Log:Traders Union: Ranat Race

Traders Union: Ranat Race

OOC Date: October 27. 2018
Location: Nar Shaddaa
Participants: Idan Jensa(GM), Liz'diot, Merek, Netep Muri, Traders Union

Idan Jensa had briefed the other members of the Traders Union en route to the Meltdown Cafe on Nar Shaddaa: "There is a captain inside.. a Rys Terragonne," a handheld holoemitter displays the image of a human male, in elaborate clothing with needlessly intricate facial hair. "This individual has located the site of an old Clone Wars battle, but my sources say he lacks the means to relocate the bulk of the salvage. Normally I would undertake such negotiations myself, but.. he is a Naboo," the Neimoidian notes with a wince. "Thus, while I will be in contact should you wish, I judge it wise not to be seen with you all. Obtain the rights to this salvage in whatever way you deem best, or else reach some arrangement by which we can share in profits for moving the most valuable elements. Are there.. any questions?"

Liz'diot grimaces from his seated position in his hover chair, "Fetted... Nabooians are only good at one thing. Being CONQUERED." The grotest bith wheels himself away and into the frey.

Merek has put his armor on, which is beneath the cloak which he wears with a hood up, nodding to Idan a little bit, "Well, hopefully this will go well enough," he offers while he checks a knife, the sword upon his back, the hip, while he places his blaster to a holster also. Liz'diot

"Wonder who does his grooming," Muri strokes her own (hairless) chin in study of his facial cut. Her hair possesses its own, debatably unecessary flare, so could be she approves. A raised brow goes to the hovering Bith and she frowns out the side of her mouth at Idan and Merek. "I'm sure it'll be smooth as silk..." Patting a bit at her own locks, she follows after Liz and uplifts a pair of crossed fingers.

Idan Jensa's mouth draws into a tight line at Liz's opinion of the Naboo. "Be that as it may, they also have rather grand opinions of themselves. Good fortune," he bids before turning his regard to Merek. "As you say."  Muri is answered, "Highest quality silk, at that." Then, the Meltdown is before them, Idan peels off to remain outside and the doors open.

The spacer in question is not hard to locate in the bar; even apart from his attention-grabbing appearance, Rys Terragonne is seated at a central table, loudly engaged in a hand of sabacc with a Gran and an Arconian. "This right here? This is why humans always win: the ability to bluff, my friends," he claims with a laugh, having just won the pot.

Liz'diot hates bars. He hates people as they are far beneath him. As he strolls along he pulls out a mop and places it on his head like a wig. "YASS. Satisfactory." He barrels into the bar and heads right for that sabbac table. "DEALER. Is there room for another bid. Me and my pathetic HU-MONs would like a spot at the table. INDEED."

Merek nods a bit while he walks to follow the others while they make their preparations. He looks around a bit from the cloak as he pulls that to him a bit and lets out a sigh.

"Spoken like a true human who's never played 'gainst a Lorrdian," Netep purrs in rebuttal to the victor's boastful claim, "But I suppose it ups your odds that one of your gaming partners is..." a look to the Arcona "visually impaired?" She dons a mischief-maker's grin, standing behind Liz'diot and his map...hair. The little space gypsy pulls out a pair of lenses and centers them over her own nose, moreso out of practicality than sympathy for the Arcona. What was close is now crystal clear. Like cards. "You must be the infamous Capt Terragonne...or are quite skilled in the art of mimicry." A motion goes to her own face. "I must say, the picture does not do this justice. True art."

Captain Terragonne has split each side of his long mustache, with the upper ends waxed and curling toward his cheekbones, while the lower twirls are braided into a long chin beard. HU-MONs, amirite? The dark haired spacer smiles broadly, flashing nearly-white teeth toward the cunningly disguised Bith and the other new arrivals. "Always room for more credits at the table, friends. Just one buying in, or.." he glances to Merek, but moves promptly on to Muri. "..should I make room for more?" The Gran rises with a grunted curse in his(?) native language, staggering toward the door with a snort. The Arcona squawks a claim that its eyesight is clear, in rebuttal to Muri while staring.. somewhere to Muri's right. The gypsy's banter draws an even sharper smile to Terragonne's face, accompanied by a laugh. "I am he, lady. The one and only." The cards are gathered and shuffled, with the current winner keeping the duties of dealer.

Liz'diot looks to Netep, "Excuse my blathering HU-MON. I am... Zil the Omniscient. If there were two Omniscients. I would be both." He flips some of the mops strands out of his face. "I am a Bith who collects salvage. It has made me lots of money and we hear your the man to talk to. YASS."

Merek takes out a cigar which has some spice in it, the kind which is allowed in most places. Not that such really matters on the moon, as he lights that up with a ligther which he has with him. He then takes a drag from it while he listens to the others speak, adding to the Captain, "Merek, Pilot and Trader," such a normal introduction it seems.

