Log:Yux: Squib on the beach

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Yux: Squibs on the Beach

OOC Date: January 30, 2025
Location: Tropical Beach - Supply Depot, Scarif
Participants: Yxuara-Wewinkle, Pax Dredic, Roan, Alys Zapal

Logging Started: 1/19/2025 19:56:53

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Players

Yxuara

Ears perked at just over a meter tall, Yxuara is a cyan furred Squib with blue dyed ears, hands, and feet.

Even though having been born in space, Yxuara's lanky frame still shows the distinctive traits of the desert dwelling subspecies of Squib in his somewhat longer tuft-pointed ears and the stylish short cyan fur that blends nicely with the pale blue dyed skin of someone aware of current spacer fashion. His face carries a slightly smirky confident look that seems to give him a manic focus as he darts about underfoot. The claws of his hands are white and neatly trimmed, restless. His bright eyes are large and round, glancing into corners.

Yxuara is clothed in a black open vest with a pair of brown cropped pants, circling his waist is a synthetic belt that looks just on the near side of utility given the number of loops and pockets that line its surface. His feet are shod with two low rise turn-style shoes that give him a quick and quiet step.

Pax Dredic

The male near-human is tall, though not absurdly so; muscular, though not grotesquely so. He is no longer young. He is not yet old. Most of all, it is clear with the briefest of glances that this man has seen a lot of action over what one can assume is several decades of existence. His demeanor is one of awareness without anxiety, distance without menace. Watchful, calm, yet strikingly intense, glittering gold eyes flecked with silver float from place to place, unhurried and without distraction.

Hair that was once dark as night is streaked liberally with silver-grey. Weathered skin is creased with crow's feet at the eyes and heavily-lined at the brow. His face is pocked with scars minor and major, though the largest is a burn scar on his neck, over which faded Basic script is tattooed in black. It reads: "That which does not destroy me, educates me." Over his left eye, from scalp to eyebrow, are two vertical stripes in white. They are old, faded, and interrupted by healed injuries. A similar single stripe has been tattooed over his right eye.

Roan

Straight brown hair. Clear brown eyes. Athletic trim, regal bearing, perfect balance. This human woman could be a statue if she weren't breathing. A Coruscanti accent is unmistakable when she speaks, and her clipped way of talking is very reminiscent of old holovids of Imperial commanders and captains of the previous Empire.

Some might find her fairly beautiful. Curvy, even, despite her conditioning. A sway of the hips, a flip of the hair, she certainly draws the eye. But her military bearing comes first, and when she barks an order, there is power behind her voice.

This is a black and red officer's uniform for a Sith Eternal Fleet Officer. It is a finely pressed set of clothing when in proper condition, and it is primarily black with crimson red trim along the torso and across the cuffs of the sleeves. The Sith Fleet Officer Uniform also comes with a duty cap that holds the sigil of the Sith Eternal Fleet in sining silver. A high collar of leather around the neck, and a silver buckled belt is cinched around the waist of the officer who wears it. A blaster holster sometimes adorns the thigh of an Officer if they are expected to be in a dangerous situation.

Alys Zapal

This young woman stands only around 5'3", below average height, and her build is slight and lithe. Her hair, cut short and only falling to the nape of her neck in a shaggy, chaotic mess, is coal black. Her eyes, focused, intent and always, always looking, are a deep, gemlike violet. Her face would be pretty if it wasn't for the perpetual guarded expression she wears. Her nose is small and fits her face, her cheekbones are high, giving her an almost aristocratic look, and her lips could be called a little pouty. Her makeup is seemingly set to a theme. Her lips are stained a glossy black, highlighting how pale she is. Her eyeliner is razor straight, winging out from the corners of her eyes. Her eyeshadow, of course, matches. Finishing the look are two, thick black lines that fall straight fron the center of her eyes to halfway to her jaw.

