Log:The Shadowport: Finding THE Enigma
Shadowport hunts for THE Enigma
OOC Date: September 23, 2021
Location: Canto Bight
Participants: Eriu Jynx as GM, Khalim, B'haav Adasta, Zhu Yan, Sar Yavok, Netep Muri The Shadowport
Canto Bight is a world of opulence and over indulgence wrapped up in elegance and highly overdone show rooms. You can find anything here from the latest fashion and model of hover car to black market goods and gambling. There are spas and gorgeous restaurants serving only the best and overpriced grade A nerf burgers so pretentious they have their own twiffer account.
Its a sight to make the eyes sore.
This is where Eriu had brought the group to take some time off and mishaps occured. Both Eriu and Khalim injured and the Duchess met by some of her personal house guards who surround her ship and keep her safe as the information gathering is left to the grunts.
Meaning you.
Four of our participants have already begun the work as the rest without the advantage of knowledge already distributed are arriving. Muri is dealing with a gambling addict heir to the durasteel fortune who is now extending his credit to by the colorful woman a drink, leering at her a little too much to try to take his mind off the immense amount of debt he is going to owe this Mister E person.
B'haav manages to note a dealer of consequence who does her best to dodge his questions about Engima and effectively waves over her relief as she steps back and rises up so she can excuse herself from work, heading towards a break room at the side wall.
Khalim has found himself sequestered at a security terminal behind a half wall to cover its outlandish presence amidst the opulence. He can't quite get past the first screen to get into the logs and videos of the building.
And finally Rale made a friend who managed to alert him to the VIP lifts that were hidden from the usual customers who by comparison are ruffians to THESE guests. He's gotten the far lift door open but the lift itself is stuck up on one of the top floors and will need to be brought down without the special key card.
All are in search of Enigma or information on him big or small all while Eriu is resting amid Hapan noble guards who are trying to get her to split and run to Hapes.
Canto Bight. Playground of the galaxy's rich and famous, and in this case the associates and allies of the same. Khalim had been instructed to stay within his room, if he wasn't smart enough to leave - Eriu had been smart enough, the Mirialan not quite so much. Duty... at least perceived, heavier than a mountain. Even when told it didn't exist. To this man, it did. And so here he had stayed, and here he now stood, beside a security data terminal staked out for at least the past hour. The moment had arrived, and...
<BEEP. Access Denied.>
Again. Another try and he would be locked out, and likely some terminal somewhere deep within this palatial casino's administrative heart, would beep an alert. There were only two ways this one was going to be access: a brute force password hack, or a quick swipe of a data-card he simply didn't have.
Khalim evinces his frustration with a low grunt. "Kriffing... farking... drekking..." A pear-hued hand rises, barely touching the still-there light-purplish bruising that still exists in a band around the front of his neck. There's a grimace and he takes a step back from the terminal.
The Mirialan takes a moment to scan his surroundings, looking for an employee that /might/ have a keycard. A supervisor, or security officer.
B'haav Adasta is wearing the showiest outfit possible. Blending in with the patrons of a casino means gaudy. Looking like money. So he wears a black silk suit with emerald green pinstripes, a black bowler with teardrop embroidery, and he walks with the lean on his silver cane, ornately ornamented and with a moonstone cap. The time before the casino had not been showy though. It ahd not even been flashy. It had been hard work. Hard scutting dredging as he sifted through piles of information, stolen backgrounds from any source, and a pair of datapads, which he alternated as he drafted a profile. With that profile, he had... Nothing but a 'something to look out for.' Something like someone just... Reacting to the name.
"I am so confused at Sabacc. What's a half and what's a... The whole thing is an Enigma."
It was so innocuous. And really easy to pretend he didn't understand the game. Because he really didn't. But he did understand the look in the dealer's eye. When he began to press a little, though... She shut their parasocial relationship down. Not even commiserating as his credits dwindled. That's just a little rude. But as she called for a replacement - to get away from him - a shiny platinum pin in the shape of a sinuous E was seen inside vest... That's a lead, and B'haav isn't about to let her slip away.
