Log:Shadowport: Lord Kavendish: The Lord Knocks
An old aquaintance makes himself known. Shadowport has to deal with past decisions come to bite them in the backend.
OOC Date: January 21, 2021
Location: Yag Prime Station - Flarestar
Participants: The Shadowport, Eriu Jynx as herself and GM, Rale, Zhu Yan, Netep Muri, Kaavenn, B'haav Adasta, Saturi, Khalim, Zyrette
Yag is a general place of gathering, a safe haven for those of Port in a sense to relax somewhere that is wholly theirs. (It's Yan's but that in turn means that the members of the Port are given free reign over it).
Eriu is seated at the bar, having herself something stiff to drink as the general clientele moves in and out conducting all manner of business. The glass before the Hapan is turned about with an idle motion brought on by distracted thoughts. Finally she lifts the stiff drink and wets her lips.
A very well dressed man steps up to the bar and adjusts his suit jacket likely made from some far too expensive fabric. He leans over to the bartender and offers a confident smile that help emphasis his laugh lines. "I am looking for one Netep Muri."
That perks Eriu's head up though she is not outright speaking up.
Rale is lurking in one of the corner booths, a tabac stick in his lips as he watches the room, simply absorbing the various friends and allies he has here and seeming comforted by it all, a broad grin on his face. He sips at his drink, just a whiskey today (doctor's orders) and watches as someone new approaches the bar, ears quivering as they ask for Muri. He perks up slightly, glancing to the others in the room (especially Muri if she's visible) for his qeue to act, his large carbine resting against the seat next to him, but clad only in his snazzy smuggler's garb.
Flarestar was one of the few parts of Yag Prime that Zhu Yan (fanfare!) allowed his influence to be known, the other being Family Zhu Armaments. The place was booked out tonight, the bar staff given the night off, and everything being on Yan's tab as a private Shadowport shindig. Yan himself was tending bar, and by that I mean he was giving people bottle that he was opening like an amateur and refusing to make mixed drinks because he was A: bad at it, and B: lazy.
"Who's he?" answered Bartender Yan, who in his bomber jacket didn't look like anyone who would logically be in any sort of charge. "Friend of yours?"
Flarestar, where the 'F' is for 'fine dining' and 'fancy' and 'faux pas'. The last one applies only to certain diners that wander in here now and again, like Netep Muri, for example. The spacer makes her appearance this evening in street clothes. Her hair: a maelstrom of purple and green. Eyes: yellow. She passes a lazy glance over the dimly lit shadow that is the dining floor whilst making an equally lazy ninety degree turn on heel for the bar. She has not arrived in time to hear the query leave that suited stranger's lips, but when she figures it out....
The 'F' will stand for 'Frink'.
Near the end of the bar a Shistavanen argues with a Butler droid. "No. I don't ca- no! You're a droid, how are you capable of such sulking?" Kaavenn grumbles at the droid currently being used as a Rifle caddy, and jacket rack for his Coruscanti Finery. He wants to be able to relax at the bar, so he has his Reactor Core. Well. The third Reactor Core full sized bottle actually, courtesy of Yan!
So when the sharp dressed man speaks up... it naturally attracts the slightly sluggish-seeming attention of the other typically Sharp Dressed Professional. Kaavenn flicks glowing red eyed gaze to EJ first, and then to Yan before casually leaning over to pluck up the Coruscanti dress jacket from the droid and lay it across his lap slipping his hand along inside the right chest of the garment.
B'haav, or B'hhav as he's begun calling himself, is at the far end of the bar, keeping a palp out for anything that changes the generally 'Shadowport' vibe in the room. Said palps are covered by the lime green trilby with a blue fleather in the band, and the rest of the Balosar is clad in a sapphire silk suit which looks to be freshly tailored. His black cane rests against his leg on the stool where he rests while sipping the glass of water in front of him. Anyone who knows him would know he looks suspicious, on account of him not talking.
'I am looking for one Netep Muri.'
To say the tension is palpable would be an understatement. The palps, in fact, are practically vibrating the trilby while B'hhav's expression remains placid. Netep who? Below the line of the counter, around the curve of the bar, he lowers his right hand to the head of the cane.
Golden eyes flick onto the well dressed man. The blue woman's smile shrinks in a flash. She leans over from her stool at Eriu's flank. "I think I made a mistake." The Pantoran whispers under her breath, speaking directly to the Hapan beside her. Her hand grabs at her translucent cloak in an attempt to display it. "I should have worn something different."
Saturi rocks forward into the bar with a flat expression. She crosses her arms onto the counter, trying to make it look like she isn't paying attention to the nearby conversation. "Everyone else got the memo." The woman continues with a low mumbly grump.
Occupying a table semi-near the bar, within viewing and depending on who's talking, hearing distance, Khalim and Zyrette sit enjoying a couple of drinks and what look like some really obnoxiously fancy fried Gorg legs. With a trip of little dipping cups, each a color that seems unlikely to have been born of nature. Khalim dips a chopstick skewered legs into the... the dip is blue, OK? Blue like the bluest nuclear-powered Fizzpop glass you've ever seen. Looking to Zyrette, he asks, "How's the pink dip." Then, after a pause, "/WHAT/ is the pink dip?" He's going to need to some kind of Flarestar Almanac if he's going to continue eating here. Of course, he thinks that every time.
At Khalim's question the Falleen shakes her head. "I haven't tried it...."
Zyrette sitting along side Khalim. With a single glance, emerald lips purse into a soft moue. "I should have changed.." She says in a quiet aside to the Mirialan, with reference to the standard leathers that she wears. At least she wasn't the only one to think it. None the less, she moves with a comfortable ease.