Her torso is covered in a black tube top that leaves her shoulders and almost every inch of pale flesh from below her breasts to her hips bare. Inch wide leather straps double helix around her arms from her wrists to the top of her biceps. Her hands, nimble and delcate looking, are bare for whatever use she may have for them.

Riding low on her hips is a skirt that's cut in such a way to be long on the left and falling to the top of her calf high boots, angling up to nearly indecent shortness on the right. On her legs are black stockings that rise to above midthigh, leaving pale flesh bare to see on the left. Covering her feet are calf high boots that have gunmetal buckles all the way up.

This cloak is the standard clothes designed, and worn by, members of the Sith Empire's Force wielders, it provides protection from the elements and some small degree of protection from attack. It is a very utilitarian garment that's primary design purpose is to be high agility, comfort and quality.

Typically these clothes came in a wide variety of colors, though mostly all were tied to dark shades. Grays, blacks, reds and purples were all common colors worn by members of the Sith Empire.

This is a set of Lord-tier clothing, which can be indicated by its elaborate designs. Lord clothing usually have the deepest hoods, masks of intricate design and metal adornments across the arms, shoulders, legs and torso.

Location

Tropical Beach - Supply Depot, Scarif

Story

You head into the Tropical Beach.

Tropical Beach - Supply Depot, Scarif

This is a long stretch of white snady beach that wraps its way up from the south and around to the north. There are rows of well maintain bungalows here where tourists or people who call this settlement home can own and reside.

To the west, north, and south the oceans stretch far and wide, mirror the blues of the sky above. The waves crash gently against the shores of this beach and offer a calm serenity to this lovely stretch of land.

Roan blinks over at the spacer when she's addressed, looking surprised that someone actually did. Looking down at the stool next to her, she shrugs slowly. "Um...I don't think so." She's standing between stools herself, and her attention is grabbed by the shirtless bartender, who offers her a fancy looking drink. "Miss Roan," he says, and she smiles as she takes it. "Thank you."

Sipping her fancy drink, she glances sidelong at Pax as she starts to walk away, hips swaying lazily as she goes. She seems to be heading for a stretched out Imperial Academy towel under a beach towel, with a basket to one side and a surf board on the other.

Pax Dredic's head turns as the woman sashays away. There's nothing hurried about him, but his attention is pretty clearly captured as she moves off. Looking to the bartender, then, he says, "Pour two drinks for me. Equal measures Gvoort fruit juice and Kowakian spice rum over ice." He holds up his fingers for emphasis. "Two."

He drops a pile of credit chits on the bar, waiting while the bartender makes his drink(s.)

A gaggle--is it a gaggle? Or what have you a crowd? Let us settle on perhaps half a dozen--of Squibs make their way onto the beach, their fur mostly colored in cyan blues and greens with a exception of one bright red furred that stands out. Their piping voices strident as they negotiate the temporary rental of two beach chairs, pile upon them, draw lots, then kick off their crewmembers that drew short straws to fend for themselves on the beach sand.

Yxuara shrugs and sidles away up the beach, his eyes dazzling with the bright white sand as he wanders back and forth in search of washed up treasure. Noticing the nearby drink stand his search ends early as he makes his way towards it.

The bartender is mixing Pax's drink when the Squib sidles up, and the burly guy squints down at the flourescent furry creature. Handing Pax a single drink, the bartender acts like that's going to be it before slyly slipping him a second, identical drink. Then the Squib is looked to. Or rather, down at.

Meanwhile, Lorraine Roan has reached her little surfing basecamp with her drink. Doffing her blue and silver towel, she's revealed to be wearing a black one-piece. The chest being secured at the neck is probably a good thing, as she's packing considerable firepower up top. And below the swimsuit arches high over her rounded hips, cut into a narrow, swim-worthy thong. She bends down to form her spare towel into a little nest for her drink before sitting herself down and grabbing both a pillow and a book from the basket beside her.

