Log:Tatooine: The People's Hutt
Borgol the Hutt conducts business within his palace on Tatooine
OOC Date: March 25, 2023
Location: Tatooine
Participants: Borgol the Hutt as GM/Host, Amal Jha, Bazine Netal, Snogrutt, Vorcassh
Where normally the audience chamber within the fortified belly of Borgol the Hutt's palace is a lively - yet still potentially dangerous - place? Today is the exception to that rule. Today is a distinguished day. Many of the guards have been freshly scrubbed or in the case of more mechanical security they've been provided with a fresh oil bath. The normally dust-covered floor has been carefully swept, though no polish could ever truly hope to take root so no attempt is ever made. Refreshments are carried among guests by sentient lifeforms and droids alike, bearing trays of drink or morsels of one stripe or another in one domestic or exotic form or another.
The dark recessed booths and tables lining the walls are on offer to guests that they may seek out some privacy. Though they seem to remain ever in the line of sight of the Hutt Lord laid out upon the immense slab that constitutes his throne. For his part Lord Borgol has been adopted a rather majestic pose upon his dais, seated ever so slightly upright with one club-like arm supporting him atop an sizeable pile of pillows and cushions of exceptional quality shimmersilk. That simple mound of cushions could truly represent the wealth of a number of families, but the Hutt lays across them as though they are a pittance.
The air is hot, though the humid is thankfully under control. It is Tatooine, so of course it is a dry heat; as any local would surely wisely inform anyone caught complaining. This is likely a contributing factor to the chamber's inadequate lighting; while it has not descended into total darkness, one could certainly describe it as gloomy on account of indirect lighting.
As a bejeweled chalice - or bucket - is held up to the left of Lord Borgol, he offers a solemn nod to the attendant. His great maw opens wide and into it the bucket-chalice is poured. Sloshing and splashing the rich purple drink flows before it's swallowed greedily down. Satisfied, Lord Borgol finally speaks, "Let us begin," he announces with a voice like thunder. He continues on then, greeting his guests personally with the aid of a protocol droid to translate for those unenlightened few who had not elected to learn the intricacies of the Hutt's native - and enlightened - tongue, "The people of Tatooine are my people," though surely that comment is open to some degree of dissection, "and it is my duty to my people to hear their concerns and commit myself to uplifting their lives with all of my strength and will."
So far so good, it seems. Soon enough he continues though, clearly with an objective to keep it short and sweet for the sake of himself and his court, "This is not a celebration, except for in respect of business and commerce. I will hear those who wish to address me and I will address those that I have business with."
Then comes the low rumble of a chuckle, almost a deep, bone-shivering croak, "Afterward, we will celebrate another successful conclusion of business matters with merriment."
There's a wave of the great Hutt's thick arm, his hand casually beckoning any who may wish to address him to step forward, stand before Lord Borgol, and do so. [Language: Huttese]
Bazine Netal is a somewhat familiar personage in the palace, so she neither requires nor seeks any form of audience. The woman's attire is simple and discreet, a black and grey sheath dress with a cowl that hides all but the oval of her face. A single, small knife rides a sheath on the belt about her slender waist. Black-tipped fingers cradle a goblet of something, which only seldom wet her black lips.
She lingers strategically close to the throne, yet out of the direct line of sight. Somewhere between the sycophants and the guests. Watching, Listening. And looking very enamoured of the proceedings.
Snogrutt has indeed... just returned from breakfast. What was for breakfast? Well, judging by the leftovers splattered about the Gamorrean's snout, some sort of egg-soaked bread mixture, fried and covered with an ample amount of syrup and sugar! 'Mmph.' he grumbles, rubbing his tummy as he trundles out of the private area behind the dais, ambling to his usual spot near the wall. Bazine's presence raises an eyebrow, the Gamorrean squinting at some of his compatriots, "yn zoos? ihotura nipheghaza?" [Language: Gamorrean]
5P-KR (3P0 Unit 9872) repeats after Snogrutt, "Who's that? Another dancer?"
"Without fail, this always happens. There is always apprehension about being the first to step forward."
Borgol the Hutt begins to laugh mirthlessly at his own joke. It's a sound that fills the chamber and beyond. It's not altogether unpleasant; simply loud and deep. The sound comes to a gradual stop only a couple seconds after it begins. Finding none prepared to step forward to address himself, Lord Borgol shifts ever so slightly that he may turn his attention across the interior of the chamber. One hand rises and thick fingers begin to stroke across what little presence of a chin the large Hutt may still possess. While his golden cybernetic eye begins to roam across the audience and the chamber, likely taking in faces and matching them to names, all while cataloging just who is present among the court for some future purpose or reference.
