Log:The Shadowport: Lord Kavendish: Big Catch
One of us...Muri is freed from her gilded cage.
OOC Date: February 18, 2021
Location: Adarlon
Participants: EJ, B'haav Adasta, Djahni Chromium, Rale, Tarq Najjic, Trip, Zhu Yan, Kaavenn, Netep Muri, Saturi, Naia, Karr'roga
Shadowport has done their homework and with the Majestic breaking atmosphere hard and fast, Eriu is piloting and she speaks up over the comm as the local authorities are hailing her. "Sorry some interference on our end, likely due to some damage. We will put down at our destination and get that looked at." It may not hold for long but its quick enough, her hands flying over the controls. She's come a long way from learning from Yan years ago to now.
She picks up the radio and switches over to the comms aboard the Majestic just as the beautiful lights of Adarlon twinkle below and the estate of one Kavendish becomes clearer the closer they get. "Hello folks, we all know the drill. Get our Muri out and get off this planet. If we are not quick enough Adarlon's own forces will be up our backend and then we will have real trouble. So main goal, get Netep, get out. If we manage to shoot that bugger than we get him, otherwise we save our skins so we can dance with him another day. Coming in, be prepared for rough landing."
Rough is definitely not over exaggerated. Eriu brings her in hard, fast and she tilts the ship to the side as she tries to clear the turrets at the corners of the tall walls. The ship takes a few hits but she rumbles down into position, landing gear pulling out just at the last minute so that the jolt through the ship can be felt rattling up everyone's spine. They are whole but the ship is hissing as it lists slightly, one of the struts failing to a degree on impact. Repairs will be in order aft that. But then Erui is putting in security orders for the ship as the turrets begin to swivel and aim for them. She unstraps and is up, adjusting the sword at her hip as the red braid sways down her back and she heads for the ramp to join everyone else.
Keying it open the sound of fire and the calls of the guards on the estate can be heard. She glances aside at the others and then is heading right down the ramp to look for cover and a way in.
B'haav Adasta is in all black - no colors, no frills, nothing to catch the eye besides the superior cut of his Hapan, double-breasted suit - from the bowler that hides his antennapalps to the shiny dress shoes. A long graphite pole is slung over his back on a sling, and a finely-detailed silver cane holds up his left hand where it rests. Steel-grey eyes behind shining Tetan lenses look around the cargo bay as his right hand clings to a piece of netting, as does the psychologist's shoe. He's braced for whatever the landing brings, riding out the jolts and jostling before releasing as the lifts catch and the ship sets down.
"Netep Muri is the main goal, confirmed. If I can get on their comms, I intend to tell them to surrender now - anyone who does should be spared. Anyone who fires on us or moves to interfere is more than fair game in my book. First body that drops, someone toss me their radio." Oddly business-like and to the point, for the one that normally never shuts up. The Balosar's in a mood, and it's not just the suit. He draws a sword from his cane and triggers the vibroblade, moving down the ramp for cover, and to get a feel for the opposition.
Djahni Chromium says, "Remember, guys; if she's on death's door, make sure that you remember to ask her where my hallikset it," Djahni says, pulling back the charing lever on his A280 and unsecuring himself from the restraints of a drop seat near the ramp. He stands up a little shakily and rolls his shoulder. "I know I could get another one, but that's a limited edition Djahni 700. So limited that it's the only one in existence," the rocker remarks before he props the heavy rifle up on his shoulder and waits for the 'go'."
Rale has been readying himself for this moment since yesterday morning when, under cover of night several miles away, he lowered his E-wing down to nearly kiss the ground, slowly creeping up on the installation at a snails pace, well under radar and observation, the kind of job that drives a pilot insane with boredom, but can also kill you if you accidentally clip a bit of terrain. His expression is tight, focused, eyes never wavering as in his mind he repeats the mantra: For Muri. For the Port. over and over until finally...
With a fierce whine of engine lift, he rockets up and into the sky as the turrets turn to target the Majestic, the slim interceptor rocketing down in a classic attack run that launches two torpedoes into one of the towers and barrel-rolling away in a spinning arc that leaves laser spewing after him but not touching...Yet. The dance has begun, and he is wearing his best shoes.
Tarq Najjic, of all people, comes running down the Majestic Pandemonium's ramp. Wearing an armor of fibers with a helmet and a few armor plates, he's not weighed down even though it looks sized for someone maybe a bit taller. At his belt and from the pockets and contacts on the armor dangle several grenades of the same make. He dashes to a ditch that provides a bit of cover and slides down into it as though he's stealing second base.
"The wait before action is the worst," Laments the small Kushiban named Trip, CAPTAIN Trip if you asked him. Wearing only the swoop gang colors on his back (a leather kutte), a pair of trousers, and a human's belt worn like a bandolier.. Trip looks about as ready as anyone to leap through the breach. His fur, what's visible of it, begins to turn black as a simmering discontent settles. One paw lowers to his side to draw his sword, a combat knife to you giants, and he holds it at a low ready. "Do not step on me!" He warns, doing his due diligence to avoid that embarrassing fate!
He unclips one of the grenades, hefting it to gauge the weight as he peeks over towards the guards. "Count five guards by entrance. Good grouping - for glop."
Looking like he'd just walked out of a squashed recruitment poster for the Imperial Navy Boarding Corps was Zhu 'oh god he's got a FLAMETHROWER!' Yan. Speaking of, yes, yes he did! He was clad in his unpainted grey power armour that added an inch of height and a bunch of bulk to his already bulky frame, retro-jets on his feet and back firing in a warmup sequence. In his right hand was the Hand Cannon itself, the Bryar, a weapon was absolutely a handheld war crime, and held in his left hand was the ominous white sight of a First Order-issue Incinerator Cannon. In fact, aside from wielding the Bryar instead of the Tracker, he was shot-for-shot identical to the time he broke into a Hapan prison to rescue EJ.
And aside from EJ, there weren't any familiar faces from that job. How times change, and yet how history repeats.