Yan is the only one that answers and Kavendish turns to face the portly man, giving him that charming smile that weathers into 'I know more than you but I am tolerating you to get what I want' look. He smooths one hand across the front of his suit and then shakes his head. "Not a he, a she as far as I could tell. Met her once, the charming creature she was and have been trying to find her ever since. I have something for her." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box, not yet showing whats inside.
The port members will realize all too quickly that he can not possibly be alone out here with that suit. Eriu is watching him with a look of recognition as she leans over to Saturi. "Oh ...memo I...I know that guy. Not in the best way possible either." She clears her throat and glances to the jewelry box, eyes catching there.
The others however can see the movement of a few who have their eyes trained on the eyebrows in a suit and as he turns about the colorful hair is enough and then the tattoo. "Miss Muri, it has been too long."
Oookay, now that's not good, Rale thinks. EJ looks unhappy, Yan is clearly in his best bullshit-until-you-hit mode, and the others are reaching for firearms. He has zero clue who this person is or why they want Muri, but the fact everyone else seems opposed is more than enough for him. Under the seat, he snags the handle of his carbine as subtly as he can, eyes and ears scanning every face, every entrance and anything out of place in the slightest, trying to catch Khalim's eye from the table nearby and praying the man and Zyrette have their pieces close at hand. Do these tables move? probably bolted to the floor, Yan seems the type.
Yan's face was a carefully molded expression of mild disinterest until the Man With The Golden Eyebrows and presumably a Wedding Ring turned away from him. Then it was business. His gaze flicked to Rale, then Kaavenn, then between them. He wanted their attention. When he had it, there was a short sharp head-tilt towards the door. Go and see who's waiting outside.
More glances around. Khalim and Zyrette got a squinty look of warning-we-might-be-about-to-be-shooting. Bav got a long look, this one of concern, because he knew that the Balosar was a pile of nerves at the best of times. EJ and Saturi... it was hard for Yan to warn them, because they were in eyeshot of Eyebrows. And Meeyuri?
Unfortunately, Meeyuri was on her own.
"Hey Yan, girl can smoke in here, right?" Asked as Muri'd already fished a half-spent tabac stick from her hair and was busy igniting the thing. Long lashes of emerald green were lowered ever so demurely down while she focused those colorfully lensed eyes on the task at hand. Feet still moving, guiding her nearer. This disheveled creature is a far cry from the lovely Efra Jox who enraptured one Lord Kavendish so. Presently, she looks and smells like she's been living in the Hermi's engineering bay for a day and a half. Stale Lorrdian. Remnants of grease are smudged under her nubby fingernails.
"Am I late? Fancied a shower but then saw the..."
The eyebrows. One bushy brow, to be precise, o'er the top of EJ's head. And that /suit/. "....time." She's frozen in place but a moment. A really, really, really long moment. Or six. Could it be him, though? Surely not. Right? Nah.
Could i--
Nah. Nah, Muri. A long exhale puts a trio of purple spirals ceilingward. She flicks a hasty glance to Zhu then. To EJ. Around. Back to the not-Kavendish who totally is borkin-beautiful Kavendish, meticulously manicured facial hairs and all. Is this a setup? Has she become dead weight so soon? Is it because of the dresses? EJ WHY!?
Box, there's a box. Man's got a box. Netep's lips go slack from the tight lil purse they've become around that tabac and the stick is left to dangle between teeth while she spreads'em into a slow, cheshire grin. "Not sure when or where the last time was, min larel, but I'm pleased to make this acquaintance...." laying in thick the blacksands accent. When screwed, play dumb. Yes? There's always a dubious twin out there, mucking it up for you. Right? "Mister...." she sidles on up with a sidlin' that's not /quite/ as confident as it ought be, maybe, and reaches to toy with his silky lapel. "..?" Roughcut stones and hammered metals adorn those trespassing fingers. Matching bangles tinkle softly together 'round her wee gypsy wrist. Shameless smile upward, through those lashes, shifting from box to his eyebrows.
Dammit, Muri.
Those glowing red eyes do not stop moving, no. Kaavenn is used to being the man in the suit who has bad things in mind. He doesn't like that someone else is using this tactic. So while his instinct has him start to lean towards EJ... he catches Yan's look and heads to see who and what is in store for them. Kaaveen takes his jacket in his hand awkwardly, it's clear there's a weapon under it.
On his way by, Kaavenn does have two thoughts. One. That hopefully Muri can just seduce them out of whatever trouble they are about to be in, and two. Why does he ever think he can just drink and relax with this crew? He needs to start wearing armor underneath his suit.
Regardless, Kaavenn doesn't even make it fully to the door when his pace deliberately slows and his ears flick straight up. As he dares to poke his head out, the hideously expensive jacket is being thrown towards a booth to expose an angrily activated Z6 Riot baton. "Yan! Door! Droid! Jacket!" Kaavenn stands ready to keep himself between bar and exterior goons. He's doing his job.
B'haav is slipping slowly from the seat as he... Catches a look from Yan. Suddenly, the Balosar is wondering if the station-owner-turned-bartender was maybe constipated? If not, he's really not sure what was happening there. He looks behind him but doesn't see anything. On the turn back around, the steel-grey eyes peer through the others in the room, landing on a couple of very suspicious individuals. Granted, Shadowport is suspicious, but those two are the wrong kind. And the palps are tingling. Boy are they tingling. "Storm's coming," B'haav mutters to himself as he ends up facing away from the bar in the direction of one of the outlying individuals, his back resting against said bar as he casually holds the black cane in his right hand.
