Log:Traders Union: Get the Goods

Traders Union: Get the Goods

OOC Date: August 1, 2019
Location: Coruscant System
Participants: Idan Jensa, Alamere Jovekk, Liz'diot, Netep Muri, Rip Recker, Traders Union

The late and unlamented Coruscanti nobleman Lord Corbin Follar- interstellar adventurer, author, noted archaeological professor, and common swindler- had died on some remote world months prior. He left considerable debts (including 20,000 credits to the Traders Union), leading the inheritors of his estate to capitalize on the lord's fleeting fame by arranging an auction of his belongings.

The date and location are well publicized: a space station just outside the Coruscant System, one storage bay of which has been set aside for the auction. It is advertised to contain a sizable collection of datarods, rich clothing, trinkets, artifacts, mementos and tchotchkes from across the galaxy, as well as a pair of small shuttles.

The Union delegation arrives several hours before the auction is due to begin. In hyperspace on the way, Idan had laid out the situation: "Once we arrive, I will be in.. negotiations with the executor to ensure our investment is returned from any auctioned profits. I expect it will take.. some time. While I am occupied, through whatever means you choose-" A pause as Idan regards Rip, in particular. "Let me amend- through whatever ..discreet means you choose, I wish you all to secure as much of the auction lot as possible. We have a.. prominent investor who may be interested."

During the brief, Rip in particular, had been leaning against the holo-projection table, his back to the picture. In one hand, he idly twirls a DL-44 blaster, and the other pulls a smoke he's been nursing for several minutes free from his lips. "So let me get it right. We're to secure the lot in case your negotiation with the executor fails; so this is a win win for your Union." He places the smoke back in place, the cinders crackling before he finishes it. "Seems legit. My kind of business. /Smart/ business. Ha. Alright."-- Fast forward to their present point.

The Arkanian Offshoot female, known to the TU as AJ, stands and watches her boss while he speaks. She is fiddling with her stark white fingers because of the nature of this.. ahem.. adventure. She arches a brow when Idan says 'any means necessary' and has a question she wants to ask but is hesitant in doing so.

She eyeballs Rip Recker, never having seen him before, but figures Idan must know what he's doing!

Unable to stand it any longer, she raises a stark white hand, sort of pointed in an upward gesture. "Boss... supossing this goes all smooth and we all grab what we can... well, when do we," she makes a circle with the stark white hand that is still pointing upward, meaning the Union, .. and.. Mr. Recker, of course... " .. ah.. yes.. uhm... when do we get paid?" she says with a grin and gigglesnorts, probably out of nerves. (hahahahah snort snort)

"Pfff," Netep makes mature noises from her corner of this pow-wow, eyes browsing the list of advertised goods for the umpteenth time. "Good old Lord Fullofit...." she trails off into a moment's silence, then perks a blue brow at their noseless leader. "That's what the students used t'call him, anyway." A beat. "Some of them." Another beat. "I mean, I once heard it while delivering the morning caf run and it definitely stuck. Considering how things have played out from his last disaster of an expedition, I stand by the name."

Yup. Lips glossed with some shimmery mauve colore press into a thin smile. "Recover what's worth recovering: check. Be interesting to see how much of his dusty drek is actually /worth/ something - historically or monetarily or both." For as much effort as she's put into her wardrobe, she's left her hair very much 'Muri' in style and there's no hiding the tattoo. But her pants are pressed, her garments fresh-smelling, and a heavy-handed touch of some Core World perfume is working wonders at masking her eau de Lorrdian musk. Oh yeah. Muri's ready to rub elbows with some of her old crowd....or something. She fishes a pair of Tetan glasses from somewhere in her hair and perches them delicately over her nose, then fingerguns at the Arkanian. "Because /that/, my lovely, is going to have some bearing on our pocketed cuts."

Liz'diot comes hovering in from the back growling loudly, "I was all ready and the sokeone spilled booze in my wig!" He holds up yhe piece which is dripping and rancid smelling. Its clear this was likely the biths own fault but a fifth dimensional being such as him self could never admit to any self fault. He currently has on just a mushtache that looks rather cheesy. "Feted."

Idan Jensa ah-hehs, in a way that is.. probably Neimoidian amusement? He looks *slightly* less long-suffering and annoyed while answering Rip, so it's probably amusement. "Not quite. You are to secure the auction lot, whether or not my negotiations succeed. If the executor commits to repayment, the Traders Union will have its due. However, we can *also* secure a measure of this auction lot, it will increase our potential profits."