He rises from the table, sliding his remaining chits to the new dealer and wishing luck to this remaining. While not trying to stand out, he makes no secret that his course is intended to intersect hers before she reaches the staff-only area.
"Miss, you dropped this." He holds out a closed hand. What has he got in it?
A grunt. Really. Zhu 'The Man With No Plan' Yan owned a fracking space station and here he was on punishment detail because he just so happened to disappear on what he /says/ was 'important business, babe!' for /months/ without so much as a Spallmark greeting card. Some people just overreact, Yan mused as he stood in the chill-to-him air of Cantonica, the smell of money and shame thick in the air. Not his shame, oh no, Yan never had any of that.
"You need to turn it off and on again," the short-statured and short-sighted smuggler so wisely advised the green bloke at the security terminal. Yan was dressed in his standard attire, which meant that he was the perfect distraction in the 'Bodily hurled from the casino the second he stepped foot inside' sense. "I think. I dunno, usually I have people do the slicing for me." Pause. "Like you. I mean. In a pinch. Normally I have whatsername. Had. She left. Something about no tools for the job." Who in the fracksticks was Yan rambling about now? Definitely not the arm visible just around the poorly lit wall where his wandering eyes had locked like a proton torpedo on a suspiciously exposed exhaust port. The small man could see smoke of a most... noxious sort.
Hm.
"Maybe that guy can help," interjected Yan cheerfully, like he was lost. I mean, he was lost, but that wasn't the reason this time. Appropriating his casual cocky swagger, Yan walked up along the curve of the wall until he was somewhere behind and to the side of what he could now make out as a smoking security guard. Above was the flickering sign of 'WORkER ACCesS'. Ah, budget cuts. The smell of the smoke was definitely some sort of familiar narcotic, and this caused Yan to break out into an even wider grin. "Hey buddy!" he suddenly exclaimed when almost /right next/ to the guy. "Always nice to meet a customer of Fedorki Inhalables!" now he was just making this up to the very surprised guard. "We pride ourselves in quality product and-"
The next words never came. What did come, however, was Yan's right hand shooting out to catch the guard's, the one with the spice ciggy in it. This pulled the man out of position, and the follow-up was a WHUNG sound as a metal endoskeleton left fist collided with the back of the man's head. Well, back and side. Thump. Slump. The spice-stick flung out of the man's hand and Yan made a "YIP!" sound inexplicably as he went to catch it, but it went througt his fingers and landed on the pavement. No matter, he picked it up as the guard collapsed, wiped it off, inhaled, and made a /face/.
"Ugh, it's sithspit. Definitely my product. Green lad, come here and see if he's got what you need," the smuggler mused, his eyes focused on the WORkER ACCesS sign...
Money, booze, loose pockets and loose lips and loose...well, what isn't there for a Muri to love?
Ladies of standard may have best served their honor by snubbing the drunken, funds-leaking daddy's boy, Mister Oomdun Jr, but fortunately for Eriu and Khalim's cause, Netep is not one of those ladies. She'll drink on any scum's credit. Especially if there's enough 'cause' motivating her otherwise self-indulging antics to justify them. It's a feel good moment. She's done good. Good girl.
"Mm," Muri blows a little purple plume up the nostrils of the leering man, lilac lips twisting coyly aside. Violently violet eyes watch him from under a fan of blue lashes that's almost as obscene as her outfit. Pearlescent white, fluttery, periwinkle-feathered shoulder cape. Blue hair braided and floofed to feature a central crest that would make any exotic bird proud. "No harm in a drink..." Sparing the man just a sliver of teeth, she lets her eyes wander pointedly down toward... "I've been watching you, afterall. You're a man with big /pockets/."
Shameless.
"Do I get to know your name, Mr Big Pockets?" Muri goes so far as to reach for a tug on said feature of clothing while her other hand lifts the tabac for another draw.