"Buy you a drink?" That to the nearest one who happens to be looking his direction.
Something is off. Way, way off. Khalim's Zyrette-aimed small talk simply ceases to be, and his gaze shifts to the bar, just close enough to see and hear all those little clues being given off by the Shadowportians within his field of vision. Something tugs at his attention /juuuust/ a bit more to his left, and he catches Rale's subtle attempt to catch eyes. Nothing is telegraphed, no nod, no expression whatsoever, beyond simple recognition.
The Mirialan had been in a heightened state of alertness simply out of environmental awareness, but Yan's look... that squinty 'this isn't me trying to avoid passing gas, we might be in a shooty situation here' look isn't missed. Khalim is certain Zyrette may be catching some of these signals, but then, this is a new group and their code-squints may as of yet not mean quite as much so he nudges her. Just a light tap at her hip, and then his hand slips to the grip of his trusty 434. That DeathHammer sitting at his own hip.
His free hand though, still atop the table, spears another fried grog leg and daintily plops it into that pink dip. WHAT IS PINK DIP?!
The Shistavanen's growl back to Yan tenses Khalim, who's attention darts towards the door. Nobody imminently charging through it, but there is a crowd advancing towards it, and four rough looking fellows moving on the bar. No need to kick the table over just yet. There's still grog legs on it, anyways. And those dips. "Kriffing barbarians," he murmurs to Zyrette, "couldn't have waited until last call."
Zyrette spots the suspicious, 'reaching for weapons' of a number of folk, known and unknown around them She even spots the significant looks given herself and Khalim from Yan and Rale. What she can not do, is figure out why, exactly. Apparently she got too caught up in trying to figure out what 'the pink dip' was. Or maybe she just needs to hang out with Khalim's gang of friends more often. She sets the little sauce cup down and looks at her mate, perhaps he's caught something she missed.
But then you add in Kaaven, there's your monkey wrench. The Falleen tries to her gun out discreetly, hidden beneath the cloth napkin across her lap. However, that doesn't do much good with the gun bumps the napkin off your lap. Oops?
Kavendish glances at Muri, down at his silk lapel before his free hand comes up and gently takes her own. "Ahh now, careful. The silk picks up oils from the skin." His polite way of saying he does not know where she's been. "Ahhh you know who I am, we should step aside and share a few words besides I need to give you the gift I brought for you." He seems rather genuine about this, that smile full of charm and oozing of money as Saturi gets a look. Yes he heard her. A nod of his head towards the Pantoran and the Coruscant business man starts to lead Muri away from the bar when alarms are raised.
He sighs and shakes his head. "Very unfortunate." He lifts that box and opens it but its not a jewel rather Muri is given a sudden spritz of something when the lid triggers it. It fills the air with a pungent sharpness before Kavendish catches her. One of the four bodyguards steps forward and activates a personal shield as it flickers and warbles into being as he steps in front of the two. "Miss Muri, you seem unwell. We should get you back to my ship and to a Doctor, come." He starts to work his way out with Muri and his bodyguard covering them.
The other three have their guns up and giving warning looks to those. Khalim and Zyrette have the focus of one and the other three are watching Kaavenn specifically.
Eriu for her part curses below her breath and draws the sword from the scabbard at her hip as she glides off the stool. "Oh yes, we make real good friends with everyone, Saturi. Unfortunately we generally want just what they want."
The goons from outside are starting to sweep in.
He's a little comic, Rale. Always there with a joke, a deathstick, and a grin. One might underestimate the little Chadra-fan, thinking him just an accessory to the group, or perhaps, if they are generous, just a pilot and driver for them. But they are wrong.
The second Muri is grabbed, even before EJ and Yan say a //word//, his ears and eyes scan every body. the shield. Body in the way. Useless. He turns instead to the bodyguard near Khalim, giving him the stinkeye. Start there. "Guards first!" He shouts to his two nearest friends, bringing his large carbine up and resting on the tabletop as he hides behind it, loosing two high-powered bolts right into the sack of meat trying to help make off with his friend, a malicious gleam in his eye. It's a start.
Zhu Yan had zero idea what Kaavenn just boomed, so he responded with, "Sort it!" Meanwhile, having thought on the fly, the diminutive smuggler-bartender was launching a plan of his own!
Pop quiz, kids! Over the past few years of Yan being in charge, what have we all learned? A: How to succeed at crime without really trying B: Yan's plans suck C: The freezing point of a reactor core (both the drink and the hardware) D: All of the above
If you guessed B, right on! Yan's plan was twofold. One, snatch what he assumed was a wedding ring straight from the hands of The Dish, and second, put a couple of shots right in the guy's pleasure centres. Here's how it all went down!
The Bryar flew out of its holster propelled by sheer spite as Yan flung himself across the bar counter. Except Yan, in his ineffable wisdom, was not exactly athletic. Slippery, yes, but that's the essential oils. So rather than the Very Cool Countertop Slide, there was a whumph and a pained "Owwwhhhh!" as his gut full on collided with the edge. This of course was no good for his snatching attempts, and his left hand clamped on the bar to stop himself from collapsing. THIS, of course, was no good for shooting extremely well dressed handsome men with seduce rolls out the eyebrows, causing both /terribly/ aimed shots to take holes out of the wall above where Khalim and Zyrette are sitting.
Outstanding move.
Netep finds herself in a precarious position. She could push the 'you must have met my twin, Efra' lie, but if Kavendish has managed to track her all the way here, he probably isn't a moron. What's more disarming than intelligence in her book? Not much, cept maybe eavy firepower in support of the opposition. Netep is also intelligent, enough so to realize when a situation's gone too sour, too fast, to sweet talk her way free from. Compliance is her best option. For now.
