Log:Resistance: The Domino Effect (arresting Arcantael pt 1)
The Domino Effect (arresting Arcantael pt 1)
OOC Date: September 10, 2019 (Optional)
Location: Rori
Participants: Dyannah Nerus, Ambrosia Greystorm, The Resistance
Briefing Room - 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.
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
Some attempt has been made to restack the stacks of crates into a far corner where they might eat space a little less obtrusively. The scent of disinfectant mingled with some essential-something has replaced the musty aroma of dust. This briefing room - as simplified and aesthetically unappealing as it may presently be compared to the large, fancy conference room aboard the late Gial Ackbar - is a touch more presentable and seemingly broken-in than it was when this base was first slapped together (and room desc made).
Can't totally shake the dust from the space though, because Greystorm's sitting in here, parked in one chair with her boots kicked up onto another. Both hands are preoccupied with her datapad, chin dipped into chest. Either she's reading or ....sleeping?
Her left hand breaks rank to retrieve a lukewarm cup of caf from a third seat, positioned beside her rear's chair. So not sleeping. Reading, it is.
[Dyannah Nerus]
Footsteps, the soft tap of boots hollow on the industrial runner leading from the state-of-the-art turbolift to a very non-state-of-the-art briefing room, can be heard. Dust motes dance in the light from the window that spotlights the General in a very non-military position from where Dyannah stands in the doorway. Dyannah's not in uniform, never will be, but affects her own working uniform of unrelieved black from steel-tipped boots to ample nerf jacket that comfortably covers her blaster holster. Her pink skin has a sheen in the gloom, her blue hair catches the light when she enters after a brief knock, "General? It's Dyannah Nerus."
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
"Ah," Silver wisps, intermingled with gold, sparkle in that gentle backlighting when she lifts her head from the 'pad to glance aside at Dyannah, then her chronometer. "That time already? Very good." Something creaks - was it the chair or her knee? - as she lifts one heel at a time from their rest and uses the toe of one foot to hook the chairleg and reposition it with a precise little whip-around. The mug of caf remains in hand, the datapad returns to belt. "Come, sit." She motions vaguely to one of the many chairs available. "Thirsty?" A perma-stern brow, slightly slumped lower than its mate, arcs upward in a stiff, almost-there arch.
[Dyannah Nerus]
"I'd take caf brewed in the last day or so General, thank you," Dyannah replies and occupies herself at the caf station to return with a cup and take the seat the General kicked out for her. The zeltron studies the woman across from her over the top of cup she sips at, the classical beauty of her face deceptively smooth. One side of her mouth tugs in recognition of the General, Dyannah has done her research and knows who she is seated across from.
"Let me say that I hope I find you well, General and thank you for seeing me so quickly," she nods acknowledging the privilege.
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
"I'm always eager for a glimpse of the outside, Nerus," Ambrosia musters a throaty chuckle. "Even if through another's eyes. So tell me, whta have your eyes seen? Or perhaps your ears have heard?" A finger uplifts to tap at one of her own ears. "I've been hearing through devices not my own for thirty-plus years. Hasn't grown old, yet. Unlike me." And on that note, she makes a little adjustment to something behind that earlobe.
[Dyannah Nerus]
"One hears what the FO wishes us to hear, General." Again, the Zeltron almost smiles but is not one to smile easily. "Wild rumors of our losses, greatly exaggerated, the tale of the Gial Ackbar is already a dirge sung among the daring who pay lip service to the rebellion. What I am bringing to you today frankly puzzles me because of its source and because of its sensitive nature." She reaches into her jacket and removes a datapad, presses it twice and hands it to the General. A message in standard form is on the screen:
Oran's got family on coruscant, estranged sister, parents, he was isolated from his family due to his tendency to let his wang make decisions for him. He is a feverent and true believer in the Order's cause but a man of vice. He frequently visits and is visited by professional men and women-all humans he refuses to screw anyone not human but beyond that his appetites in drugs and partners of all shapes and sizes is prolific. He lives at Parmac Towers on 175th floor apartment 4P. His access code is 2243 He flies a U-wing named Junta. The code to Junta is tycho . He doesn't have a holonet address set up on his datapad codewise and I control ALL of his digital stuff. Message me at peaches@holonet.net and I will pass along anything that's missing.
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
The general bends slightly at the waist, reaching to accept the datapad in thoughtful silence. The next few minutes pass quietly for her. Her glorious greens twitch to and fro in their sockets as she scrolls the text, word for word, absorbing what she can, then re-reading what fails to process and latch-on the first go-round. Something so elementary becomes a task worthy of considerable concentration, post brain injury.s. Her lips mouth now and again, tracking her progress. 'wang' for instance, is read on repeat a couple times (presumably with the rest of the sentence's material), and the furrow between her brows deepens. Briefly. "Peaches."
Dyannah gets a bit of a dubious look, mouth posed ajar but without sound for another few moments while she considers, then reconsiders her words. "Who gave you this information? Who's the fruit?" The datapad lowers slowly into lap, countering the cup's rise to her lips. *Sip* Her right hand pulls her own datapad free and lines it up alongside the curious info presented on the other. Looks like a data transfer is 'bout to occur.