He looks to AJ and nods several times, setting his mortarboard hat to wobbling slightly. "A truly important question, Miss Jovekk. The.. specific nature of our reward is to be determined, but you may rest assured that is we recover the particular piece that is desired by our.. patron, the reward will be.. quite significant. Enough to establish a formal headquarters, in appropriate luxury." Idan nods aside to Netep, noting, "Quite-" before doing a discreet double-take. "...Netep?" Clearing his throat. "Ahem! Liz'diot, very good, we are all prepared. Emerging from hyperspace shortly."

And from then, it's an easy glide to a mooring at the space station located deliberately outside the Coruscant system for purposes of (entirely legal) tax evasion by the owners.

Rip has no further comments on the matter. When they've moored to the station, the airlock hatch parts and out swaggers Rip Recker. A fresh toothpick has been stationed between his lips, something to mess with while taking in the sights of the station and locating this lot.

Rip is an oddly tall man, with a swagger that places him as an obvious Corellian. If the cocky attitude wasn't enough to discern that, the yellow piping that marked his dark trousers did; 2nd Class Bloodstripes from the homeworld Corellia itself. Rip was armed to the teeth, and his long duster did little to conceal this fact. His first stop was a station map to get a lay of the land. He mumbles as he reads aloud the different sections.

"Hsdhg sjdhbw mmm emmbveks mmokay.. yeah that one..oinfd"

AJ fingerguns Muri back and purses her lips in a silly sideways smile. "You smell purdy!" AJ says to Muri playfully. Her smile quickly fades as the ship docks and so it begins. Inhaling deeply, she steadys herself emotionally and mentally, though a gigglesnort does escape, (hahahahahahaha snort snort), she raises a stark white hand to her mouth and nose and clears her throat.

She cracks her neck and knuckles and is ready to get this taking of stuff on.

She follows Rip out of the ship and moves out of the way, waiting for others of the TU to come on out, because, frankly, she has no idea where she is going!

"You sure that isn't disinfectant?" Netep poses the question Liz's way with a little sniff. "Thought the deck looked freshly polished..." She eyes the Bith's sodden wig sideways, then pointedly looks to said deck plating beneath her shiny, shiny shoes. She's already imagining the good feels of ditching these threads, soon as they're done. Did she ever dress this professionally while under employ by the Sentientology Division, Dept of History-Archaeology? Probably not. But that was several years ago and she's got something to prove since flying the coop.

• Click*Click*Click* the verily unarmored Netep comes to a halt just a half step behind Rip once they enter the crisp, artificial atmo that is space station. A silent peer around his shoulder only lasts so long before she quips softly with thoughtful furrow in her brow, "I'm sorry, which one? The mmmmbvks or oinf'dh?" One finger scratches at the side of her nose and she feeds him a sly, ornery half smile up through a cerulean wash of curls.

Liz'diot glares at Netep, even cont8nuing to do so as he tosses the drenched mop head over his shoulder. It lands with a loud theap behind him. "Youuuu... you did this." He turns to look at Idan and then the others. "Just ley me inow if you need any assistance with the computer or a lock or something." He really wasnt a haggler but he will stick alomg just incase.

Idan Jensa moves with his usual smooth steps, which- in combination with the floor-length robes- make the skinny Neimoidian appear to be gliding over the deck rather than walking. Hands concealed in the opposite sleeves, the First PArtner (and his trailing insectoid protocol droid). With elegant dignity (as best he can keep it) Idan answers Netep, "The 'oinf'dh'." If he's not sure, he certainly sounds sure. "My audience is scheduled with the station administrator, I will contact you all once the meeting is concluded. Through that hatch, into Alpha-Seven storage bay. May your opponents in trade be dim and drunk," he bids them all as a form of wishing luck.

"Oinf'dh it is." Rip says, issuing a two-fingered salute to his Neimoidian companion. Rip has half a mind to walk into this lot and shoot the first person he sees, but he was being paid to be discreet. Discreet costed extra, not because it was tough to do, but because the explosives for discreet were so rekking expensive. Pulling a small stylus from his belt, he heads in the direction of oinf'dh with all the confidence in the world. Surely, he belonged in that section?

Earlier when Netep had asked to differentiate between his mumbling, all she'd earned was a smile before their boss had answered. Rip might glance back at the others, but it'd give him a suspicious demeanor, and we didn't want that.

AJ trails Muri and tries to stay ahead of the lesser known farting Bith.