"Alright guys," was the buzzy, muffled voice emerging from the vocoder of the smuggler's full-face helm. "This is absolutely personal. That eyebrowed FRACK has taken one of ours, and we are going to break her out and, chance permitting, remind him exactly /why/ taking her was a bad idea!" he barked, amping himself up and intending to do the same with this ragtag bunch of hired guns he called his team. "We've got death in the air and guns on the ground! We are very skilled, very dangerous, and /very/ angry people, and our good Lord in his ivory palace is going to learn to fear us until we feed him his own eyebrows!" There was a clickWHOOSH from the front of the incinerator as the pilot light burst to life, and a whirr as the Bryar flipped to Kill. "Let's go get our girl back!"
Silent, observant. Kaavenn hasn't elected to deal with this particular issue from afar. He's strapped on the void armor and is going with something a little more suited for CQB action. The E-14 stays in his hands, stock extended and the sling around his neck and shoulder. For now the Z6 is clipped to his belt ready to use. There's nothing for the Shistavanen to say right now. Just a nod acknowledging he heard the instruction. With EJ needing to fly them in hard and rough, he's engaged the maglock boots while gripping a hand on the bulkhead ready to advance down the ramp the moment he is able to.
There comes a loud cackling from Pendemonium's cargo area where some of the Muris are lurking along for the ride. In particular, Lok Muri, who's sitting upon a heavy wooden chest that's literally buzzing with energy. Heat. Fury. Every bump, every tossing of turbulence causes the mystery cargo inside to hum all the more loudly. And causes Lok to succumb to another wave of gleeful laughter.
He might be under an influence.
The male version of Netep Muri casts a sultry wink across to B'haav, barely able to keep himself upright during the landing. The smooth side of his face is hidden beneath a mop of curls. The puckered, scarred side is doing the winking. "Kas tulisha abia al port," he purrs duskily. "And we know chaos well." The remark causes a good chuckling amid the small gathering of other Ibhann'I folk that have come aboard with Lok. Unlike his black hair, theirs is mostly brown, but all possess the same swarthy complexion. They've not said much during the journey, but what has been said has mostly been in Olys Corellisi - the night extinct language of their common ancestors.
"Timing also is important...." an older Ibhann'I man warns from another cluster of makeshift 'seats'. His brown hair has mostly gone gray, leathery skin beset with wrinkles, but eyes a crystal blue. It's in the eyes that his youth remains, this father of Netep Muri. His daughter, Jenica, sits beside him. She shares Netep's curly mess of mane but it is fairer, like her father's. Her eyes, a dark gray. She's sat with a scowl for the duration of flight, likely only here to fulfill obligation. The two of /them/ are wearing mechanic jumpsuits, slapped with hapharzard bits of armor plating that appear homemade. And utility belts...heavily outfitted with assorted tools.
When the ramp descends and bodies start filing out, some of the rowdier Muris are among the exiting party. And then there's Lok, taking his sweet time draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaging that chest across the deckplating, still-smoldering tabac stick dangling from his tawny lips. Because timing is everything, as Da did say. Jeric and Jenica are also slow to depart, leaving the muscle work to the Shadowport crew while they await an opening and opportunity to do a bit of re-engineering around the Kavendish estate. Need to tamper with security system? Open a locked door? Booby trap a ship to fail? They're ready to be of assistance.
Being josteled around and fired on by turrets isn't Saturi's idea of a good time. She has come prepared, ditched the dress and took the armour. The woman remains eerily quiet as the freighter makes a hard stop. Her deep breathing exercises can be heard from a set of speakers mounted to her armoured helmet. Gloved hands work to ready her elaborately decorated weapon.
The Pantoran takes one last gasp of air before rising from her seat. She quietly follows the rest of the group towards the exit, stalling at the top of the boarding ramp, taking a moment to listen to the speech over comms. Her arms reach back around her, adjusting the controls on her deep purple jet pack. The miner waits until Tarq has cleared the mouth of the ramp before sprinting behind him. Golden eyes quickly grab a glance of the scene before her. A balcony. That's where she wants to be.
The group disembarking is met with the calls of the guard assembling. The turrets whir and turn towards their position even as a fighter, unseen on the radar due to how it was hugging the ground is the new target. The operators share comms and as the turrets swivel they miss him by mils, bolts disappearing into the distane as Rale slips by.
Eriu is with the main body of the group, glancing at the Muri's that came along to avendge their kin and return her to safety. This will not be a quiet or a pretty night. "B'haav, once we get one of those guards down, maybe look for a radio, we can listen in and offer sound advice from your lips."
She glances towards the others as she finishes drawing her sword and continues to cover the distance. "We are going to need a way in, one of them should have a passcard on them."
Saturi clears overhead and finds her higher vantage and likely a place that turrets are not likely to hit. <"Rale, keep us clear for when we need to go. Make him hurt."> She lets Moonstrike catch the light, lifting the beautiful rapier as the guards begin to pick their targets. "Glop em." Bright flames shoot from her back as she jumps up towards the roof. She flies over top the set of guards and turrets, trying to skip past them entirely.
The Shadowport members don't worry B'haav Adasta - he's been in the field with them enough to know that they'll do what they will, and things always work... Maybe not well, but they work. Tarq Najjic is a new addition, as is an unfamiliar Kushiban, but not nearly as concerning as the relaxed and disturbing demeanor of Muri's kin. Particularly Lok, who seems to have... Nope, not the time for analysis. He's glad that they're on 'Port's side, but the further he gets from that glowing box, the better. Ever the pragmatist, the Balosar knows that his sword's not going to do any good from here.
Leaving cover, B'haav charges the guards, looking every bit as crazy as he thinks that Muri with the box may be. He doesn't say anything, no war-face, no primal cry, just quick and advantageous strikes to the first guard he meets, slightly off to one side from the others; the first comes down across the guard's knee, finding meat between armor joints, and the second would have done something unpleasant to the guard's head but instead directed his downward trajectory into some sort of self-headbutt. When that one drops, he looks about for a place to cover but, seeing none, opts to deliver a message. "You really ought to give up. I'm the useless one." He puts on what he hopes is a cavalier smile, but it looks... confusing on his face.
Intent on saving the one person who knows where his favorite instrument is, Djahni selflessly runs down the ramp of the ship, the big heckin' rifle held aloft and pointed in the general vicinity of the forward guards. Sure, he only got into the terrorism game to gain clout, but he learned a few things along the way. The trigger is pulled and a horrendously loud bolt of plasma looses itself from the barrel, searing through the air towards one of the guards. There's an awful hissing and cracking sound that accompanies the lightly-armored gentlemen being split in half. Djahni crinkles his nose and moves to find some cover from the expected retaliation.