Khalim is married to his frustration with the terminal only for a few moments because Yan presents the answer for him but now with spice laced breath. Luckily the scent rising off the downed guard suggests maybe he smoked a little too much and none of the staff are going to question that as long as they do not turn him around to notice the bruise forming on his face.
The keycard is exactly what Khalim needs and once he passes it into the system there is a myriad of choices. Granted he doesn't have access to all levels on this keycard but enough that he can begin looking for guests and the records. Engima may not be the name that is stored but the search has to begin somewhere.
B'haav's words reach the dealer as she slows into a side step and blinks at seeing him. "Dropped what? Sir, I think it best you not approach me." She seems all too skittish and ready to make a run for it. She eyes the break room door just a few scant feet away. B'haav does not look like someone who would try anything in relative closenesss to possible witnesses so she doesn't just take off and run but she does have a wary expression upon her face that she tries to cover with an unconvincing smile that the resort has probably paid her to train for.
Muri's company is far less wary in fact he should be making her wary. He reaches out to take her hand in an attempt to kiss it. "Teerin Oomdun the fourth, lovely flower. My pockets are plenty big." He chuckles and finds himself rather entertaining as he motions a server over. "Put our drinks on my tab. I will take a Pookon Race...and you, Miss?" He is digging for a name as well but in what he feels is a clever elegant fashion that he learned from watching social events growing up. The lackey comes back and Teerin looks up and the two nod at each other. "Excellent, my credit is good again. Give my thanks to Mister E."
The /green lad/ watches with, well, zero surprise as a certain Yan steps further past that short security-alcove-divider and has a... pleasant interaction... with the security guard. "People like ME for slicejobs?" Khalim chuckles, a low throaty sound that's cut off as that bruise protests the effort. "Need me to bake a pie while we're at it? Perform open heart surgery?"
Crossing to the downed man, the Mirialan begins rifling pockets. Some chewing gum, zoochberry flavored, a single quarter-credit chit - perhaps lucky? A hint of frustration in the form of a distinct downward curl to thinly drawn lips. "No ident-card?" he mutters, before spotting a corner of white plastic hanging down from a nerfhide belt. "Ah-ha." Khalim pulls on the card and up it comes, attached by retractable cord, the reel of which is quickly unfastened.
He rises. "Might want to hold him up, think you're helping when he starts shaking it off." Looking down, he notes the data-stripe that runs the length of the Tim's card and slides it across the terminal's card reader. Khalim begins browsing through folders. "For the record, I fly. The best I do with datacomps is input navigational details and play Singletaire... Found it." He points at a folder on the terminal's screen that very obviously says: ENIGMA.
The Mirialan's eyes begin to widen, dark brown saucers.
"Uh..." Khalim leans in, a look of shock upon that pear-hued face. No...
Fascination.
"Uh... Not a guest. An experience." FASCINATION. "Services kinks such as... total namana juice immersion, eight hands?" He pauses, clearing his throat. "Sensory deprivation, and... what in the kriff is <'EO' AUGMENT>..." Khalim blanches, "Experimental Oral."
Turning to Yan he shakes his head, "Not our guy." His own datapad has been removed, though. A little white light blinks. Information successfully downloaded.
B'haav slows his pace but still takes another couple of steps, opening his hand to show a couple of 10,000 credit chits. He lowers his voice considerably as he continues. "Make a surprised face like I'm being inappropriate. Maybe even propositioning you." The Balosar leans forward, the brim of his hat casting shadow over steel-grey eyes. The dealer's wariness plays well into this approach. "If he knew how easily you out him - your expression, wearing a SYMbol? He would be most displeased." B'haav moves the hand a little emphatically, causing the credit chits to shake. "Now, take them, or decline them. Before this looks weird. We need to talk." The affable and bumbling gambler is gone, replaced with a sinister cohort. The venom is easy to find for B'haav; the target is an open threat to his people.
Sputtering away the foul taste of his merchandise, having forgotten for a moment the fourth crack commandment, Yan dropped the thing close to the mouth of the dead guard. "Alibi," he said, as though this would clearly hide the fact that the guy had been king hit. He wiped his mouth off with his sleeve. Sorry, The Jacket, more horrible experiences for you.
