Log:And That's How You Espionage!
"Felt good flying her again, didn't it?" Sar asks, leaning back in his chair, hands folding across his chest. He looks to Gren, waiting to hear the Coruscanti's opinion on getting to fly the Dusty Jawa once more.
The intrepid (temporary) crew of the YT-2400 are sitting idly at a seedy cantina on Boden, wasting time as they wait for a contact. A cowboy Corellian, a be-sauced Coruscanti, and a Tess are surrounding a table near the back corner of the bar, half-downed drinks and plates of what passes for food around here sitting between them.
"Ul'Datha, you gonna eat that?" Sar asks of the private, pointing to some sort of seared meat that barely looks edible.
"Yes." Tess says with an animalistic protective sneer at the food still on her plate. She may eat slow, but she eats a lot. Her arm stretches out to protect what remains, "Don't get bit." She warns, possibly playfully, possibly very serious... She's so hard! At some point she dropped into a Nar Shaddaan accent and started acting a whole lot less like a soldier and a whole lot more than a dirty scoundrel.
Despite this, the lack of her sniper rifle is causing her speration anxiety. A fact that she has no doubt stated several times of the course of their meal. "I wish Addell was here." That's her rifle. "I'd feel a lot better." For the nine millionth time.
The sauced Coruscanti isn't that sauced. But his flightsuit is straining, thanks to the degree to which he has stuffed himself. "She flies well enough. Shame about the way she looks, though." Gren replies, pausing in the act of lifting his mug to smirk at Sar, and then Ul'datha. He'll never admit to liking the Jawa. Ever. "I really hope this old friend isn't dead." Last time he tried to buy some warheads...it didn't go well. He leans back in his chair, and groans...patting his stomach. "The Rodian is pretty decent out here. Kind of surprising. Must be a few of the little bastards in the kitchen."
From outside the cantina, down the road a ways, there's a shout. But a shout isn't anything to be remarked upon out here in Sleazetown, indeed even blaster shots are quietly ignored by the majority of the clientele; only newcomers and greenhorns get riled up over a lil' friendly shootin'. Most of the occupants of the cantina just ignore it, getting on with whatever sabacc game or business proposition is taking place at the time. When a young boy skids into the bar, gasping for breath. "The First Order! They're here!" he yelps, eyes wide. Those six words do, of course, cause a certain amount of consternation in the bar.
Sar Yavok squints at Tess for a moment, considering whether or not the few scraps of meat still on her plate are worth wasting a stun bolt. Yes. But not when espionage is afoot!
A look of horror creeps onto Sar's face as he realizes what Gren just said. "I'm lockin' you in the fresher when we set off. I ain't about to have you shittin' all over my captains chair," Sar says flatly to the Coruscanti.
The Corellian is about to go on a tirade of colorful language, condeming Gren's poor choice of cuisine and irritable bowels, but the silence is broken by the fact that people are screaming the arrival of his (newly) sworn enemy. A look to Gren and Tess and the Old Man stands up, hand resting on the butt of his handcannon. "Reckon that's for us?"
Tess has a fork in one hand and a knife in the other staring at Sar with narrowed eyes. She'll defend those scraps of meat to her dying breath, come hell or high water. She'll also ignore most of the banter between the two grizzled senior officers and not just because they're her senior officers either! But because she's classy as fuck and doesn't talk about things like poop. Not when there's little bits of mystery meat that the waitress assured her didn't use to belong to anything that spoke a language.
She has doubts.
But not enough doubts not to shove the last bit into her mouth and chew readily. Taste is unimportant next to having a full stomach. Eleventh meal is the most important of the day.
See? First Order are here. She's glad she ate and wishes, more than ever, that she had Addell. Looking between Sar and Gren with a slightly perturbed expression that's more damnit, I was going to get dessert' than anything. "I guess... we could keep being espionagical..." She murmurs quietly, not that she wants that -at all-, or expects that either of them is does either, but someone has to put it out there so they can promptly and appropriately ignore the hell out of it and kill some shit.
