimacy. But her credit account checked-out and that's aaaaall that matters. "You must be one of the mechanics repairing her ship. Nasty thing, mynocks."
All that's nasty though, is the grin twisted upon Ambrosia's face as her 'courier' gets herself settled in their backroom. "Care for a glass?" she motions to make a small pour with one hand while gesturing to a snifter of brandy with the other. "Or a sip?" Or a snack. There's an array of sweet meats and treats piled up in the table's center. Hasn't touched them herself, though. "So tell me again how you met Mr Ironside?" Idle chat, as they wait.
Once the Maitre'd has left the room it's time for Hazar to start speaking, "We met the other day while I was doing some shopping, ma'am. I helped a guy put out a small fire while he watched and then we struck up a conversation." Tucking his thumbs behind his belt loop and shifting his weight to one foot, the young human continues speaking, "Just a sort of chance thing, really." He licks his lips very slightly and goes on, "We just struck up a conversation after that and next thing you know..." He trails off and gestures about the room.
Making his way through the public area of the Golden Orb, David bites his tongue. "Mynocks.." he mutters to himself. As he approaches the private section, David is once again stopped. This time, he just holds out his datapad, showing the name "Madame Tyruni - Golden Orb" He would have never imagined it would be harder to get to the meeting than to the location of said meeting, and it's wearing on his patience. Finally, the security officer lets him through. Without so much as a thank you, David finally enters the meeting room.
“Gotcha,” Memory refreshed, the ‘Madame’ takes a light sip from her own glass and side-eyes the young man being escorted up to their door through the wisp of curtains. “This our boy?” Apparently so. She flashes the security detail a most gracious smile with “Why thank you muchly. I hadn’t anticipated arrival of the ‘help’ being so soon. We’ll take it from here.” And one hand motions for David to take a seat while she waits for the muscle to return to the main floor and restore their privacy.
Once the door is shut, her smile collapses into cold neutrality while she observes the newest entry. “Ironside.” It’s a statement more so than greeting. “You tough stock? Must be, if you fancy a dance with the FO. What’s the story?”
Eventually, Hazar does pour himself a tiny drink of something from the table and snag a bite to eat, washing the food down with the drink and making an 'mmm' sound at the goodness, "Thanks for letting me try this stuff, ma'am." As the man in question approaches them Hazar nods, "Yes ma'am, this is him."
Before even introducing himself, David walks over to the drinks and pours himself a shot of something he assumes is strong. It doesn't matter really. He downs it, then puts the glass away and faces Hazar and the unknown woman. "Hazar, I didn't know this was your favored crowd," he jokes in greeting, "Is security always tighter here than it is anywhere else? It's because I forgot to shave this week, isn't it?"
One blond'n'silver brow arcs upward as her question goes unanswered, request ignored. Leaning back in her seat, Ambrosia steeples her palms together and waits for niceties to wrap up between the two while she continues to stare. "A man of expensive taste..." her eyes flit to the now empty glass leaving his hand. "You're welcome."
"I'm secretly very fancy," Hazar replies to David with a little smile. "Security here looks pretty good, at least." But then he goes quiet and looks towards Ambrosia, nodding his head in the woman's direction. "This is the person to talk to, though. I'm just a grunt," he explains with a grin and a shrug.
David Ironside takes a seat across the table from the woman, introducing himself as David Ironside. Answering her first question, he adds "I used to be on the Naboo Senator's security detail. Both on the ground and in the air." He clears his throat. "But of course, the Senate won't recognize the First Order as a threat, and I can't protect someone amongst a team that won't recognize there are entities to protect anyone from. So, I left and came here." His face mirrors his past frustration as he recounts his decision to leave a decently paying job to follow what he believes to be the right path.
"Naboo..." Greystorm muses and spares a glance down at her own attire. "Wasn't too many months ago I had a little business there. Pretty city, Theed. Fancy folk. Guess the right word is 'cultured'." She smirks around another tiny sip. "Well, Ironside, we DO recognize this building threat and we can always use additional bodies to fight the fight. You think you got it in you to stand against the /real/ monster in the dark? Not some disgruntled citizen looking to swing local politics."
As his boss does her talking Hazar stands nearby and watches the conversation go down, studying both sides very carefully. This is a learning opportunity, after all is said and done. His body weight switches from one foot to the other as he listens, deeply focused on the two people talking.