"No doubt your thermal vision trumps all here, friend," Netep waves off the Arcona's indignant retort and slips into the chair the Gran's vacated. Once there, she goes fishing in her oversized jacket for a little tabac of her own. It appears in the form of something hand-rolled, which she balances neatly between lips. She leeeeeans over to Merek expectantly for a lil light while Liz'diot gets to the point. "Muri," one of her fingers goes up to indicate her own name accordingly.

"I see word travels fast," the captain muses, idly adjusting the curl of one mustache tip between rolling fingertips. "But then.. not everyone can be both Bith omniscients." A small laugh stirs in his throat, as keen brown eyes pass onto Merek at the introduction. A small nod. "I'd introduce myself in turn, but it seems I'm already famous. What are you all looking to buy?" Cards are dealt as the Captain lets his eye wander back to Muri at her own name. "Already had some interest from the Hydian League, but there's plenty to go around. Especially for someone as well versed in the lost art of flattery as you."

Liz'diot thins his mouth hole, licking his folds with a gross and wet tongue. "Does the Hydian League have a ship large enough to transport thousands of tons of it?"

Merek nods a bit while he listens to the others, crossing his arms. The man seems to be smoking his cigar which he twirls around with his mouth as he waits, watching while Muri is doing most of the talking.

Light pilfered, Netep takes a beat to breathe some life into her tiny cig and eventually sends up a plume of blue smoke. "We'd like the honor of bein' yer ferryman," A questioning glance goes toward the somewhat androgynous Bith. "Men." Both brows hop once with mild amusement and she guardedly peeps under the corners of her two cards, facedown. "Fourteen," she announces and reaches out to draw herself another. And another.

"Thousands of tons," Rys Terragonne echoes Liz, skeptically. "Maybe they do, maybe they don't. What kind of ship do you all have access to?" Eyes glittering with the genesis of a scheme, cards are dealt out, and credit chits tossed into the pot, the game suddenly something of an afterthought. As the mop-topped Bith licks his mouth hole, the human captain grimaces and shifts his focus back to Muri. "That, my dear, is certainly an arrangement I'm interested in exploring. How many engineers and labor droids you have on hand?"

Liz'diot nods, "The union has a vast array of ships including an action vi. Which is more than capable of hauling your load."

Merek listens while he takes a drag from the cigar. With that, he relaxes back and seems to look at anyone else that might be about, in case there are others that don't like them there.

"Enough," Muri grunts, suddenly no longer seeming impressed by lady luck. Her fingers dance between cards for a moment before returning one to the deck in exchange for another. One that she slips into the 'interference field'. "See this bulkie of ours, we salvaged /it/ from the void of space, yeah?" She elaborates on what Liz affirms. "Had it up and runnin for the nearest port, life support an all in no time flat. We can do that, you bet your stylish little bum we can haul goods. Numbers of personnel on hand varies with the job and anticipated payload. Can't hire more'n we can afford each run, yeah? But if you've found what rumor says you've found, well I reckon we could afford to hire quite a few more. Droids'r there to stay regardless, of course. All they'll be demanding is a nice, hot oil bath and lil tweak o'the gears, now and again. Easier'n any girlfriend, am I right?" She passes the cig from lips to fingers with a shameless smile and tosses a few hundred more credits into the pot.

What're you doing, Muri? That was your motel money...says the inner naysayer of Netep's fairweather conscience. Maybe Netep's way too focused on that killer stache to care.

Terragonne chuckles behind an easy smile as he tosses down his cards, distractedly waving for the winner without looking at Liz'diot. "When you're right, you're right. And you, miss Muri, you are right." Twirling both ends of his mustache, taking a drink, and drawing a slow breath after, he muses aloud, "Let me have a look at this bulk freighter of yours.. and if everything is as promising as you say.. well, let's just say it'll be oil baths for everybody." Conspiratorially, he leans nearer and confides, "We could fill your entire hold. Rate to be determined, based on blah blah blah.." a 'so on' motion of one hand.

"YAS, LIZ... I mean ZILTOID wins!" Liz exclaims as he reaches his tiny hands out and gathers up the pot. "Probability is but child's play for a fourth dimensional being such as myself." He looks to Merek, "YOU... fetch me the best Caf bean known to your species. You have Five Coruscanti minutes..." He raises a finger, "Make it perfect." Then his large black eyes, musky with cataracts look back to Captain Tittykaka. "CAptain TittyKaka..." Yeah he just said that, "This is of course a wise maneuver on your part and will make you very rich. If you agree then the terms can be discussed further. INDEED."

Merek nods a bit to the others, while he takes a drink from the flask which he carries with him. He sighs a bit and simply listens at the moment.

Muri watches 'Ziltoid' rake in her monies with a half attentive, apathetic stare. Her eyes flick to the right, waiting to see if Merek will obey their Bith overlord's order, then offers a hand to Terragonne for the shaking. "So do we all agree? The good Captain gets a look up our skirt and negotiations may follow accordingly...or he settles for the Hydian League or Rimma Brats or Perlemian Powerboys or whatever other company tickles his fancy and we take our services elsewhere. But I wager they've not got what we have...a committee. Intellect. Founding board members. Nothin but professionals 'round here." Also, a Bith with a mop on his head. Probably no other trade union can boast that?