When his hand slips from the lower portion of his face, it gestures vaguely in the direction of one in attendance of the session and Lord Borgol addresses her specifically. He summons her to stand before him by name and gesture alike, rather than simply waving her into position. It may very well be that simple acknowledgment of the subject's name is considered a compliment by the Hutt Lord, "Miss Netal, join me."
The instruction is made with a gesture before himself. While it may seem as though that he's instructing her to stand before him atop the metal grate which the dais overlooks; in this case it seems as though the invitation is one for her to make her way to the dais itself. Perhaps to even sit at its edge that they may hold a private conversation. A gesture of one thick-fingered hand toward Snogrutt seems to forestall any protest from his Chief of the Guard. Inevitably Borgol's large golden eyes, both artificial and organic, settle squarely and expectantly upon Bazine. [Language: Huttese]
Bazine Netal's head tilts every so slightly at the request, the goblet lowering slowly. Her steps are deliberate and measured in those thick-soled, platform boots. Slender hips roll, and she takes her time to move around the dais before stepping around to the grate.
"You honor me." she offers simply, taking slow and measured steps up and up to the dais. The woman perches on the edge, then settles to slowly recline along it as she faces the Hutt more directly. Taking a sip from her goblet, she offers it to him. [Language: Huttese]
Snogrutt regards Bazine warily, having recalled the fate of one of the last Hutts who brought a new girl onto his dais! "tearh ofiraaphaa gafoonu yvyka." he snuffles, his piggish squeal being picked up by several other Gamorreans as they voice their overall displeasure at Borgol allowing Bazine to get so close! Fingers tighten about the shaft of their axes as the Guards watch ever so carefully.
"azefeh sigh." Snogrutt laughs, seeing the ease with which Borgol seems to be dealing with Bazine, he breaks from his post and begins plodding across the room towards the bar. "thaa hoofooph! ghataezar tearh ivu ghij etaetutov oomapijyf ghevaethie uhefevus thaa sigh fufurh!" [Language: Gamorrean]
The offered goblet is met by a gestured hand of refusal. He does, however, use that same hand in an attempt to pat Bazine's cowled head. Much like one may pat the head of a favorite child or even domesticated pet. Then it's on to business as the Hutt Lord begins to spell out precisely what it is he wishes. While he imparts the little information to be presented to Miss Netal, Lord Borgol's cybernetic eye continues to survey his guests. He also takes note of the Gamorrean, Snogrutt, readily breaking away from his usual position and making his way to the bar and other refreshments. The Hutt's right eye flares for a moment, as though an angry outburst is on the horizon. Then he seems to get over it or, at the very least, elect to remember it for another time; which could be decades down the road for a Hutt.
Soon enough his attention lowers, peering down upon Bazine Netal as she settles herself upon the edge of the dais and Lord Borgol begins, "In Mos Eisley there is a Houk. He goes by the name Bokruk. The details of how to achieve it are your decision, but I wish you to give this to him... unknown to him". That remark results in another faint gesture from Lord Borgol, at which point a Zygerrian steps from aside the dais and holds a small metallic cylinder out toward Bazine. At that time Borgol expands upon his previous instruction, "It must be ingested in some fashion. If you prove successful? You will, of course, be compensated for your talents."
Then Lord Borgol goes quiet while he watches Bazine, his golden eyes alight; not with energy and good cheer, but ambition and avarice. He watches Bazine then, awaiting her answer with the patience of one who counts their age in centuries. [Language: Huttese]
Bazine Netal tilts her face up towards the Hutt when that heavy, caressing hand rests upon her cowled head. Her gaze might be full of adoration, or simply respect. Likely something in between. She reclines close to the Hutt and the metallic cylinder is accepted without looking at it, the woman inclining her head.
"It will be done." she replies, lilting voice soft. A booted leg raises, showing through the side split of her dress. The hand with the small cylinder is lowered, then disappears when her fingers rearrange the skirt. She takes a sip from her goblet. [Language: Huttese]
Bazine's assurance that Borgol's instructions will be done seems enough for the Hutt Lord to accept without question or further direction. He surely considers her a professional and once dispatched, doesn't feel the need to manage the matter further. It's out of his hands and into the hands of another. For his back Lord Borgol seems to nod toward Bazine, likely signaling some conclusion to that matter of business. Afterward his eyes lift and turn, shifting across the audience chamber. Another low rumble of a chuckle rolls across the throne room before the Hutt Lord answers with a sweep of one arm, "Are there none who wish to state their petition today? Another time then," though the Hutt Lord doesn't seem to draw business formally to a close. It's likely that Hutt patience at play. What's waiting another day or two, keeping the forum open for those who wish to address concerns with the Hutt? That's a matter of a couple hours to a Hutt, right?