"Of course..." she purrs back at that seductive 'Im so much better at you' smile of his. "It's too crowded in here. I saw some lovely ferns in an alcove on my way in." Ferns? Is that the best she's got? Muri forces herself to look away from those eyebrows as the he escorts her away from the bar, sending a rather bug-eyed, forceful glare at Kaaven. It's enough to break the spell, reinforce her will before she looks back up at the 'dish and -
*FSSST*
Very unfortunate, indeed. Muri sneezes once, twice, thrice, and lurches over his steadying arm, bouncing off shoulder like a drunken date. The dazed, glazed quality of her stare through the top of Kavendish's head suggests she's somewhere between smelling colors and tasting sounds. "Whh.."
He doesn't answer Netep's unfinished question and that sucks, so she gives him a little shove with succeeds only in knocking herself backwards on heel, off balance. Fortunately, her Lord and Savior Kavendish is there to catch and steer her back in the correct direction.
But blaster fire?
The wheels are turning too slowly now in Muriland but the realization that she might be done for is dawning upon her face. "Nnnn!" This lame attempt at wresting herself free of his arms ends not with escape, but a dizzied roll of eyes skyward. Her body becomes a saggy, useless mass of feebly protesting limbs.
It's not that Kaavenn doesn't want to listen to Rale, it's that it puts the goons to his back. However. The Bodyguards are too close to others, and have Muri now with The Face. Yan's response makes him blink, but he doesn't have time to think about why all of Yan's plans suck. Kaavenn doesn't see the impact of Yan, but he has large ears he can see it and randomly wonder why Yan's deciding now is a great time to test gravity.
Kaavenn steps back and away from the door to put some cover between him and the goons so he can keep the bodyguards from getting out with Muri. The Z6 swing snaps into position and Kaavenn does not kriff about. The first bodygard goes down when he strikes the charged weapon across the back of the thigh. The next swing passes right in front of Bodyguard number two, who looks like he sucked in his gut instinctively. Kaavenn snap swings the baton around and slams it end straight on into the bodygaurd, launching his stunned ass flying backwards as on,y a Z6 can do.
B'haav had been debating how to respond if this turned... Shadowportey. But the moment he saw the fancyman show Muri something, her subsequent waivering, and said fancyman attempting to abscond with one of their own, the debate is over. Blood for blood is the Shadowport way, and the psychologist will fight to protect one of his own. There is a click as he pushes forward from the bar, locking eyes on the bodyguard near him while he pushes a perfectly-disguised button on the handle, ejecting most of the cane to his left hand. In his right, the short vibro sword hums with violent energy. But then Kaavenn is flying through the room and the guard is nearly out on his feet a split second before his feet are out from under him and about a dozen feet away. Without a second thought, the Balosar advances on the guard with the shield, closer to Netep Muri. Behind him, the pained woof and 'Owwwwww' of one Zhu Yan.
"Wrong club, poodookriffers." Don't ask if he kisses his mother with that mouth, he's sensitive. He spares a look for Eriu Jynx, wielding her ancestral sword, and can't help but think that people with swords look pretty rekkin' cool. That might even include himself.
The sudden shock of blaster fire is enough to cool Saturi's bones...and she prefers the cold! The woman looks like a blur of burgundy as her red cloak flutters with the quick movement. By the time her clothing settles, the Pantoran is already shooting. After the sound of heated plasma snaps from her weapon, the ornate blaster becomes visible. Alderaanian silver glistens off the pistol before a second shot is fired.
With one hand out, the asteroid miner puts her climbing skills to the test. Her feet pop up on the stools, the empty appendage grabs at the counter, and the woman hops over the island. "I think I hit one of your pictures..." The woman mourns the signed portrait. "Think you can forgive me?" She asks of Yan whilst she hides behind the bar.
As chaos erupts, ten henchmen on the move -- at least initially - and friends opening fire, Khalim realizes that it is, in fact, time to sacrifice the gorg legs. And those sauces. With an inward sigh, but also a burning desire for Zyrette and himself to not be just sitting there any longer, he FLIPS THE TABLE! Or, at least, he tries, but there's one freaking bolt! ONE BOLT! WHAT THE HELL YAN! It catches and the table comes to a jarring halt. It takes a second heftier mace-like swing of shoulder and arm to strip that bolt right out and BANG! THE TABLE IS FLIPPED! His right hand draws that sleek pistol and he manages to get one quick shot off as he crouches behind his newfound battlefield redoubt, that zings high and splashes against the ceiling. THE CEILING. It isn't but a moment later some jackass shoots back, and misses. Actually, hits the table, right where Khalim would be had the table not been there! The magic of using Yan's fancy single-bolted tables as cover.
Zyrette watches as chaos erupts and the Shadow Porters do, as Shadow Porters do. Still, she -isn't- a member of Shadow Port. However, she does know Doctor Girlfriend, and she is not about to let some fur faced mother kriffer cart Muri off. So as Yan, and Rale, and Khalim make eyes at her, she ignores their significant looks and well made plans.
The missed shots of Yan's gun spurs the Falleen into action. Pressing against the wall Yan has just mortally injured, she begins slipping off, hopefully mostly un noticed. Poor Khalim is left to deal with his unflippable table alone. She pops up near The Dish and Muri, as her mind suddenly draws a blank, Great plan. She didn't think this far. Honestly, she'd been expecting to get shot.
"Um.. say, if you're heading out of here, mind if I get a lift?"
