Log:Un-beaching the Whale

Because a whale left idle is a whale left to rot.

OOC Date: December 20, 2017 (Australian time)
Location: Yavin
Participants: Zhu Yan as GM, Sapphira Solari, Sar Yavok, and special guest star Gren Delede.

The short story: Gren Delede returns to action, Zhu Yan immediately screws up, Sapphira Solari embraces her violent side, and Sar Yavok enters Grit Mode.

The long story:

The BWC-HF-001 (better known as the Space Whale) was a floating wreck. Having been adrift in low-orbit around Yavin for the better part of six months with only the ineffable Zhu Yan as crew, the thing had been falling to pieces. She didn't have enough fuel for a hyperspace jump, nor would she survive a hyper entry or exit. This was fixable, of course. Problem is, the only way to fix it involved getting supplies from the nearby pirate base of Yavin IV, and that was a task in itself. So, Zhu Yan called help. The two most hostile, dangerous, and foul-smelling soldiers in the galaxy, and a girl along for an adventure who really needed to be careful about trusting smirking smugglers with obviously fake names.

The Redline, the janky and hard-to-fly YT-2000 that looked far shittier than she actually was, skimmed low along the treetops of Yavin IV, running as silent as possible. The cockpit was manned only by a little angry R3 droid, fond of complaining about how her sons left her and they never write and they never call and we could be here all day listening to her prattle on. "Oh don't bother, I'll just fly the ship, you go and get yourselves killed, see if I care!" was the most recent binary complaint before Yan started ignoring her. The rest of the crew were assembled near the exit ramp, HOPEFULLY in some sort of combat gear or the nearest equivalent.

"Alright, so these schuttas down in the old Rebel base are sitting on a nice stockpile of fuel and spare parts," Zhu Yan was explaining. He was clad neck-to-toe in his battle suit, dark plates on black jumpsuit, with helmet tucked under one arm and E-11D in his other. "Easy enough to lift, not so much when they're in the way. So we go in, clear them out, and take what we need. Simple enough."

The Redline found a clearing near the Massassi temple, off to the side without being in view of the main doors, and gently touched down. The ramp hissed open. "Alright, let's rock."

"Let's rock? The hell're we doing here, Yan? You know we could've just...brought you some fuel and plating, right?" Sar complains, his vocoded voice coming out of the speakers on his helmet. He, too, is carrying an E-11; a testament to its design. "Not that I mind getting out and stretching my legs a little, of course. Just seems like...the worst way to handle this whole deal."

Sapphira spent most of the trip berating Yan. Clearly she's been spending too much time around Kasia. "...haven't cleared the burnt-rock deposits out of your sensors in months, keepin' your fuel tanks so empty that the engines are workin' three times as hard to do half the work, got more dents than a 15 year old nuknog's face..." Yeah, she was a treat on this trip. Today she has her hair up in a crown of braids, still trying to cover that obvious buzzed spot over her temple that is only just starting to grow in with red fuzz. She has a fitted jumpsuit on of grey with yellow piping, because of course she has to be stylish. She's bitching so much she almost forgets to grab her empty cross-body satchel and weapon, which she holsters before hurrying after the group.

"You owe me a rescue op, Yan." Gren says just after the ramp goes down. The old pilot yanks his DL-44 from its holster, and takes a deep breath. A few months in a cell might've left him a little rusty. Who knows? He's wearing shitty armor that is rather lacking in a helmet. He looks over at Sar, and shrugs. "I don't think its a bad plan. Go in. Kill some fools, steal some shit. That's basically our entire career. More fun, this way." A grin, and he glances at the 'new'girl. "Mechanics. Nothing but complaints."

"Yeah, well, honesty, I kinda wanna kill these guys too. This place is a nice hideout," Yan added, to assuage Sar's concerns. "Plus it relieves the stress." Stress brought on by Sapphira's NAGGING. He already had a droid to do that for him! He didn't need another space-mother! "Is this because I helped save your daughter that one time?" Yan responded to Gren. HERO CRED. The jackass needed it.