"Hey Muri," she whispers, "where do we go to grab the you know what?" she grins.

"Forgot to ask how much funds we have to play with," Muri mutters with the faintest sense of angst back at AJ, but self-soothes with a half shrug. Improvising is always more fun. "Before I answer that," she uplifts one finger to AJ, head turned with a curious cant as they stroll along in the ever-lengthening wake of Rip. Far as any passerby might glean, the two women are lost in very engaging conversation. "Why don't you clarify what the 'what' is? Because what *I* know 'what' and what *you* know 'what' are possibly vastly different things." And there's no sense in incriminating one's self, unsollicited.

"We talkin the contents of Professor Corbin's hope chest, then it's this'a'way that we goin'." She gives a toss of jangly mane and rubs a few fingers over the itch forming between jacket and nape. "We talkin /other/ 'you know whats' well, I'm just not sure this is that kind of Station." A shameless smile flashes pearly whites.

Yes. Let's DO hope the competition is dim and drunk.

The Alpha-7 auction hall is a large chamber, one of the largest in the sizable station. Elegantly uniformed security officers in tan and green stand at the main doors, and guard a few of the more obviously valuable pieces up for auction, each carrying a light pistol and stun baton, but they are significantly outnumbered by the numerous potential buyers/lookie loos. It is a public auction, so the group isn't challenged upon entry, though the arsenal that is Rip Recker draws a few wary looks.

The shuttles, and a few impressive pieces of ancient sandstone statuary are placed nearer the doors to snare the eye, while the more academic articles and artifacts are toward the back of the hall. Centrally located are circular rows of seats arranged around a podium and holoprojector, for once the auction begins. Docents, stewards, and guest service staff mingle with the guests, offering drinks, information on various lots, and generally being the stuffy sort of sociable.

Of the guests, there is a variety: this deep in the Core, they are primarily human, with the odd Duro, and even one particularly aged and excitable insectoid Ruurian academic. Yet not all are posh intellectuals, and Rip is not the only rough sort in attendance, nor is Alamere the loudest.

Rip stops in front of one of the guards at the main entrance. Failing to locate other ways out, the former smuggler gone hired gun promptly drops to a knee and 'seemingly' picks up a datapad stylus and offers to the guard on the right. "Hey, careful there, pal. You drop that and your datapad is rendered useless. I had an older one not long ago, they made me buy a whole rekking new one just cause I lost that kriffing little thing. Just keep it close, yeah? Good man." Rip brushes by them to disappear into the crowd and find the other kriffing exits.

AJ heads over towards the more valuable pieces, looking upon them. Shaking her head. "Do you know this particular piece is actually very common? It is not at all worth the credits that you have started bidding on in. I'll take it off your hands right now for 500 credits. Oh? What's that? No no.. I assure you, I do indeed know what I'm talking about. Very good! Thank you!" she says to the auctioneer and pockets a jade figurine of somesort that is actually WAY MORE VALUABLE than what she said it was worth.

Idan will be proud.

Meh, giant statues, too big to carry. Netep's strolling on past the big ticket items up front to casually browse the nerdier section in the back, where all goo--

"Oh, hey," she stops just shy of some articles when a steward crosses her path and unexpectedly halts, proffering tray of some orange, gelatinous orbs impregnated with smaller red blobs and topped with sprigs of sweet-smelling herb.

"Tee Fish caviar?" The well-groomed steward offers while she teeters on pointed shoes, trying to recover from the slamming of brakes. One ankle wobbles.

"Erm," A glance goes briefly to her target table, then back to the quivering morsels. "Sure. Thank you, sir." Netep takes a spoon from the plate and lifts it hesitantly toward her mouth. So the red blob inside the orange blob is the embryo - she can see that now. It takes a little sizing up of the contents to determine that yes, probably that'll fit into her mouth whole. It's meant to, right? So it does. Barely.

"Mmm..." Muri tries not to cringe through the swallowing, lips warped into a weird, sickly smile of approving not-approval. Gag reflex triggered. She keeps her jaws together, but the struggle is real and it is visible. "Scuse..." practically tossing the spoon back onto the tray, she click-clack-shuffles away quickly as she can.

The guard peers at Rip, then the stylus, giving a neutral, "Thank you, sir," and waiting until the Corellian has moved on to check his datapad, shrug, and drop the new stylus into a waste bin near at hand. There are several exits, though the largest- the hangar bay doors leading out to open space- are thoroughly secured both by security fail-safes and exterior ray shields.