The E-wing is dancing like a marionette, juking this way and that as he avoids blast after blast from the turrets, easily keeping their attention as he pans his fighter around on its own flight path and whistles in again, the sound of heavy cannons lighting up the ground engagement as he hammers home several shots, leaving the turret sputtering, but still tracking, prompting a wince and grumble from Rale as he spins around several times on his way out, feinting left and right to avoid a shot in the back. These things are a pain, but need to be out, or nobody is taking off anytime soon. Another run it is! hope there's no fighters nearby.
Tarq is just as close to the enemy as he wants to be, thank you very much. From his prone position, he sees B'haav charge and opts to lob the adhesive grenade towards the others. One is cut down by blaster fire, and he throws! "Glop out!" He ducks back down. Then he peers out again. Somehow the ones near B'haav are held in place, not the others. "Glop works - in mysterious ways," he mutters.
Combat begins.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Screams the Kushiban, now solid black and a blur of fur. Trip plants his knife within the inner thigh of some poor soul, bringing them to the ground in a sudden crash. He rips the knife free, clamoring over the top of the forward guard to slide his knife in twice more. The first stab is through the neck from the side, and a second up through the chin. Leaving his opponent to gurgle breath his last, the Kushiban jumps off their chest prompting a brief spout of bright blood, his blade dripping with it too. Violence was not Trip's first go to, but this company required it to save one of their own. He understood the necessity, and progressed forward!
And like that all hell broke loose.
The assembled Shadowport-Meeyuri Tag Team burst from the Majestic Pandemonium like locusts, ripping and tearing their way through the forward defenses of Kavendish's estate. Yan was one of the last ones down, taking a moment at the base of the ramp to admire the absolute carnage being wrought in... well, not his name, but Meeyuri's was close enough. If he had a cigar he'd light it with his flamethrower just because of that ego.
"Wouldn't call you useless," Yan chimed in to Bav over the comms even though the statement wasn't directed at him, "I didn't promote you because you were pretty." Right. Where was he? Oh yes. The rockets built into the power armour went FSHWHT and Yan was catapulted into the air, launching headlong over the battle lines and landing almost directly behind the two remaining guards. The incinerator hummed angrily, and Yan, not wanting to sacrifice his allies upon a pyre, declared his intentions. Loudly.
"F I R E!"
WHOOOOSHCCHRRK. The gout was more like a fart, a wave of pure melty death bursting from the front of the device before the pilot light flicked off and filled the immediate area with stinky gas. "Frack." He'd seen this movie before, except in that one, the flamethrower was being used /on/ the monster. WHUNK. The smuggler slammed the hilt of the Bryar into the weapon and the torch flicked back on.
Of all the multitude of things going on, B'haav turning into a Balosar Blender gets the immediate and rapt attention from Kaavenn. His head tilts to one side briefly, and he takes a second to privately transmit something to the Psycho-Doc on the down-low. Then there's other issues at hand to focus on. What he's getting paid for... he thinks he gets paid this time, anyway. He needs to remember to be more careful with EJ on that score, she tends to distract him from that detail with gifts. Yan just basically talks circles around the topic making tracking any of it impossible. Kaavenn's head shakes, and he focuses on advancing and not dying. The E-14 fires twice in rapid succession after a firm slap to the blaster pack to reseat it. He needs to find a good armorer.
"Frink." That's the sound of Lok stumbling over his own feet when he finally comes off the ramp and hitting his ass to ground with such force that the smoke gets ejected from his lips and snuffs out on the once-manicured drive. While he's rocking about getting back to knees (with a sway), he bears witness to Yan's impotent flamer produce a single, fiery 'fart' and this makes him forget his tabac woes.
More laughter, albeit brief, as it devolves into a round of hearty coughs and he resumes struggle to feet. The chest is once again lugged along.
Meanwhile, The only other members of Netep's immediate family to have shown - Jeric and Jenica - are far more sober and not wasting any time. They are patting down corpses and Jenica comes up with a flash of keycard. "Da!" she waves it and motions him to her. Jeric's face cracks further into a mirthless smile. "That's our ticket."
As for the more distant relations, they're adding to the firepower a little less effectively. It's possible that the only action their blasters have seen was taking boastful pot shots at garbage on the outskirts of camp or warding off the occasional vermin. It's...it's the sentiment that counts.
- Ffffplop!*
The Pantoran's boots click against the balcony's floor. She looks back at the scene below and makes the decision that the group will not require her assistance with the guards. By the time she had readied the rifle, most of the thugs were either down or dead. Her eyes snap to the last defender, but her trigger finger spares the man. The killing, as justified as it may be, would weigh heavy on her concious.
Saturi abandons her position whilst slinging the rifle to her back. She spins, looking into the second floor of the estate with a curious gaze. <"I found a library and the family office.> Her voice is at a whisper. The room is massive, walls lined with old souvenirs and family photos. A dimmed portrait of the Kavendish family rests above a faux-fire place. <"Nobody is here.">
In a flash, the miner draws out her blaster pistol, searching the room with what little time she has. <"Someone may have been in here just recently. I have a datapad. It hasn't gone dark...dimmed screen.">
B'haav holds a hand to his ear, turns for a split second to shoot a death-glare to the Shistavanen, and then is back on task; some affronts can be settled after the Shadowport is whole again. As Eriu Jynx had instructed, he begins rifling bodies for radios, turning out as many as he can, sparing a glance for the red-headed Hapan only a pair of meters away. "I'm going to call them up, see if they're listening." He takes one of the radios and ducks to the side as the view of the doors shows more resistance. Dropping down, the Balosar starts talking.
<<"Attention anyone on this frequency: we're coming in for Netep Muri. When we leave, this place is rubble and ash. Throw down your weapons, run with your hands up, and your bones don't have to get found by cleanup crews.">> Simple. Elegant. Entirely serious.
"Works better if you point it at them," Djahni remarks dryly to Yan, popping up out of the cover he'd found and mantling over the top of it to begin a swagger-filled walk towards the estate. Dropping his rifle down to the side, Djahni loops a chromium finger through one of the straps on his vest and looks back at the rest of the crew. The door whisks open and Djahni yelps from surprise, swinging the rifle up and taking one of their heads off before he tries to run for cover. Grace personified, he trips over his own feet and lands facedown on the floor.