Zhu Yan was the first down the ramp. The foliage around the Great Temple made for good cover, even from the clearing where the Redline was parked. Clearly these pirates weren't very good at the whole surveillance thing. They didn't even have someone up in the tall tower thingy to shoot radar beams at departing X-Wings! Reaching the main entrance was easy enough, even as a shoddy knocked-together speeder burst out of it and headed off into parts-unknown in the jungle. Probably to scavenge for more crashed Imperial tech from forty years ago.

"The second I feel like losing a battle, I'll remember to ask an Imp for tactical advice. Until then...," Sar says, looking over at Delede, the shit-eating grin hidden by the blue helmet. Sar watched as the speeder tears off, remarking, "Shouldn't be too difficult, though."

"Engineer, thank you kindly," Sapphira says with a little grin. But even she'll pipe down as the ship disappears behind them and they climb through the jungle. Ugh, jungle, gross. It might be noted that as they clamber along, Sapphira starts to stick closer and closer to Sar. No reason for that, none at all. Maybe it's because he makes a good meat shield. Yeah, that must be it.

"I knew enough to join the wining side, Yavok." Gren replies, following the group down the ramp, and sticking to the rear, watching their six. Also his armour is trash, these days. "I always did appreciate you helping rescue her." A pause, and he runs a hand across his face. "We should get back into the business." He says casually. Because conversations in the middle of the jungle in hostile territory are great. "Mechanics are better than engineers, lass. Coveralls and such."

From within the hangar, there were the sounds of conversation. People talking about how much booty they were going to bring in with this raid, another asking what kind of booty, and an eventual argument about the existential nature of booty and whether it really mattered what kind of booty was had, so long as booty was had. Pirates were a philosophical bunch.

"Depends on the business," Yan mused. "I've always been stealing sithspit that other people don't need. Or don't want. Or forget about. Or want but just can't defend properly. Like now!" From his position next to the entrance, he could look inside and glean an idea of what they were up against. He took a quick look, got an idea, and pulled his head back. "Lots of crates stashed about everywhere, a few speeders, an old Ugly fighter, and about six or seven schuttas scattered about all busy-like." Any cursory examination would match Yan's interpretation of what he saw. The sensors in that helmet was pretty good at picking out details. "Should be a quick fight, then we deal with the stragglers. These guys aren't a big outfit."

"So, how we gonna play this?" Sar asks, squatting down and resting the butt of his rifle in the dirt. "Not that I really care. I'm just gonna run at 'em and shoot when you say 'go'."

Sapphira crouches down beside Sar, listening to the men strategize. But Grer has thoughts on things, and Sapphira must nit-pick back in his general direction! "What ... you mean I ain't as good as a mechanic because of what I'm wearing? Are you ... for real?" Her bright green eyes settle on the man in amazement and she just shakes her head, looking back at the target.

Gren kneels down, knees popping so loudly that one would expecty the booty-obsessed pirates are apt to hear. "Aye. That's what I'm saying, lass. I mean, if I didn't wear a flightsuit, I wouldn't be the best pilot in the galaxy." He keeps a straight face, somehow. He really, really does. "Strategy is wasted on Sar. I'd almost forgotten. I'll just follow your lead, Yan." He stretches his back, and tenses, ready to spring creakily into action.

"Not much of a plan needed. Sar, Gren, Sapling, let's get in there and shoot it up," declared Yan.

Now the fun begins. Yan went in first, squeezing off a couple of shots in the general direction of the closest pirate, and skidded into cover behind a crate. Of course, he was aiming straight at them. Or so he assumed. Two powerful bolts impacted the back wall and promptly startled all the lovely gentlemen in the hangar.

"We're under attack! We're under attack!" one of them called out, starting to run for a wall-mounted alarm system. The others scattered, heading for cover. Good work, Zhu Yan. You're an idiot.

Sar Yavok sprints in behind Yan, keeping close to the wall and leveling his blaster rifle. Two pulls of the trigger and a duo of bolts scream out of the barrel. One of them pelts a pirate right in the face, sending him spilling backwards over his seat. The other one catches another malcontent in the flank, but he's still headed for cover. "Let's see if you slowed down any, Delede!" Sar shouts.