Chaos is right. As Saturi shoots and slips into cover, Eriu is moving forward with a glint of light off the blade of her sword. The bodyguard covering Kavendish stares at Yan, as if a silent promise in the future. The Nikto clicks his tongue and hurries his boss out the door as the hired goons slide into the establishment, ruining a perfectly good time.
Kavendish smiles at Muri, "My dear you are not well at all. It is all right. I will take very good caree of you. Come, lean on me." Such a doting date. Such eyebrows.
Rale manages to blast one, injured and hurting the bodyguard moses sight of Zyrette but does take a shot at Khalim behind his cover and misses while one of the goons gets a clear shot at the large wolf and slams a bolt right into the center mass of Kaavenn. The rest of Port is given looks by each as the blasters are aimed in their general direction giving them a moment to react.
Zyrette gets a look from Kavendish when she appears out of nowhere. He is caught off guard enough that he looks agitated by her interruption and nods his head at the guard with the shield who reaches out to grab at Zyrette. He's strong but she's quicker and gets just out of reach of his scaly hand. "You are either come my dear or I shoot her." The blaster pressed to Muri's side becomes evident. Its a gorgeous blaster too, gold plated.
This is taking too long. Rale is half-hiding behind the bulk of his carbine and the table, his tiny size an asset for once as the Chadra-fan flicks an ear toward the door. "They're getting away!" He's stuck in the far corner of the bar with multiple goons between himself and Muri, so it's more a high-pitched warning for anyone who IS in a position to go after them. Time to even the odds. His breathing slows. Eyes are blank and hard, nothing at all to their glassy depths.
Swivel. *PEW* One bolts, center mass on Khalim's problem.
Swivel. Bodyguard near EJ and Kaav, who's just been shot. process. *PEW* Another shot, drilled into the wavering guard. Several left, but he evens the odds as he unleashes bolt after hideously-accurate bolt from his hiding spot. Give them something to consider.
"Not happening."
It had taken a bit, but Zhu Yan had regained composure. And what composure it was. The person looking through the short man's eyes wasn't Yan, not really, but that other person who occasionally reared his head when he was really, really cheesed off. The Bryar traversed across the floor to aim at a particular target, and the man that lied to the galaxy about being Zhu Yan stared vibroknives straight into the soul of The Dish. "You're in my town. One way or another you're not walking out of here with what you want." It was a colder version of the accent that had come out on the beaches of Rishi. "So you're gonna let her go or I'm gonna make you watch."
The Bryar was pointed straight at Meeyuri.
"He-heeey..." Netep slurs at Zee moreso than coherently /to/ her. Is it a complaint against her rough handling? Or a warning for Zee to get her own man. Eyebrows. Manbrows. Ooh. Wait. Is that a pistol pressed into her ribs or is Kavendish /really/ gonna 'take care of' her? Heh. Heh. Heh. A sniggering snort erupts from the drugged woman and she seems not to give two flying flips about mortal dangers her insides currently face.
Is she aware of the barrel also aimed at her face as they hustled away from the entrance into station? Maybe, but before she can process, there are more goons filing in, between them and the ever-distancing door. Holy chubachibbies, can her legs even move this fast? Is she flying!? LEVITATIOOOOOOON oh, no, her toe definitely just got stubbed.
A disproportionate bleat of pain "OWWW" accompanies the toe stub; neveryoumind the toe is encased solidly in boot. But her boot hurts. So bad.
Chaos erupts, vision narrows, priorities crystallize. Kaavenn gets interrupted by a feeling of heat, and then coldness. He tastes lung. Again. The bonus to a blaster bolt through the back is that it cauterizes as it goes. The drawback is... it's a kriffing blaster bolt through the back. There's a glance with wide eyes glowing hate and miscontent more than normal. Assessment made, and Yan's attempt to use Command Voice means Kaavenn risks leaping forewards trying to get to Kavendish through shield-guard. His blood is up, he flails the baton more than normal, the second strike flashing sparks everywheres at the impact that bounces off harmlessly not even draining any of the shield cell. Belatedly, he realizes he should have dove for cover.
B'haav looks to Kaavenn as he takes a blaster bolt. His focus waivers as he looks to the Hapan near him, the Shistavanen on the ground, and the goons covering the abductor's retreat. But then Kaavenn is off after the bodyguard with the shield and the choice is made simple. Bacta can wait if Kaavenn's fine enough to keep in the fight. Stepping up, the Balosar sweeps down in a slash of his power cane, cutting a swatch through the first guard's clothing and beginning a trail of blood. He might have cut something a little useful though, as one small spurt of blood shoots out, aimed directly at the Balosar's fancy lime green hat. Luckily, palps to the rescue, he manages to dodge it in time. Unluckily, his second swing - which definitely would have stopped said goon in its tracks - goes wide as the Balosar hops to the side. B'haav looks the guard in the eyes and doesn't need to be a psychologist to spot rage there.
"Oh, drat."
"I'm going to destroy the lifts..." Saturi tries to warn Zhu Yan...but it barely escapes her lips. It's a whisper. "....they won't escape." She keeps her head below the lip of the bar as she sneaks over to one of the station access hatches. The blue woman glides into the ventilation shaft with a purpose, wasting no time on crawling towards the ladder that leads down to the lower levels. Sweat starts to build up on her forehead as she reaches out for the durasteel rungs.
In a lapse of judgement, the Pantoran had forgotten to strip her fine cloak. The garmet gets caught on the edge of the vent, preventing her from reaching the climbing aid. Gravity does its work and she falls roughly five meters. A loud thud emanates from the access port, signaling that something bad may have happened.
Khalim watches with something akin to horror as Zyrette slips out of their little dining table redoubt and sneaks over to Kavendish, only to just be kind of... there. With him now attempting to wrangle her as well. She's on the other side of a wall of goons, shepherded by that man of the eyebrows.