Rale, ship dancing to his tune as only a true performer can, can almost feel the cannon bolts grazing his shields. This is getting serious, and the bloody turrets are heavily armored...Alright, time to start getting serious himself. He flips the switch to fire all cannons at once for tri-fire and goes on a straight attack run, aiming and coring one of the turrets low in its structure. As he suddenly snap-flips away, it sputters and dies, something cut in its power supply. Okay, one down, hopefully that gives those inside pause as they realize half the firepower that can stop a starfighter is out of action. Soon, little ground vermin. Soon.
Up and out and over! Tarq rolls forward out of the ditch and to his feet, dashing forward towards the door, slipping to the side neatly, turning to bring his back against the wall alongside the open door, and letting a glop grenade fly, keeping the momentum Tarq would have had if he hadn't sidestepped. Over the confused gunmen listening to polite threats opn their radios, hitting the ground between four of them and detonating in a mess of sticky foam and tendrils of goop. One shakes free, but the other three?
Tarq gives a thumbs-up to everyone with a weapon. Those three aren't going anywhere. He looks at the wall and up, thinking.
Trip closes the distance, weathering looks from many, but it matters little in the scheme of their purpose. Upon arriving at some origin of cover where one bodyguard is occupying space, the Kushiban slams his sword (knife) into the top of their foot. The action is so painful that it's the shock that prompts the male to fall back screaming. The screaming does not last long, however, because Trip pushes his weapon (after withdrawing it from their foot), into their throat. His third attempt, one of mercy, is made but stopped by a silent prayer and weak hands which prevent the Kushiban from sinking the blade a third time. "As you will," He commends, "Die in pain, and with dignity intact." The Kushiban back tracks, freeing his weapon and moves on, tail swishing behind him thoughtfully. His ears have dropped, draping along his back and bouncing as he moved.
"Ah shut the hell up Djahni," Yan retorted as the doors swung open. The helmet did a great job of hiding his rapidly widening eyes but did nothing for the exclamation of "SITHSPIT!" that followed. Instinct said, loudly, GET AIRBORNE, and thus the slightly overweight meatsack did. Up and away Yan went, seeing that unwieldy dandy throw a grenade... surprisingly effectively, and praising his good fortune.
"F I R E!"
WHUUUUUUMMMPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF. The world went white as pure searing burning light poured from the nozzle of the First Order Incinerator, straight into the center of the trapped shooters. It was a real disco inferno down there! His flight coming to an end, Yan hit the deck and landed on his knees, not having paid attention to /where/ he was going to end up. "Ow."
Muris scramble for cover like cockroaches and someone, every single one has found suitable hiding place - some of which likely infringe on other people's personal space. Lok, for one, has curled up behind his crate of mysteries - a self-preserving feat of wonder for a man who isn't particuarily tall, but at 5'10" IS taller than any other Muri kin here.
The WHOOOOOSH of flame sees him cringing all the more, hands shielding his face from the heat that's not even aimed in his direction. And crawling away. Abandoning his gift for their host in favor of bothering B'haav with a whispered request. Jenica and Jeric, meanwhile, take advantage of the violent exchange to sneak off and take cover under the doubled sided grand stairs. They are lured by a glow. It just screams 'electronics'.
As the battle rages on below, the miner can't help her curious nature. Her stroll over to the desk is relaxed, an amble up to the dimmed datapad.
"What...no. Come on." The Pantoran's frustration is mounting as she tries to unlock the tablet. Her armoured hands are interfering with her ability to use the touch screen. She begins to sweat as she works to remove the gloves. "Come on...yes!" Saturi squeals as her bare hand slides across the screen, refreshing the device before it locks completely.
<"They knew."> The woman's voice barely breaks the threshold for transmission. Golden eyes read over the screen before her. 'Eyebrows' had been conversing with the local security forces. <"They knew we were coming!"> There is a little more to the message than she was leading on, but the important parts need to come out first. <"The local security forces were already on their way.">
The blue woman pockets the datapad, attaching the device to her armour. Her focus shifts to the next room. She listens carefully through the wall, trying to sift through the sound of blaster fire below. Is somebody in the next room? Yes....it's a hallway. And the footsteps of guards running past! Too afraid to speak, she isn't able to muster the words required to warn the group.
That was mild, considering the fate of those he'd just torched.
The good Doctor is obliged to call out from behind her cover---a convenient object that has become ever so dear to her heart, what with its ability to keep her organs from sprouting any nasty, unauthorized holes. Naia does not /like/ unauthorized holes, especially not in her person, although she takes umbrage with them sprouting on her patients as well. Nevertheless, she finds herself obligated to more or less give her position away. These fucking /people/.
"Uh, has anyone else noticed the not at all conspicuous giant gun they're setting up behind the aquarium? That looks like it might be a time sensitive issue..." She trails off, sounding more and more like she's thinking it might be time to make a timely escape because who is she going to help with a hole the size of a pizza blown into her face? No one. Also she will be very, very dead. Unacceptable.
Sure, no one's been injured, but for how long? The answer is: Not long enough. She's going to have to order some restraints. She lets a dart fly at the gunman nearest her, but it misses. Probably because she's not meant to be shooting things. She's meant to be sewing up wounds while she gargles a bottle of vodka. You know, like in MASH. WHEN WILL THE KILLING STOP? Or whatever.
[Karr'roga]
Being patient for a Barabel under normal circumstances is by all means, a task born of pure will. Which is why the Longest-Fangs -- their designated school of killers -- only teach, patience. Everything else comes naturally. But patience while Clan is under attack is nearly impossible...or would be...if The Plan was not made beforehand.
Where is Karr'roga? Where is the Battle-Rex of Shadowport?