Wait, running AND shooting? Simultaneously? This isn't quite Sapphira's strong point. Still, she goes with it, moving to run and firing off a few shots as she goes. They don't go anywhere close to where they're supposed to, leaving blastermarks on the stone around the scrambling pirates. But hopefully it helps to confuse them further! She keeps moving, young and nimble and quick, heading for wherever Sar is heading for.

Gren...slowed down? Not really. The old pilot lopes along at the rear of the pack, lifting his heavy blaster pistol and putting two bolts into the chest of a raggedy ass pirate. The man's long beard starts to burn, and his corpse slumps against a temple wall. Gren slams into a bit of stonework and takes cover, looking up at Yavok, and grinning. "Haven't slowed down. But I want to skin the bastard that stripped my blaster." He leans out to take stock of the situation..."You really are lucky that you brought us, Yan."

Smoke and the stink of ozone were beginning to fill the hangar from the assembled team's first strike. Yan's pathetic attempt and Sapphira's focus on moving over shooting does little more than startle the locals. One pirate, however, copped a nasty case of dental surgery from Sar's carbine, and a second one was clipped in the shoulder and sent spinning to the ground. From that area was the faint cry of "Ow goddamnit!" Gren's target, dead, was quietly smouldering in the corner, because that fire was quickly moving to engulf his clothes.

The pirates not scattered by the rapid strike started to return fire, most of it concentrating in Zhu Yan's direction. That's because he's an idiot. One tried to go for Sapphira but she was too quick, but one of them got lucky and landed a bolt right on Mister Yavok. "Hah!" cried the pirate, then realized his target was far from down. "Crap!"

Zhu Yan could barely see the torso of the man that Sar had wounded poking between crates. He carefully lined up his shot, and sent two bolts flying down thataway. The first one took the man right in the other shoulder, causing enough shock to make him expire. The second hit the elevator door at the back, leaving a lovely burn mark.

Sar's head lols back as a blaster bolt strikes him in the helmet. Luckily, the coating redirects most of the energy and sends it ricocheting off into a nearby wall. "Kriff!" he shouts, holding his helmet, now complete with scorch mark.

Stumbling for a moment, he hefts his rifle back up and fires twice more. The first howls toward the one that shot him in the face, and rips the poor man in half, sending both halves of him flopping to the floor. The upper half is the only one that's particularly bothered by it. Sar's second shot catches another poor sod.

Oh helllllllll no. That's her kinda-stepfather sort of mentor drunk thing. Whatever he is. "Sar!" For her own part, Sapphira sounds truly concerned about the armored man as he takes a hit to the head. By now, she's made it to the crates with Yan and is crouching low. Her face flushes with a heated, hateful anger. She rises smoothly out from behind her cover and looks to the pirates scrambling to make up some defenses. Fuck that. And fuck them. Very smoothly, very easily, she aims and squeezes at the nearest threat, resulting in a faceshot that kills the man before he hits the ground. In an equally smooth motion, she tilts the weapon a few degrees to the right, and squeezes off another that misses the head but impacts on a shoulder.

"I've been back for like a day! Don't get your head blown off!" Gren shouts over the whine of blasters, and screams of the dying and wounded. He leans out from cover, and pulls the trigger another pair of times. On target, as always. "Moving up!" The old Coruscanti calls, and starts toward the temple complex. He's not one to sit on his laurels and plink away. Staying low, jogging forward. Totally safe.

Pirates were dropping left, right, and centre. It was like a shooting gallery, all targets no pain. Except for Sar's new scorch mark. Good work Sar. The one guy left in the room, hiding behind a crate and smoking from a flank wound, was too scared to take a potshot or anything of the sort. His knees were literally shaking. Others in the base had likely become aware of hostiles, since the area was filled with a low thrumming alarm that could now be heard without the blaster fire.

"Sithspit, woman! You got a taste for shooting people!" declared Yan thusly to Sapphira behind their mutual crate cover. It was either fear or admiration in his tone. Probably the latter. Possibly lust. Who knew? He was getting definite warrior-woman vibes. He poked his head up over the crate and noted a surprising lack of enemies. "Anyone left?" he called out, being unable to see the one last remaining gentleman.