Alamere secures a small piece of pre-Republic statuary that had been dated centuries younger than it was (and which was overpriced even for that, Follar really was shoddy in his provenance, when outside his narrow field of expertise), and keeps moving. One of the auctioneers tries to draw Muri's attention to one of the wardrobes, but.. caviar mishap. So his attention turns to Alamere, instead! "Rare tribal silks from Dellalt, madame! Folk jewelry, very rare!" The table displays numerous pieces using precisely cut crystals in shades of blue and rose. Liz hovers past a hovering, rotating piece of intricately carved wood, just over a meter long. "Ancient Desvrar dubbing stick. Believed to be used in the dubbing of knights in primitive times-" a pleasant automated voice is reciting.

In true Liz fashion, as soon as he ginds the bar he ends up spending all his alloted credits on drink. He even ends up with a fancy drink umbrella atop his head declaring himself "Lord Dinkleton." And demanding others buy him more drinks when he runs out of said creds. He is escourted out at some point.

Counting the exits when he got inside, Rip brushes one side of his longcoat aside to append four more stylus. A casual twist of all four results in nothing that can be seen. Though he steps off, bringing the coat back to its original position. The next exit is visited, he just seductively smiles and drops one stylus into the trash bin by them, then the next exit, and the next, until he's hit each one. He stands out as having made an entire circle around the place, but Rip puts his best 'lost face' look on, which is generally his natural look. "Don't buy that. It's garbage. I have something like that setting next to my fresher at home. This guy wasn't classy at all.." His opinion is ignored; he's Corellian afterall. What the rekk does he know?

AJ lingers there, near the more valuable pieces and comes across an extremely rare set of jewels, encased in a box with a glass lid. She knows exactly what this "folk jewelry" is.. and it is NOT that. She looks up at the actioneer. "Really? Do you know these," she picks up the box of the EXTREMELY RARE JEWELS are MASS PRODUCED on Batuu? I'll give you 100 creds for them right now, even that is too much. Nothing more than costume jewelry, honestly. What? You want to see my credentials? Sure!"

AJ withdraws from her pocket a wallet type thing and opens it and a looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooog white paper hits the floor from where she is holding it about 4 feet up in the air. "Here. Take all the time you want." she says and waits for the man to read over her stuff.

He gets bored rather easily and says "Everything is in order Miss... Fine... mass produced from Batuu, I beieve you. 100 creds sold."

She pockets the jewels.

Idan will be so proud.

Ohmanohmanohmanohman...

C'mon Muri, you've eaten worse-by-civilized-standards than this! Netep chastises herself inwardly for the squeamish feels she's now suffering from while breathing in through her nose, out through her...nose...

The jaw needs to stay shut. She's circled back to the articles she'd intended to review, but somebody's sayin' something about tribal silks from Dellalt and that just don't seem right. The DELLATIANS, wearing clothes? "Actually," uh-oh, that jaw's opening, "May I?" Netep motions to the silks on display and before she gets an answer, she's fingering one. "Don't think this'd stand up to the life aquatic," she loud-whispers, followed by a wink. "Y'know. IF the Dellaltians actually bothered wi--"

Ohno it's happening.

Muri's hand, accompanied by a corner of that precious, tribal silk flies up to catch her cough. It's a wet cough, but not a particularily chunky cough. Just a tiny glob of the culprit Tee egg which had tickled her gullet the wrong way comes up and out. Now the silky fringe is a little extra shiny and damp. Mmm. "Good thing this is some department store shavit, eh?" she croaks at the auctioneer associate. "Sorry. I uh....here's 50 cred. Actually, I'll make it 75. For the uh. The germs." *WINK* 75 credits get offered up, as she dabs at her chin with the silk and folds it over arm.

Idan will ... probably sigh.

Mid-retch, Netep's comlink chirps. <<Netep? I am in the middle of very delicate negotiations, why am I being told that 'Lord Dinkleton' is claiming to be part of my entourage??>> Idan's annoyed voice demands.

Rip receives multiple wary looks, and one of the guards speaks discreetly into a comlink, but no untoward moves are made. Probably just a Corellian weirdo. The auctioneer facing Muri juust sighs. "Madame- the native Dallaltians do not weave- the ancient Tionese colonists, whose descendants survived in a state of savagery, however- oh no, DON'T-" A look of horror takes the auctioneer's face.

