Log:A Surprise Party
The short story: A Knight of Ren hosts some unexpected(?) visitors at his apartment.
The long story:
Parmac Tower, high end luxury suites right off Parmac Starport, and controlled by the Hutts. Sort of. In the way all things on Nar Shaddaa are sort of controlled by the Hutts, even if indirectly. Because they're so nice there are some security measures in the tower in place, but when you have all the security codes handed to you, security doesn't actually mean all that much. As a result it's fairly easy for the Resistance members to get through Parmac Tower and onto the suite level, and though there might be a few uneasy residence who get an idea that something is going down, no alarms are tripped, no security arrives to throw a wrench in their plans. Everything has been smooth sailing up to this point where people are positioned in the hallway outside of a particular suite, waiting for the signal to enter.
The day of the Op and all the moving parts are put into their respective places. Leia stands among the gathered soldiers and Jedi with her outside the door to the high end apartment where their target is suppose to be waiting for them. The weight of her lightsaber resting against her thigh feels heavier than it should, the realization of what they're doing, and what's at stake if the fail, is extra pounds on her shoulders..
A glance to her right, then left... nodding in one direction, then the other.. and ultimately settling her gaze forward on the door. Two clicks of her comm unit held in her left hand.. Two clicks, a pregnant pause, and a third. Two clicks..
Operation is go.
The element of surprise is on their side, she's told herself that countless times. She repeats now as the Force gathers around her, palm held out towards the door inches from touching the elaborately ornamented portal entrance.. From that palm radiates the Force. Shoving the door open as the blue glow of her blade slides outward to illuminate the soldiers, Jedi, and General Organa prepared to engage.
"Oran Arcantael.. we've come to collect you. Stand down so no one needs to be hurt."
It is a lovely apartment. Oran is revealed to have an aesthetic of the sort of minimalism that looks like money - there is not a scratch, spot, or smudge on any of the glossy, perfect surfaces made of unattainable high end materials, and the pieces of no doubt exclusive and questionably maintained art are all rather abstract in nature. He must have lived-in touches, possessions, but everything human or messy is hidden somewhere tidily out of sight.
Oran himself is in fact here! What does he do with his time? Was he out torturing innocent smugglers with sinister black and silver sphere-droids with horrible syringes coming out of them? Maybe, as he's dressed for 'work' in dark robes. Near the kitchen when Leia enters, both brows lift, and then one corner of his mouth crooks up in the hint of a smile. "Here I was beginning to think you weren't coming," he greets, followed by an easy twist of the wrist that produces a cylinder in one hand, the snap-hiss of its red blade. "Don't be alarmed, I'm just happy to see you," he assures, and the smile grows just a tiny bit. "But I know you Jedi like to solve problems without violence. Stand down and no one needs to be hurt? Tell me more."
[Syrus Volo] Standing outside the suite and already palming his lightsaber is the Kiffar Jedi Syrus Volo, a dreadful countenance resting upon his features. Anger draws harsh lines between his eyes and on the corners of his mouth as he waits for the go order.
Then the door is flung open and they're stepping inside. The sight of the man who crippled him nearly sets Syrus's blood to boiling, but...there's a part of him that remembers the teachings. And so, with intense concentration, the Kiffar swallows hard, ignites his lightsaber, and holds it in a ready position instead of rushing immediately towards his rival.
There's no chance of the phrase 'my friend' slipping from his lips this evening.
Jax's features were hidden behind the full mask of helmet, the clone armor's T-visor landing on Oran. The snapp of the Knight of Ren's saber powering on results in the same from Jax. He brings the blade up in a defensive stance of form three. The palm of free hand extended to Oran. Jax takes a deep breath and pulls the force around him ready.
Somewhere far from here, the ex Aunt-in-law of the little lolly-sucking cyber punk whom they've all to thank for this day, is examining the contents (or lackthereof) of the cell she hopes will soon house a new guest. Her hair's been smoothed and set into interwoven, ornamental plaits special for the occasion. A supremely old ring, warped by time and the searing heat of a sniper rifle, hangs from her throat by a delicate, gold chain. For luck. It'd seem it's already worked it's charms - a recently ordered package from fine, Coruscanti tailors has /just/ been radioed to be in orbit.
On its way.
Everything is as it should be, this side of the equation.