"Nah man you got this," he said to Khalim, completely disregarding what his very valued employee was saying. Rather than doing any of the very helpful suggestions, he just let the guard remain collapsed. Clearly some sort of overdose. ON FIST. "Also, what in the sithspit are you into? That sounds gross. Namana is super sticky and I would /know/!" He would know. "Ew." Pause. "Send me that file."
Yuck.
Moving on, literally, Yan opted to pop open the worker access door like he belonged here. Inside was... not much, like a hallway with discarded wrappers and some lockers. Lockers! Yan loved lockers. He loved looting them. But most of all he liked dressing up as what was inside. Unless it was a dress. He was not fond of those. They were tight around the waist. "Got jumpsuits here," he said quietly, possibly inaudibly because to be honest he wasn't paying attention to how far away Khalim is. The first one he grabbed, disregarding the nametag, and pulled it on over himself.
Well, tried.
You see, Zhu Yan is not exactly svelte. One might call him husky. The Jacket did /not/ help especially when he forgot to fracking take it off! So when the uniform was fully zipped up, he looked like a comically small head atop the Michelin Man. It was awkward and uncomfortable, much like his sex life. Finally, he doffed a nearby matching hat. That did not help at all. "I am totally ready for some blending in."
He was not.
Most planets suck for one reason or another, but Canto Bight sucks the most. Especially when you're a disgraced former multi-millionaire who used to own not one, but two Star Destroyers. Life has a way of playing a mean hand (or twelve) every once in a while.
Former millionaire and current polished vagrant Sar Yavok is holding up the bar, grumbling every once in a while between long pulls on a bottle of something that still manages to look very expensive. He's adorned in...well some actually decent looking clothes for once and he's somehow managed to find time for a shave and a coif. A dark sequined dinner jacket hangs open over a pressed black dress shirt, though the breast pocket is notably ruffed by the near constant rate of procurring new cigarillos from it.
Does he know that they're on a mission here? Did he know at one point and drink himself so much into a stupor that he forgot? There's really now way of knowing.
"You guys...you guys know a Mister Esk?" It's the second one. Partially.
[ Netep Muri (Muri)]
"Pyndir. Zaia Pyndirrr," Muri purrs a bit of a Lorrdian accent to go along with her 'perfume' that's without a doubt already on olfactory display. She snorts a bit of a giggle when lips are brushed (slobbered) over hand and she rolls her eyes aside to eyeball the next race lineup on display. "Broken Wheel. I'll have a Broken Wheel. Over hard....no ice."
Using the handhold as an excuse to slink on a bit closer for a lean against Teerin Oomdun the FOURTH, she passes a casual, disinterested glance over the approaching lackeys and studies her...super fake nails. As if she'd ever be able to grow hers out past the nubs. Insert vapid giggle here.
"What's a Mister 'E' and how do I get one? /My/ Mister had the audacity to go up in flames inside the trunk of a speeder after a bit of a misunderstanding, so might be I'm in the market." Snerkt. RIP Ryo. Teehee. Is she....is she /trying/ to be funny? She's laughing, anyway. "But you might do. A /fourth/. Y'see I'm a bit of a hobby anthropologist..." Muri's voice lowers suddenly, like this having-a-brain business is top secret stuff, and stands on tiptoes to get as close to Teerin's ear as she's gonna. "And I know that a name only gets passed that far along if it's got weight to carry along the legacy." Muri's eyes cut toward the track and she lets her arm go 'round his waist to pick idly at jacket fabric. "You must be able to come here /quite/ often." A pointed look to the lackeys and she whispers again "Do they follow you /everywhere/?" Insert lusty chuckle here, eyeing the whereabouts of his datapad there.