While the killing starts, and violence breaks out, there is no sign of the behemoth. No real display of viscera and gore. Burning bodies, melted fats and screaming souls - sure. But where i--Oh. He had been waiting. Kneeling, as told to do, and waiting. Waiting until he could wait no longer. At the radio-call of Saturi, there is a response over the comms: That sound of a crocodillian rumble, ending in a cacophony of hisses, and then there is a gleaming of sunlight off of chromium: A sudden appearance of a very large, very terrible, very /displeased/ Barabel in Corellian's Finest Powerarmor: As if sprouting from one of Djahni's Space-Metal Album Covers, it has one singular visor that suddenly burns with an intense red. Sensors come to life, and everything is covered in gleaming chromium...except the projected maw that drools with spittle. Foam. The Majestic crashes as a chromium-enhanced tail smashes against it, and the hisses rise, as that terrible E-Web is brought with him and it has a name! One painted along the spinning-barrel:
City-Killer.
With a thrust into the ground, the base is setup, the heavy-weapon loaded and when Karr'roga is done? That singular red visor turns towards anyone who gets paid by Kavendish to fight Barabel. The jaws part, and then it finally breaks out, all that pent up irritation. The aggression. "WHERRRRRRE ISSSSSS /MY/ SISSSSTERRRR?" My. Rather than This One. Because We're all Barabel here.
The chaos in the beauitful grand foyer with its double sided staircase that leads up to the central full length wall aquarium is beginning to see some wear. Some smoking moulding and charred carpet can be found as one of the gunmen continues to blaze away and sags to the ground likely to die any second now. Lush velvet is quite the contrast to the stench of burning skin.
Eriu finds cover in those moments after, whispering a thanks but then cursing when Saturi reports in. As Naia points out far above behind the aquarium ther eis the outline of something horrible, its wavy figure that of a gun for certain and its being put together at an alarming rate just as Karr'roga puts together his.
Thankfully one turret goes down outside yet the other one keeps plugging away at Rale, attempting to down the fighter and return to firing at their get away ship.
Eriu turns her head, looking up at the Muri's take off into the side room ahead and she begisn to edge out to find a way up. "We need to find her position!"
B'haav Adasta is not leaving his cover just yet, content to not look at the men set on fire, the men cut down, the sounds of the chaos. His heart is cold to those who would keep them from Netep Muri, but he can't turn his empathy off entirely. As he starts to raise his radio to continue whispering poison to the opposition, he sees Lok crawling towards him and shivers... The intensity in his lusciously-framed greeeeeeeeeeen gaze is nearly obscene. Lok speaks lowly and B'haav listens, thinking for a moment before nodding and raising the radio again. <<"Lord Kavendish... We came to send a message... But you could fly away from this too. We bring you a present. Something you've never seen before. Give us Netep Muri, and we'll let you take it with you... Make us whole, and we'll make you more than you ever dreamed. Sometimes... This one time only... You can take it with you.">> He didn't say the man could walk away. Not with Karr'roga in the field. But... "They're doing wonderful things with prosthetics these days." The Balosar adds this as an aside to Lok, before quietly excusing himself to check on the state of things
B'haav begins to look around, trying to figure out what potential sources of information there could be. "If we have one alive... I think I can get them to talk. I know one of us can!" But he doesn't move. Not yet.
Rolling onto his side, Djahni fires another bolt from the A280 at one of Kavendish's hired helpers, punching a sizable hole through his belly and giving the singer enough time to scurry back to his feet and flatten against a nearby wall. "Make me!" Djahni calls back to Yan, a Chromium middle finger extending towards his brother.
As he notes Roga's murder cannon, the man begins to half-heartedly mumble some impromptu song lyrics, "~Give us Muri; your bodyguards are dead...give us Muri; or we'll lop your kriffin' head...off. Damn.~" He shakes his head and ruminates for a moment. "Should've been 'or we'll take your kriffin' head. Get it together, Djahni!"
Rale hears the transmission from Saturi, and his face, alight with fierce glee as he incinerated a tower, falls to a grim, hard line. <<"I've got our way out covered.">> And he turns, aiming himself arrow-straight at the last turret and linking all cannons. Even as a blast drains his shields to a whisper, his aim is true. Even as he nears, and fires round after round into its armor, he stays true. And then, he flicks a toggle, and twin streaks of blue emerge from the fighter, blinding in radiance before plunging into the hole he has made and the whole tower goes up in a fireball that reaches into the sky. Mission one accomplished.
His fighter alights, lifting up and over the compound as he searches for the incoming reinforcements. <<"Get Muri. I'll hold them off as long as I can.">> Implying he very much knows he alone cannot stop the enemy. But he will delay them. For the Port.
That gun looks awfully big. No, not Karr'oga's; that one isn't Tarq's problem. This one wouldn't be either if he hadn't taken strong exception to the attempt to blow him up. People who try to blow you up have to die. "Is policy," he mutters, looking around the corner. Then he activates a grenade and runs up and around the guards, around the stair, and to the E-Web. Lob!
A direct hit! A direct, useless hit! "Leg looked unsteady," Tarq tells the guard at the gun nonchalantly, the guard staring at him as the adhesive foam grows around the base of the gun. "Are lucky Tarq Najjic is here to help."
There's nowhere to hide right here. Why /not/ mouth off to the gunner?
Trip is moving to the next bodyguard in relative quick succession. He suspects that they do not realize something small and fuzzy is moving from position to position to kill them. The surprise is laced with the first shank through this person's back. The stab is so shocking that it forces the breath from their torso in a sudden moment of fear and paralyzing pain. Tachypsychia sets in next, their vision going to a tunnel as their perception of events slow down.
That was when they fell to their back to see the culprit, a black furred Kushiban that promptly and efficiently ended their life with a precise stab from his weapon. He attempts a second, but the withdrawal of the blade from his previous stab made the sentient flinch and move out of the way. "Alas," laments the Kushiban, Trip, who seems unwilling to deliver another mercy blow. They do not have long, which was sentiment enough for the Lagomorph.
It was at about that point, right when Yan was righting himself to eject off into space (well, the ceiling), that a blaster bolt lanced out and caught his out-of-hiding leg. The non cybered one. Right in the thigh, through a gap in the armour and into the underlayer suit. It'd been a while since Yan had been shot, and thus he decided to showcase the event.
"OW, F-" On the sunny and fruitful plains of Uvena Prime, a pack of Shist-Wolves suddenly sit up in alarm, aware that there might well be prey nearby. "-CK. SITHSPAWN." What followed was a bunch more foul language unfit for mortal ears, a collapse on to a back-side, and a blinding pair of BLAMBLAMs as the Bryar in Yan's right hand informed the bodyguard that shot him via a torso wound that it was a /bad/ /idea/ and Yan was going to be finishing the job soon.