Pax Dredic slides the bartender a couple of extra chits, nodding at the man in a singular up-down motion. "My thanks." Both drinks are collected nimbly, the towel flung around his shoulders with an absent toss. Drinks in hand, he moves down to the little surfing basecamp Roan has erected, though the gaggle of squib (and more!) DOES get a passing, vaguely querulous look.

He doesn't come /too/ close to Roan to give off the creepy stalker vibe, but he does stop near the lounge chair next to her, holding one drink out. "Miss..Roan, was it? I'd be remiss were I not to offer you the secret to a perfect beach excursion. Water. Warmth. And Kowakian spice rum, poured over the tangiest, sweetest, best juice in the known galaxy."

Yxuara sets his hands on a bar stool, flexes his short legs and in a hop seats himself at the bar with a bit of a rustle as his poncho settles back down. "How's your business?" he begins his negotiation in a piping voice, slipping a duraplast bottle out from under his sleeve, "Perhaps a trade between friends? Or business associates? One bottle of Rylothian Yurp for..." Yxuara leans forward and studies the menu before before pointing, "..Sticky Montra Madness! I haven't had one of those! It's a good deal, you can bet!"

Roan blinks up at Pax. She was just about to recline with her book. "...Pardon me?" She has a strong Coruscanti accent--an upper crust accent at that. But then she blinks again and tilts her head cautiously, "Was that...a pickup line? Or a commercial advertisement? Because it really did sound a lot like the latter."

The book in Roan's hands is Admiral Thrawn's Collected Memoirs, Restored Edition.

The bartender, with a 'I just work here, dude' look on his face, shakes his head. "Sorry, blue wanderer. No haggling, no jawas." He points to the small wooden sign that would otherwise be overlooked or mistaken for amusing kitsch.

Pax Dredic's ruined and haggard face pulls into a surprisingly gentle and wry half-smile. More of a smirk, but the lines crinkling up in the corners of his eyes soften it to something much less sarcastic and much more warm. "More the latter, though last I checked, I never too ka contract with the Gvoort Grower's Association as a spokesmodel."

Still holding one of the drinks out, he sips from the other, his. "Really. You should try it. No utopian beach experience is complete without a fruity spice rum drink." And he just stands there, holding the drink out, patiently.

There's a sense that his patience might take a very, very long time to be exhausted.

Yxuara's ears slip back, "This happens to a be bit of a hoisty tosty drinks place, eh? I figured since your..." he waves his hand at the water and the beach, "didn't have any dirt in it." His other hand digging in his shoe by way of distraction Yxuara presents the bartender with a couple of credits before pulling his bottle back before it is sold from under his nose.

He notices, out of the corner of his eye, what appears, to be a free drink waving out on the beach.

Roan takes the drink from Pax with the insistence, sipping it carefully.

Meanwhile, the bartender completely misses the misdirection, as any glance at the beach shows a gaggle of beautiful and barely clothed Imperials enjoying a sunny day. The credits are taken grudgingly, with a slight pause at how warm they are, before giving the cyan-colored creature the asked-for drink. "But that's it. No Jawas allowed." He points at the piled-upon chairs, "And that goes for your friends too."

Meanwhile, Roan's eyebrows go up a bit. "Not bad." She shrugs and nods, sitting up and tucking her legs under her to the side. The view behind her is peachy, but Pax is in front of her and she looks up at him with a tilt of her head. "So, am I about to receive a subscription offer or a follow-up pick-up line?"

Pax Dredic's wry half smile grows. He doesn't answer her straight away. Instead, he placidly sips his drink, watching Roan speak over the top of his matching cup. The look is....serene. The half-hungry look of a full-bellied predator as it watches a herd of prey animal move past. Not malicious just....interested.

"Not at all. I do the galaxy a service by giving you a perfect day." There is a soft little slurping sounds as he sucks the last of his drink up, and then sets the cup down, along with his towel.