Sar Yavok sees him, however unfortunate that may be for the poor pirate. Sar marches toward the crate, rifle tucked tightly against his shoulder. He, too, aims for the man's shoulder and looses a bolt, ripping the appendage from the man's body. Spilling to the ground in pain, Sar moves to pin him against the floor with a boot. "You're gonna lay right there and tell me if y'all got any traps rigged around this place," he says, his helmet's vocoder making him sound a little bit more terrifying than usual. "You make this hard and you'll take a long time dyin'."

Sapphira, now that all the threats are neutralized, brings her gun-arm back close to her and points it up and away from anyone else, removing her finger from the trigger. TRIGGER DISCIPLINE, PEOPLE. She blinks her bright green eyes in Yan's direction. "He upset me," she says, by way of explanation for her behavior. Now she at least has the good sense to blush over that murderous temper that she has, but she does tuck the weapon away. While Sar interrogates, which is weird to watch in and of itself, she moves to start going through the crates, to see what's what and where.

Delede's finds a wall to lean on, and keeps his blaster trained on the main entrance with his right hand. His left falls to his belt, and pulls the flask from its usual position. A wee nip is taken from the container before it is tucked away. No commentary from the man for the moment. He'll focus on the task at hand, for the moment. The task of drinking and waiting.

It didn't take. Shocked to his core by the sudden removal of his arm, the last remaining pirate was only able to gasp out in pain a few times before his body realized it had performed an illegal operation and shut down. The low throbbing alarm continued to emit throughout the hangar and there was the faint sound of turbolifts hissing from the far back corners. Reinforcements were on their way.

Inside Sapphira's crates, she would find a bunch of junk. Not necessarily useless junk, a clever engineer could find ways to repair the damaged engines of a particularly large freighter with it. There were also a couple of empties, a crate of booze, and most bizarrely, one containing a small inflatable gundark. Odd.

"Huh," hummed Yan at this revelation. "Poor Tarion. Wait. Guys. Incoming," he hissed out, falling back behind his crate of cover.

Sar Yavok sucks his teeth as the pirate goes into shock and decides to relieve him of his pain by pressing the heel of his armored boot to the downed man's throat. "Gren, use this, you dumbass. 'Til you get your gun fixed," Sar says, sliding his EE-3 blaster pistol(?) out of its holster and tossing it across the room to Gren. "Mind your wrist."

"Poor Tarion? Why Poor Tarion?" Sapphira really, really wants to know the answer to that question, Yan. Like, really really. "We can take all of this, it'll stock the engineering bay nicely and we can get lit when it's all unload-" But then Yan's ducking for cover and Sapphira just blinks at him, watching him. The death rattle from the other side of some crates gets a glance and a flinch, but then she crouches down next to Yan again. "What are we hiding from?" she hisses to him.

Gren frowns unhappily as the EE-3 slides across the ground to his feet. He kneels down with a POP POP, and holsters his DL-44. The sawn off carbine is hefted slightly, before being leveled at the likely vector of reinforcement. "Function over form, I suppose...thanks Yavok!" Still, he's bitching about using an ugly tool for his art, among other things. All under his breath, of course. "Hiding? Who's hiding?" He's sort of in-cover, but he really just is rearing to keep moving.

"Reinforcements," explained Yan behind the crate. "Probably the boss and whoever's up in the command center."

The turbolifts in the corners hissed open and, as expected, out came the pirates. Looked to be about four from each side, easy numbers, but with levelled rifles instead of the piss-weak blaster pistols the others used. The first one out was a big guy, nearly a head taller than the others, and had the face of a man only a mother could love, if said mother had severe cataracts and was the nicest woman in the galaxy. "Put your weapons down, sleemos, and you won't get hurt!" was the big man's booming voice, full of a sort of a gangland authority that was really good at keeping the weak in line but not at making people think they were going to escape a keelhauling. "We here at Razak's Roughnecks will be sure to send you on your way." All this Razak fellow needed was an evil laugh to complete the image.