"It'd have to be you because I've officially lost patience," Yan hissed through gritted teeth in Bav's general direction. "Roga! Glad you're here. Official order." Uh oh. "If you see Kavendish, and you feel you have an opportunity, I'd like you to feed him his own eyebrows, please and thank you. Naia, if you have a moment," ah yes, stress politeness, "I'd very much appreciate something to numb this wound."
Muri. She is the mission. Nothing else, just getting Muri and getting out of here. But. Killing Kavendish would be nice. The professional that is Kaavenn still rankles as he recalls competitors on the Whale. He wasn't even offered a shot for the contract either! While it should not, that part stings a little. He'd enjoyed getting some information out of that particular captive, he was polite about it, and efficient... but enjoyed it far too much. His ears prick up as Yan decided to catch a blasterbolt. Humans are odd. It causes him to shift his attention and take two snap shots he instantly regrets. Kaavenn has a headache, and is in dire need of not being sober.
Nubby fingernails (still stained from the black ash of home) uplift to pat at B'haav's cheek (or as close as he's allowed to get) appreciatively. The Balosar's aside to him leaves Lok's jaw held ajar, manicured brows crinkled with confusion, hand frozen up there in time after the crew's therapy specialist has slunk off elsewhere. Wassat a...threat?
Be still, his beating heart!
A solid THUMP on the back of his thigh from a cousin jerks Lok from his reverie and back to business. "C'mon!! S'give the guerfel his gift, hey?"
And they know just where to deliver it, because the Father-Daughter duo have found access to security cameras and are busying peeping on the various cam-eye-views of compound. A shape suspiciously Muri-like is seen in what must be a dark room, given the night-vision distortion of the footage. <<She's here!>> Jeric proclaims over coms which is more words than he's said in awhile. The location is dictated, then Lok receives the benefit of further navigational aid so he and his cronies might take that heavy chest on a little run-about AWAY from the E-Web madness that's gearing up. How none of them have been caught in crossfire yet is anyone's guess. The info share comes just in the knick of time, too, because a sudden cascade of waterfall from above might just wreck their terminals...
Somewhere in this vast maze of richly carpeted hallways and opulent wealth is that lovely little suite in which the Missus Netep Kavendish-to-be has been stowed. Her vast wall of windows, ironically, has had a view of the opening sequence to this madness. Her wide, dark eyes are even gazing in that direction from her vantage point upon a plush bed. But have they noticed? Has she seen? "Gylif fho ihn gylif," lips mumble softly in the dark. "Gylif fho gylif...Min min vil ut valle Nharquissssss." An exhale wheezes thinly. Her incantation repeats. It is the only movement there in the dark, those lips, aside from the constant shiver of flesh atop luxurious sheets.
The beautiful room is currently a mess - a heap of dresses have been dumped from the open wardrobe. Some dirty, bloody towels left upon the fresher floor. A torn, indigo evening gown lies asunder near that bathroom. And the occupant - a curled up form with wet, matted mane.
And the blood. A hint of it still taints the air.
The sound of boots against the fancy carpet eventually fade. Saturi's heartbeat starts to slow as she moves towards the office's exit. The thoughts 'You need to keep moving.' and 'Don't get spotted' keep runing through her mind on repeat. With the press of a button, the door slides open. "Opposite the footsteps." She reminds herself, not wanting to be found by the roaming guards. Luckily for her, the hallway is completely clear.
The Pantoran checks each door as she proceeds along corridor, becoming even more anxious as each lead turns up dead. 'You're going to get yourself killed.' She assures herself, feeling dread as the nearby room slides open. The panel sparks, unlocked by a remote hack.
Yellowed eyes become visible from around the entryway to Muri's room. At first, all that can be seen is the miner's forehead and the woman's ungloved hand. Everything is clear except for......<"I have Muri."> She calls over the communicator as she sprints into the room. The sound of a blaster bolt shouts over her earpiece, making it sound like one of them was hit. Faint glass shattering can be heard from a distance, a result of Uri firing at the nearby window. <"No Eyebrows. We're leaving.">
"Moon goddess..." Her prayer stops short as she gets closer. "Hug me!" The armoured woman shouts at the wounded Netep.
Aaaand then everything quite quickly goes to the Bad Place. Unless this is the Bad Place. This is probably the Bad Place. Kar'rroga is angry, people are yelling, there is shooting, Yan is hit, and for the life of her, Naia can't remember if he remembered to pay the anesthesia bill. She's still going to /treat/ him, but he's getting an invoice, and if he doesn't pay it then someone is going to come visit him about debts and what good slash alive people are required to do about them. The good doctor (well, she's alright) starts army crawling toward Zhu Yan's position, all but slithering across the ground because she /really/ doesn't want to get shot. Like not even a little bit. It's definitely on her list of things to never do. A nega-bucket list, if you will. If one were gracious they might assume that she is panting from exertion---surely that is the noise she's making under her breath. If one were observant, they might hear words like 'stupid tin can-armed ass' and '600 credits' and 'Not paid enough'.
"I'm pretty sure you forgot to pay my bill again." Naia snaps at Yan, although she's still army crawling---her elbows are killing her, and her knees aren't much better, but look, this is her lot in life. Crawling on the freaking ground so that she can patch up people who jump in /front/ of bullets instead of /away/ from them. Because that's just apparently what she's chosen for herself. This is /definitely/ the Bad Place. Where are all the cacti? Naia is, ironically, also in dire need of not being sober, but it's going to have to wait because...no opportunity to fix the issue, mostly. Eventually she makes it to the side of their fearless leader. Fearless and potentially other things that end in -less. She opens her bag and pulls out her scanner which takes a good gander at his leg. "So should we discuss my bill now or am I going to have to send someone after you?" To break your legs
SENSORS: ONLINE...ENEMY-TRACKING: ONLINE.
