Log:The Irregulars: Sapphira Becomes Moar Irregular

The Irregulars: Sapphira Becomes Moar Irregular

OOC Date: May 16, 2019
Location: Tatooine
Participants: Dyannah Nerus, Sapphira Yavok

What bar is this? Does it matter? Probably not. It's a dusty place, built out of brick and mud and sand half underground to protect the place from the massive sandstorms and the blazing sun. Like most places on Tatooine, it's a literal and figurative hole. Among the moisture farmers, traders, and general ner-do-wellers is a woman wearing blue linen harem pants and a matching midriff-exposing top with long, wide airy sleeves. She has her bright red hair covered with a translucent infinity scarf, and she's found a dark corner in which to sip her mystery beverage. Sapphira looks just a bit too nice to be in here, but not so nice as to draw a great deal of unwarranted attention.

Soft shoes scrape on the steps leading down into the bar, they disappear under the buff colored long robe of synth silk cut in the Tatooine desert style, unisex but still the slender woman whose curves it covers gives it a certain allure. She pushes back the hood that is attached, shaking out her blue hair and revealing deep pink skin that marks her as being from off-world.

A quick glance around the room and she heads for Sapphira, scrapes a chair out and seats herself opposite the woman, "Early. And I thought you said you were not the military type. How are you?"

"I'm not," Sapphira says with an innocent half-shrug gesture. "I was in the neighborhood for other business. Knocking out a few meetings today," the redhead says, nodding to the chair as Dyannah moves to take it. "Liver's still growing back, but I'm almost there. Eventually this will have a nice alcohol content. Eventually," she sighs, lamenting the contents of her beverage. "Order something, on me. Then we can talk."

The Zeltron opens her mind to the other woman, no pressure, just receptive and curious about her motivations for the meeting. "Too bad about your liver" She lays two fingers over where her liver is, "Two, you know. My people have two. Nobody bets on one of us when it comes to drinking other people under the table. At least not near human norm. Red flower and mint tea is good for me. They do it right on this planet."

Sapphira nods, turning her bright greens from Dyannah and gesturing with a single finger to the bar-droid, who will come over, take the order, and see it filled. "So I've heard. Got an old friend that's one of you lot." Is that racist, to say it like that? Xenophobic perhaps? Who knows. "Always funny watching him run a table at the bar, back in the day." There is a fond smile there, and with Dyannah's openness she'll feel that fondness too. Beneath that, though, there's just relaxed interest. No signs of deception or stress. "Luckily mine'll be nearly grown back in a week or two, according to the doc. That's the hope, anyway. But..." she pauses to take a deep sip of her own drink.

"But that's not why we're here, to discuss my liver. We're here to discuss me, and you, and the ... mmm ... let's call it working relationship between us. I imagine by now the Commander's sent along the memo green-lighting me to move from a desk in his office to the field outside of yours, yeah? Assuming you'd have me, of course."

Relaxed enough with Sapphira to let her see the wheels turning, Dyannah nods thinking. She smacks her head, "The communique was not marked urgent. I left it. Wait." A data pad is fingered out of the voluminous pocket of her robe, she consults it, eyebrows rising as she reads and glances up at Sapphira.

"I've been in the field and am still catching up with correspondence. I wonder what else I've missed." A smile lights her violet eyes, "Have you? I believe we have hit the veritable Corellian lotto. Your idea?"

Sapphira shrugs in assent to the Zeltron woman's question. "I don't like life behind a desk," the redhead explains. "I worked hard to become capable at what I do, and I didn't feel like I was using it. The Rez is military, and I'm not military. Not traditionally, not really. So," she shrugs again and takes another sip of drink.

"The Commander will take over my own job as the liaison between you and them," she continues to explain, careful to keep her voice for Dyannah's ears only. "And despite my old position, I come here as a Deputy - as your subordinate. Totally loyal to you, taking orders, the whole shebang." The emotions behind those? It's honesty ... powerful, earnest honesty.

Making small sounds of assent, Dyannah listens to the young woman. Real approbation in her smile, she answers in a low voice, "You would be more than a subordinate with your training. I can learn a lot from you. We can work together. I have always liked your style - direct, informed, no drek if you don't know something and hard working. Welcome to the Irregulars. We are, you know, very irregular so you might have to adjust to that."

Sapphira leans back in her seat, opening her hands in a gesture of, well, openness. "Oh, I dunno. I came up in the world with thieves and saboteurs. Not very good ones at that, so that's a pretty irregular way of business if I do say so myself. I hope I'll fit in."

Sapphira sits forward again, dragging an index finger along the rim of her glass as she considers. "I'm gonna keep up my personal identity, so I'll be moving between Tatooine and Nar a lot. So if you have anything in those spheres that needs looking into, I'm happy to be of assistance. I also had one of your folks, Rial, looking into the Traders Union for me. Dunno what ever came of that. We have any active surveillance or missions that I should dip my toe into?"

"You get us at a strange moment for us. We were non-stop for months, running thin if you understand. But this last mission leaves us with nothing on the books except for questions. This is not the place to broach those questions." A tall ceramic pot is brought with tiny thimbles of china so fine as to be almost transparent. Dyannah lifts the pot high and pours a fragrant stream of red tea into one, "Can I serve you? No alcohol."

"I'm alright, thank you. And that's not terribly surprising. After what happened," no doubt referring to Blackrock, "we were all running around like rodents without heads. Eventually things settle, and we all have to stop and take stock and figure out what's what and where we left it. It's good to evaluate when the opportunity presents itself. I might have a couple of little things to look into, but nothing major to offer right now."

She shrugs again. "I can swing by the ship in a couple of days and we can discuss in more detail, if you like. At the very least I'd like to start putting faces to names. Which reminds me..." Sapphira leans comfortably back in her seat again. "Im thinking about picking up a new surname for my work with you. Aside from Yavok. I have no illusions that some of our enemies haven't come across the name in some leaked memo or other over the years. I'd rather not tie it to you. Just gotta figure one out..."

"In my language we call them war names. They can be given or earned. Yavok would be known." She sips her tea, eyes closing a moment in pleasure at the taste. "This is very good. Let us know. Het is good at that type of thing. Sapphira Stone, Starfisher, Stern ...I, on the other hand, am not gifted at that type of thing. Come to the ship when you can. I will have more information for you and will share the questions with you then."

Sapphira grins. "Trying to stay away from the alliteration on this one. I've got a buddy that does some real solid forgery stuff, so maybe I'll get his opinion. His insane, insane opinion. But then forgers aren't known for their sanity, are they?" At the woman's words, Sapphira nods and drops a few credits onto the table to cover things, and a generous tip. Not an insane one, but a generous-for-the-money-spent type of tip. "I'll come by in a day or two," the redhead promises. "And we'll talk more."