Instead of closing business, Lord Borgol seems to content to wait and indulge in the company of others. In this case it is Bazine that goes ignore for the moment, as Lord Borgol gestures toward the matte grey protocol droid lurking nearby as the Hutt calls out to Snogrutt, "Mighty Snogrutt!" He announces the name like someone introducing an undefeated gladitorial champion, "When you are smashing someone, do you prefer to do it with your axe or your fists?"
The question is presented and an answer awaited. While his golden organic eye remains fixed upon Snogrutt? His cybernetic eye moves slowly and eerily as it seems to settle onto the arrival of Amal Jha, as difficult as she is to overlook, and begins to follow her upon her entry and approach to the Hutt Lord's presence. He splits his attention well, it seems. [Language: Huttese]
Snogrutt takes another sip of his ale, holding the tankard in hand as he ambles back across the room towards the dais, allowing him to speak without raising his voice. Uncharacteristically, Snogrutt pauses for a moment to think. Axe or fists? A very nuanced question for a Gamorrean warrior. Like asking a mechanic to choose between two very special tools! "uhefevus ghiedoogha? aphurhige neawa gyry daevoogiw?"
Snogrutt sets his tankard aside, using one hand to smash into the palm of another. "rhemit rhemit! ifaavakev neawa ef etaetutov, ihirheph ytugaghugh. thyp neawa eavi uhefevus poogiewod poogiewod..." he squeals, making a sort of up-and-down chopping motion with his knife-hand, "aewofevood tearh gafoonu thyp eavi vaga ghevaethie ajaki, if ies gafoonu poogiewod ghevaethie rephiku ghiethivoow isighogood hoomejaaph aafiehafas dah... poogiewod.. awofiku.. poogiewod.. awofiku.. poogiewod.. awofiku.. atyfoo aphurhige oomapijyf ytugaghugh ghevaethie yhasu naeth if fadewaetoo fota naeth ij fajyte atyfoo dootheamuta ghevaethie em rhaefer fadewaetoo raekaa if.. femamu if ytugaghugh ajuw toogeatheaghaa aathygid! tearh etaetutov raekaa duphi ghiethivoow lae... ghevaethie sigh farhiva aathygid!" [Language: Gamorrean]
5P-KR (3P0 Unit 9872) repeats after Snogrutt, "For smashing? Fists are probably better? Squishy squishy! Maces are also good, anything heavy. Axes are more for choppy choppy... But I like axes more because they heavier, and its less tiring to kill a buncha things at once... chop.. dead.. chop.. dead.. chop.. dead.. with fists you have to sit there and either snap their neck or wait till they run out of breath and.. some people have reaaallly big lungs! I get bored watching them die... they take so long!"
Bazine Netal withdraws her goblet at the Hutt's refusal, the slender woman rising smoothly from the dais. Facing him, she descends slowly to back away until those booted feet settle on the grate once more. Having been dismissed, she moves slowly to find a place closer to the fringes of those assembled.
Amal did not insert herself into the conversation, despite the dip of her head in acknowledgement of Borgol's notice of her arrival. Waiting was the realm of the patient and in all of her years, Amal had, at least, learned that. A hand rose to wave away any servants who came to offer drink or food, allowing the brief conversation to carry on between the Hutt Lord and his guard, before she stepped forward, withdrawing a datapad from beneath the jacket which was as much a staple of her personal as her own physical features, "Lord Borgol, a report from Mos Espa. An unsuccessful attempt to interrupt a shipment of your cargo." Amal held the pad equidistant from both the Hutt and his protocol droid, allowing Borgol to decide whether to take it, or to have it taken for him.
That same Zygerrian who had passed the cylinder to Bazine, now moves down the few steps to the side of Lord Borgol's dais. He proudly approaches Amal with his head high; no bowing and scraping for him, it seems. He accepts the offered datapad pad but at least has the good sense to offer a dip of his chin in silent thanks. Soon he's moving back to the steps and aside Borgol's dais. It is held out for the Hutt Lord but for the moment Lord Borgol seems to be focused on his conversation with Snogrutt. The answer from the Gamorrean, as translated by the protocol droid, results in Borgol beginning to laugh. He nods along with obvious joy at the guard's clear love for his work and that only serves to lighten Lord Borgol's mood. Which is likely a wonderful thing, given that when his attention turns aside to regard the datapad; his mood could become much worse.
