Professional Communicator
(The following message transmits to the Bottomlin)
- Flicker*
"Muri here," as if the tattooed face and incredulous hair presented to the viewer could belong to anyone else. It's not horribly a mess though, so she's taken some care to appear presentable. "Business proposition, er, /idea/ for you. It's a good idea. Won't put too large a dent in our profit margin, yeah?"
The shimmery figure that is Netep steeples fingers together and rests her chin delicately atop the point. "I had a chance encounter with -- well not really /chance/, guess she had me at a disadvantage, already knowin who /I/ was and havin' sent me an invitation to a meeting of business, cept must've accidentally nixed it as ads off the 'pad, cuz I don't recall ever having -- anyway. I get back to the smelly old rock from Lothal, right? Banged up to hell from an intriguing venture underground - literally underground - that I'll bore you with - or not - another time. Thought maybe I'd stave off a trip to the clinic with a few good hits off some o'that tabac that Tabac and Pipe stuffed their hookahs with, but lo and behold, it was CLOSED. And quite rennovated. Well, Wroonian gal - Mae," Muri pronounces with an oddly accurate inflection of Wroonian accent, "pops out the front door and invites me in to sit at this spread she's had ready, evidently for ME!" Is it a scam? It totally sounds like a scam.
"It's not a scam though, once our little affair was concluded, I pecked back through the old data and sure enough, there she was. Whoops. Anyhow, this lady's taken ownership of that place. Renamed it Pazaak and Tabac. She's already had her grand opening evidently, which I hadn't heard of, perhaps illy timed right after the Order blew a crater where the Corellian port once was, BUT she's trying to drum up business, draw in gamblers and the like to play in a tourny. Not askin you to spread the word - my mouth's big 'nough for the many of us I reckon - but see she's lookin' for sponsors. Sponsors to help promote aaand provide some suitable prizes, or prize monies, for the top-placed folk. Mentioned I was part of a Traders Union, why it is we've assembled, and thought might be good PR to help support smalltime entrepeneurs like this one...even if she's landlocked and not flyin' about with cargo, yeah? Gets our name out there, big and shiny, maybe draw in a little business of our own...hopefully from some big spenders like that uh...that marvelous mustache."
She can't remember his name. She might be a touch still under the influence OF that business 'meeting', or so her left pupil is telling. "So what'd ya say, Jensa? Feel up to putting our name in the game? I mean, more formerly, cuz like...I already did." Muri clears her throat softly, flashes a quick smile, then reaches a hand up to touch /that/ dial. "I'll be making port in Tradetown, Yelsain shortly. Hit me back with some approval. Or choice words. Y'know, whatever."
- FZZT* Muri's both silent and gone.
Reply: Idan Jensa
Idan's image is sitting on one of those Neimoidian mechanical spider-chairs. Roght as he draws a breath to begin speaking, the servomotors on one leg fail, resulting in an audible screech of metal, and Idan's chair lowering slightly on that side. There is a moment of visible indecision before deciding to pretend nothing is wrong.
"Captain Muri. I am.. curious what immediate benefit you see for the Union in what is.. clearly not a scam." A second spidery chair leg loses pressure, and the slight tilt of his chair grows more pronounced, forcing Idan to lean sharply to one side to keep balance.
"If you truly see a value in this course, I invite your advice as to prizes.. The value of a small freighter or shuttle, at most-" This hiss of another leg failing causes an abrupt, "End transmission!"
Reply: Netep Muri
By contrast (no doubt intentional) to Idan's rickety, spindly, robospider chair, Muri's reply transmission shows her reclined in a giant, fluffy wad of cush. Pillows, all shapes and colors. Should she fall asleep at the wrong angle, she'll probably suffocate.
"I'm not entirely certain there /is/ an immediate benefit for the Union. More like a longterm wager, for wanted attention. Unless of course you'd like one of us to compete for the win, but I do believe some circles might frown upon the conflict of interest, should a sponsoring body play the cards."
She reaches behind her head, between cushions, fishes around for...a half-eaten bag of vega-crunchies. *Crinkle*Crinkle*Crinkle*
"If your last transmission did not end more abruptly than you intended..." her sly smile says she knows it did, "then I'll commend you for your generosity." *Munch*crunchcrunch* "I wasn't thinking so grandly, as to prize amounts, more like a monthly fueling stipend for the year or All-You-Can-Eat passes to some of the hit diners along the Perlemian trade route or Hydian Way. Pass the love along to some of the establishments out there that keep us traders fueled and fed. But the value equitable to a small freighter, used, of course, that might do well to motivate some chance-takers." She winks, shoving a second mouthful of unhealthy, salted, fried vegetable matter into her maw. *Crunch*Crunch*Crunch* "Anyhow. You're the head brain of this outfit, so I'll defer to you. A cargohold full of coupons...or a set of wings." *SHRUG* A socked foot comes into view, blocking much of the rest of her from view while it clumsy fishes for that..there-er-no-THERE switch.
Your view is again blessedly clear, transmission gone.