"Pyndir. Zaia Pyndirrr," Muri purrs a bit of a Lorrdian accent to go along with her 'perfume' that's without a doubt already on olfactory display. She snorts a bit of a giggle when lips are brushed (slobbered) over hand and she rolls her eyes aside to eyeball the next race lineup on display. "Broken Wheel. I'll have a Broken Wheel. Over hard....no ice."
Using the handhold as an excuse to slink on a bit closer for a lean against Teerin Oomdun the FOURTH, she passes a casual, disinterested glance over the approaching lackeys and studies her...super fake nails. As if she'd ever be able to grow hers out past the nubs. Insert vapid giggle here.
"What's a Mister 'E' and how do I get one? /My/ Mister had the audacity to go up in flames inside the trunk of a speeder after a bit of a misunderstanding, so might be I'm in the market." Snerkt. RIP Ryo. Teehee. Is she....is she /trying/ to be funny? She's laughing, anyway. "But you might do. A /fourth/. Y'see I'm a bit of a hobby anthropologist..." Muri's voice lowers suddenly, like this having-a-brain business is top secret stuff, and stands on tiptoes to get as close to Teerin's ear as she's gonna. "And I know that a name only gets passed that far along if it's got weight to carry along the legacy." Muri's eyes cut toward the track and she lets her arm go 'round his waist to pick idly at jacket fabric. "You must be able to come here /quite/ often." A pointed look to the lackeys and she whispers again "Do they follow you /everywhere/?" Insert lusty chuckle here, eyeing the whereabouts of his datapad there.
Khalim's got the latest on the new Canto Bight attraction that really is all sorts of odd. Enigma could still be a clue really. It shares the same name so what if? Could be a lot of things. The security terminal is just a mess of information and its obvious they tape over previous recordings without telling anyone. Most people don't have complaints here and if they do the resort just buries them under credits to keep them quiet. It is going to be difficult to find anything else most likely but there is a chance - he is also risking being caught with a guard down near him and standing at a terminal he has no business using. Borrowed time is what one would call it.
Yan. Oh sweet dear Yan. He is none of those things but you just want to pat his cheek and then give him a sucker while you slowly escort him to a padded room for everyone's safety, including his own. Granted he just put on his own padded room by not taking off his jacket. No one will EVER question his nametag which reads Yapyip. Seems to actually fit his current appearance. Down that empty long hall he can hear conversation and the treat of work boots.
B'haav is met by a surprised look as the dealer stares at him and then down at the credits. She has the nerve to look around and then reaches down to take them before she clears her throat. "You know Mister E?" She whispers and then is nodding, glancing back and forth before she starts to lead B'haav towards the breakroom. The door opens and they enter, mvoing past others taking their break to a small outside courtyard where they are alone. "What is it you want?"
Sar Yavok is being served as all are served on Canto Bight that can produce credits. Whether its a fake veneer of money or not - though most workers can see the wealth dripping off of their customers a mile away. This means Sar is not given added attention so when he asks about a Mister Esk he merely gets a shake of a head. "Never heard of him? You going to be able to walk back to your room?" Does the bartender care? There is a woman, obviously some sort of escort who sits off to the side in a strapless red dress, smoking and seemingly waiting for a mark to happen to by. Her eyes lazily sweep over the clientel.
Now back to Muri as she lets loose a quickly plastered together name. "Pyndir! I have heard of them I believe, outer rim miners, rich if I remember and you look rich!" As the drink order is taken and Teerin is left to study his new found companion who he thinks to be part of wealthy mining family he forgets his security in favor of her. Security that is sharing information about their ACTUAL employer who has sent them to keep an eye on Teerin and drive him into further debt with this Mister E. "Mister E? Ahhh well he is a mogul. He invests in opportunities and I am an opportunity I believe. Those guys are his, not mine. They are his go between with me and well...he is good with extending credit when I can not acces my own." Sly. Sleek. Trying to play it off that he has the credit and is not now wallowing in dangerous waters. Teerin calls over the droid. "I want to put all of this," he shows a datapad, "On Turo. Yes Turo, do not suggest I do not know what I am doing. I have a hot tip." And its a good thing because those gates open and off they go! Turo is no where in the lead and for a moment Zaia is forgotten as he screams at the creature who can certainly not hear him.
