Log:AAA Freight: Clean Racin'
"...rollin' in mah freighter runnin' cargo errry DAAAAAAAY! Doo da loo la... Hmmm... hmmm hmmm HMMMM hmmmm... 'Cuz there's somethin' women love about a TRUCK DRIVIN' MAAAAAAAN!!!!""
Accompanied by the ill-tuned strumming of his trusty majordomo/mechanic, Lefty the One-Lekkued Twi'lek Dude, the King of Smugglers belts out an Original Trucker Song, composed by himself, with some minor help from Lefty the One-Lekkued Twi'lek Dude.
The instrument that Lefty plays is some sort of stringed instrument that was constructed by attaching a meter-long rod to a wash basin, and running a bunch of strings from one end to the other, and he plays it by plucking at it with a pair of spoons. As one can probably imagine, it does not sound good.
But it sounds way better than the extremely enthusiastic, froglike croaking of Lord Zlurbo Qwig Makooja, the King of Smugglers, God of Truckers, Lord of All He Surveys, Fastest Blaster West of Zergnux City, and Aspiring Outlaw Country Singer.
Taking up quite a bit of room in the spacious hangar, the rugged space cowboy is working on what appear to be two brand new pod racers, which seem to be lashed together for some reason. Stooped over a pair of engines, Mak bangs at them awkwardly with his spanner. There's nothing especially wrong with them, but he'd like them to work better, and is attempting to fix them by whacking them awkwardly with a tool. He looks very much like an extremely overweight legless baby in a cowboy hat, spazzing out and waving around his rattle.
"DaaaaaaaadGUMMIT! LEFTY! Quit playin' a minute and give me a HAND! The podrace is tomorrow, and I still ain't got my DAGBLASTED POD ready..."
Reluctantly, Lefty sets aside the instrument and prepares for a few hours of verbal abuse and emotional neglect.
It's a casual gait that brings Vex into the hangar, broad and fangy grin on her lips as she converses back and forth with the much larger Trandoshan that she is always seen in the company of, the thumb of her cybernetic hand hooked into a loop that keeps her ratty sash somewhat gathered at one side. The sound of her heels on the floor are a rather pointed crack, something that any that'd been around her a while would recognize, "He won't miss it," She can be heard speaking to Slick as she gets nearer, golden eyes squinting in a momentary embittering of her expression. "He should think twice next time, him."
When she gets nearer to where Mak has been wailing out his serenade like some demented walrus with big dreams and no hope, she dips her head in a subtly nodded bow. "Soundin' mighty fine, Boss. Mighty fine." She lies, but she's cool enough to get away with it. She turns her head to look toward Lefty, then to the pods, and back to Mak again, making sure to be out of reach of his flailing. "What, uh..." She uses her gloved hand to gesture airily about, "What've we got going on here?"
Slick has this odd amble he makes as he walks beside Vex. Maybe it's because he's trying to unwrap a Mufkin with his clawed hands, and he's fighting with the wrapper, plucking it at it as he listens to her. "Could go back. Eat his hands. Then he won't think three times." Ah. Thinking twice. Don't worry. Slick has this. The pits of his nostrils flare in irritation as they walk towards Mak - although it appears to be aimed towards his mufkin wrapper. He gives up for now, just holding it one claw as he looks up.
"Bosssss isss racer?" He queries this, but then doesn't seem to put any deeper thought into it. Yep. Mak's a Podracer. That works. He lifts up his mufkin in it's wrapper and bites into it, tearing through the wrapping and just eating it like that, chewing away.
As the trusted goons arrive, Lefty spots a rare chance to get a few moments to himself, and gently takes the baby rattle, er... hydrospanner, from his benevolent Hutt master, songwriting partner, and on again/off again romantic interest. He doesn't speak much, does Lefty, what with the missing lekku words are pretty hard for him. So is everything else, really. But at least it makes him very docile, which is how Mak likes his on again/off again romantic interests.
