Log:The Shadowport: Diamonds are a Girls Best Friend
Anakin turns back from the dark side
OOC Date: November 6, 2015 (Optional)
Location: Socorro
Participants: Eriu Jynx as GM and herself, Netep Muri, Saturi, Khalim, B'haav Adasta, Zhu Yan, Sar Yavok, Kaavenn, Naia, The Shadowport
Socorro. A lovely place - at times but today Eriussa has gathered the strange misfits of Shadowport on said planet. An explanation of their adventure is given in loose form. They are arriving in a warehouse district posing as the receivers of some rare gems off Aurea - stolen most likely. One group shall be the face of their endeavor as the other group shall be intercepting the actual group meant to pick up the goods.
Having sectioned them off into the two groups she remains with those that shall be posing as - the 'buyers'. Dressed in something more in the realm of her Duchess persona, she smooths the green into place and checks the fall of her auburn hair as their speeder carries them along their way. The warehouse they are aimed for begins to loom closer and as they pull up several armed mercenaries stand outside, watching them closely as they lift their blaster rifles at the ready.
"A little early," says one as Eriussa pulls herself out of the speeder and stands ready to be received. "Just shows our eagerness."
Meanwhile, the other group has been set up at the hotel lobby to watch for the buyers. Most of which have been spending too much money on the games of chance. "We're short! I won't have enough for the exchange...you have to hit big." The man who sounds whiny at best is thin and rail like, but he wears enough silk to cover an orphanage. His cohort is sitting at the slot machine, staring at it. "This thing should have paid out by now, fed it enough credits." His meaty fist smacks the side of the slot as he pulls the lever. Seconds later the klaxons go off, filling the air with the announcement of a big win. The scrawny creature in silks begins to dance around, cheering as the credits upload to the chit.
"Mmm, big winner." Netep lowers the raava from her lips and mumbles into the little 'link clipped onto the collar of her duster. Her gaze watches steadily through a half-drawn curtain of curls as the walking silk emporium does a happy, happy dance that only a momentarily rich bloke could possibly make. "Think those credits better spent on new game than leaving this hotel, no? You want I try?" She's poised at the ready to go rub elbows and attempt to goad the pair into making a time-killer of a wager. Dressed like a local, as a local, Muri is but another Socorran rambler, looking to improve their fortune for the night.
It takes Saturi a few seconds to dislodge herself from the speeder and a few more to ruffle out the creases in her body-length cloak. The dry sand is met with a disgusted groan as she rises. Blue hands reach to draw up her hood before she reaches back into the vehicle to retrieve two cases, one with diagnostic equipment, the other meant to mimic a briefcase loaded with credits. Her glance is flicked to Eriu, then the door guards. The geologist remains quiet as she slips around next to the others. "You're -credits-." She says as the container is offered out to whomever will take it.
Stepping out of that speeder, Khalim wears the armor of this world: lightweight layers of light-colored (and quite expensive) synth-fabric. A loosely fitting long sleeved shirt has its arms inched up to elbows, and a wide brimmed expedition hat sits atop his head. This world's polar regions are currently enjoying balmy temperatures exceeding one hundred degrees, so here? Within more temperate Vakeyya? Yeah, hotter.
Seeing the goons with their drawn rifles, and hearing Eriu's quip about being 'early', the Mirialan raises one hand palm up and addresses the hired guns. "This how you greet your clients around here? Rather than a welcome, we receive suspicion and brandished arms?" A dour expression shifts across Khalim's features as he shakes his head. "I suppose refreshments are out of the question."
Looking to Eriu, he adds, "Were they this friendly in communication before we arrived?" Clearly displeased at this reception, a critical eye - literally just one eye left on the man - shifts from goon to goon. A hand rises to fiddle momentarily with the eye-patch covering an empty socket.
B'haav is taking mental stock in the speeder ride. He's also trying not to suck on the pocket square on his jacket, which has been dipped in cheap whiskey so he'll give off the faint aroma of alcohol. Good for camouflage, but not for a dry alcoholic. The Balosar's in his usual deeply black Hapan suit with the double-breast, leaning on an ornate silver cane as he puts an 'unsteady' hand on the frame to assist himself out as steel-grey eyes take in the armed mercs. A fake hiccup precedes his mumbled speech.