Golden eyes turn to consider the offered datapad, held up by the Zygerrian attendant as it is. The wide nostrils of the Hutt Lord flare and his thick-fingered hands curl into fists as he speaks, his booming voice carrying upon it a sudden growl, "Some fools sought to disturb MY business?!"
The words practically echo through the chamber as Borgol begins to shift. Perhaps in some unspoken testament to the true physical acumen of the Hutts, who were comprised of a great deal of muscle after all; Lord Borgol sits up with one hand pressed to the mound of shimmersilk cushions and pillows to support him. The Hutt Lord's golden eyes fix themselves upon Amal Jha and he stares at her not as the harbinger of ill news, but as the vessel of his potential retribution, "Were any left alive? Have they been questioned?" [Language: Huttese]
Snogrutt's squeals and snuffles continue, seeming so enthralled with his descriptions that he just kept rambling even after the Hutt's attention was taken by the datapad, and the ensuing bad news from Amal. There is a derisive snort at the idea of some puny whelp stealing the Hutt's business, "awofiku ghevaethie yfafepae hageav yn ghiethivoow ghuh yphoof?" he muses, glancing to Amal a moment as the Gamorrean reaches for his beer once more. Snogrutt is also aware of the Hutt's tendency to shoot the messenger, as it were, making sure he is well away from the trap-door infront of the dais. [Language: Gamorrean]
5P-KR (3P0 Unit 9872) repeats after Snogrutt, "Did they know it was a Hutts business?"
Raised voices, indeed Borgol's raise voice was not an unheard of sound, despite Borgol's reputation for being, at least when it suited him, one of the more mild-mannered of his kin. Or possibly just 'mannered'. Though no one would have had the temerity to say such a thing to the Hutt Lord's face. Any Hutt Lord's face. The datapad was handed over, and Borgol's rising, even if it did look as though he might launch himself at her good self, was met with only Amal's usual calm, "We killed those who required killing." As one does, "A quartet were saved to answer your questions. They have been placed under guard in the usual location." Even in the Lord's own chambers, Amal spoke only what needed to be spoken. She did, though, answer Snogrutt's question, "All business on this planet is Lord Borgol's business." One way or the other, "Whether they knew this cargo in particular was, they would have been stupid not to. many of the staff and guards wore the mark of the cartel."
Her business with the Hutt having concluded for the moment, Bazine paces around the perimeter of the great hall. The platform soled boots make her steps slow and deliberate, slender hips swaying exaggeratedly. The black and grey blend in rather well, keeping her inconspicuous in the lighting. Cradling a goblet in her slender hand, it's seemingly more for accessory purposes than for actual drinking now. And for all her casual aplomb, she listens closely to Amal's account.
Work. Work. Work. Yet the Ubese has a semi-honest living. Somewhat. From a certain point of view. He strides into the audience hall confidently, just in time for Amal Jha to be alarming the Hutt Lord with some details. He almost shifts into an about-face. Yet turning on one heel is already too much attention of a very noticeable set of armor. So he chooses to aim for a bit of a side slink down the edges of the crowd for the Hutt Court audience. He'll consider a drink later, he's more focused on whethor or not he has to start ducking Hutt-Launched items and potential verbal abuses. It's still a good living though, besides, plenty of meat-shields around him for use.
Snogrutt, the burly Gamorrean Guard is sipping from a tankard of ale as he plods up to resume his spot next to the dais. This places him in the best position to watch the other Gamorreans as they mingle about, making sure they aren't getting too distracted with the slave girls, or the bar. "yphoof eazoghoohep aegh adorh fufurh..." he grumbles, shaking his head as he takes another drink of his beverage, "aewasef if aewopeg, wif eawakieso ghevaethie ghevaethie sas... ovi ghevaethie pien..." [Language: Gamorrean]
5P-KR (3P0 Unit 9872) repeats after Snogrutt, "Business talk hurts my head... Politicking and plotting, best left to the matriarchs... not the boars..."