Rip is busy looking for all the armed guards in the place and establishing a general patrol pattern. That is until he's interrupted by the sudden positioning of a tray in front of him. "..what the kriff.. " He appraises the contents stationed on top of it and knocks it off balance, spilling the contents nearby and the waiter. "Watch where the rekk you're going, kid. Now look, you spilled that drek all over this rich people drek and sandstone looking rock thing. People are going to be upset now that they can't buy it at a high price, and will have to settle for lower prices. Well done. Kriffing.. well done." Indiginant, Rip storms off.

Still there near the more valuable things, she spies what appears to be an encrypted data chip. "How were you able to tell what is on it?" she asks the auctioneer.

He, by this time, is quite weary of AJ and her knowing of stuff, after all they did want to make some money. "Madame.. we.." he starts but AJ cuts him off. "Open the case," she says, data pad in hand. She plugs it into the data pad and shakes her head. "Really? 5k for a list of old books? I think not!" she squints at her screen, "...most of these are childrens books!" she says. She knows it is /something/ more valuable, as it appears to her to be names and bank account information with all the gorey details there within.

"250, or do you need to see my papers again?" she looks up at him with her icy blue eyes.

He wishes she would move one and nods and waves her away.

Idan will be... suprised?

"Excuse me, my associate is in need of a moment's consult," Netep smiles a pained smile. "Glad to know /you/ know your history. Unfortunately, these pieces are /not/ so ancient." She wags the one in hand. "But will make me a lovely little number to wear for a nocturnal party, next week." So vile. Such lies. And yet it flowed like truth. Muri steps away with her score, minorly soiled as it is, and unclips her comlink to hiss back into it.

<<Why should I know who 'Lord Dinkleton' is!? That name wasn't in the briefing! I never sa-->> Oh wait. Mouth slightly ajar, the little linguist watches our token Bith, master of NO disguise, get shooed toward one of the exits by security. She curls a lip wincingly. <<Does Lord Dinkleton have a mustache, despite inability to grow body hair? If so, I think I've got an answer for ya, but am not accepting blame for this one>> Her left hand moves away from mouth then, hooking the stem of a fluted glass with her pink, then draws it in for a sip. A long sip. A chug.

Netep can *hear* the roll of Idan's eyes and the rubbing of the spot between his eyes, that's how hard he rolls his eyes. <<Blame is not my concern. I must return to the meeting, be sure to secure as much as we can before we are all thrown out, if you please?>>

Most of the listed accounts AJ can skim appear to run rather deep into the red, but no doubt there is still valuable information to be gleaned from the data rod- Alamere belatedly becomes aware that there is another individual close by, when a human male walking in the same direction settles an arm around her shoulders, and mutters coldly, "Just keep walking, and smile." The order is accompanied by the cold pressure of a blaster barrel discreetly pressed to her ribs.

Rip gets a shouted complaint from a solidly built, out of place looking unshaven tough in a Swoopsuit. Shorter than Rip, but wider. "You dumb rekker! I oughta cave in your face so you can watch behind you and not DO that again!"

"You'd have to walk around yourself to find your rekking arm before you could think about throwing a punch you fat son of a bith. You want to smash something in?!" Rip presses the button on his datapad, but instead of an explosive going off, it's the sound of loud, awkward love making. Now he's just pressing the screen to stop it. "Oh, what now.. HOLD ON.." He holds up a finger to the swoop member to unclip his datapad. "It's my rekking wife.. always ruining my fun.." Was that his ring tone for her? No. Somehow, instead of triggering explosive one, it brought up the naughty good stuff. Rekking ads and rekking pay to use apps.

AJ feels the blaster and does not do what the human male is probably expecting her to do, but instead, she starts gigglesnorting REALLY LOUDLY. (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAAH SNORT SNORT SNORT!!!!!!! HAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA SNORT SNORT SNORT!!!!) "MY GOD MAN! How long has it been? I remember you from my childhood, yeah.. on Arkania.. you used to like to come rekk our women!" More really loud laugh snorting!

By this time, all the high brows are turning to see the loud colorful Offshoot, "I MEAN YOU DON'T NEED TO KEEP THAT BLASTER THERE!" she says really loudly and looks at the guards with pleading eyes.

Oh, great! AJ's found an old acquaintance! At least that's the very misinterpretation Muri makes out while distractedly honing in on her next item(s) of fancy. Flimsiplast. Flimsiplast and leather-bound journals and the higher tech data rods and recorders. So much data, so much knowledge. So much exaggeration and fanciful tale - she wagers. There /might/ be elements of truth to all these writings though, or at least leads that she could pursue with her sturdy Explorer Guild peeps, so Netep takes a deep breath and adopts the persona that never quite existed but maybe almost did. Once upon a time.