"Nice... Quick deal... Authentic enough, we can be back to the bar before it gets dark." He looks around, then down to the black sand, and back up. "Darker." He looks to the others and blinks. "They're jus' doin' their jobs, right? I don't think they're getting paid to make drinks... Unless...?" He looks back to the armed men. *Hiccup*
"If that's not our guy, I'm an Imperial," mused a certain nearby holidaymaker into a hidden earpiece comm.
Zhu Yan was an odd duck, in that his attire for the hotel lobby blended in perfectly. A floral shirt unbuttoned over a tank top that did nothing to hide his moderate rotundness, swim shorts, flip flops, big black cheap sunglasses, and a smear of what appeared to be white sunblocking cream across his nose. And it looked like he'd had a haircut semi-recently, so, there's that. It was a carefully cultivated look designed to invoke feelings of inadequacy in nearby males, and animal attraction from females. What it actually did was make him look like an idiot, which was even better. No one cared about the idiot.
"So," SLUUUUUUURP. The huge electric blue drink in Yan's hand had one slice of rind and /far/ too many umbrellas, "I say go for it Meeyuri. Find out where his ride is, his creds, well, I mean, the other ones because I doubt that's everything. No one would be that stupid." Yan would be that stupid.
What's Sar doing? Well, he's watching the door, of course. Be-armored and toting his EE-3, the man is in the lobby, his particular accutrements not allowing him direct access into the gambling area proper. He's taken up a post leaning against a pillar, gun slung low in front of him as his ruby eye-holes scan over the crowd. Content to look like just another hired gun sitting in the lobby waiting for his master, a button is tapped on his gauntlet and his comm crackles to life. <<"What's the word? Located our big spenders?">>
On occasion, Kaavenn engages in activity that is more befitting his real profession, than that of his cover of Sniper-Scout. He's spent time slinking around Socorro putting those more dubious skills to work. Gathering information, vanishing the overly curious. Finally it is crafting a lot of identities. Some are better than others, with B'haav and Yan getting the two worst names of the lot. Along the speeder ride, he's claw-tapping away on that datapad of his. All while dressed in his custom tailored Coruscanti suit. Little expense spared on that particular finery. His own persona however, aside from faceman, does blend in reality. Able to gather information, give advice, and part bodyguard for the primary client the mercenaries are facing. Kaavenn just appears as a status thing when he steps out. Vigilant, ready, and definitely not the The Wolf of Chume'Dan.
"Lots of people are that stupid." Naia comments from where she's perched herself at one of the slots, doing her best to lose good money in the name of camouflage. She pulls a lever---bright lights go spinning and obnoxious music trills in front of her face and she endures it all because this is /actually/ a pretty good spot to see things without being a sitting duck if slugs start flying. She's dressed in a cocktail dress and star-shaped sunglasses. She's holding a drink. She looks more or less comfortable and definitely more than willing to spend her money. So she fits in enough.
Other than that though, she's not going to levy any sort of comment---she's interested to see what Muri finds as well, even if she's...even if it's hard for her to get really excited about it one way or another. It's not Muri's fault. It's the drinking. She pulls the lever again and is suddenly glad of her star-shaped shades. That amount of neon would definitely hurt without protection.
The two door goons stare at the group, not ready to lower their guns quiet yet. They glance between the assembled but focus on Khalim at first. There is a shared glance before slowly the rifles lower and one of them steps forward to check the credits that Saturi is currently holding. She gets a cheeky smile from one. "Pretty and rich..." He starts to reach out to grasp for the credits when Eriu swats at his hand sharply with the scabbard of her sword. "We have to see the goods first and I think I will pass on any drink...I may not have the tolerance for whatever might be offered.
A nod is given to B'haav and as one of the goons nurses his wrist he steps back and the two input a code allowing the door to slide open and allow them entrance. "Straight back, center of the room." They will fall in behind the crew.
Silks gives on look to Muri. "What -ARE- you wearing?!" Her fashion sense has obviously offended him. "I don't think so little one...shouldn't go spending the credits we need for other things." That is coming from meat who is standing up and pulling the credit chit free. Silks however is eyeing her. "Can you guarantee a win?" There is an audible sigh from meat as he rolls his eyes.