The Mirialan rises, pistol quick-sighted first to an angry, partially stunned henchman in front of B'haav and a tibana-gas supercharged particle bolt screams into the man's side. Seeing a single target just outside, beyond Kaavenn, Khalim snaps sights and squeezes the trigger a second time. The bolt goes wide, fortunately missing any friendlies.
He has no idea what's going on, who they're repelling, only that Zyrette is out the door, somehow, for some reason, being wrangled alongside Muri, screened by a squad of bodyguards. With a grunt Khalim vaults the table's vertical edge and advances to, and beyond, the door. Just a few steps, but there he is.
Zyrette nodded amiably. Staying with Muri was what she wanted anyway, even if The Dish wasn't putty in her hands. Amber eyes fell to that pretty, gold plated blaster as it leveled at Muri. "Don't shoot her, I'll come." She says in a reasonable tone. Think, breathe, and act Zyrette. She schooled herself quietly.
"Just don't shoot her." She repeated, in a more sultry tone.
And then another monkey wrench, in the form of Yan. Amber gaze shifts to the deceptive little man, she doesn't have time to worry about weather he's bluffing, or not. Instead, the Falleen leans towards the Nikto with the body shield. Cooome'on pheromones, do your thing. "Please, don't let him shoot us." She begs in husky tones. HAH! The scent of spiced space peaches and musk permeate around the statuesque Falleen. "Please.." She pleads in silky tones, turning gaze back to The Dish. "Don't shoot."
Kavendish is stopped when his bodyguard suddenly is staring at Zyrette. "Get moving!" He says indignantly to his hired gun when the smell hits him and coughs a bit. Between being shaken by Yan's speech and then the pheromones he is a bit out of sorts, the man finally looking a little ruffled as his eyes lock on Zyrette. "Won't shoot her," the fancy fun lowers.
Bodyguard distracted he is not fully watching Kaavenn but there may not be a need with how the Shistavanen is hit by the Falleen's presence as well. It is only when Khalim starts to approach and is shot that it shakes Kavendish loose and he shoves Muri at Zyrette. "Take her.." he shakes off the pheromones even if there is a lingering gaze before he bolts to head for his ship. He gets into the lifts.
Eriu is one of the others shot and she side steps, wincing as she goes down on a knee but struggles up to close the distance with a nasty slash towards the middle of her target, opening up a portion of his clothing and skin as blood begins to spill but he angrily rounds about, ready to slam another bolt into her. The redhead is looking furious. "Try it." Her regal Hapan tone emitting.
While Saturi tries to aid the endeavor another way and finds misfortune B'haav somehow is spared from a blaster bolt and the three first shaken by Yan are coming to and backing up as if to get room between the crazed Shadowport members and their employer....who is smartly escaping while there is still a wall of living flesh between him and the pirates.
Rale's eyes lock onto Yan's blaster. Pointed at Muri. At one of his little adopted family. Confusion, fear, and then anger cross his face so very rapidly that it's difficult to process, his glassy eyes staring at Yan as, unseen to all in the galaxy, a mental file is searched. In this file, there are names for everyone he knows, and they are switched to 'family, 'friend', or to 'not-friend'. EJ, right above Yan in this list, is 'family'. Yan was 'Friend'. As he stares at him making this threat, the switch flips over to 'not-friend'. And his face goes cold.
And then shooting is erupting all around him. Khalim is shot, EJ is shot, Kaavenn is outside and already shot, Saturi might be dead in a vent! Process feelings later! He lets out several bolts, but his anger is up, his hearts thumping rapidly, and he cannot focus, the bolts zinging by just past the targets.
Well, it had the desired effect. Meeyuri escaped and... the word that escaped from Yan's mouth as he missed his chance to follow-up with an eyebrowshot was missed. He flicked the Bryar over and put a shot into one of the protecting goons, and failed to compensate for recoil and sent the second one straight over the clown's head.
What is HAPPENING!? There are people mobbing, shouting, blaster bolts flying every which way and...and...and...
And there's Zee. Zee?
SO MUCH Zee. In her face. Under her face, as Muri's unanticipated ejection from her protetctive Kavendish pod has her tackling the Falleen under a strength not her own. It's not desire that finds her splatting into Falleen pheremones like an egg on the floor, but cold...callous...rejection.
Kavendish has left her.
"What is going oooon??" Muri musters an actual sentence, mumbly and whiny it may be, into Zyrette's chest. Are the drugs wearing off? "Wh...ismmm drnk ready?" Whoop, there's a speech fumble.
Just a coin toss away there lies another casualty of this whole affair. Forgotten, alone, victim of cold...callous neglect.
Muri's cigarette. It smolders quietly on the floor, thinning wisps of purple vanishing into the air. Its final breaths.
"Yeah, I won't shoot her. Wait. I don't have a gun, it's over there..." Kaavenn points vaguely towards his bulter droid... WHO DAMN WELL BETTER HAVE PICKED UP THAT EXPENSIVE JACKET! Kaavenn is likely the worst Shadorportian to use pheromones near considering how much of his profits get eaten up by Twi'Lick. His snout twitches in regards to spiced space peaches... "But sure, I won't..." Glowing Red eyes are a little glzed over, right up until two things happen. Muri being shoved, and EJ getting shot. The Wolf of Chume'Dan has more recently tried to embrace being a part of Shadowport with mixed success, but his stance has never changed, really. Shadowportians are okay and all, but Kaavenn is a retainer of Duchess Eriussa Jynell. So when she is shot, and spills blood with sword? The good news is Kaav's able to snap free of the pheromones, the bad news is he does it with blind rage. A mindless snarl at the shielded bodyguard as the Z6 swings about each time the angle is wrong to be deflected harmlessly by the shield, the last strike careens off the shielded face.