"Enjoy, Miss Roan." And, with that, he turns to the water, sighing happily, and unzips his flightsuit, peeling it off his lithe body as he sits to deal with his boots.

Yxuara watches as the drink is waved around and around and wonders about this technique--would it work on the bartenders of these upclass beach planets if he just stood there, yurp bottle in hand, holding it out until it was exchanged? His interest is attracted--

"Jawas!" he exclaims, "We are Squibs! Your sign is a mistake and I am not a part of it."

Sip. Sip. "...your drink is good." Sip. "Hmph. Now--I am observing trade negotiations I won't be involving you any more."

Yxuara blinks as the drink cup is delivered without an accompanying sales pitch and he shakes his head. Pointing his thumb back at the beach he leans over to the bartender and pipes up, "Free samples! Bet you have a sign for that!"

Yxuara slaps the bar table and sips his drink.

Looking increasingly irritated by the chattering behind her, Roan closes her eyes. She looks as if she is trying to find her center and rise above the irritations of life... But then her eyes snap open and it's clear she has opted for something else.

Rising from her towel, the swimsuit-clad woman stomps toward the beach bar, her book and free drink both left behind. Coming up behind the Squib--whatever that is--Roan folds her arms under her breasts, hips cocking to the side as she glares down at the creature. "You, Jawa. Cease your chittering immediately."

Pax Dredic's golden eyes aren't sleepy, exactly, but he doesn't seem overly concerned by the woman's imperious demand. No, he looks vaguely amused. As she moves off to deal with the Squib-sational event, his boots are toed off, and the jumpsuit is peeled the rest of the way off. Beneath, he wears compression shorts. He clothing is neatly folded -- even the socks -- and he moves off towards the water with a loping gait, out into the water.

Alys Zapal arrives from Ackerson Settlement.

Alys Zapal has arrived.

Red-Eye (BB-Series 19889) has arrived.

Yxuara's whiskers lift as the trade-Squib gives Roan his second best smile. "How is your health today?" His eyes already are narrowing as he refuses to raise to the second Jawa comment. "Is it nice not to have to shout our dealings across the sand?"

Yxuara takes a careful sip of his drink and watches cagily, dipping his finger into his cup and rubbing it on his forearm cheerfully.

It's not duty that sends the Acolyte to Scarif. Nor is it pleasure, something she's not sure how to feel. No, it's 'That Captain Is Going To Cause Another Intergalactic Incident If She's Not Watched.'

Thusly, she's been here the whole time. Crouched in the shadows next to the very bar that Roan is accosting the Squib, invisible to every eye that can't use the Force, and most that can. For the moment, her eyes are fixated on the two, narrowed in mild annoyance. Lots of things could make her annoyed here. It's impossible to tell which is currently responsible.

She'll pop out in a minute. Maybe.

Roan narrows her eyes at the dabbing of drink on the...creature's...arm. "I..." Her voice is dangerous. Electric. Like someone about to pronounce *judgment*. But then her features soften, her expression falls, and she shakes her head with a rock of her swimsuit's chest. "I don't have to deal with this."

Pivoting hard, Roan is going to march right back to her little beach camp and take her surfboard out into the sea. Or at least, she would if she weren't about to slam into an invisible Sith Assassin.

Pax Dredic might be intent upon the water, or, at least, that may have been his original objective. Now, though? Even though he's waded out into calf-deep surf, he doesn't go farther out.

Instead, he seems rapt, now, upon the spitfire figure in the swimsuit dealing with tiny blue aliens and, though he doesn't know it, invisible Sith assassins. Apparently.

He pauses, crossing his arms across his chest. Waves lap up around his legs in what either looks fetching or absurd, depending on your point of view.

Yxuara is certain that this Imperial has seen or heard of a Squib before, though her insistence on referring to him as a Jawa must be for some purpose--perhaps it is a code--he could be sitting in the very seat her contact must have been sitting at. He looks around uncertainly and feels it in the follicles of his fur. Spies. The subtle feel of polish and crafty exhalations. Death. He's right in the middle of something! This will be thrilling!