The Hutt turns toward them, which mostly involves rolling his bulky body over to reorient himself. The normal drool lines and food crust are visible from his lower lip all the way down to his nonexistant waist, but there's also quite a bit of engine grease coating him today. Apparently he's actually been working on the engines, miracles DO happen.
"Of course I'm a RACER, goldurnit! Back in my day, weren't a racer on any CIVILIZED planet that'd race against MAK! But... you retire for a few hunnert years and people just up and forgit!"
Balling up his fist, Mak waves it dramatically as high in the air as he can. It's... only slightly higher than his head.
"That all ends TOMORROW! I'm a gunna enter this dagblasted podrace, and I'm a gunna whup 'em all! And I need YOU TWO to make sure of it!"
There's another squint of her eyes as her head slowly turns toward Slick when he mentions not thinking thrice, brows furrowing as she tries to work out the literal thinking of the Trandoshan, her chin slowly lifting and lips pursing. "No, I ... suppose he wouldn't." One brow raises higher than the other, a soft smack of her lips marking her surrender, knowing she will not understand and allowing her attentions to move back toward Mak and his current endeavor. One of her shoulders lifts in a half shrug, the corners of her dark lips tugging downward as they join in on that shrugging.
She listens as Mak speaks, and watches with keen eyes even as her gloved hand is stretched out toward Slick, a beckoning motion made for the mufkin he so struggles with, apparently waiting for him to hand it over so that she might help him with his troubles. The action is simple, but the desire is unspoken, yet clearly expected to return a specific result as though they'd done this a thousand times before. She seems rather non-plussed by the final comment he makes about making sure he wins, a slow curl of a smirk touching her lips as she leaves her hand stretched for that tricky wrapped treat.
Even with her arm extended toward Slick, her other, decidedly more metal arm sweeps across her abdomen in a graceful playwright's bow, her head nodding forward, the lights she has braided in there casting bending shadows and striking radiance over her purple locks, "Of course, bloody of course," She straightens, running those clawed metal digits down the front of her to straighten her clothes easily, "You need only point us in the right direction."
Slick looks nonplussed. This might be a default state. He simply stares at the trio, slowly chewing on his wrapped Mufkin sandwich. He raises it up and puts the other half of it into Vex's offered hand, letting her handle it. You know. Because she has useful things. Like fingers, and thumbs. His head tilts to the side as Vex gives her playwright's bow, and he tries to copy it.
Needless to say he simply tips his upper torso forwards, holding it there until Vex straightens and then he snaps back upright, and when that's done and Vex makes her statement, he has an epiphany. A thought!
"... We kill them, Bosss?"
Lefty does his best to look busy, wiping down one of the engines with a rag. The pods look brand new, and aside from being inexplicably lashed together there's really nothing strange about them. Weirdly though, each of the pods has a tow cable attached to the back, which is then attached to... is that some sort of trailer?
"Yeah, exactly, you... wait... Nooooo! Dagnabbit Slick!" Mak only looks cross for a second, before patting the Trandoshan soothingly on the shoulder.
"Sorry I snapped, li'l buddy. Ain't yer fault... tha's why YER the looks and Vex is the BRAINS! By the way, looks like yer dumper's gettin' a bit heftier, ya been doin' yer squats, son?" Mak waves his hand to quickly dismiss his own question.
"Don't matter! But NO, y'ain't gotta KILL nobody! I'm a gunna win this race fair and square! I already bought two of the best pods a man can get, and two of the best pod racers! That's all I need to drag me over the finish line first... but maybe you could pay some of the other racers a little visit, let 'em know that pod racin' is a dangerous sport and the Hutt Cartel would hate for anybody to have any... unfortunate accidents."