ENIGMA is secure within Khalim's datapad. Really it's a comprehensive brochure, in essence, complete with a lot of holopics and illustrations. Research, amirite? Looking around, the Mirialan seems to gauge the wisdom of continuing his search. A concerned glance dips down to the security guard still working his way out of a Yan-induced stupor. Consciousness has not yet returned, but it can't be far off.
He takes the gamble, and continues his search. Of ENIGMA: THE EXPERIENCE. Of course. A folder marked <Project Management> draws dark brown attention and Khalim clicks. Clicks and explores. Because that's what you do within ENIGMA. Folder or experience.
"Well now, what's this..." A stamp at the bottom of a page of financials clearly reads 'JR Enigma' --APPROVED--. A clue! And it's immediately searched, revealing a clear trail of records identifying just such a man as in residence here, on Canto Bight. Unfortunately any further information has been clearly, and rather permanently redacted. But a name has been discovered, a name seemingly connected to this upcoming wonderland of erotic insanity.
B'haav nods, but doesn't say anything. If there's a reaction to her taking the chits, it's too subtle to be called anything short of 'noticing that my hand got lighter.' The under-hat-cover Balosar follows to the breakroom where he slips in as subtlely as he can. He remains quiet as they proceed to the courtyard, eyes forward and not looking at anything but the path ahead; no one asks if you should be there if you walk with purpose. When they reach the courtyard, her question comes. There is a hesitation, but beneath it... Fear. She's shaken. And she should be.
"I want two things. I want that pin better hidden. You fluttered like a lantern bird when I said his name, and it wasn't that hard to spot it. I think we both know how much he values discretion." B'haav lets the silence drag out, watching her face as he lets the character further sink into place.
"I want to talk to him. I have... *Pertinent* information about two subjects. Information Mr. E wants. Needs, actually. I know where the subjects are. Where they will be. And I want to watch what happens when he gets in the room with them." That last part? All true. B'haav really can't wait to see what happens then.
Zhu Yan was the kind of guy who would instantly throw himself into a room full of enemies to kill them while on 47 health, no armour, two rockets left, and not a Quad Damage in sight. So his first thought when hearing voices down the hall was 'that is exactly where I need to go'. Present inflated condition notwithstanding of course.
He hadn't been the best liar in the Shadowport for a while now. But that didn't mean he wasn't still /really good at it/. A lot of it is body language. Look like you're supposed to be here. Affect the downcast and downtrodden attitude of someone working upon the whims and wiles of the rich and ridiculous, like Yan. There was irony somewhere in this but Yan for the life of him wouldn't see it.
So when he walked beyond the hallway looking like the marshmallow man he was, grumbling about "rich people" and "they think they own everything" and "I swear if I get another person asking for mysteries..." he fit right in. The hard part was not paying attention to the amount of, well, attention he was about to draw. Khalim's datapad beeps upon the conclusion of this additional captured data, and the terminal is powered back off.
"Here's hoping," Sar says, sneering softly and taking a sip from his bottle and staring holes in the bartender. "Keep giving me that patronizing and I'll take your head to the kriffing bar. See which one breaks first," Yavok threatens. His bottle is set aside for a moment and he once again fished out a cigarillo; the only things currently in his possession that are of any actual value. Tabacc dur Markess; hand-rolled by some nameless slaves from some backwater and imported to the more civilized parts of the galaxy at a ludicrous premium.
The Corellian man holds a blue flame to the end of it and takes a long drag.
"Oh, I'm /rich/ allri--" Oh. Netep needn't bother with the wink because her prince charming has whipped around, chucked his datapad on the floor and is now waving aggravated fists at the fathier of (his) choice lagging behind. Poor Turo. Poor Zaia! Left to her own devise there, still awaiting her Broken Wheel, Muri passes a little look left, an equally surreptitious look right, and determines that she's suddenly alone on an island of IGNORED while the other bodies in this swanky suite cheer (or yell) at the screens.