Sip. "Perhaps we can deal some other time then...?" he says crestfallen, clutching at his drink he wishes he had a secret code to whisper at this point.

Yxuara looks at his drink and pipes, "You're from Coruscant, aren't you?"

Roan will never bump into Alys. Because Alys is good at her job and will just move out of the way. Or in this instance, she will just let the Force stop hiding her, the air seeming to ripple as the mind clouding effect dies off.

Leaving a short woman in black hooded robes with the hood up standing in the Captain's path.

She looks Roan up and down, her expression impossible to read under that deep hood, and her tone isn't helping either. It's the same quiet, near monotone. "That's not standard Imperial issue."

Was that a joke?

"Yes, I am." Roan answers flatly without looking back. "And I doubt we--"

"GAH!"

Roan nearly jumps out of her swimsuit when the Darkstalker makes herself known! Twisting and kicking a knee up defensively, Roan flails, wobbles, and finally goes down, thudding into the glittering sands. Her black one-piece is fastened firmly at her throat, which is probably the only thing saving her from a wardrobe malfunction. Meanwhile, the bottom arches high over rounded hips, curving into a narrow thong in back.

Sitting up, Roan gawks at Alys for a moment before scowling, "What do you mean 'not Imperial issue'?!"

Pax Dredic's expression alters, becoming confused as he watches the interaction between a suddenly-appearing-from-nowhere figure in dark robes that apparently teleported onto the beach through the use of magic, as far as he is concerned. Softly, to himself, he murmurs, "Wha--?" The sound is lost in the crashing of the sea.

He seems ready to turn back to the siren call of the warm ocean waves when Roan goes ass over teakettle into sand. To he impressive credit, he doesn't laugh. He doesn't smile. He doesn't even smirk or chortle. Instead, he watches for a moment, then sidles out of the surf, towards the robed figure and fallen, sand-covered woman. As he passes his chair, he snags his towel with a deft grab.

Yxuara thinks about it, perhaps he'll say the Jawa couldn't make it. Jawas can't drink at this bar. He'll explain that whatever the Jawa was going to say, he'll make a better deal--you'll bet he will!

The Squib makes a short exclamation as Alys Zapal appears, seemingly from nowhere. He knew it--felt it--this is exactly what Death should looks like--not some skimpy towel waving beach spy, this with cloaks and darkness in the middle of the pure white beach.

Yxuara leans over on his bar stool and gives Alys a silent thumbs up.

Alys stares at Roan, her face expressionless. Like some kind of droid, or maybe a rock. "Your swimsuit isn't regulation," she says. "People will believe you are a tart." She says this with complete earnestness. Like she's explaining to a child.

"The Empress cannot be served by tarts."

Either her deadpan delivery is flawless, and she's howling with laughter inside, or she's just this ... dull and expressionless. Though Roan herself has seen some of the emotion of the Acolyte. ... None of it -pleasant-.

- You receive an alert that your cargo has been loaded! Deliver promptly or face the consequences.

Roan grrs and gets up angrily, brushing sand off her backside. "What are you even *doing* here?! Urgh!" Punctuation the last big with one last push of sand off her buns--and a following bounce!--Roan stabs a finger at Alys, "And just because you have a lightstick now doesn't mean you outrank me yet." Stepping forward, Roan is still pointing, now fully in Captain mode. "And *furthermore* you do *not* speak for the Empress! She may enjoy being served tarts. How would you know!? They are actually delicious if you ever bothered to taste something that didn't have poison or speeder fuel in it, you would know that!"

Turning away with a sound of annoyance, she stabs a finger at Squibbie, "And don't even start, Jawa." She seems to genuinely think he is one. Stomping back to her beach camp, Roan bends right down and starts to gather her stuff. Starting with stuffing the Thrawn memoir she was reading into her basket, followed by the little Porg pillow she was using.

