Log:Senior Smackdown: the Sequel
Senior Smackdown: the Sequel
Location: Hound Base
Participants: Sar Yavok, Ambrosia Greystorm, Tess Ul'datha, Gren Delede, Sabella Lockheart, Rake
Docking Section, Hound Base - Gearhead District, Nar Shaddaa
This is where ships land, it has an exterior balcony and an interior hangar bay. From the exterior balcony you can see out into the deep lower-levels of the Nar Shaddaa under-city. Its a dank view with very little natural light ever getting down here. There is generally water-run off from above, large distant flowing water pouring out of old busted pipe-work and disappearing down below toward exposed rock of some ancient mountain peak long sincv covered over by the skeletal foudnations of the city on top of it.
The landing deck is covered in cargo crates and repair stations to work on the ships that landing here. The landing deck has strips of wight light that help shed some light on the deck. Yellowing landing lights activate in specific berths telling ships where to park when arriving.
It's been a few days since he almost got taken out by a squadron of Hutt employed Headhunters, but....Gren still isn't over it. He's perched on top of Corsair 1(his temporary ride), nursing what appears to be a bottle of whiskey. Spark One is still all shot to fuck, with one of the s-foils almost gone. Replacement parts are still en route, redirected from some Republic storehouse, likely. It takes time, on this moon. Especially with a new base. "Can? You're the worst astromech that I've ever seen. Next time I lose you in a game of cards, don't fucking find your way home." He's at the 'berate your robot friend' stage of drunk anger, then.
With everything going on here on the Smuggler's Moon, Rake's been spending most of his time in the base, though he had spent the last day away from base. Now, he was walking back in, a hood pulled up over his face, keeping his eyes in shadow, and his movements are slow and deliberate, as if he was either not feeling overly well, or more likely had been drowning in a bottle of his own. However, slung over his shoulder is a civil war-era heavy rifle that, while not new, was definitely not one he'd been seen carrying before. <re>
Sabella Lockheart has been working on the two ships that was out bothering the Hutt's that day and is just sitting down, rubbing her hands off upon a rag in the process. A curious glance is sent over towards GRen as she hears the voice and she looks a bit amused. She is no alone though, nope a animal is with her a TuskCat actually, which at the moment is a young animal about the size of a nearly grown great dane but let's face it this thing is young he still has a lot of growing to do. The cat is flopping down next to the mechanic and is stretching out while his head moves to settle upon the girl's knee and she chuckles a bit before giving his head a good scratching pet. "Just ignore him Hauli." Seems she picked something up when she was wandering around.
"He's still up there?" Ambrosia halts some kid by the elbow on her way into the docking cavern and jerks a thumb at the inebriated Gren. "For f..." the Major sighs, releasing the big-eyed recruit's arm and marches in on a beeline for the Corsair.
Sar Yavok wanders into the hangar and finds the usual suspects. The cigarillo between his lips is rolled a bit and he looks between the group.
"Found put that Hex and Kasia have some sorta operation goin' on. They're gonna start spreadin' the word that we're here," he says, turning this into an impromptu briefing.
Gren lifts his bottle in greeting to Rake, and calls out..."Mr. Rake!" His sour mood apparently doesn't extend toward the Wolfman. The cat next to his illegitimate daughter? It receives a bit of a dark look, before hs manages to bury it beneath a slightly lighter scowl. "Sabella, that thing is going to tear your hand off. Or your face." Animals? He doesn't care for them. Amber's approach isn't missed, though it is ignored for a brief moment, while he takes a drink. After he swallows..."Want a drink? Climb on up. Yavok'll be jealous." Because gross. Can just hoots and whistles, and sounds embarrassed for his master.
Rake gives a nod towards Gren, then looks at the large cat. He resists the urge to give chase, as that kitty was damned near as large as he was. Nope, definitely not his bastard kid. He looks over towards Amber, giving her a nod, but the Warrant Officer doesn't say anything for a moment, simply pulling a canteen from his hip pocket and downing some of its contents before dropping it back into his pocket. He continues walking forward, watching his steps, doing his best to make a straight line and not fall over. He finally reaches a crate and clumsily climbs atop it to find a perch of his own, his eyes remaining covered by the hood. Likely he was coming down off a long bender, still drunk but not feeling the fun parts anymore.