As that half-eaten, half-wrapped mufkin is placed into her hand, her face contorts in the subtle suggestion of disgust, upper lip lifted like a cat that's smelled something it's not sure it enjoys. "It's -damp-!" She complains without turning to regard the Trandoshan, her brows knitting as she draws it forward, her head giving a shake as she goes about daintily unwrapping the sandwich, a deep frown worn as a string of spittle clings to the edges she's prying away, a sound of distaste breathed out in a huffed 'ugh', before she's managed to get it free. "Who -raised- you?" She asks as she turns to hand the mufkin back to him, dimly glowing eyes focusing on his black scaled face.
"... Oh, right."
She turns back to face Mak, what with aid rendered and all, and tilts her head slightly to the side to await the Hutt's response to the Trandoshan's rather pointed question. When the Trando is made known as the looks, another subtle shrug of her shoulders is given -- apparently she's been alright with being 'the brains', and goodness, how accurate it is. Then Mak says his last and her smirking turns to that soured expression it was earlier.
"Wait, we would?"
... So accurate.
She sighs, lifting her metal hand to wave it about dismissively, "Right, we'll have us a chat, we will, let 'em know the risks ... so plentiful as they are. The raiders alone, quite a menace, you know."
The Mufkin is picked up, now neatly unwrapped. He opens his mouth and simply drops it in there, giving something approximating a croak of happiness as he now gets to eat his Mufkin without it's only-slightly-bad-for-the-environment wrapper. He chews away, staring at Mak for a moment - his face twists up in momentary upset. But then he's being patted on the shoulder, and everything is better.
"Yesss. Lots of exercissse Bossss. Pit fightssss."
You're damn right. He then slow blinks as he looks back to Vex, and he does his best smile. Yes. Vex always has the plan - it's always good to follow her direction. His head bobs up and down a few times. "Very dangeroussss sssport. Very. We are alwayssss happy to make ssssure people are... Ssssafe." A pause. "Vex is good at making ssssure people know to be ssssafe, Bossss."
"Very civic-minded of ya both. Makes me proud to see how well you've turned out."
For a second, it looks like one of Mak's bulbous yellow eyes is about to start leaking a bit of Emotion Fluid, but that might just be his regular eye goop. Hutts have very productive eye goop glands.
"I know ya'll won't disappoint me, so I'm gunna get back to finishin' my racer. If Lefty don't get too worked up watching me work on them engines!"
Lefty blushes, turning his green cheeks a weird shade of brown.
"So g'won, GIT! You got some socializin' ta do! And... if you're havin' trouble gettin' through their thick skulls..."
Mak reaches down, picking up a nearby length of pipe. It's about two feet long, covered in rust, with an old bloody tooth half-buried in one of the ends, facing inward.
"Take the Ol' Persuader with ya. I ain't seen a noggin' yet needs more'n one or two little whack-a-loos with the Ol' Persuader."
Vex's hand lifts, gesturing Slick toward the Persuader, "That's for you, chum." It's all she offers to him.
She glances toward Lefty and his weird brown cheeks, but decides it's really best not to think too long on the implication of his bashfulness. Nobody wants to think about their dad gettin' down and dirty.
Well, maybe some people, but not Vex.
"Gittin'," She nods to Mak before turning on her heel and meandering right back out the way she came, expecting that her little buddy'll be along before too long. "We'll start a new Senate with all the diplomacy we're gunna engage in," She asides to the Trandoshan, nodding to herself. "Let's go make the galaxy great again."
Slick reaches out and grasps the Persuader. He looks it over, he hefts it. He tests its weight. It's a giant bit of pipe. It's not graceful. Slick seems to grin. Either that or he has something stuck in his teeth - but through the pleased clicking hiss that escapes his throat, it appears that this is an excellent Persauder. "Thanks, Bossss." He offers,
He turns, lumbering after Vex as he gives the pipe a few test swings. It's obvious he's not much of a 'smack people with a pipe' person considering they're just hard, clumsy swings. But when you're breaking kneecaps, you can afford to be inaccurate, because they won't be moving even if you have to swing again. "Diplomacy. Yesss." He pats the Persauder.