With her helmet up, Sesti wears her longer coat over the armor and gloves, nothing to give away she's the zabrak wife of a wanted man. As they wait outside in the hall, she draws her vibrosword with her left hand, and extends her arm down, so that the blade is somewhat obscured by the length of her coat. She enters and fans to Jax's right to get a look at the person they've come to collect.
Merek had taken the time to scout the place, then he's maneuvering forward with the main force into the hall while he takes a position to flank. There's a click while he checks the pistol, EL-718, the glow of the crimson pack in it with a custom case in black. There's a switch while he places the weapon on stun. The Jedi have taught him, even if he can not call upon the Force, he will not let himself come along upon the path of dark. This is for everyone else, it must be. Rebel armor covers along with the shift to a nice color which matches the beautiful decoration of the place.
Even though most of his cybernetics are subtle with synthskin to the point he looks to be human, his cybernetic eyes are still noticable, he nods to the team while he begins to lift the weapon towards the entry way. For all that was taken, he looks calm, a mental discipline placed within him also.
Lofty is here in case these Jedi need a chonky Talz to carry a hogtied Oran Arcantael (and bodyguards) back to the blockade runner. His bowcaster is cocked and ready, but he has put it on a quick-release harness on his back, and instead has the nonlethal-and-quiet Talz blowgun at the ready. One DOINK to Oran's neck and he will be paralyzed like a howler monkey. The Talz is nearly too fluffy for his armor, but he manages to fit on a helmet, the breastplate, and the thigh and shin guards.
"No no no.... you gotta really REACH in there, liddle fella! Get all in them CREVICESES! I'm dryin' out heeyah...."
Out in the hallway, bringing up the rear by a substantial margin, the Resistance's Toughest Pilot is carrying an Advozse man over his shoulder, dangling the poor bastard by the legs. The Advozse man is frantically rubbing a tub of some sort of pungent grease all over Zonk's leathery purple back as quickly as he can.
By the looks on their faces, it's pretty awkward for both of them.
As he finally gets the last crevice, Zonk picks the little guy up by the legs, scoops him up gently into his arms, and then sets him down on the ground. He swats the man on the buttmeats and sends him scampering away.
"Thanks liddle buddy. I'll see yooze later tonight after uh... " Suddenly, Zonk blanks on what their cover story is supposed to be. So he holds up one of his gigantic purple hands and reads the words that have been written in the unmistakably neat penmanship of BRIGADIER GENERAL AMBROSIA GREYSTORM.
"We're here to visit our rich scumbag friends what live in this community for rich gasholes, and we ain't gonna do NOTHIN' wrong. Stay in the back and don't get..."
The Advozse guy has already run around a corner, and will never hear the rest of Zonk's Instructions.
Catching up, still outside in the hallway, the Houk tries to get a glimpse of what's going on inside.
"Okay Pudzos! Now that I got my BATTLE GREASE on, I'm ready to uh..." Quickly, Zonk looks at the back of his hand.
It was another day for the lone plastic action figure camped out on a building not-entirely-opposite of Everybody's Favourite Sith Lord's apartment block, inasmuch as finding a building where the roof was one hundred percent level with the apartment in question was exceedingly difficult at best. So Greeson Rais the Neurotic Niordi was camped out slightly askew, looking through the narrow gap between buildings at the apartment in the distance, his longrifle's scope set to maximum zoom. "On station," he'd murmured earlier, his accent basically Oran's if someone had run it through a convict prisoner death world filter without losing any pretentions of class that Greeson would never have. Had he known that that observation had ended in a preposition, he would have been ropable.
It was windy and noisy and cold and trooper gear didn't quite ease the bite of the height (haw haw haw) so via a straw he sipped warm tea from a hydropack. Heresy, to be sure, but a welcome one as necessity breeds invention and pragmatism. It warmed the soul, soothed the nerves, and irked everyone who had to listen to Greeson bang on about it ad nauseum.
The dark skinned Human Jedi Initiate was bringing up the rear of the group as they came for one of the Knights of Ren. The name was very familiar but not the one who pretty much took him out during their first meeting. Though this time he's not being as careless as he had in the past, things have changed. With Leia inside along with Jax, Sesti and Syrus, he would keep outside and only come in if needed.
Moving to flank Merek, Yuun takes his saber into his hand, though he doesn't ignite his weapon. Though as he stands guard, the young initiate began to meditate, and as he does, he is still keeping watch, but he is surrounding himself with the force as he does so, feeling it flow through him and around him and the others. After a moment, he lets out a breath and keeps watching.