Ambrosia ignores Sar and his stinky cigarillo for the moment, since she was part of that 'interrogation' over coffee and cookies at Kasia's. Her mouth draws into a thin, wry line with a pointed glance at the others - death cat included (dead cat if it shits on her floor)- as Delede calls his invite. A shrug and she reaches up to grab at the ladder, then pulls herself up. It's not a graceful climb, or an enjoyable one, but she gets up there. "Move over," she grunts at the droid and reaches for Gren's bottle. "All right, you got me. Now pass. I'll drink if you listen to Yavok." That's a fair trade, right?
Sabella Lockheart would be rather upset if something or one went after her overgrown cat thank you, and remember Hauli is still a 'cub' this cat has a lot of growing to still do. "Possible, though I've had him since he was four weeks old so his rather attached to me. You know they are well trained animals Gren." No she is not calling him 'dad' try again. A curious glance is sent over to Rake curious like and she tilts her head before looking to Ambrosia Sar whom both get a nod. "Hey there." Hauli turns his head to look on towards the others, sending a faint look towards Rake with a lit cuff escaping him. No worries dear Ambrosia he is well trained thank you! "Do I get to drink to if we're drinking?" They have the booze, she doesn't have any with her at the moment.
"He talks too much." Gren says with a shrug to Ambrosia. He still passes the bottle over to the grunt. "Sab, you should sick the furball on Rake. I think he needs a little something to snap him out of the stupor. Hell. Or a little hair of the dog." He seems impressed at the Warrant Officer's apparent hangover. "Pun intended." Eyes shift to Sar, and he sighs. "Alright. And I suppose we're going to offer some beefy backup, in exchange?"
Rake just offers a low growl in response to Gren's comments. He just pulls out his canteen, takes a sip of its contents then motions towards Sabella to get her attention. Once done, he caps the canteen and tosses it underhanded to her. No comment about what was inside, but it was likely flammable and potent. He then looks over towards Sar, just giving a slow nod to the man as if to say he's listening at least.
"That's the arrangement. If they need it," Sars says, wandering over to a crate and having a seat on top of it. "The objective for right now is to make sure that the Corellia District is secure. If Eebua can't dig his hands into the backbone of this planet, his plan will fail, in time. So, Hex's people are going to help by providing additional patrols, and starting a Resistance among the civilian population,"
Splendid. Ambrosia's fingers take possession of the bottle and she gives its contents a curious sniff before taking a small, harmless swig. Which looks like a much deeper pull from the bottle, given the way she bottoms-up, but tongue-plugs the hole. Hahahaha Greystorm cooties. No wasted Amber tonight. Not yet, anyway. The bottle then nests in lockdown between her knees. Force save the hand of whomever ventures there!
"I've been working on a compilation of vid footage from our op cams over the past year. Gonna let one of our tech-saavy kids play with it when I'm done and turn it into something we can use, if the need arises. Propaganda ain't exactly my strongsuit, but it doesn't take a genius to make the FO look like shit and the Hutts all the more shittier for entering into a relationship with them."
Sabella Lockheart merely rolls her eyes a she hears Gren's talk on Hauli go after Rake. "I'd rather not. No reason to start something like that. If he was to chase anyone he would go after a bad guy obviously." She points out to dear Gren. As for Rake she glances over to him and looks a bit amused before nodding to the bit on the flask in question and shifts to grab it once it is tossed over to her. "Thanks!" Said flask is opened and she gives it a light sniff curious like before taking a sip from it, which makes her couh a bit. Hey the mechanic can drink, but she isn't a diehard drinker like everyone else here. There is a pause as she listens in on the plan from Sar and Ambrosia it seems.
Delede chuckles, and nods to Ambrosia. "Aye. There's plenty of evidence of them being prime assholes of almost Sarsian proportions. But, I'm sure someone will spin it as doctored footage...but more eyes on their awfulness is always a win." He shifts, and slides over to the ladder, before sliding down. "Keep the bottle. Throw it at Can. Or Sar. Or Rake. I'm going to pinch a loaf, and get some shuteye. I've got to run a few smugglers through their paces tomorrow...see if they can -really- fly." He offers a nod to Sar, a smirk at Rake, and a stern attempt at a fatherly look to Sabella. "Chief, you wound my heart. I'll need my bird as soon as those parts arrive." And then he's off into the depths of the ghetto base.