[Dyannah Nerus]
"Sometimes words are better than pictures. I thought you wouldn't believe me if I just told you. Not because you would doubt my veracity but..." After a disparaging shake of her head at the datapad she shared, Dyannah looks away, gathering her thoughts.
Blue eyebrows contract as she comes to a decision with an abrupt nod, "The contact goes by the name of Domino. She is...truthful. I read her." Three slender pink fingers touch the side of her temple. "Even reading her I don't understand her motives. She says that they must be stopped. More concretely, she is most often found on Nar Shaddaa and is very close to the subject. I debated whether I would bring this to you, fearing a trap."
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
Can a Zeltron read if a shower of caf is about to spray their way? Because this is a close call, just now.
Somehow, Ambrosia swallows and, to avoid future spittakes, sets the cup aside. "...Domino?" Her breath sucks in through teeth thinly, followed by a little cough and clearing of throat. "Pink clown with an affinity for children's treats?" A lengthy, pained eyeroll punctuates her question and she gives her own, disparaging headshake.
"Met her once. Family dinner. Can't say I approve of most things my nephew does, but that had to be among the worst." Pause. "Top five, anyway." The intel in her lap gets a scrutinizing squint from a new perspective. "So what I gather, surface-deep, is lolli-dolly has a new sugar daddy. We could use this."
[Dyannah Nerus]
Dyannah can't help herself. The smooth exterior cracks and the Zeltron frankly grins. And, yes, a Zeltron can feel a spittake coming. "Family dinner, do you say? I'm pink, she might pretend to being pink but hardly." Fingers wave that away dismissively.
"Yes, Oran's squeeze and apparently pimp as well from what she said. She..." The grin fades away on a tide of perplexity, "I told her that this could be the end of him. She was squeamish about it. 'Don't tell me the details, don't tell me the details but stop him. Stop the craziness, stop them."
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
"Well, that's the general gist of the General's intention, having severed herself from Republic politics to form up this militaristic band of brethren..."
The lesser general shrugs a shoulder with false airs of nonchalance. Her fingers work expertly to perform a task they've performed many a time before, including the unnatural jerk of her left middle finger downward and protrusion of a slim, hidden compartment from the adjoining metacarpal. Go-go, gadget hand. Out tugs a tiny cable and thusly the two pads are linked.
"Acting on this will be risky, but on this one thing, I'm keen to agree with the girl. They must be stopped." While the memo transfers, she lifts her gaze to meet Dyannah's violet one. "Thank you for bringing this home."
[Dyannah Nerus]
"She apparently talked to Rey, as well, General. Isn't this just redundant?" The finger being uncapped is curious but nothing more. The Zeltron woman knows the sacrifices that the General has made to the cause. There is an air of restless dissatisfaction that she lets Amber see, a shift of shoulders, a finger tapping to some unvoiced thought.
"I don't trust her and yet...this must be explored. There is more you know. You've been informed of at least one of their agents if not more wanting to leave the FO, correct?"
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
"We've already assimilated a few of their agents, in months and years passed. You're telling me there's more?" Greystorm quirks a brow that suggests no, she hasn't been informed. "This redundancy," she wags Dy's datapad before handing it back, transfer complete. "Serves as confirmation, if nothing else. We like to corroborate what our sources feed us. Makes it easier to expose a lie." The cable gets fed back into its hidey port and left hand returns to conventional functionality once more, syntheflesh sealing back over itself almost seamlessly.
[Dyannah Nerus]
"They do not want to work for the Resistance. Apparently one of them has fallen in love and wishes to stay with their lady love at the price of the lives of the people helping him." Dyannah inhales on a skeptical breath. "We are the good guys and would never fix a price for risking our lives apparently."
The blue haired woman rises and stands respectfully, "My crew is in constant contact with the base, General. If you need me, please have someone contact me."
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
"If they don't want to work for us, I reckon there's still useful information in that brain of theirs pertaining to their former employers, no?" Ambrosia's expression takes on a predatory intent. "Couple ways to go about that. I know what I'd prefer. But General Organa's advised methods likely outweigh my own. Is 'peaches' close to this individual? Or can you and your crew become so?"
[Dyannah Nerus]
"Peaches," Dyannah repeats wryly, "is his teacher. One of the many tasks she performs for Oran is grooming his agents on the art of appearing normal. They have had to learn everything from pop culture to commonly eaten foods on whatever planet they are being sent to. Domino is their trainer."
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
"Fantastic," Amber slaps her thigh while her mouth forms a grim line that suggests otherwise. It's inevitable. They're going to have to contact Dom. At some point. "Weell. The ball's in motion." Standing with an abrupt push-off from her knees, 'grumpy' Greystorm extends her real-fleshed hand toward Dy for the shaking. Pheremones and readability be damned. Probably there's caution tape roping off the chasm of sickly darkness that is this aging warbitch's brain. "We'll be seeing you."
[Dyannah Nerus]
"Thank you, General. I would like to see the Irregulars involved in this to see it through. I believe Peaches wants that, too."
[Ambrosia Greystorm]
"Who better to blend into the civillian mob?" The crows feet radiating from Greystorm's eyes deepen a bit and one twitches into a wink. Or a spasm. With her medical history, it could be either. "I don't give a damn about what Peaches wants. This isn't about her. This is something much bigger." She turns away, picks up the caf. "Than any of us."