The two stand in the gambling atrium of the hotel, no interacting with one Muri who has overwatch from a few others.
The approach of the guard is met with a furrowed scowl. By anyone, she meant anyone but -those- two. The briefcase is still extended, this time a little more leftward than forward.
"Not, /your/ credits." The Pantoran bites back immediately after her Hapan accomplice gives the goon a swat.
"Please." Her hand continuing to shake the container...directly at B'haav. She raises her right hand, showing the fact that both of her hands are full. "It's only fair." is added, feeling entitled to some assistance. Saturi's facial muscles tighten, the shadow of her cloak making her appear more ominous than before.
Goons. They fit a mold, pretty much no matter the world, no matter the locale. Khalim eyes them back, his dark brown gaze carrying an inscrutible quality behind the luster of that one good eye. The Saturi-aimed remark, and the attempt to secure that case full of (presumably) credits draws a suble shake of the Mirialan's head.
As the group is beckoned further within, Khalim is the first to advance past that front entrance. Though he attempts to maintain a casual exterior demeanor, that singular gaze shifts about in an entirely intentional, and continuous, sweep. Straight back, to the center of the room. That's where he heads, and where he stops.
To whomever may or may not be waiting, he simply says, voice flat, "Crudity from goons happens, but yours need finishing school. You should be aware one of them attempted to lay hands on our payment while we were still outside. Which direction he would have run is anyone's guess."
B'haav sways a little bit, then looks over to Saturi, shrugging his shoulders and holding up his cane to show the inherent unfairness. "Fine, sure, I suppose. Let the funnyman carry the heavy one. That's fine," he grumbles, taking the case with a face that says he just swallowed a burp that wasn't all burp. He click-taps along, leaning on the cane and bumping the door frame on his way through. He gives the mercenaries another glance and a pained smile before looking up to Khalim.
"I'm sure it was just an honest mistake. Things like this, it's important... You look like honest sorts." He gives an extra long glance to the one with the slapped wrist and offers a wink. "I'm Beban. Beban Beazebagabo." This is offered under his breath, though only by drunk standards. It's really all sotto voce for this act. He turns those steel grey eyes back to the rest of the room.
What is SHE wearing!? Netep straightens out a half inch, bringing her to her super statuesque 5'4", and casts a pointed look down at her perfectly acceptable ensemble. It's practical, it's desert-dweller, it's Socorran-savvy. It's far too layered and heavy for some less-acclimated bodies to tolerate in this heat maybe, but for Muri, it is just right. Authentic.
A pair of black brows go aloft, embodying her inability to see the problem here, and a smile curls up in crooked amusement, looking from the meathead to silkyboy. "Min larel..." her dusky Ibhann'I accent lays on thick, three steps bringing her in close for a more tactile inspection of his silks. "Any game played with me is a guaranteed win. But I propose something with a /little/ risk. More skill than is required of tuggin' your lever, hey? What say you to friendly round or three of Pazaak? Outsider pay me to serve as his guide, make sure desert do not eat him up, but he is late and I am bored. You..." SO silky, those fingers peeping through fingerless gloves infringe on personal space, "look like maybe you bring something interesting to table. Mm? What say?"
- Sip*
"Sar, keep tabs on how many guys th- sithspit!" Right in the middle of orders, one of the many superfluous umbrellas in Yan's drink fell out. There was a scramble and a bit of sloshing to pick it up from the floor and return it to its rightful place in his beverage, rendering him unable to visualize anything less important than this task. Not the best move, but Yan stuck by it. "Sorry guys, drink problem. Get an idea of how many guys they've got. We also need to find out where their vehicle is." There was a loud slurping noise as Yan did the unthinkable and shotgunned the rest of his drink, and then stood up just wonkily enough to portray inebriation significantly worse than what he was experiencing.
"Little boys room!" exclaimed the drunk tourist, far louder than his internal voice told him he was going to be, and staggered off towards the refreshers and a well-placed bag within.
"<<We've got movement. Muri, play it cool,>> Sar says, his form stoic and unmoving as he talks into the closed channel. Useful feature of wearing a completely sealed-off helmet. <<"Naia; get closer to Netep if you can, but don't jump just yet.>> Sar's grip flexes open and closed on the butt of his blaster rifle turned handcannon, but he's not about to start a fracas with hotel security over some goon flexing.