Rake just shakes his head at Gren's comments, but the Shistavanen scout retains his silence for a bit. There's a huff, and he pulls back the hood, exposing severely bloodshot eyes. Maybe that bender has been going for days, or he'd just consumed so much that he actually drank himself to the point of physical drunkenness but mental sobriety, no easy feat.
"You do realize this is the heart of Hutt space, right, Colonel?" Rake says in a gruff voice, one that sounds more strained than usual. "I mean, their fuckin' homeworld is what we're orbitting. Someone starts spreading rumors that we're here, and they're gonna come looking. I mean, I'm not against it, just means we gotta be prepared for them to find us. They've got networks of guttersnipes that probably know of places like this that would suffice for a discreet base, so it's only a matter of time before they find us." As he speaks, he pulls the newly acquired rifle and sets it across his lap.
"Aw, shit. Guess I gotta reconsider everything, now," Sar says flatly to Rake. He cracks a grin and says, "Nah, we'll be ready. This base is a lot more high-tech than she lets on. Didn't have money for all the nice cosmetics, but she's got it where it counts." A pause. "Like the Major there," he says, jerking a thumb at Ambrosia.
"We play this right, and we'll have every single pissed off Nar Shaddaan flying by our sides."
A grump and grumble comes from the Major, muffled through the bottle as she takes a bit more serious of a gulp. "You've no idea," she thumps the bottle aside, leaving it with 'Can' to do with whatever it so desires. Pour it into the control panel, for all she cares. One hand preens a few stray hairs over her ear, then she swings a leg over, dangles...and drops. Ladder? Not necessary for the descent.
Sabella Lockheart hums a bit as she takes another sip from said flask that Rake had given her before closing it and give Hauli a point to stay put while she stands up to return it to the owner. She glances over to Gren on his way out. "I'm sure... Right right, when I get the parts in it'll get it back in one piece... Again..." As for Rake she'll give him a smile and nod while offering the flask back to him. "Thanks." Her gaze drifts between the three as they well talk shop, this is a bit out of her scope of things honestly, she picks the ships back together and sometimes helps out with missions but she isn't that savvy with other such things. Hearing Sar's comment about Ambrosia she blinks and opens her mouth slightly before just clothing it, yes she isn't going there.
"I'd say less than twenty percent, the other eighty will be split between trying to stay out of it and chasing the bounty that will be on our heads. I ain't saying it's a bad idea, just that is what we need to expect. This shithole is one of those most wretched hives of scum and villainy you read about in all the grim adventure stories," Rake says towards Sar. He glances towards Sabella and takes the canteen back, uncapping and taking a sip before setting it on the crate beside him. Sar Yavok raises an eyebrow to the Major, but a small grin accompanies it. His fingers idly roll the cigarillo he's smoking between them and he says, "War's gonna be hard as hell. Gonna kill some of us. So, I need y'all to be ready for that. Need y'all to make damn sure that you're ready to fight this fight. Die for it."
"Some of us have done that already, Yavok. What's one more trip into the soulless void?" Amber's not smiling. She does take it seriously. Wasn't twenty minutes ago she just halted a recording for a breath of 'fresh' air after seeing the fragmented footage of her son's tears, Oriana's rage, and Hex's limbless lump, while Sesti's hands were buried inside the crater of her chest. And then there was DeLong's tongueless mug. Isn't often you get to view your own moment of death on replay. Again. And again. And again. Then to see the grisly aftermath and wonder HOW you're still here. F*K that scrawny, saber-wielding little shit, hiding behind his mask. And F*K that redheaded little bastard mocking the lost files of her memory. Still no ID from their intel. But she knows that face. Forty years and a lifetime ago...
Anyway. Fresh air led to here, which led to Gren's bottle and Sar's smartassery. It's going well. "You heard from the General yet?"
Sabella Lockheart shakes her head slightly as she hears Sar. "I think everyone here is ready for the fight or they wouldn't be here." A glance is sent to the few that are here during this conversation while she moves back to her seat and the large cat that is there. "I've always been willing to help out anyway I possibly could after all."