Leia enters the apartment and circles deftly around through the living room to stand with her blade glowing aqua blue at her side, feet squared facing Oran in the kitchen. "Oran, I suspect you let the information of your security fall into our lap... You said there were things you and I might want to talk about.. so it appears as if you're /trying/ to get my attention." The blade turns in her hand and comes up, gripped in both hands, shoulder turning towards the Knight of Ren...
"You've got it." She steadies her breathing.
Oran seems to know better than to stand exactly still and starts to pace, remarking, "Seeing a number of familiar faces here today!" like a schoolmaster pleased the students showed up for class. "And so many others here vying for a chance at grievous bodily harm along with it? I do feel popular." He closes his eyes briefly, and when they open again, Syrus has his attention. "Familiar faces... Particularly yours," he greets. "The Force moves in aberration around you, Volo. Do you know what I took from you on Aridus? Not this," he gestures at the eye, "Or that," empty sleeve, "I took your peace." He grins. "You can do the same to me --- you can attempt it --- but I never had it to begin with, did I? You won't settle that scale, no matter how many times all your little friends shoot me quite completely full of holes."
Leia says he has her attention, and Oran grins again. "That was one," he says simply. "This is two. Take me home in your handbasket, Princess, and you'll find three. But it's dull if I'm all in one piece, right?"
With that, it's on, and the red saber hums, leaping to attack! It's ON!
"Cease your mocking, Arcantael; there's no scale to settle. The Force will do what it shall in time," the Kiffar bites back. But then there's a battle to be fought and Syrus is rushing forward, driving his shoulder nub into Oran in much-too-late attempt to keep him away from Zonk. A flurry of attacks follow, but only one of them manages to land, searing a bit of flesh on the Coruscanti's leg. Maybe rage /does/ have its benefits.
Jax steps into the fray as he like Syrus too slow to save Zonk. There's a curse on his lips that his helmet accidently admits, "Sith spawn. I liked that kid." His blade crashing with Orans or missing. Trying to throw the Knight of Ren off but failing.
The worst part about Parmac Towers isn't the occupant of 4P, level 175. It's the turbolifts.
Agent 'Y' is parked in there now, one with the civilian crowd, trapped in an eternal hell of riding a lift up and down....up....up....dooooooooooooooooown. He's doing his best to 'accidentally' press more than one/wrong buttons to delay any residents seeking to get to level 175. It's tough to keep tabs on who/what exits and enters the lift while dodging racial slurs and punchy fists of annoyed, entitled elite, but somebody's got to do it. Sombeody's drawn the short straw.
Maybe not as short as Zonk's, tho. :(
Sesti's tense as Oran paces, eyes narrow, and she becomes more on the alert. Her right hand reaches down to her boot, and she pulls out her stun baton. As the sabers start humming she strikes out reflexively, then Zonk is down and she backs away during her second swing to look to him, holding a defensive position as she tries to assess how life threatening his injuries are.
Merek watches as the fight begins, then he begins to lift up with the pistol, so that he can fire on at Oran when he comes about to saber into Zonk. "Zonk!" All three of the crimson bolts dance along the hall into the wall following the Knight of Ren, while he begins to shift upon the hip, his position changed while he does his best to guard, while backing up with a little twirl of the weapon. It looks like he will keep on task, keep him distracted, while he nods to Yuun, and smacks the man on the shoulder, "You'll be alright!" He's taking a liking to that specific Jedi, and will protect him, trying his best to make a place he can come in to Oran at also.
Lofty rears back as Oran goes slashing through Zonk. He raises his blow gun and fires a single dart at Oran Arcantael. The feathered dart zooms out of the blowgun with a breathy THUUUUNK sound, but it misses, embedding itself in the wall of the hallway to be found later for forensic analysis in the Archives.
There seems to be a lot of talking.
Talking makes Zonk angry.
But what really makes Zonk angry is FANCY TALKING!!!
A twitch begins to form in Zonk's left eye. The twitch that generally precedes an unusually terrible decision, or a burst of gleeful homicide. Or, occasionally, a rousing rendition of his own themesong. And now, that twitchy eye is fixed steadily on one Oran Arcantael. Not that Zonk ever knew his name or cared about this mission. He just wanted to cleanse the Galaxy of the blight calling itself 'humanity.'
"Will alla yooze just SHADDUP! Let's get Lord Floofington awready! He ain't nothin' but a wiggly li'l TURD!"