David frowns. "I left it all behind. Naboo, my friends, my belongings. I took a shuttle here, figured my best bet would be to look for the Resistance on a planet one can easily disappear into a crowd on." He gives a small smile. "And if this isn't all a trap, I believe my best bet paid off. There is no 'local' for me anymore. At least as far as anyone can tell. Naboo will always be home."
"You got decent friends in the military there? Anyone who might turn a blind eye to munitions shipments uh...'relocating'?" Cuz it never hurts to ask. Reaching a bare arm across the tabletop with a forward lean, the lean, mean space-AARP candidate plucks a couple berries off the plate and returns them to mouth.
David Ironside offers a wry smile. "Naboo has a history of being invaded or targeted by these organizations. I'm sure there are more Resistance supporters among the people than there are devout Republicans." He ponders his words for a moment. "I'm not even sure anyone noticed me being gone, there. They'd understand. Might even be room for a Resistance cell among the Gungans. Who knows anymore, right?"
Looking around the room briefly, Hazar makes sure nothing untoward is happening before leaning back against the wall behind him and crossing his feet at the ankles in a relaxed pose. "Do you have any special skills beyond piloting, David?" The younger man asks after thinking for some time. He glances towards his boss quickly to make sure he didn't speak out of turn, but then his gaze returns to the man in question.
"The Queen sent a notice for our General to pay a personal visit. Arrangements have yet to be finalized. Holdup seems to be on royalty's end." Which brings a tiny smile to the LC's face, given Leia's own lengthy history of noble standing. "Maybe we'll revisit the idea." Chewing thoughtfully, she squints at a label of some of that booze on display. She can't read it. Toooo small. One hand gestures to Hazar as the man voices his question. "Yeah, how good you operate on the ground, anyhow? Pistol or rifleman? Demolitions? What birds you fly? Decent gunner, or just the driver?"
David Ironside smiles. "I'll pilot just about anything. I'm a decent gunner too. I'm almost fluent in binary, which came in handy flying the Naboo's N-1 starfighters which always carried an astromech on board. Figured it would distract me to read the translation on a display constantly, so I learned." He breathes, not wanting to sound like he's just listing his skills off a prepared statement.
Shifting his weight a little bit, Hazar continues to pay attention to the other two, letting them do the question and answer thing. There's plenty of body language to watch and words to hear to keep him focused.
"Good." Seems enough for her. Reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind ear, Ambrosia takes a deep breath and flicks a glance to Hazar. "So. If you sign up with our lot, you'd best be prepared to stick around. I don't take kindly to turncoats, and I'm faster than I look. We bring you on base, you don't leave without explicit permission from command. You become an asset and right now, son, we can't afford to misplace our resources, including personnel. You won't be following my orders directly, less you're taking part of a groundpounder Op. You'll be Dameron or some other flyboy's problem. This jive with you?"
A small smile is all he has to offer along with a determined, "Yes ma'am."
Pushing up from the wall and straightening himself out, Hazar nods to Ironside and gives him a little smile. "You'll get along with everyone just fine, I bet." He moves closer to the table so that he can snag a little snack to pop into his mouth and chomp down on quietly. "You should see the ships we've got. I just like to look at them and watch them land and take off sometimes."
David Ironside stuffs some easily concealed snacks in his pockets, then stands up to unfold his suit and slips his arms into the sleeves. "Hm." He walks over to the table with the bottles of expensive drinks and pockets one of those as well. And then another. "Alright, I'm set." Not shy when it comes to food, Hazar opens one of the pouches on his belt and stuffs a handful of goodies into it, "Thanks ma'am." Then some more of the food goes into his face. Teenage boys love food after all. "Okay. You want me to lead the way, ma'am? Or have my escort Ironside in?" Standing up straight he closes up his belt pouch and pats himself down to make sure that he's got everything he needs.
"Eh, you can stand next to your bud there and be his shield if the drones don't take my access code override. I mean...they ain't gonna recognize this beautiful face," she points to her lavish makeup job. Can't see the scars or patchwork skin-synthflesh jobs under all that. Can barely see the crows feet! Hah, not really. You can totally see those. "I'll take first hits. Half of me's got replacement parts, anyhow," she grumbles next and shoves open the door with a lavish sweep of shawled arm. Her tone changes abruptly to some haughty, Corusanti mockup.
"Gentlemen, I'll have you remove those terrible boots before you enter /my/ transportation..." and she sashays away, strutting between tables with a practiced air of import.