Taking a half step back, Muri leans a hip on the edge of a high-backed leather chair, dips a hand into her sparkly black handbag, pulls out her datapad. A bit. Her thumb and couple fingers contort to get a few image captures of the security lackeys allegedly belonging to Mister 'E', then she waits a beat. Eyes his lying there on the floor. Summons the courage....
Muri's crouched a bit awkwardly then, crooking the ends of her killer nails at it until it's snagged and dragggged further behind Teerin's line of sight for her to pick up and start browsing and maybe take a few pic-----
!?!
Suddenly 'Zaia' is staring into Oomdun the Fourth's beet-red face. From the floor. "I--you dropped this!" she blurts, tucking the corner of hers back into HER bag and offering the man's 'pad back out to him. "S'perfect place for thieving hands to grab up goods, races such as these, I just...thought it..shouldn't be on the floor. I--" a look to the guards who have by now also turned to give her dubious looks. A not-whispery whisper "I'm not in trouble, am I?"
Somewhere inside Muri's handbag there's an obnoxious noise, signaling that her message has been sent.
G'dammit, Muri.
Khalim gets that little bit of tidbit along with the immense amount of shocking information about the new attraction. Adults only - thank goodness. When he powers down the terminal and Khalim is left with something for his troubles Tim has since risen from his spot during all this. Yan is missing but that does not mean Khalim is and the moment the man starts fumbling for his card and gathering himself up he spots the Mirialan. Stalk. Stalk. Stalk. "What do you think YOU are doing?" There is a golden E pinned to his collar as the man suddenly tries to clock Khalim but misses - still dizzy. He goes for his radio. "We have trouble, Mirialan sited at Corridor B terminal sixteen. Has my key card. Matches the description." What description?!
Yan is met with incredulous stares at first for his poofy upper body. They stare for a good long while as he grumbles about rich people. AHHH there's the ticket. They nod, "Here here!" That is declared in solidarity as they allow Yan to pass by unquestioned and continue about their own business. Further down there is a bellhop in uniform who is fixing a hover tray with its arrangement of food. "Kriff, KRIFF! Oh no no no! Mister E is going to be so angry." Spilled juice everywhere as the other bellhop next to him looks white faced. "Let me go get it, you go on to the Enigma Room and I will be along." Enigma room being the experience that Yan now has details on thanks to Khalim.
B'haav is faced with a woman who is now sweating bullets thanks to his lies. She starts to reach for her pin when he requests that he get to meet Enigma. She blinks a moment, confusion evident even if his cover is not blown. "I am sorry what? I...he is busy with the new attraction opening. I am sure he won't have time to see you." She is removing her pin and shoving it into her pocket out of sight. She had been told to wear it but maybe policies had changed under his regime. She is a small person in the web of things most likely. "I ...I would check with his assistant. Miss Weir. She is just at the front office likely coordinating things." Pause. "Please do not tell Mister E."
Sar is being Sar, soaking up that alcohol with even just the pores of his being. The bartender looks a little nonplussed and irritated. "You keep up with the threats and your ass will find the tarmac so fast you won't have a moment do so again." There is a look given that is a threat in and of itself.
Muri. Rather Zaia just made a small oops but one that begins to snowball effortlessly down a very steep hill. This engagement is going south fast. VERY fast. There is a coolness to Teerin's features. He may not have all his braincells but he has the ones powered by knowledge of thieving hands. "Just like yours, Miss Zaia?"
The beep from inside her bag is exactly what tips this point further and the ball begins to pick up speed. "Raimon." He says in a steady, cool tone to get the agent's attention who turns to look at them. "I think Miss Zaia here may need to be escorted out. Check her bag." He is no longer interested in her pretty purple lips but rather what those hands have been up to. Raimon starts to walk their direction when the Fathier loses and Teerin lets out a sound. "Teerin, Mister E would like to see you." Credit has limits as Teerin quickly lunges for Zaia but is caught up by his 'caretakers' and held back. "GET HER! NOT ME!"