Rushing into battle, armed only with a pair of metal knuckles and an entire tub of BATTLE GREASE, Zonk charges at the fancy-looking representative of All He Despises (ie, humans...) with clear murderous intent in spite of his clear instructions. Perhaps blocking the doorway wasn't the safest of jobs after all. And perhaps there was no way that Zonk was ever going to just stay in the back and be safe.
And... maybe the General who planned this always knew that. After all, Zonk's only real ability has always been expendability.
With a fist raised, and a smile on his face, he looks for a moment as if he's going to crunch the ever-loving hell out of Oran, and flatten him out like a bantha patty, the way this scenario played out in his head.
Instead, his head ends up separating from his body and flying across the room.
The one place he forgot to put Battle Grease was his neck folds.
Let's just say his injuries are pretty easy to assess...
As his head soars through the air, anyone with the presence of mind to look at it can see his scowl, and his Homicidal Eye still twitching Generalized Hatred out into the Universe.
"Incoming splash," said Greeson quietly, in between sips of tea. He opened his mouth up and clamped down on the little tube that delivered only the best hot drink and aimed the rifle at the glowstick rave party happening almost a kilometre away. Tea was good. Tea was grand. Filling his mind with thoughts and opinions on this season's fall catalogue, he aimed at a point in the middle of the spinning red beam of death and fired.
Punctuating the disappearance of a certain Houk noggin was a blinding red flash against the window and a THOOOMPH of transparisteel intercepting a bolt that would have given Oran Arcantael something (else) to complain about. What he might have cause to complain about was the lines that appeared in the window, y'know, the ones that popped up at the same time as a loud CRACK noise rang through the apartment.
Feeling the force stirring all around them, he can feel it roiling all around them, hearing the clash of lightsabers, hearing blaster bolts being fired as everyone began attacking the Knight of Ren. As the battle began, he calmed, though part of him still wasn't sure where he fit in this puzzle, but he pushes that aside. He was about to say something to Merek, but he felt the man's hand rest on his shoulder, he looks to Merek and nods his head to him.
As he turns to look into the room, he sees Zonk's head go flying from his body and he felt that light flicker out within the Force. His head lowers, and he began to feel the anger, but no. He shakes his head, "No." he says more to himself and he lifts his head up and he looks to Oran, he wanted this fight over. He moves to the side where Zonk should've stayed and he reaches out with the force and he tries slam Oran into a wall and pin him down to stop the fight, but he could feel as he exerts himself through the force, he felt Oran resist him quite easily. His thumb hovers over the activation switch of his lightsaber. "Space out, don't bunch up!" he calls to the others, "Give each other room to manuver." he calls out.
Zandra has been involved with the FO, only once before, when they rescued a certain little Jedi from them. Take 2, and Zan has been working on things. This time, there's a lightsaber to hand, blade green as can be, at least once the blades of the others are ignited. She darts in once Zonk is down, trying to help out, her lightsaber flashing as she moves fast. Jedi fast. She hears Yuun's words, and they have worked together previously and that adds to her calm. Concnatration is intent on her face, she knows she's taking her life into her hands, and does it anyway. A step in, her blade zinging as she swings it in the taught forms, though in order to defend, attack, and clash furiously with Oran's red. It's perhaps a surprise to everyone that the young Jedi wannabe manages to get in there, when she does. Zan does her best to at least distract the man for as long as she can.
This isn't the way she wanted it to go, but it's precisely how she saw it going... There was nothing simple about this plan and no way it ended nonviolently. She hoped that something could be done, some miracle pulled all of her soldiers out of this dangerous situation alive, but one falls.. one drops beneath the glinting red blade of Oran's saber sending his head hurtling across the room with a sneer still upon his face.
Leia's insides are in a knot.. but outwardly she's the picture of calm. The grip on her saber tightens, eyes following the rolling head like one of those bouncing balls on a holovid sing along..
Since she'd followed the path of the Jedi, she'd only ever wield her saber once against a foe.. it had been Kylo and Rey had pushed her away to prevent it, knowing what a horrible burden that would have placed on her soul.
Now she stares at Oran with the blue glow of her saber held ready in a double grip, but there's no malice there, only determination. The General leaps over furniture, propelled by the Force and whirls her blade expertly, but where she swings, Oran has already abandoned, the hum of the weapon striking only air as she switches around in a backwards twist through empty space.