Numbers and radar-data kick on in Karr'roga's vision, and as The Enemy (because despite what B'haav might have them believing - they're The Enemy) fires their weapons, the whole image of that weapon and target highlight. The weapon-type pops up, the distance, the rate of fire. It does the job of getting the Barabel's attention on the other E-Web, which is when City-Killer is ROUGHSPUN. One handed, Karr'roga, even in powerarmor fires the damn thing and it lurches against the ground - casting dust away from him, as huge bolts of red rip into the building where the other E-web is held. Vaporizing glass, crashing through walls, and that red-tinted vision hones in on that target.
Except, Zhu Yan talks, and it shows as the Slave-Mind reflex kicks in - the large Barabel lurching in his firing of the heavy-weapon. Kavendish. Eyebrows. The thought is locked into place, and there comes that hissing-growl over the comms: <"Orrrderrr Connfirrrrmed."> First? The E-Web.
Suppressing fire and the appearance of the nimble Tarq leave the E-Web operator stunned for a moment. Just dumbfounded. His eyes narrow on Tarq but he has to duck as a hail of fire goes over his head and the huge acquarium shatters. "AWWW I WANTED TO DO THAT!" But no one can hear his disappointment as a wall of water rushes out over the sides of the once massive container as the contents both living and artificial become a waterfall down the stairs.
The call from Saturi that she has Muri gathers Eriu's attention after nearly going deaf from the E-Web going off not so far from her. She makes a face, nose wrinkling as she glances back to see that the others are gone and no one is ready to fire the E-Web at the moment, though that could change.
"OKAY! Time to go." <"Saturi, you got her the way you got in, we have some obstacles to get to you but but we will meet you outside and send help up if you need.">
Eriu looks to the others. "We need to go, and go now, before we are unable to lift off." She turns about, her feet splashing through the slow flowing water and now squelching carpet as she retraces her steps outside. Distraction over, she glances upwards to try to get a look at the balcony she last saw Saturi on. <"Firing the ship up, Rale, what do you have for me?"> She searches the dark sky but is hurrying for the ramp after wiping her sword off on a dead guard's uniform outside. Onto the boat she goes and starts to set it to slightly hover one less thing to worry about as she adjusts for new air traffic.
B'haav Adasta
B'haav stands up from cover, glancing over to Zhu Yan who's down for mending. "Doing the talking to get the objective done clean? That's what you promoted me for." He begins to make his way to the front doors, ready to start sweeping room by room when the call comes over the comms: 'I have Muri.' And that's all it takes. B'haav turns and looks to EJ, who is already directing them back to the ship. So he runs. One foot after the other, cane sheathed and in hand.
"~I SAID GIVE US MURI, SHE'S GOT MY HALLIKSET. GIVE US MURI, TAKING HER YOU'LL REGRET~," Djahni sings, louder this time before ad-libbing a tasty riff and lifting his rifle for another shot. "~NETEP, SHE'S WILD, SHE'S A LOVIN' MACHINE. SHE'LL /BLOW/ YOUR MIND BEFORE SHE BLOWS THE SCENE. SHE'S A HARD-WORKIN', HARD DRINKIN', SON OF A SHRAK, BUT IF YOU LAID A HAND ON HER WE'RE GONNA BREAK YOUR BACK; C'MON! DUH-DUH-DUH-DUH DUH DUH-BWOOOW," Another riff. Even tastier than the last.
Then Yan's getting shot.
Djahni follows the trail of the bolt to where it smacks right into his brother. Then something primal is creeping up inside of Mr. Chromium. Something real and true that he can't hold in a moment longer. He keels over and begins laughing harder than he's likely ever laughed in his entire life. The rocker steadies himself against a wall, tears welling up in his eyes as merry howl sound continues to burst forth from him.
This goes on for quite some time before Djahni manages to right himself and begin moving back towards the ship now that Netep has been secured. Rale pages: any idea what they are?
<<"I got multiple bogies inbound on us, fighters and drop pods. Providing cover fire.">> Thinking quickly, he toggles a couples switches and adjusts the fuse on his torpedoes on the fly, fighter shuddering as two blue bolts of death reach out across the gap to the oncoming forces. They scatter, slowing them down and watching as an unlucky fighter goes up in an expanding yellow cloud as the torpedoes detonate in their path. A short chitter. <<" They won't fall for that again. Are we clear?">> His fingers tighten on the throttle assembly, ready to dive headlong toward the enemy, lasers firing and taking as many of them with him as possible..
But thatd not Plan A, as he waits for that crucial, butt-clenching go/no-go order.
Tarq Najjic
Tarq knows when he's received a boon. The gunner neither punches him nor shoots him with the E-Web, and that Kuati's feet might as well have sparks coming up whenever they hit the ground, because he is high-tailing it. Objective achieved; declare victory, leave without dying. "Tarq Najjic - is never charging E-Web - again." He says over the comms as he dashes back towards the Majestic Pandemonium.
With the call to move back, Trip advances back to their vessel with concerted haste and effort. The danger was trickling down, and so too, was the Kushiban's need for high stress. By the time he reached the ramp, his fur had transitioned back to being completely white, and he slid his sword (knife) back into place and dusted his paws. "Right. Who is hungry?" A successful mission often had a subsequent feast; right?
When the aquarium went down everyone was happy except Yan, who was slack-jawed in horror. "It was BEAUTIFUL! Why would you DESTROY it?!" Priorities! It was during this aghastness that his leg was getting treated. Right. Damn she was good. From somewhere on his person Yan found a credit chit and flicked it with his thumb at Naia. "Buy yourself five nice dresses," he suggested, before dragging himself to his feet, "and I'll check whatever's outstanding when we get home."
Now, as much as Yan wanted to go full ham and find Kavendish, even he had to live with the fact that maybe the eyebrowed bastard just wasn't here. Alright. He brought the Bryar up at the guy behind the E-web, now exposed without a giant fish tank blocking the view (Press F to pay respects) and promptly lopped the guy's head off with one clean shot. "No more baddies inside," Yan confirmed, not counting himself. That gave the rest of the team some breathing room, so he turned and started half-limp-half-jogging back to the ship. "We've got her, and that's why we came here. Every single one of you, brilliant, brilliant work." Pause. "Except you, Djahni, you're an asshole."
Catching the comms chatter, it's definitely mission accomplished from what it sounds like. Reinforcements are likely on the way. He's not paid enough to risk his neck unnecessarily. Kaavenn lets the weapon hang on the sling over his back and turns to get out of dodge. He's all for getting on the ship and not being blasted. He has a brief moment to wonder what the hell that smell was on the way out, however.