Rake yawns from his seat, the sitting still taking its toll on him. "Just as long as you give me at least eight hours of a coma, I'll be good to go. Maybe I'll even get one of those damned bucketheads into my crosshairs, since there's no real challenge in hitting a Hutt."
"Got a talkin' to after I submitted my report, but there ain't no need to go into that," Sar says, sniffing harshly. He takes a drag from his cigarillo and taps a bit of ash onto the duracrete floor. He exhales a thick trail and smoke and looks between the three of them, saying, "I hate that this fight had to happen, but I'm glad that I'm fightin' it with y'all. Honestly."
"Good." Ambrosia grunts and stomp-sways her militaristic catwalk walk over to Sar to pat his leathery cheek. "If we're the last faces you're gonna see, I'd hate to disappoint." She's feeling bold and goes as far as to give it an affectionate little pinch (better than pinching his butt though). "Now. If you're through with feeling sentimental, I could stand to burn a little energy before passing out. Meet me in the gym."
Sabella Lockheart lifts a finger slightly at the 'last faces we're gonna see bit'. "Well... Could be worse." She offers with an amused tone. A curious look is seen between Ambrosia and Sar before she ahs a touch and figures nope she will not going to comment. "You lot have fun. I have to try and piece things together on Gren's ship still." Hauli is given a light push and the large cat is moving up into his thick toed paws and after a good stretch he'll follow Sabe off to take care of things it seems.
"I'm gonna go pass out," Rake grumbles, sliding off the crate and pulling the large rifle back onto his shoulder. "Fuck it's a long hike back up to the gearhead district where I got my bird parked." He looks over to his speederbike, but realizes that his reflexes were nowhere near right enough to take it back. "Think I'll find an empty bunk here."
Sar Yavok grins at Amber and says, "Want me to whoop your ass in front of the old-timers, now? Recruits already got an eyeful of it." He tosses the remnants of his cigarillo onto the floor and stands up, crushing the cherry beneath his boot. A look to Rake and Sabella, "Take it easy, you two."
"I was two days out of the hoverchair." Ambrosia lifts a hand to Sabella and her kitty and offers Rake a nod. "Yeah, sleep it off down here, big fella." 'Mom' and 'Dad' won't be too loud, hahahha. Actually the sounds of popping joints and hips breaking on the floor might be noisy, if Sar manages to pull off another thrown down maneuver on the old Major. It's a price she's willing to pay of course, for a little diversion from doing her homework. Time to concuss the image of charred children out of her head, with the aid of Sar's fists. Or break her own knuckles on his.
"Yeah, well, as long as you know I ain't gonna fight fair," Sar says with a smirk, the Old Man bolting forward and jamming a fist into the major's stomach. "The first cheap shot of the match can decide the flow of the whole thing, you know?"
It's the sound of flesh to flesh contact that draws out the ever elusive Resistance sniper from whatever hole she's crawled into. As always, her scoped rifle: Addell is straped to her back, even while she's wearing the sweaty tanktop and jogging shorts that indicate she's been doing something exercise related. She stops a little ways away to watch the fists fly with her arms crossed over her thin chest.
Whoops. She wasn't actually banking on doing this HERE. In street clothes. Her mistake! Ambrosia grabs the front of his shirt as she doubles over his fist...into a headbutt aimed at his nose. Knock that stupid cig outta his mouth! The Major shoves off and shrugs out of her vest while heaving a few readying breaths and pacing in a half circle. Sar's in her sights....nothing else.
"Fuck!" Sar shouts, holding his nose and taking a few steps back. There's a steady trickle of blood, and his eyes have watered up, but it doesn't keep him from taking a big step forward and sending a boot straight out towards Amber's knee.
Nice move Major... Tess leans against the wall near a stack of crates as the Officers fight out their love like responsible old people. This is the generation that won the rebellion. The notion of it has Tess smirking a little as she reaches up and removes Addell from her back so that the rifle can lean up against a crate near her.
Greystorm's grin is short lived as Sar's boot grazes her pivoting leg, landing a pretty solid swipe across that nerve. Too late though, memory of spurting nose forever embedded. Bahah. She wipes her thumb over her brow, cleaning Sar germs off it while hopping in a couple side steps with a feint, feint *jab* up the solar plexxus.