"Oran.. whatever humanity remains in you.. listen to reason. Stop this nonsense.." She cannot abandon her desire to end this without further bloodshed, even if she knows it shall not be heed.
Oran has a reputation for being a problem, and as the red blade flies into action, surrounded by blue and green, it's not hard to see that the dark side lends its users a terrible, unnatural power. Not an unbeatable one --- but it is ferocious, and it is without mercy. This is the Force unfettered by little things like 'human decency'. The big Houk's head flies off first off, Oran almost but not quite loses his own to Syrus and Zandra, and the air is harsh with the electric crack of sabers hitting sabers, of blaster bolts burning holes in the walls.
The apartment is looking somewhat less tidy now.
Somewhere in there, dimly, Leia is yelling things at him, and the Knight does spare a half moment to give her an appalled, "Really? REALLY?" before he takes a swing at Jax. Narrow miss. "You come into," swing and a hit, "MY HOUSE," swing and a hit!, "And /I/ should give ground to /you/ because you're shocked this got dangerous? What did you think this was, Organa? What did you think you made?" He clashes blades with Syrus again, one two three times, and then back to Leia. "YOU made Kylo Ren. With your indifference, your devotion to /everything/ else, your fear that he would become something awful, so strong that he /did/ --- You made this. You created him." Oran grins. "And he created me."
Continuing his attack, Syrus's lack of depth perception or a second arm don't seem to be slowing him down all that much. There's a lot of pain in this room, now. Physical, emotional, and mental are all present, and the big man would be lying if he said it wasn't having an affect. But still, on he fights, emotion getting the better of him and making him fight sloppily.
Three strikes are sent toward the Knight, and three are either parried or miss altogether, cleaving Oran's fine furnishing in twain.
Jax dances out of the way first attack as Oran turns to attack him, his saber turning it away at the last moment. It was a feint as the Knights of Ren's attack blade bites deep into his side and destroying protective plating of the armor. He'd probably need a new spleen or something after that. There's a scream that filters through the armor's controls. This leads Jax open for Oran to cut through his left leg and the man falls back like a tree. His leg left behind below the knee. He reaches up as he falls and out with the force trying to push Oran away as his vision fills with read and then darkness.
One of two lifts occupied by secret Rezzie eyes has reached its boiling point. The young couple who'd entered on ground level with arms full of fancy cheeses and wines were already arguing in a lame, low-effort sort of tired muttering when they'd stepped inside. Seven minutes have passed since, their voices rising with the temperature of those wines and cheeses ever the while. About said temperature of the wines and cheeses.
Agent 'Y' is suffocating in the fog of hatred (and farts) building inside this confined space. He's left with no choice now as it fiiiiiinally ascends anew from floor 87 on toward 89...95....
A sleight of hand is all it takes. Well, that and the proficient placing of the little device behind the control panel, hours earlier.
The lift halts its progress between floors with a hiss of ozone and showering sparks. Whoopsie daisy. Agent Y's ears are soon all but deafened to the comm feed in his ear by the screams and panicked chatter to follow, but there's a peaceful sigh of relief blowing through his lips. <<Box 1 is down, I repeat, Box 1 is down...maintenance eta 4 minutes.>> So some time's been bought, from his end of things.
Very far away from this mayhem sits a mother, occupying the desk of a brig officer and examining the stiletto amsquerading as a cape pin that she's pulled from one of her earlier arrived packages. One ought nought buy accessories /before/ the main, but she couldn't help herself. It's just so...pretty. Is there a whisper of danger somewhere between those hearing-impaired ears? A sense that something is wrong with her baby boy, deep in her soul? Does she HAVE a soul? All signs point to 'No'.
There's the Pretty Greystorm. There's Grumpy Greystorm. There's Sensitive Greystorm. Then there's the Smart Greystorm. Sesti hears the shot and looks to the window, seeing the cracks appear. She looks back to the room, and the battle raging around, and then Jax goes down, too. The people in the room aren't getting through that weaving red web of death dealing light, but, the sniper... She tries to tug at Zonk's body, and nothing happens. Jumping past him, she brings the hilts of both her weapons around as hard as she can, striking at the crack and watching as more lines streak across the window. Turning, she meets Yuun's eyes across the room, and points to the body of the Houk. "Throw him against the window!"