"No..." she gasps softly, sliding a hand reverently under a clump of discolored articles and what appear to be hand-scribed notes. "The Biotrophic Communities of Yelsain's Canopies?" Hesitant, trembling hands thumb through a few of the others. "The Lost Tribesmen of the Bharhulai??" Lingering there with a meek-but-eager sort of posture, Netep fires off a few cursory glances to the nearest auctioneer, then inches nearer with an earnest stare over the rim of her lenses.

"Madame, I...I was a former student of Corb--Lord Follar. An understudy, really. I-I accompanied him on some of these research excursions, I...I helped compile the data for these papers. Some of them." *Sniff* "I'm sorry," she gushes, emitting a pitchy, nervous one-note laugh and fans at her moistening lashes. "It's just - his death was such a shock. May I--this may be quite presumptious and I beg your forgiveness, but would you consider permitting these to go to a good home with one who is familiar, who will cherish their contents?"

AJ's unwanted companion rolls with the shout, laughing with volume to match Alamere's. "Any time away is too long- and that's not my blaster, babe: I just missed you so bad," he winks in the way of someone who's drank enough not to recognize how crass they're being. He leans in to nuzzle AJ's ear in order to cover the low words: "It's set for stun, don't make me change it. Walk." The guards seem a bit disgusted, but are at least uncertain enough that they don't immediately intervene.

THEN something else begins. Rip's new friend throws a hard punch at the taller tough guy, hollering, "I got my arm right here, you skinny drek!" It.. probably sounded tougher in his head.

Meanwhile, Netep is having a tender (fake) outpouring of very convincing (fake) emotion. The library docent rests a sympathetic hand on Netep's shoulder. "My sympathies, young lady, it was a terrible tragedy. Many of these are Lord Follar's proof copies of his published works-" she adds lower, "Not sure why he autographed proof copies of his own works-" before shaking her head and whispering, "I'll set aside a few for you, dear. Sentimental value us the most worth a few are likely to have-"

Rip steps aside for the errant punching man as he spills over the top of a table, folding over the front. He pushes off and lunges back at Rip, but the tall gunslinging Corellian casually draws blasting him hard in the stomach. An errant shot hits the cargo bay door, showering sparks, and by the third shot the guy has spilled out on his back struggling for breath. "Keep practicing, kid." A final shot is placed into Wreck's face, ending his life as casually as one might take the trash out. Glancing up, Rip drops his thumb on the datapad.

Whatever noise had been going in the vicinity was soon overrun by the sudden loud ringing of a concussive shaped charge exploding at the main entrance the others had come through. Rip shields his ear and tries to look frightened. "Oh no, a terrorist. Quick, everyone leave!" If they can hear him over the ringing ears, perhaps they'll take heed. Now's his group's opportunity to make off with everything they want.

AJ feigns having hit her foot on something. "I have to stop. Please. I've hurt me'self." she says softly reaching for her foot.

Instead of reaching all the way for her foot, she reaches inside her purple bantha hide duster and gets her DL-30. She doesn't bring the gun out of the duster, but simply aims it upside down and backwards at the human male forcing her to walk.

She pulls the trigger quickly, twice.

Muri cups a hand over the hand on her shoulder, gives it a little pat while her lower lip maintains its fragile pout. The librarian's whisper elicits a crack in Muri's brave-but-sad expression and she hiccups a little mini-sob of gratitude, folding in to HUG that librarian and utters congested-sounding strings of praise for the woman's understanding and kindness and --

Well, that's a blaster shot! Aaaand another. Sounds like their window of opportunity is over. Business concluded.

BAAAAANG

Netep's lungs have no trouble producing a convincing scream when something explodes and she tries to pull the Librarian down to cower under the table, but the woman proves sturdier/more frozen than she appeared, so Muri moves to plan B and regathers the armful of autographed proofs. Garbage, Muri. You've found garbage. "RUN!!!!" she shrieks all panicky-girly like and hugs the proofs to her chest. "I'll keep them safe!!!" she vows and just starts running for the nearest exit. Her swindled silk flutters sexily behind, from its anchor under arm. Like some exotic flag of surrender, signaling her /peaceful/ retreat.

For once in her career, Muri finds the rhythm in her legs to be a competent runner. But only because she's kicked off those stupid heels and is hoofing it barefoot around tables and statues and panicking mob.