It seems that Amber has found Sar's weakness. Well, pretty much everyone's weakness is repeated physical trauma. But Amber's jab managed to knock the breath out of him long enough that the hook heading for her head is pulled back. He coughs and looks her over, "Doin' better this time, Major."
Tess watches from her shadowy position and fiddles with the hook connecting the strap to her rifle nearby. "You both move like arthritis is set in." She teases with a little smirk, "So not bad for relics."
Seems her spine's back to working order. Ambrosia twists away from the incoming fist, not trusting it to miss. She doesn't bother to engage in further banter at this time though. Breath is a precious thing when your opponent has a history of pummeling it out of you. The Major's agile twist away continues into a full spin, her right leg whipping 'round to swipe at the Lt Colonel's head while her left hand grazes the ground for a push up of balance.
Sar Yavok raises his meaty forearm to block the Major's incoming kick, a ghost of a grin creeping to his lips. With one leg suspended, he steps inside and sweeps the other one out from under her.
"HUHNGH" Greystorm's put flat on her back, shoulders thudding into the ferrocrete fractions of a second before her ass. One hand cups around a lower rib while the other splays over the slick floor, grasping for a grip. For leverage maybe, because her left leg is swinging straight up, aiming to take advantage of Sar's momentary vulnerability over her. The dreaded groin shot.
No blow's too low for the Ice Queen.
NOT FAIR! Sar thinks to himself as he jumps out of the way of the cheapest of cheap shots that caught Sar's attention just fast enough to keep him from kicking the hell out of the fallen Major.
Damn. Ambrosia's leg keeps to its course though, joined by its mate as she curls ass over end into a backwards roll that's admittedly not as swift and catlike as it could've been. A wheezy laugh escapes her lips and she offers Sar an unapologetic wink through the sweat in her eye. "Not so old that you wouldn't miss those, huh?" Her hands come up again, one forearm held defensively across her front while the other - knifeless - crackles into a fist again and she darts in and around to keep the punches coming. While she can.
"Kids ain't exactly my bag, but I like havin' the option," Sar says with a smirk, before he takes a step forward, pulls into a spin, and delivers a roundhouse kick into the Major's exposed side.
Greystorm tucks her arm back in just a teeeensie bit too late to catch the kick, and it costs her. The crack of her elbow rapports like a rifle through the docking bay before making a meatier noise against her liver or something, muffled by sweaty sweater. Ow.
"Ssssonofabitch," she gasps and staggers back to a knee. She hastily shoves up the sleeve of her right arm, exposing the quickly swelling knot. It's not blood bubbling up under there though. Well, not purely. The fingers flex feebly and intermittently, some seeming to have more difficulty than others. Her eyes squeeze shut, teeth bared in a growl. "That was expensive."
Sar Yavok exhales sharply and lets his arms fall down to his side. "Still can't take a punch for shit, Greystorm. Seen nerfs in heat with more stayin' power than you." He grins and walks past her, giving her a squeeze on the shoulder. "Oughta let me teach you a thing or two, sometime."
"That's a load of fodder, Sar, and you know it," Ambrosia retorts while scrabbling her left hand over her back until she gets a sufficient enough hold on said sweater to pull it up and over her head, leaving some more hair in disarray while she peels it gingerly over the right arm to get a better look at the extent of the potential damage to some of her newer hardware. Sesti'd be so pissed. This installment was made years ago, maybe four, but that brief encounter between the mostly comatose Amber and Dr Gath was what led Ambrosia to NOT discourage the Zabrak away from her son's advances that day in the bar...and now she's got a daughter-in-law. See how things work out?
"I'm gonna need this serviced," she mutters, still bent a touch over to the side while her abs struggle to relax and breathing return to normal. So the fight's over, Sar bleeding from his once-handsome nose, with some bruises to those abs, but junk intact. The Major's one-handedly winding her shirt around her shoulder to form a makeshift sling while the limb twitches irritably. At least the 'athletic' wear beneath is somewhat modest. "You owe me a beer."
"Well, go get serviced and I'll have one waiting for you in the briefing room, Major," Sar says, hands tucking into his pockets. "Don't wait around too long, though; paperwork makes me sleepy, and I'm only about halfway through the mountain that our run-in at Parmac's created." The Lt. Colonel rolls his sore shoulders a bit and heads his way into the facility.