Merek peeks from the entry way, then he looks to Zonk and listens to Sesti speaking with Yuun. He then takes a moment to switch his weapon's trigger on position, then he comes around from the hall so he can take three clean strikes. One actually manages to swing into Oran's path directly, then it catches upon the saber and gets swung back to him. "Use the opening!" he calls to the Jedi, and all of those still fighting, then the bolt cleans right into his armor, crimson blasting into his stomach while he's driven back to the floor, cauterization and a scent of scored skin shifting about.
Lofty is in the doorway now, lining up a shot with his blow gun. It's difficult with all of the light swords flashing. His lower set of eyes, sensitive to bright lights, close themselves and the opportunity comes. THHHUNK. The feathered dart with poison on its tip flies out, hitting Oran in the thigh with a DOINK.
There was the quiet shunk-shunk noise as Greeson cycled the archaic bolt on the sniper rifle, flooding the chamber with pleasant murderous thoughts and prayers. All hell was breaking loose out there. It was worse than a lothbull in a jedha shop. He watched the crack, he watched it grow with little CRICK CRICK noises (not that he could hear those), and, spying an opportunity, he fired.
Yuun was starting to move into the room he sees they are getting some progress, he hears Leia as she tries to speak sense into Oran, but he didn't want to listen. They didn't attack first, he did, which things could've just ended if he came with them, but no. Why are people karcking idiots.
As he watches the others he meets Sesti's eyes and he gives a slight nod of his head and as she breaks the glass some more, he gestures with his hand sending Zonk's body crashing out of the window blowing it open and sending the body crashing, "Sorry." he says as he looks out the window. He brings his weapon up, still he doesn't ignite his weapon just yet, he watches the others, upon seeing Zan do what he asks. "Create a firing lane for our shooters!" he calls out to the melee fighters.
It's dark, it's creepy, there are glowing lightsabers swooshing everywhere. Zan is still trying to be a distraction, not expecting to hit Oran, and she's right about that. Still she's swinging, mostly wildly, but careful about her fellow attackers, so at least it's only the apartment taking the brunt of the green lightsaber when she stumbles and totally misses, leaving Oran free to face off against someone else.
The truth of Oran's would have stung true months ago, but she's a different woman now... Leia brushes her hand off to the side to hurl objects from her path, "Ben always had a choice, Oran.. same as you. I don't use my heritage to paint the walls red with the blood of innocents for the sake of simplicity and I don't fall on my 'unfortunate' connection to evil men to justify my decisions..." She remains calm, whirling her blade with a hiss after Jax is nearly cut down by the rampaging Knight. "I didn't create Kylo Ren, he created himself.. he's a monster who shouts in the night woe is me, my mother wasn't there to find comfort in his darkness..."
"If you're expecting me to feel sorry for what you've become, that's a long wait for a tram that isn't coming, Oran..." Her expression, despite the pain, the struggle of combat, and the smell of ozone in the air, remains serene. "I lost everything.. my people.. my father.. friends, family, everyone I ever knew.. every thing I'd ever loved." Her blade hums through Oran's guard, coming in towards the Knight of Ren, gripped in both hands in an angular downward slash. "You want apologies, look in a mirror.. here, you'll find only pity.. Because you /could/ be a good man.. but you're not.. and while that's sad.. it's not /my/ fault..."
DOINK! The first step of the fall is that damn dart! Oran risks a look down at his thigh to pluck the thing out, but... it's poison, stunning poison! Just a tiny bit slower... just that little bit 'off' now... It's enough that he still dodges the attentions of the sniper and Zandra, but Leia Organa is made of sterner stuff. He blocks, parries --- and slips at the last moment, allowing her blade to sink into his body. It is a grievous wound, and his saber switches off as he falls to his knees.
Oran laughs, choking just a little and spitting blood onto his perfect (less perfect now) floor, and looks up at Leia as though they're master and student at a very messed up dojo. "I don't want your pity, I don't want your sorry," he spits back, "And I will never be a good man, you maudlin old hag. See you at 'three.'"
Merek looks up from where he is at, to notice that the team won. He doesn't know if he was any use even in his distraction, all he knows is that they won. He looks up to the ceiling, in his thoughts. He does take a moment work his way up, while he maneuvers to look at the people all about, making a way to Oran. He seems to think about it a moment, then he holsters the weapon, while he takes a moment to lean before the man and begins to place the cuffs of maglinks upon him. Then he takes a moment to tie off the saber wound upon the man. He then begins to call to the others, "Let's get him loaded up, we gotta keep him alive." He nods then to Sesti. He comlinks, <<"Mission successful.">>