AJ is not entirely sure where she is going, but the general idea is backwards, at a fast rate of speed, well, brisk walking anyways!

She shakes off the blast, though still kinda wonky from it, she knows that if she moves backwards she has a chance of knocking him off his feet.

That's her plan.

Screams go up as Rip draws and fires three bolts, casually executing the fallen thug. The uniformed security officers draw pistols and try ineffectually to wade through the panicked crowd toward Rip- but then an explosive goes off near the main entrance, further causing chaos.

Alamere's would-be captor is either very good or very lucky, as he neatly sidesteps the backward blasts from the Arkanian, and fires a stun bolt of his own squarely into the woman's ribs. "You always did like it the hard way, didn't you?" the human quips, grabbing hold of the jewelry box she'd swindled the auctioneer out of, and turning to run for the nearest not-exploding exit- ...But she doesn't let go. A brief and ineffectual tug of wares ensues.

Netep has an armful of literary vanity and running start. But no shoes.

A large cart is kicked into motion, its heavy canvas just thick enough to hold just about anything inside. He swipes a table of things into it, and follows the sound of blaster shots only to see the cute Arkanian pinned beneath someone. This was a terrible place to try that, guy. Rip takes aim and is bumped into, firing off two shots by accident. "Rekk me, go on you crazy kids. Get outta here.." Straightening back up, he takes aim and fires a shot clear across the room. A defiant red bolt leaves a steaming, humid contrail as the heavily modified pistol spilled that huttsucker on his butt! That should be enough to help AJ, he hopes. Maybe she'll gigglesnort him to death! Rip moves to the next table, pushing items into his rolly bin.

<<Jensa...We have a-->> *Huff* <<situation>> *Struggling grunt* <<Again, not my-->> *Huff*PUFF* <<--fault.>>

Netep should work out more.

She's running and running and -- the running abruptly stops, foot slipping on somebody's dumped hors d'oeuvres, and it turns into a skittering slide. The skittering slide (on those damn caviar balls, btw) sends her into opposing paths of some other fleeing individuals, which bumps her again off course, deflected like a living bolo ball. Muri becomes a flailing mess of blue silk, gray linen, and of course that signature mane which is both a blessing and a curse in this moment. Blessing: it cushiongs her head a bit from the sudden slamming-slide a tabletop. Curse: it's partially obstructing her view now she's oblivious to the cart that comes bearing down that aisle. Will Muri become an addition to the contents of that cart!?! Maybe so. Right now, she's too busy reassuring the frumpled prizes still cradled in arms to note the inbond Recker train.

Liz had been escourted off the premises for being, well... just too darn drunk. He was stuck behind some type of force field, that stupid drink umbrella with the colorful swirls still on top of his head. His mustache was half falling off. "I'll tell you, you filthy HUMON scum! I am LIZ'DIOT THE OMNISCIENT and I will not be JAILED" He charges forward in his chair and leaps forward right into the force field. He convulces, ending up on the ground in a burnt smoldering crisp. "Phewie...." And then he farts.

Napper pulls at the jewelry box, muttering, "Lady, I'm tryin real hard not to kill you over this-" before a kriffing HAND CANNON opens fire on him. Two shots he dodges, but the third- "HOW CAN THAT THING SHOOT SO FAST," the thief complains, as he's blasted clear of Alamere by the third shot. "Maybe next time, Gigglesnorts-"

Muri is answered, <<Captain, I have the utmost faith in your ability to manage any crisis for a further *five minutes*,>> with a terse edge to those last words. <<Begotiations are at a very delicate stage...>>

Rip stops at the next table, swiping with one arm, all the goodies from it into the bin. "Alright... what is he still doing.." Rip grumbles, observing Napper still complaining about whatever he was moaning about. Rip slides his DL-44 home and draws a marksman pistol, a CM Series III, but Rip can't shoot and drive a rekking cart at the same time. His shots go wild. "YEAH, and YOU STAY OUT!" He calls after him. A few more stops, and this lot will be secured. Then they can retreat back to the boat, and Rip can get paid.

"You know that crystal is worth absolutely nothing. Truly." she says looking point blank at the man who just had her nearly killed. "You won't get a credit for the one you took, it is worthless. This i can promise you. I only like them because they shine!" she says and she sights.

"Keep it if you want, it's junk." she says and starts walking towards Rip, ready to get the heck out of here.