"We were talkin' here," Sar offers back to to Razak. He lets a bolt fly towards the man, striking him dead in the gut. He then turns his blaster on one of the man's unfortunate back-up. That guy keels over faster than Gren after an all you can eat Rodian buffet.

Sapphira nods to Yan, bringing her knees underneath her from her near-prone position. "Right. Beauracrat, this one. Right? No big deal." So, like before, she rises out like before and lifts the weapon, smoothly, though the rage is no longer there. Perhaps that's why karmic justice strikes. She pulls the trigger, and it just clicks. So now she's left in the open with a gun that is out of shot. "Aw, frick," she cusses to herself, before diving back for more cover.

There's kill stealers, and then there's Grens. And they're one and the same. Gren stands up, sighs audibly. "Pirates. Big talkers. But piss-poor on the follow-through." Th EE-3 barks twice. The first bolt takes the wounded boss-man in the face as he's bending toward his wounded gut, and the second zaps over his shoulder to impact one of the cute little piewats playing at badassery. He looks appreciatively at the sawed off blaster, and just scowls. He really hates when he has to apologize to Sar.

And just like that, all hell broke loose. The five survivors of the initial strike, four on the left and one on the right, broke ranks and fell into cover, firing as they went. The death of their boss didn't stop them. Amateurs, they were not. Bolts flew dangerously close to both Sar and Gren, and one clipped Sapphira's arm as she retreated into cover. "Spread out and take them down! There's only a few of them!"

Yan heard the clicking sound from Sapphira's gun and hissed in some sort of shared frustration or annoyance. Timing, amirite? He reached up and dragged her down around about the same time she fell back down to cover, wincing as the blaster bolt hit her. "Sithspit, Sapph! Always gotta check your blaster charge! Stay down!" It was a combination of annoyance, anger, but mainly concern for the poor kid. It was a mistake bringing her to a firefight. "Dress that wound!" he ordered, before breaking out of cover to draw fire, carefully aiming the E-11 carbine and firing as he went. One of the guys on the left took a bolt to the eye, and a second received a huge sucking torso wound. He wasn't dead, but he would be very, very soon.

Sar Yavok watches Sapphira take a hit and is instantly filled with unofficial step-father rage. Her mom's Julianne Moore, so. He squints within his helmet and begins marching toward the remaining pirates. The one that hurt Sapphira catches a bolt center-mass, sending him flying backward over some crates. Sar's second shot goes ahead and finishes off the one that Yan left breathing. "Finish 'em off, Gren! Put that gun to work!"

Sapphira lets out a quick cry as the bullet takes her in the chest, almost at her right shoulder. Between Yan's yanking, her own diving, and the force of the shot she's falling fast and hard and she lands with a loud THUD on her back, though she manages to keep the weapon in her hand. For a moment, she's stunned, blinking up at the ceiling as she slowly starts to get her bearings between the pain and the disorientation. But she years Yan shouting at her, and slowly she rolls onto her side, sliding back between two sheafs of boxes. "M'alright," she tells Yan, senses waking up from the shock of the hit. "S'not bad. Armor took some of it." But she stays down and hidden as she's told.

"I got them!" Gren calls out, glancing toward the wounded engineer, and then heading toward the blaster firing pirates. The EE-3 spits a pair of blaster bolts, and one of the bastards falls, but the last isn't even close to hit. "The last one. It's always the last son of a bitch." A duck into cover. Hopefully someone else can clean up the last target.

The pirates were not having an ideal day. One of them managed to get a wild shot off at the moving Yan before Sar stepfathered him into oblivion. The other two also aimed at Yan, but only one was actually worth his now-nonexistent pay and landed a hit. The bolt seared across his thigh and blasted off the plate protecting it, and Yan tripped, fell, and tumbled behind a parked speeder bike. "Sithspit!" was the profound swear from behind it. The two remaining troopers hadn't noticed the approaching Sar Yavok, filled with an unholy familial rage.

"Not again!" hissed out the wounded Zhu Yan, wincing at the stinging that was filling his leg. He rolled carefully over on to his knees and balanced the barrel of the E-11 on the bike seat, and fired off two shots at the bastards who'd taken him on. One miss, one headshot. Boom, baby. One left.