There's a faint whimper in response to Saturi's rapidly approaching steps, but Netep dares not move a muscle. Her tune begins to change a bit though. "I-I sssaid I--warned you..I did. I did I did I did I dii-hiid." Like she's pleading for her worthless life, watching a shadow advance in the ghostly reflection. "Pl-"
The shattering glass shatters her current stream of consciousness. Resets. Reset. Is she breathing?
Upon being ordered to HUG her, Netep can only stare at Saturi like a womp rat in the crosshairs, totally fraking useless. For a sec. The upper right quadrant of her face is angry and red, all those masterful incisions split apart and gaping by the early beginings of infection. Swelling. So that eye's a bit...squinched. Her left arm unfolds away from self with a grimace and grasps feebly at Saturi's upper arm, pulling herself up. The part where the back of her left shoulder peels away from the bedding beneath elicits a shuddering gasp. A cry, when her right arm attempts to unfurl from its fetal tuck but recoils even more tightly back. That shoulder looks a wee bit not like it should.
In the foyer and in the halls there are other Muris scrambling. One gets somehow caught up in the spray of monster-blaster fire and goes down in a heap of shredded leathers and woven wool. Ol'val, min duskal. Jeric and Jenica part ways - the latter rushing after her brother's coat tails and the former retreating with the Shadowportians. His face is a grim and gray mask of muted emotion. For now.
Lok, on the other hand, is anything but grim and incredibly unmuted as he and his brethren finish their B&E mission on the grand Lord Kavendish's boudoir. Probably. Like...90 percent sure. /At least/ 87 percent sure.
"The others aren't far behind. They're busy killing Kavendish." Saturi assures Muri as she accepts the embrace. What a mess. Her muscles work overtime to try and help the wounded woman to the window. "Hold on. Don't let go." The Pantoran lets out laboured breaths as she braces them against the shot out window. She mumbles something incoherent as her grip slips. "I don't want to drop you."
With that, the armoured woman tips them over the ledge, falling a short distance before her jetpack ignites. Netep isn't in a state to help and the miner almost cries at the thought of dropping her. No amount of therapy would mend that wound. "Just ten more seconds." It feels like an eternity as they shoot across the campus, flying back towards the ship.
- Thud!* The weight of both women causes a loud snap as they make contact with the boarding ramp. Muri is dropped onto the cold metal, Uri's muscles burning from the exercise. Golden eyes take a moment for themselves. "Here...take this." She unclasps her burgundy cape, blanketing Netep in it.
The two men drop the chest with a WHUNK at the foot of the bed to have a stretch and sigh. A grin is passed between them, a spark of laughter awaiting ignition. Jenica rushes in in time to witness the chest relocated TO the bed, positioned ever-so-carefully to face the doorway (because presentation is everything) and Lok trouncing about on the luscious comforter, jumping like a kid hyper on sugar cubes. Or honey. Sand wasp honey. The chest rocks, it rattles, it vibrates more furiously from within than ever before. Then, just before he has a heart-attack, the /super/ mature 39 year old Lok leaps off, lands nimbly on his feet, and struts around to the foot of the bed.
The chest is rearranged, the bedding too, and he produces a crumpled flower from his shoddy vest to lay upon the lid. The blooms smells ever so strongly of Eau du Lorrdian now. Like sister, like brother. Behind him, Jenica is doing her best to tuck a tiny cam out of sight, with eye set to monitor the bed.
While the aquarium was exploding and doing all sorts of numbers on the upholstery and furniture (and I guess people), Naia's been fixing up Yan's leg, because that's her job. Not that field stitching is /hard/. She'd been a surgeon, for goodness' sake, and so a few stitches and a slap of bacta half the time are nothing to be /proud/ of. She even remembered to use the local anesthesia. He better watch out though, because if he keeps stiffing her there's going to be a /shortage/. He flicks the credit chit at her, and she catches it, tucking it into her shirt and inside of whatever secures her chest. Best not to think on it, really---it's quite a bit of chest. "Thanks. Next time I have occasion to dress like a prostitute I'll think of you." She's still going to buy dresses though. Don't get it twisted. Retreating doesn't even cross her mind. She starts looking around to see if there are other patients now that everyone is mostly...dead.
City-Killer SINGS! Red bolts fire off in rapid succession, as Karr'roga fires on the very BUILDINGS that make up this wretched place! She SINGS! Her bolts of blood-red piercing walls and blasting through whatever is behind them, and if anyone thought Karr'roga was above acts of terrorism will be corrected today: After Netep Muri's signaled saving by Saturi, the visor locates the window they came out from and in response?
FWUMP! FWUMP! FWUMP! FWUMP! City-Killer is fired again, this time with focused aim at that place in particular. Kriff you. Shrak you. DIE. DIE. DIE.
The signal comes to retreat, and wordlessely, Karr'roga is jerking City-Killer free of her base, slinging it over a shoulder, the battery hefted with one clawed hand and as the magnosheathe takes over for the still-red barrel? Naia is grabbed up in passing, throwing like a Princess being stolen by The Monster, over one shoulder and back towards the Majestic -- but City-Killer is hucked inside, and Naia will be sent down gently. "Nnnnnnetep." The name said like a growl towards Naia, before the comms open. <"Mmmmuuuurrrroooo. We arrrre leaving."> Using the alias from Hapan.
<"Rale, nice shot. Time to pull out of here. We got everyone on board. Hit your jump, we are right behind you. Thanks,"> She glances back and waits for a thumbs up from the last one in, noting faces before she pulls on the controls and lifts themn up and straight for the atmosphere, not even hesitating. "Hold on, please, strap in. we are making our get away."
They need to move, the one landing strut that is bent grinds its way back into its home before she pinwheels them up and away from the incoming dropships and fighters who are trying to take shots at them and close the distance. THey will gain some and a rumble goes through the ship as they are hit.
Gritting her teeth, Eriu breaks orbit and starts for the jump coordinates. In mere seconds after, the freighter halts and then lurches into hyper, leaving the chaos behind them and the bustle of activity that will end in a holonew report.
Muri is safe. They are all on board and now its time to get home and start patching things up. Time to consider how best to topple Kavendish where it hurts the most.