Muri flinches down as more shots ring out, much more closely than before. WHAT IS HAPPENING. One arm finally shrugs back the curls and she can see for herself through the thinning crowd. "Hey, perfect!" she chirps, comlink still clutched in hand, right arm pinning stuff to her torso with an awkward sideways tilt on account of some of those hard documents are slipping. "Recker!" she hustle-bumps her way to the cart and dumps the silk in there but maintains a grip on the proofs. "Alamere! We've got five minutes, tops! Also, we gotta find Liz'diot. Last I saw, he was being shown the door. Pre-explosion!" And she's already scampering in that direction.

Liz was out cold... but suddenly with FIRERY REVENGE the beast awakens! Wide black eyes shoot open, burning with the radioactive head of a THOUSAND BLACK HOLES. "I!" He shouts, climbing to his chair and hoisting himself up. His body burnts and bruised. "WILL!" He opens a container in his chair and pulls out a piece of what looks like gum and sticks it to the wall near the shield emitter. "NOT!" He weels back after sticking a little stick in the 'gum'. "BE." He reaches for a button on his chair, then whispers, "Underestemated..." His long translucently sickly finger reaches out and presses the button.

Seconds later The wall erupts into a LOUD and FIREY EXPLOSION. The entire station likely shakes and it's probably good the Brig is close into the ship and not near the outside. When the flames die down, maniacle laughing can be heard. "INDEED." Through the smoke, dust, and debrise comes the wheel chair bound Liz, a bit scratches up and bloody himself. "Someone fetch me Whiskey and Cofee! And Make if PERFECT. YASSSSSS."

Very delicate negotiations only last until the station's hazard alarms begin blaring. Multiple detonations, reports of blaster fire, vehicles being driven through the station. Somewhere, a skinny Neimoidian sighs and begins navigating red tape, while hurrying back to the Union's ship. "Forte, place a claim of insufficient security with the Coruscanti Trade Authority.. override any grounding locks on the ship on grounds of state of emergency- terrorism, obviously!"

Alamere's claims aren't answered, alas. Ahe may never know why some thief was willing to risk death for that set of baubles.

"Alright ladies, throw your drek in the cart. We're leaving promptly now. Leaving promptly. Come along, yes.. grab those pretty things and that drek over there.. move faster!" If the ladies got in the way? They were shoved into the cart too. Rip didn't care. A final parting gift was intended for the other exits/entrances into the main lot. A series of four more explosions saw the blast doors closed, effectively cutting off a security attempt which allowed them a clear path back to the ship. Rip shoved the cart through the airlock and onto the ship. <<"Everyone on board? Don't care. Shutting the hatch.">>

Amid the explosions and blaster fire, AJ still has 6 of the rare jewels and the statue and the encrypted data stick.

Heading towards Rip, she spies a couple more small pieces - rings with precious stones and a strange map of some sort and pockets the items and runs towards the cart and the ship. What a night.

Look at this mess. You see? THIS is why Netep so enthusiastically shuns the Core. Not really the reason, but it's just been added to the list. Reason 367 Coruscant is terrible: Pretentious people and auction explosions all in one night. Also, wasted food.

The lost shoes are meanwhile seemingly of zero concern. Because cart. Lounging at a horrible angle like the least comfortable queen of Socorro, Netep's got skimpy pockets stuffed with a couple additional finds from her way almost-out the door. One of those 'finds' is slowly leeching grease stain through her pocket wall. It's food. She found food. "Now where do you suppose they were hiding /these/ all night!?" she explains around a shrinking mouthful, chewing expediently and trying not to choke while being zoomed along. It's a rhetorical question that doesn't matter, but Muri's just helped pull off a weird almost-junk heist so odds are she's going to be excessively chatty and pumped full of nerves for the long flight ahead until someone a)shoves a cig in her mouth or b) presents her with another stress-relieving activity.

"WAIT WAIT!" Comes the voice of the battered up Liz down the through way. The Bith is now wearing a beach shirt, a straw hat, his mustach still only half on. "I FOUND DEATH STICKS!" He holds a bunch of them up in his free hand, his chair floating up the ramp and into the Bottom Line. He looks like hell. Blood and bruises along with burns. His T3 goggles compliment his current attire quite nicely though. Question is? Where the hell did he get all that stuff. He also has a bottle of whiskey tucked between his skinny useless legs. "I would like to point out That *hiccup* None of you came to save me." He rips open a death stick and goes to down on it. Shivering then slapping his mouth hole. "There fore I will share None of my booze. What did you pea-brained fools find? HAH!"