"Tread real careful there, darlin'." Is Naia's comment into the comm. She looks over at Yan, somehow exuding the sort of disdain most commonly experienced when sorority sisters decide to slum it and find out that the rest of the world does not care as much about shoes as they do. She turns back to her game and pulls her lever again, which only minorly occludes her vision. She takes a last sip of her drink---she's going to follow directions but her hesitance to do so probably speaks to her uncertainty---what the hell is she going to do if she gets close to Muri? Fall on her?
Naia is stacked like pancakes, but even so, physically falling on the other woman seems like a really bad idea. She puts a lavender hand out to steady herself as she steps off of her stool. Her glass had been full of juice, but it's for the /look/ of the thing, isn't it? She lets out this annoyed little sound as her bet misses the mark again, and then plucks up her glass, carefully picking her way across the gaudy carpet in her gaudy heels. The sparkly pink star-shaped glasses complete the look of someone who is absolutely blasted, and definitely got left behind by the rest of her girl friends. Boo.
Wobble, wobble.
The guards are like shadows to the 'buyers' as the group progresses inwards, Saturi's hands now free and B'haav the drunk intrusted with the credits. "Was that wise?" Eriu is playing it all the way through. "Giving him the credits?" No true offense B'haav. Khalim's sudden statement in the face of of the boss gets a cold stare. "You have a problem with my people, then do not work with me. You are rather straight forward...and annoying." This said to Khalim as Eriu comes to a stop and glances brielfy at Kaavenn and draws a deep breath.
B'haav's intro draws some of the heat from Khalim but the guards once behind them are motioned over. As they walk closer there is a definitive finger point and the Boss lifts a slugthrower and without much hesitation shoots the credit grabbing figure in the chest leaving him to cough up blood on the floor.
The speeder parked at the back opens up and out comes a heavy set figure carrying a handled cylindrical container. He sets it down upon the floor and turning it sideways 'unrolls' it to show triangular compartments that fold in on each other. "I like to get right to business. We keep talking and I might decide I need to shoot again." Eriu nods without a word and motions Saturi forward to inspect. "Our Geologist."
Silks is staring the desert footpad touching his silks. He clears his throat quickly as a crooked grin begins to spread. Unseen goons from before are moving forward, getting closer and one even clears the approach. "Boss, need anything?" Silks waves him off as beedy eyes are narrowed on Muri. "You look like a pickpocket more than anything but...we have a little bit." Meathead stares at his companion and secures the credit chit. "Don't think its a good idea....don't like the smell of her." Then comes the glittery heeled creature of Naia and the guards are watching the drunken walk. There is a chuckle amongst the guards and then a whistle. Silks finally nods to Muri. "The table right there will do." Not but ten feet away and still within sight for the male creatures of the interceptors.
The sound of the gunshot makes 'Our Geologist' nearly jump out of her skin. Still shocked from the rush of that guard getting blasted, she timidly steps forward to the cylindrical container. It takes her a few moments to place her own briefcase down and pull out tools to verify the authenticity of the gems. Likely to the irritation of the crime lord, she takes her sweet time to ensure that these jewels are priceless.
The diamonds are without flaw. To a trained artisian, they're invaluable. Saturi tries to act as neutral as she can, inspecting /each/ rock as slowly as the last.
"Are you certain that these are from Aurea?"
The question is presented with authority and a doubtful glance. Summoning all of her confidence, she asks another question of the hair-trigger boss. "Did you not have anyone of your own check?" A shifty look is sent to the other goons.
Khalim
Khalim has no reply, the boss's lightly edged insult drawing a curiously appraising yet clearly darkened glance. But only for a moment, because that finger points, and the goons are brought forth. And one, hands clutching at a rended chest, falls to the ground to die as he had likely lived: under a shadow. There's a very faint downwards curl to dark green lips as the Mirialan's attention returns to the boss, who had just mentioned the possibility of yet more shooting.
For a moment Khalim remains where he stands, though a sweeped side-long glance ensures he is aware of the locations of his compatriots, as well as the remaining goon. The guy on the floor? His location remains pretty obvious even when out of sight thanks to the slowly quieting death rattles.