Pax Dredic was seemingly going to approach the fallen would-be surfer, but changes his mind as what sounds suspiciously like a dressing down begins. Caution and wariness take hold, eyes flat on dull as he looks between Alys and Roan. He stops next to his chair, water dripping from him as she passes. Hispparently, he comes to some decision after Roan winds down a little, interjecting with a rumbling, lower-toned baritone into the conversation, "You don't look like a tart at all. You look like an avid student of exercise. By any standard, that sort of commitment to self-discpline should be commended." He nods to Roan, a slow, casual gesture. "It's not YOUR fault that sand is abrasive, and that appropriate clothing for your physical training activity is necessarily brief."

He shrugs his shoulders. Strikingly, the shrug reveals a hide that is tattooed with scars, moving without a lot of flexibility. Burns. Stabs. Blaster wounds. Fragmentation. He has them all.

A hand is raised, "--the Jawa couldn't make it!" Yxuara exclaims to Roan's retreating back, his ears perking up as the sound of half a dozen comlinks twittering on the beach signals to the Squib party that they need to hurry back to the Gand Pannier.

Yxuara says, "I am not making it either, you bet.." he exclaims in dismay, downing his Sticky Montra Madness quickly and staggering through the sand, cup clasped in one hand as he takes his souvenir with him back towards the firmer parts of Scarif's surface.

Pax Dredic was seemingly going to approach the fallen would-be surfer, but changes his mind as what sounds suspiciously like a dressing down begins. Caution and wariness take hold, eyes flat on dull as he looks between Alys and Roan. He stops next to his chair, water dripping from him as she passes.

Apparently, he comes to some decision after Roan winds down a little, interjecting with a rumbling, lower-toned baritone into the conversation, "You don't look like a tart at all. You look like an avid student of exercise. By any standard, that sort of commitment to self-discpline should be commended."

He nods to Roan, a slow, casual gesture. "It's not YOUR fault that sand is abrasive, and that appropriate clothing for your physical training activity is necessarily brief."

He shrugs his shoulders. Strikingly, the shrug reveals a hide that is tattooed with scars, moving without a lot of flexibility. Burns. Stabs. Blaster wounds. Fragmentation. He has them all.

Alys blinks once. Then again. Seemingly unphased at all by the outburst of temper from the Captain. It's hard to tell, but ... does a corner of her mouth twitch upwards? Is she intently watching Roan walk away? It's hard to tell. Has she actually known how to have fun this whole time and she's hiding it?

No one will ever know.

Though, she does look thoughtful for a moment, and then approaches the angry, angry captain. She does just butt in to the conversation, though, barely giving Pax a glance. He is not on her 'team', nor does she sense he is someone she should fear, so he barely exists.

Sith, man.

"Captain," she says quietly. "I was attempting to make a joke. Clearly I must learn more. My ... upbringing was not ... humorous," she adds.

She pauses, before finishing. "That outfit does highlight your behind."

"Why do people keep calling me a pastry?!" Roan exclaims as she slaps her basket shut. She's about to round on Pax when she blinks at Alys.

She looks like the Darkstalker just slapped her, she's so shocked. Then she blinks again and her eyebrows are higher, and her lips are parted. Another awkward half-moment and Roan says to Alys, "I... Oh!"

Then she...laughs? Like, really laughs. "Okay. That makes more sense. I was so confused." Does she really not know what a tart is other than a pastry? Sighing as if she were unshouldering a heavy weight from her shoulders, she smirks at Alys and nods over her shoulder. "All right. You got me. I was going to call a shuttle for someone to come get my stuff, but if you want, I could show you how to surf?"

Looking to Pax, she smiles apologetically. "Sorry to get you caught up in all this. This is Alys, a friend of mine from the Empire. My name is Lorraine Roan, Captain of the Dark Pearl Fleet."

You head into the Ackerson Settlement.