[B'haav Adasta]
The blaster fire is definitely in full effect and B'haav narrowly dodges (thanks palps) a bolt that definitely would have hit his lime green pocket square and possibly the suit and Balosar behind it. The Hapan he's fighting alongside is not so fortunate, and his immediate instinct is to sheathe the power cane and treat her wounds. The first part he does, quickly disabling the weapon and holding a cane again. But as he pulls out his medpack and moves toward Eriu Jynx, she shakes her head and nods in Khalim's direction. See, Khalim hadn't been lucky either. But while EJ's bleeding leg had definitely been taking up B'haav's focus, Khalim's chest was leaking blood from a blaster-bolt-shaped hole. B'haav dove through the goons and sprinted that direction, swinging to his knees to slide the last few feet while dodging blaster fire. Brand new, beautiful silk suit? Covered in blood from the pants.
"I should warn you, Khalim, I've really only... read books about this. But Bacta goes on holes, right? It should be fine. You're going to feel a little pain in 3, 2..." Well, B'haav never meant to say one as he slams a bacta patch onto the largest bleeding vein in the chest wound. "Yeah, that'll do it. Just carry on!"
Blue fingers cling to the fabric of a shredded cloak. The clothing is beyond repair, damaged from the pull of her fall. If she had time to mourn her damaged property, she would, but instead, the woman presses on.
Saturi is nearly reeling from the pain of her fall. The woman staggers towards the next ladder on all fours. Her breathing is laboured from the effort. Everything seems dizzy as she reaches out over the shaft leading downward...and...
Psheeeeeeeeew....THUD!
The asteroid miner topples over for another five meter fall. She cushions the drop with her collarbone, fracturing it in the process. Better your shoulder than your head? A yelp in pain emantes from ducts....
Six guns. That's how many guns were waiting for Khalim once he'd taken his first steps outside... to do what? Save Zyrette and Muri all by himself? Insanity. And in these sorts of situations, you get what you pay for, and Khalim is handed a very steep bill in the form of an overcharged carbine bolt to an unarmored chest. It instantly drops the man, as the Mirialan stumbles to his knees, and then drops limply to his side, pistol clattering to stillness in front of eyes that see glassy stars. A hand is at his chest, but the damage is severe and he can do little except lay there and push away the sharp-edged cobwebs, the pain, and the sleep.
In reality Khalim blinked out, if only for a moment. Had he been left, as perhaps on a battlefield, or deep within an alleyway, he may never have blinked back in, but there's a moment of pressure as B'haav settles at his side and does what can be done with a bacta pad. There's a rush of sound as pad-infused stimulants enter the Mirialan's system. There's an artificial alertness, and his vision clears. Directly ahead, being manhandled by some eyebrow-affiliated thug, Zyrette. With a wince, no... a WINCE! He reclaims his pistol and straightens his arm. It wobbles. He sights. Kriff that guy. The trigger is pulled, and a bolt of angry red charged particle fury strikes home.
Khalim's arm drops again to the ground.
Zyrette does her best as Muri gets flung at her to catch and recover but they both go down, hard. She looks up at the woman, who, all but smashes her face into the Falleen's boobytraps. "Yes, alright..." Some how, in all of this, she has missed Khalim's on struggles as she deals with her two handful's of Lorridon. "Come on Doctor Girlfriend." She tries to cajole as she finally manages to get out from under the other woman, and figure out the current situation.
The lift dings as the doors slide closed and Kavendish makes his escape. Tough crowd back there when all he wanted was to show a lady a good time. That leaves his henchmen behind and now that the Nikto is caught flat footed, the shot taken at him slams into his chest, the shield sputtering and dying as a man screams while Yan's shot leaves him like a lit torch. Don't ask about the hair products as the whole slicked back look goes up faster than anything else.
B'haav moves in to aid Khalim and manages to staunch the bleeding and somehow is missed by the goon aiming at him. They are taking back steps - the two still whole and giving each other looks.
Eriu watches B'haav as she stalks forward towards the one on fire as the elegant rapier quickly ends him with a slash at his chest. THe next is a very clean sudden striek across the neck as the other injured falls, the two twitching on the ground. That leaves the stunned who, thanks to his current state falls over when his leg gives and she misses widely.
Two corpses on fire, one stunned goon prone on the ground and two are backing up as the bodyguard is surrounded by injured and crazed shadowport members. "Should keep this one alive." She whips the tip of her rapier at the stunned one.
The two who still have guns are backing up and somewhere in the vents poor Saturi is feeling the unfortunate results of her choices.
Rale is one of the only ones still keeping his position, slamming out shot after shot into the bodies before them, having laid out more than one with his cascade of fire. Not all hitting, but definitely keeping up the suppression as well as he can. But being such an obvious target means that eventually, the reaper must come to call, and one of the goons, turning on the spot, lances a bolt out toward him that strikes dead on.
Explosion. Light. Pain. Cold.
kriff. kriff kriff kriff I'm dead, i'm dea-
*GAAASP* he is on fire, or at least his nerve endings are, that bolt passing through his arm and into his chest. He can't breath. Oh. Kriff...Kriff you, you rotten...Not going out a victim. He lifts his carbine. First shot low, to the left. Wince, barely able to make him out, vision graying out. Take them with you, Rale, take them straight to the Black with you. *PEW* right in the chest. Goon is hit. Drops a second later. Good.