Saturi's questioning of the boss's inspection of the possibly-not-Aurean diamonds has the Mirialan taking a very casual step back. And then another. And then another. Placing some minor amount of additional distance between himself and, well, everyone. That singular dark brown gaze shifts from boss to goon.
B'haav looks from Saturi to EJ, and the look on his face is something between disgruntlement and wounded pride. It's not that hard, he just pretends that the words are real, which they are - for Beban Beazebagabo... But sometimes the hardest lie is feigning surprise. It's an act not well pulled off for the amateur. B'haav's not shocked by the brutal methods of the boss, nor the combustive boom of the slugthrower, nor the bleeding merc hitting the floor. But he does look the part, letting his body flinch at the sudden noise and his mouth gape as he looks at the falling figure. It takes a moment for him to close his mouth and keep his eyes forward.
"Thank goodness he doesn't shoot the annoying ones," he mutters audibly, setting the briefcase down between his legs and holding it with his ankles together. He pulls a flask slowly and deliberately from his pocket and takes a swig of the water inside, though he's certain to wince and breathe like he just took a pull of something else. While he's sipping, he's watching the Boss, and there's a flash across his face at Saturi's questions. B'haav squints a little as he closes the flask and picks up the briefcase again, before straightening. "I went to Aurea once. Au rea-lly liked the place. Know what the disappointment was? Served their drinks in flimsiplast. You believe that?" It's said to no one. Or everyone. Diversions ahoy.
Kaavenn
At the look from EJ, Kaavenn gives his best quick cheeky retainer grin, it is brief, but very full of sharp fangs. His eyes turn attention of the Hapan noble to look around the surroundings once again, another sniff, though more subtle. There. It leads his eyes to drag marks, another body before they arrived. Unfortunately his nose is essentially taken out of consideration considering the fresh glut of blood everywhere from the scattergunned one. The nose wrinkles in response, but the expression on his face is Professional Apathy.
Saturi gains the overwatch gaze from Kaavenn, especially as she makes her announcement. In his experience, dealers don't like to be questioned. Kaavenn knows, he deals weapons. Khalim is on his own at the moment, as he's taken a wise course of action.
Kaavenn makes a note to start wearing armor under this suit, EJ is going to get him shot again, he is certain of it. First another subvocal transmit, it has to be brief. <<"One KIA pre-arrival. Two Goons unseen.>">>
Kaavenn slowly shifts his stance, and takes a side step. As always his priority is EJ, but he knows to stay clear of her sword arm. B'haav is actually priority two, perhaps it may mitigate Beban Beazebagabo aggravation. Saturi is Tertiary. Kaavenn will end up demanding a hazard bonus at this rate.
"Mayhap I smell a bit o'fear on you..." Netep eyes Meathead "'fraid you can't best a girl at her own game?" A soft tsk turns to low whistle as she, too, appraises the sloppy Nautolan. "How about her? She look like she smell better."
And on that note, Netep flashes Naia a little crook of finger while sinking into a chair at the desired table.
I mean, it wasn't a lie. One refresher break later and Zhu Yan was lighter of both soul and bladder. Adjusting the waistband of his shorts so they didn't squeeze too hard around his belly, he absconded to the parking hovergarage to try and find where the escape vehicle was hiding.
It didn't take long. He hadn't made it two steps out when his hip clipped the second-ugliest speeder he'd ever seen, spun him around, and landed him on his rump. There was a pause, then a quiet "sithspit," and Yan pulled himself up to his feet using the offending (and offensive!) vehicle as a guide. Almost out of spite, he looked inside, and saw enough silk to clothe everyone in Mos Espa including the banthas. This is of course exaggeration, but not much. "Uh," he said over his comm, "I think I found the escape ride."
Now what?
Those ruby viewports continue to scan the casino floor, falling on NAIA'S LUMPS as she goes about closing the distance between herself and Netep. A quiet 'hrmm' of appreciation is voiced but the man's a consumate professional, so his attention returns to Silks. It'd be easy, to be fair, to level that bolt-thrower and punch a hole in the man before launching a chair out the lobby window and scampering away. Why not just use the door, you ask of Sar Yavok? Not enough wanton property damage, he would answer. likely dragging a broken beer bottle through a priceless oil painting.