The Hutt Lord seems to loom over his audience chamber, suddenly made large by his annoyance. What had moments ago seemed a relax lump of blubber and thick hide; now replaced by tall and wrathful monster. Borgol's golden organic eye seems to blaze even brighter than the dull glow of the cybernetic eye fixed within the socket of his left. Then just as swiftly as the potentially murderous manner had overtaken him... Borgol again begins to sink onto his pile of shimmersilk cushions. As quickly as his temper had flared, Lord Borgol's mastered himself anew and begins to discuss the matter with the cold precision of indicative of the Hutts. He looks to Amal and then to another arrival in the form of Vorcassh. The pair are considered for only a moment before he begins dispatching instructions, "You two are to question the four prisoners. Uncover who they work for."
Then Borgol's attention turns to Snogrutt, his mug of ale, and his renewed place near the dais. A swift gesture from his battering ram of an arm results in a concise instruction imparted, "Mighty Snogrutt, you are to prepare yourself for battle in the coming days. You will act as my champion in a matter". He does not elaborate on the style of displeasure he may feel should the Gamorrean meet with failure. [Language: Huttese]
Amal Jha
Amal, glancing aside at the naming of the Ubese, dipped her head in respectful greeting to him, before she returned her attention to Borgol. As the Ubese had been in the altercation Amal was reporting, she did not elaborate on which four prisoners Borgol had instructed them to question. "As you wish, Lord Borgol." The datapad having been handed off, the report made, and her instructions given, Amal stepped back to allow any others who had such a desire to approach the Hutt's dais.
Snogrutt perks up, 'Mighty' Snogrutt? Hah! There is an amused twinkle in the brute's eyes as he is blessed with a new title! "apywootierh! tearh gafoonu zoophyp ghevaethie hageav! thaa hageav raekaa fadewaetoo awofiku oodimoo ghidesoo if yphoof if.. ghevaethie farhiva ooje! aeghajaaph ootymie, ghevaethie fadewaetoo hi ghiethivoow hi if haamoz agyrh ootooz! ghevaethie rhe wefufea aph toogeatheaghaa." The fact that they are usually chained or already beaten to a pulp seems to go over the Gamorrean's head, however, "tearh iekoove ij zoophyp ghevaethie hageav sigh!" [Language: Gamorrean]
5P-KR (3P0 Unit 9872) repeats after Snogrutt, "Oooh! I look forward to it! I'm getting bored of beating up smugglers and business people.. they so scrawny! Hardly sporting, they just make a mess and provide no fun! They barely even fight back. I be looking forward to it though!"
Ah poor Snogrutt. Vorcassh understands the hesitancy of delving too deep into business matters. He isn't surprised a lesser one has such reservations. He is not going to point out technically he implied Borgol isn't a Boar. Vorcassh is going to hold on to that one for a bit and savor it before talking to the Gamorrean about that particular turn of phrase. The reaction should be amusingly glorious. But for now he's letting Snogrutt look forwards to being a gladiator.
Speaking of business, he notes the Hutt also addressing him in regards to interrogations. He is not about to argue this assignment. <"As you wish, Lord Borgol."> Torment and torture has its place. He looks to Amal Jha, the public enforcer of the two. <"Could slice their identities? and family and friends identities as a result. Or the tried-and-true methods. Your choice."> The ubese isn't remotely squeamish about such things, though blood can stain armor so, and leave evidence. Privately, he's wondering if this is the same difficult group that was encroaching on smuggling runs.
The reception of instructions, orders, and requests seems to please Lord Borgol. Where a moment ago his fury had been immeasurable and his day ruined; now there is a plan in place and the Hutt Lord seems content to see it unfold. Whether that is in a matter of days or within a few decades when retribution is paid to the grandchildren of those who would raise a hand against his interests. Lord Borgol's two differing eyes sweep across the audience chamber and with that it seems business has concluded for the day. Judging by the low rumble of satisfaction, he's pleased; despite his frustration from only a for short seconds ago.
The moving parts know their purposes and roles, therefore Lord Borgol does not waste time in elaborating further on his will. He instead trusts to their respective professional, dedication to duty, or in the case of Snogrutt and his task... a willingness to inflict maximum trauma with the heaviest thing in reach. Lord Borgol soon turns his attention to the band and his mood lightens, golden eyes flaring as he calls out, "I want to hear One Chuba Too Many!"
It only takes a moment of hesitation on the band's behalf to strike up the desired tune. Not due to any sort of lack of expertise, but simply because they'd been unprepared for the Hutt Lord to go from murderous rage, to cold and calculating, to desiring a party in the span of a few seconds. The music picks up and it seems that the post-business party is promptly underway. [Language: Huttese]