THUMP. Barely breathing, eyes glazed, blood pooling on the table from his tiny body.
"Bacta goes AROUND holes, you dingbat!" was the shout from the now particularly annoyed Thyferran behind the bar since all of his valued crewmembers were getting shot up. "You use the patch as a surface for the bacta to move inwards as the hole seals!" WHUMPH spaketh Yan's Bryar straight into the torso of one of the crippled ones. Then he saw that another one hadn't gotten a scratch on him. This was of course terrible. Unfortunately for them, one WHUMPH later and they didn't exactly have a scratch so much as a crater where their face once was.
"Seriously. Every time there's a bar thing, some clown with a posse and a grudge comes to shoot us," he grumbled, irked at both the property damage and personnel damage. This was going to cost a fortune. It was only after Yan mused on that for a moment that he was smacked in the face with sudden realization. "Hey, where's Rockhopper?"
"We goin' t'he fernns..." Netep mumbles the question more like a statement as she's hoisted up and...off. More off, less up. Muri lays there like a slug, buried too deeply in a drug-induced stupor to comprehend the carnage that has just been dealt in her honor. On both sides, unfortunately.
She slithers on the floor toward the ferns anyway because those luscious fronds of green are what last made sense in her brain. MMmm. Ferns.
The Shadowport Crew might have spared Kavendish the horrors of dealing with tranq'd Muri, but now they're left with her mess. Her, the mess.
Rage. Mindless. Pure. Unadulterated. Bared Fanged Rage. Having missed had not made him any calmer, shots are flying around and the only thing that Kaavenn is able to focus on is trying to murder the hell out of the Bodyguard witht he Z6. Kaavenn wants to beat him to death, not stun him, and it shows with how wild he keeps swining with a blaster hole through both sides of his torso. Every miss just feeds the anger more.
B'haav's palps are doing overtime, telling him when triggers are pulled, how much recoil is braced for, where the bolts are going and his mind is working overtime to calculate exactly where that is headed. As the palps tingle, he feels the sudden urge to shift to the left, narrowly missing the high velocity plasma. In another moment, he pulls the wounded Khalim closer to him, perhaps roughing up his wound a little bit but better than taking a second hit. He catches EJ's eyes and he begins to move off in that direction, now liberally covered in other people's blood, but his steely eyes fall on Kaavenn's wound as the Shistavanen swings wildly at the bodyguard, and the proximity pulls his attention. Dodging some of the wilder swings, B'haav steps in close and pulls the red-eyed Shadowportian around to face him as he begins talking VERY fast.
"Kaavenn, you look like you could use a Doctor. Good news, I'm a doctor. Bad news, I'm a psychologist. Tell me, how do you feel about-" and with that, B'haav pulls his right hand out of the medpac held in his left, and slams a Bacta patch into the Shistavanen's chest wound. "There we go. AROUND the wound and letting the Bacta do its work! You learn something every day. Kaavenn, don't murder me, I'm trying my best. You're doing a great job, alright? Really, don't murder me."
Despite the wound being relatively minor, the pain radiating from Saturi's shoulder forces the woman to take things slowly as she navigates the access shafts. Doubt and depression begin to set in. The asteroid miner had intended on blowing up the turbolifts...what are the chances that those thugs had already escaped? Is she even going to make it to the elevator shaft? Is she going to be able to cause enough destruction if she does get there fast enough? Life is rough.
The Pantoran does her best to navigate a waist-high bend in the piping. In the process of vaulting the bend, she pulls at her collarbone The pain forces her to the ground with another loud THUD! By this point....it's time to give up. Ready to wallow in her own despair, the woman curls up against the short durasteel wall.
That one last bodyguard. Out there, just waiting to be shot. Khalim raises his pistol in a wobbly attempt to aim and pulls the trigger, a bolt sent wide. That wobble grows as a the trigger is pulled a second time, sending the follow-on shot streaking way off course, embarrassingly so.
As B'haav moves off to assist Kaavenn, Khalim takes stock. He's really beyond doing much of anything at this point beyond attempting to sit up, which a medical doctor may or may not find to be a yelling offense in his condition. But he does. And stays like that. Just sitting. Can he stand? Possibly, that bacta pad happened to have enough infused stims to likely allow him to /jog to the bar/ for snacks. Just once. But he doesn't.
Zyrette has a gun. Zee is better at body language. she holsters her gun, and approaches the remaining guard. Yan is being scary. She takes a step to the remaining guard, her hand out for his weapons. "It's alright." She says softly. "Everything is going to be, alright." Mm, Spice space peaches and musk.
Once she has the guard's gun, and she takes stock their casualties, amber gaze obediently searching for Khalim. "Khalim!" See this is what happens with the party splits up. Wait.
Kavendish got away. That is likely all some of them will remember from all of this but let it not be said some hard truths came out during the escapade. Muri is drugged. Yes, safe but drugged and really just a mess. A complete and utter mess and Saturi in the vents is not much better. There better be someone who can find her but the person who likely can is now bleeding out, his crazy hearing likely to have come in handy but not at this moment. Eriu slowly turns as she watches shots fly wide of the bodyguard but Zyrette manages to calm him enough for the group to stun him when they need to. The Hapan glances back at Yan, untouched as he is but there is certainly a long look at Rale when she sees him. "Kriffing hell," she remarks in that elegant accent.
"We are going to need some help," she admits as she Flarestar appears a bit toasted aroudn the edges as the sword remains pointed at the goon and she closes the distance to Rale.
Shadowport. They get the job done but its never pretty. B'haav the impromptu doctor and all, they still come out on the topside of things even if Rale may be breathing his last. What a mess.