The heels are a /bold/ choice for a woman used to working in flats, and they definitely help with the illusion that she's a little tipsy. The going is slow, and when she hears that whistle, slender lavender fingers rise to lower the pink glittery lenses of her glasses so that she can presumably look the whistler up and down. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that she doesn't have eyelids, and so instead of fluttering her lashes she ends up fluttering her nictating membranes which is. Interesting to watch. Just objectively.
The nautolan wobbles over to the table, nearly losing her footing on the way, and leans down to place both palms on the edge of it so that she can lean in. Like she's going to complain to the manager. "Um, excuse me. He was really rude." She says, pointing expansively, either in the direction of the whistler or the sun or something. Her sunglasses fall down on the table, but not before bouncing off of her considerable cleavage. "Kriff." She scrables for her glasses. They are important. They are genuinely the only part of this outfit that she likes---she's felt more clothed in hospital gowns.
The boss watches as Saturi gets to work and though taps his foot manages to keep some patience. That is until the geologist speaks rather bodly. The Boss tilts his head, brow slowly rising as he begins to take a step closer before the terrible pun hits the decks and ears from one drunk credit holding B'haav Adasta - who is not currently named that. Eriu had been staring at a wolf grin, mouth full of teeth when Khalim starts to back up. Tension is growing and it does not help when the wolf broadcasts faintly to them all to give them an update.
The Hapan straightens up. "I am sure my geologist here did not mean any harm. She just knows her rocks...and likes to be sure." The boss stares at each one but then narrows his gaze while he stares down at Saturi. "They came through Aurea thus they are from Aurea. I do not question when I get a good thing. And now that good thing is yoursl...so then. Do we have a deal." Eriu waits for Saturi to give her a nod before she will. But the case is full of rocks not credits and there is no way they are getting away without them finding out. Sweat. The lieutenant steps forward to take the container of rocks.
"Pack it up." She taps Saturi on the shoulder. Meaning she pack up the container of diamonds.
---
Silks chuckles, glancing aside at Naia. "She is rather shiny....but I am not sure...well she would probably be fun to gamble against." Meaning easy mark. But as she proclaims rudeness Silks stops and glances at the guard. "Appreciating is not rude...please do not puke on me." Meathead is moving to intercept which puts him in the perfect position for Muri to see that bag holding the recent winnings in his pocket and for Sar to have a shot. Yan however is still admiring the speeder.
He thinks he found their escape ride all right. Meanwhile Meathead is looking down at Naia then over at the guard. "Apologize Lutz...and now." The guard hesitates and then grunts. "Apologies."
"You don't understand." The geologist protests forcefully, taking a step away from the diamonds. One of them still resting in the palm of her hand. The gem is offered out for viewing. "You should have had someone verify these before wasting our time." She wiggles her hand from the wrist, the jewel being hard to see. "These are diamonds, but they aren't from Aurea." Her declaration is presented with additional force. Saturi shakes her head, her dialogue contiuning to come off as an uncontrolled temper tantrum rather than a professional objection. "They're from the deep core." She pauses, "You can tell from the way they were formed."
The Pantoran puts on her best irritated glare, sharing a glance with everyone in the room. "We can't buy these." The priceless rock is lobbed at the boss in contempt. "They're fake."
Two out of sight. Four total, including the boss. Khalim's attention drifts to likely places from which goon reinforcements might possibly sally forth. A pear hued hand rests comfortably at his waist, draping - but not gripping - the handle of that blocky, rectangular Westar holstered just there. The attempted look is casual...
Until casual disappears, as a case full of deep core diamonds flies through the air. There's a half-moment's deliberation as the pressure rises, and rises, until Khalim feels a snap as indecision transforms into a grip upon that handle and a darting draw, aim, and sequenced pair of trigger squeezes.
With a tibana-assisted screen, two gold bolts lance forth, the first splashing harmlessly against the far wall but the second solidly impacting the boss's goon lieutenant. "Grab and go people!" he shouts.
Distraction. Perhaps Uri had presented just enough.
There are certain things one should always know. Where is the exit? Where is the bathroom? What do you do at lunch if you forget your bank account is empty? What do you do with a briefcase full of bricks when your intercepted diamond drop goes sideways? In truth, he didn't know until right that second. But as a gold blaster bolt fires between him and the lieutenant, B'haav knows there's a couple of ways this can go. He starts to swing the briefcase back, but a second bolt takes the lieutenant's attention and opens an extra hole in the man that most would find inconvenient. Objects in motion tend to stay in motion though, and the briefcase is about to fly. Much like the glittering diamond that had been flung in his direction, the briefcase is also in the air now, heading straight for the same locale: Mob Boss Faceville.