Sar Yavok is now close enough that any shot that hits his enemy is gonna be a doozy. And it is. Leveling his E-11 at the remaining pirate, Sar squeezes off another shot and the bad guy's head goes bye-bye. "Everybody okay!?" he asks, looking over his shoulder at the others.

"Yan!" Sapphira calls out, reaching forward for the man to try and keep him supported. She flinches, groaning against the pain to try and reach an arm around Yan's shoulders to drag him back toward the crates for hiding, like where she is. Safety, Yan! Safety! And then Sar's voice bellows across the room, and Sapphira grits her teeth. "Yan's shot!" And so's she, but that's neither here nor there just now. She knows(?) she's fine.

"It's only a flesh wound!" groaned Zhu Yan. Another blaster injury to match the scar he had from that Ko Hentota business last year. He limped along with Sapphira's movement, basically dragging himself and trying not to flatten her with his weight. The armor was heavy! "Put me down, man! I'm alright!" Whether or not he was alright was irrelevent, he thought he could handle himself.

The room stank of ozone and was all foggy, but everyone in it besides the motley crue was dead. Only the sound of the jungle greeted them, so that random speeder was probably off on the other side of the planet or something.

Sar Yavok slides his helmet off and shakes his head, trying his best to get the sweaty hair out of his face. There's already a bruise forming around his right eye. He rubs softly at it and says, "Y'all did good. For a buncha assholes."

"Oh, you started it, you headshot old man," Sapphira retorts right back, finally letting go of Yan so she can find something to lean against, hand moving to her shoulder and touching it gingerly. It burns, naturally. "Dr. Tosha is gonna be furious at me. First my head, and then my ass, and now this...." she looks around. "But it looks like everyone got it, yeah?" Which means she's no worse than anyone else!

Zhu Yan carefully pried the helmet off his head. His skin underneath was flushed, sweaty, and his hair was compressed down in the most ugly way. Helmet hair, yo. "Yeah, we all got hit. Except Gren. Man's a lunatic. One time, he stood in the middle of an Imperial crossfire and didn't get touched," the smuggler explained. Carefully, gingerly, he hoisted himself to his feet, and fished a comm unit from somewhere on his person. "Reddie," he said into it. "All clear, ready to load up." He paused to listen to the beeping on the other end. "Yes. Yes. All of us. Stop yelling! Look, just bring the ship about and get some bandages ready!"

Sar Yavok sets his helmet down on a nearby crate and looks over to Yan, "Why don't you ever tell stories of my heroics, Zhu Yan? I got plenty." He grins and pulls a pack of cigarillos from one of the storage compartments on his suit. One marked 'CIGARILLOS' in Aurabesh.

While they're just waiting now, Sapphira unzips the neck of her suit, to reveal .... a thin layer of hidden armor beneath. She pulls the shoulder down and away to see how much of the armor took the shot, and how much didn't. She does this by poking it. "Ow." She pokes it again. "Ow."

The ground started to rumble as the Redline came into view, touching down in the clearing in front of the hangar bay. Reddie may complain with the best of them, but she knew where she needed to be. Yan could live with the quirks that entailed. "Did anyone ever tell you, Sapphira, that poking an open wound would not be a good idea?" Yan pointed out as he limped towards the hangar door. "Reddie! Drop the cargo lift! We gotta start loading up!" he called out to his ship.

"/Y'all/ gotta start loadin' it up. I already done my heavy liftin'," he says with a grin before picking his helmet up and heading towards the Redline. "I'll send you the bill."

"We're hurt!" Sapphira points out to Sar, sounding slightly miffed that he'd leave the injured parties to do the lifting. She frowns, wrinkling her nose, looking to Yan. "I was just checkin' on it," she huffs, pulling the shoulder back up before she starts to go for that first crate. First light crate. She's a lady, goddammit.

Together, with difficulty and lots of cries of pain from various wounds (okay mainly Yan), the quartet managed to get enough crates on to the Redline to make the Space Whale hyperspace worthy again. That, and they cleaned out a Massassi temple in case they ever needed a stronghold again. In the end, except for the impending judgement of one Eevy Kal, all was right in the galaxy.