This was of course going to happen. Khalim turns to face the security guard now confronting him, however wobbly. That 'E'-pin draws his attention, for a split moment, before 'Tim' is broadcasting FAR too much information. Khalim's location and... he is reminded that /he/ is a target. And not for advertisement for ENIGMA and it's many, uh, -wonders-.
This guy was part of the cabal that had... an image of a round tearing through a Hapan shoulder presses in, and a right hook lances out, catching Tim across the jaw. Still only partially returned from an earlier Yan-delivered nap, the security guard stumbles and falls. Khalim's initial inclination is to finish it, and a stomp is delivered to upper chest. Another is wound up when he hears movement, and remembers where he is, what he is doing, and why lingering to kill is, in fact, a very bad idea.
Khalim looks down, a rictus-like grimace on display, and spits. Then he runs.
B'haav shakes his head. "Of course. I had hoped not to trouble anyone else, but... You are right. Thank you." He offers a small bow, but steel-grey eyes watch the pin and gesture to it. "That's not regulation... You know that. Tell you what... Hand it over so you don't let it fall from your pocket and get in more trouble." He holds a hand out. "Trust it with me for the moment. This is my room number," he adds, quickly jotting something on his hand and holding it out again. "Come by after your shift, and I'll help you find a better place to keep it concealed. I'll even tell you where I keep mine, in exchange for one of my chits back." There's a deep breath, and a smile that feels gross to the Balosar even as he puts it on.
"By who? The Canto Bight rent-a-cops? They're leftovers who couldn't cut it scrubbing Rebel Yell's toilets," Yavok remarks. "They even hear the name 'Sar Yavok' and they'll all be lining up to shake my hand and beg for a job."
Another gruff is exhaled and he sucks back some more of that sweet sweet smoke. An eyebrow hitches as Sar notices Netep's predicament. Being the quick-thinker that he is, he makes a plan and executes it flawlessly, those calloused hands of his balling into a fist and sailing straight into the bartender's nose. It catches the man so unawares that the retaliatory strike is off-balance and easily side-stepped by the former soldier. DISTRACTION TIME.
Oh kriff. 'Check her bag.' Oh frink.
Muri's up and on her feet like a light, staggering back from Teerin's lunge with a shocked - no - HORRIFIED expression! So wounded! So gutted to the core is she, by the accusations that fly! THIEF!? HER!?
Not wanting to find out how apt just ONE of Enigma's agents is at keeping hands on the trust fund baby while the other persues HER, Muri drops the act just three heartbeats later and spins 'round on heel for a lunge into FLEE mode. It THWACKS her into some poor fop sitting there with drink halfway to his lips. Apologies are issued via hasty exhale - the breath leaving her body upon collision - and when Muri rebounds off, scurrying for the suite door, she's got some cocktail held fast in hand. Sloshing all the way.
1.8 seconds later, she's scooting through the shimmery strands of suite privacy curtain with a gait that's struggling to be called a 'run' so much as fastforwarded power shuffle. It's the heels. <"I--"> PANTHUFFBREATHE <"I'M IN A MIRE OF SHAVIT"> But I mean, when is she not? There's always the chance that Muri's definition of trouble are not on par with the universal norm, anyways. <"WH--"> Talking and running at the same time is hard. <"Didya get m-mah-hy message!? Where are y-you lo-HO-ot?">
For any bodies in the more spacious casino/bar area that Muri's just spilled into, she'll be not difficult to spot, in spite of her small stature. There's the blue floof of hair, the feathery half-cape, and if that weren't enough, said hair has captured some shimmery strands on her expedient way out, so she's got streamers fluttering in her wake. For a potential new target, she couldn't get more lit. *SI--*slosh*--IP* "No one has to know you were found out so easily." Runs towards an elevator bank he'd seen just around the corner and a dozen meters down. Fortunately in the opposite direction of what he believes may be Tim-incited cavalry.
TO BE CONTINUED!