As a cartilaginous crunching sound is likely about to turn this thing all the way upside down, B'haav slips behind the blasted up mobster and in front of the boss with the unfortunately-positioned face and charges to a halt between the baddies he can see, a Hapan and a Pantoran. "So... I think we may need to get going. Beban Beazebagabo is ready to get going. That's me. Beban Beazebagabo." Belabored that bit.
Kaavenn
Apparently Kaavenn is not the only one who broadcasts bad news... Saturi literally casts diamond at the boss while claiming it is a fake. Kaavenn's attention fully shifts, focusing on threat assessment. One Goon suddenly combat ineffective from Khalim's opening gambit.
B'haav pulls off the suitcase shot of the century providing a distraction that comes accompanied by a pleasant crunching sound to the Shistavanen's ears. Risk and reward are calculated, and the Assassin longs to spill blood just for the inconvenience. Instead he has a job to do, partially one that will get him yelled at later. "Boring geology conversation anyway."
That is unfortunately the only warning EJ is going to get, as Kaav closes a hand on the back of her dress missing her neck. He grunts to tug to fling her momentum for their get away and takes a half step -forward-. His right hand had flung out his jacket to be able to grab and haul up the heavily modified E-14 on a shoulder rig. Now he steps back and to the side, placing himself between goonville and Hapan Diva.
"I'll spot the wounded lady an opening bid," Netep offers, creaking back in her seat with a surreptitious glance to Meathead's backs-POCKETS, his pockets, and takes mental notes. A few. "So, big rollers, how much are you willing to barter for round one?" Netep fingers a switch on the table, activating the holographic dealer which brings a 'deck' to life on the table between them.
"Seems t'me like you had other intentions for your new purse, but I'm happy to alleviate some of your burden." Brow waggle. And the holographic decks split, generating a 'main' in the center and a 'side' deck for each player keyed in at table. "Or, maybe you are thinking it is I who will be in your debt? You are a man who is used to getting things his way. I see the calculations forming already." It's not an accusation so much as a casual statement of perceptions.
Alright, so, delay the buyers. Easy peasy. Yan had a bit of technical know-how in case of that. Stage one, cause cascading problems.
Putting down the satchel he'd purloined from the refresher, he pulled out a couple of small wiring tools. Popping open the under-dash, he found the connector for the key to the starter motor and half-severed it, fraying wires so it looked like they'd been chewed. Replacing the cover, he hopped out of the speeder and popped open the hood, looking under it for... there. Coolant hose. Just the /tiniest/ of nicks and he could see it dribbling out. That would go pop once the engine turned over. Finally, he moved to the timing belt and scratched a few lines into one of the edges. Then, satisfied, he closed the speeder up.
Now if the thing /did/ start, it wasn't going anywhere. "If they do leave, they're gonna have speeder trouble. Pressure's off, enjoy yourselves."
A shame he had no idea about the chaos taking place...
It's an astounding bit of luck that...no shots have been fired. It's no doubt due to the fact that Yan's got the bladder of a three year old and thus has spent an alarming amount of time not pestering folk. Sar spares Netep and Naia a glance and slides his blaster into its holster, buttoning the thing closed. <<"Gonna take a look around outside,">> he comms, standing up straight and moving unhurriedly to step out of the lobby and out onto the dusty Socorran streets. His helmet swivels around, taking in the sights and sounds of the smugglers paradise for just a few moments before his jetpack flares to life and the man goes sailing into the sky, his second comm band finally free of interference and picking up...well...picking up trouble.
Naia appears, whether genuinely or as a matter of guile, mollified by the apology. She scoops up her glasses and spends a constructive thirty seconds getting them back onto her face---harder than it looks with her facial configuration. "I don't...really know how to play this. I just like to put my credits in and watch the lights go...whoosh." She says, gesturing with another expansive hand movement. A hand movement that has her wobbling on spindly heels again. Oops. She nearly falls on Muri. Oops again.