"Like I'm going to let you fly if I'm still breathing. I'll be fine. I didn't get the purple sauce." And then the frazzled kid appears, and the mission goes to shit. "This is -not- my fault..." Gren says almost immediately under his breath. He might have jinxed the shit out of this business. The old Imperial hefts himself to his feet, and nods at Sar. "And our contact isn't going to come anywhere near here, now." A glance at Tess, and a small shake of his head. "No, Private. We aren't spies, and we're not going to get captured as spies. But, we should be finding our way back to the Jawa...soon as we can. He flips the table, sending the contents to the floor and possibly onto Sar with a satisfying crash. Just in case they end up needing some cover. All around the bar, people are scrambling to their feet in alarm. Some make a break for the back door, disappearing down a back alleyway. Others cluster by the front entrance, looking out through the swing doors down the now-deserted street. The boy has disappeared, his mission apparently accomplished. "Where are they?" "Maybe the little fucker was winding us up..." "Listen!" "Sssh!" From the street, down to the south, come more shouts, screams, and a couple of blaster rounds. "That sounded like it was coming from the Palace!" Not a Hutt outpost, the Palace is the /other/ cantina in this dump of a town. A few of the barfolk stand on the benches to look out of the high, narrow windows. "Can you /see/ them?" But nobody answers that question in the affirmative.
"You sure it wasn't him who sold us out? You tell him who we're buyin' for?" Sar asks, wiping some Rodian cuisine from his shoulder. He listens in on the bar conversation and jerks his head towards the door, "C'mon. Let's go see what's happening out there." The Old Man's hand remains on the grip of his handgun as he moves to slip past the crowd and out the door into the street. <Resistance> Kasia Ciph has partially disconnected.
"Damnit!" Tess manages, barely, to save her drink as the table goes flying and she's forced to scoot out of the booth seat to take a laxidazical stance near the pair while draining what serves for beer on this dustbowl. Tess tosses the glass down forcefully because she is not being left out of the breaking of dinnerware when dinnerware is being broken. Oh no. Then, however, she looks ready to go. "Can we pick up one of my rifles please?" All she has is this blaster and it's all unseemly and inappropriate and she just doesn't like it. "If the First Order is here, I don't want to give them the wrong impression by not killing them..."
"Far as he knows, I was planning on fucking with the Hutts..." Gren replies, shaking his head, and sighing. "Who knows what they might've intercepted, though." There's a nod, and Gren follows Sar out into the street, his own DL-44 slipping out of its holster, though the barrel still angles toward the door. "That could be a problem, Private. Kill an Imp, and take his rifle. Or one of these slobs, if you see something that you like." Because, if they can get back to the Jawa, they can bounce. The street is deserted. Meat, unspecific as to what, sizzles on the cart of a street vendor, but it's slowly blackening as it is left unattended. A mangy dog, ribs showing, is prowling nearer to the food stall. Faces occasionally appear in doorways or windows before withdrawing hastily from sight.
Then a TIE fighter, a First Order TIE/sf, screams low overhead, barely fifty feet above the ragged lines of the rooftops. It doesn't fire, although maybe the pilot only caught a glimpse of Sar and company too late. But it doesn't circle around either, just disappears behind the roofline of a brothel, its windows filled with female faces; the males are no doubt hastily pulling up their pants.
Sar Yavok ducks his head as the TIE tears through the sky above him. It's one of those things that you never really get accustomed to. A look back at Gren and Tess, "Eyes open, you two." Finally, the Corellian slides the hefty blaster pistol out of its holster and clicks the safety off; the weapon humming to life shortly after.
"Holy shit..." Tess has never actually seen a TIE tear across the sky or heard the telling whistle of their omenous appearance... She's almost shocked beyond words until she sees Sar duck down out of the way and follows suit. She's not scared, but she's not as excited as she was a handful of seconds ago. This is serious and the FO has air supperiority. "Copy that, sir." She drops right back into military mode, fishing her blaster out of its holster and stays where she's kneeling watching the street around the corner of the alley they're in now. "What's the plan?"
The TIE has Gren sighing a little more heavily, and watching it disappear, before speaking. The familiar whine...it brings things back into focus. He leans up against the wall of the cantina, making an effort to be 'small' as they move down the street. "Two options. Go to ground somewhere...or get to the Jawa." A serious look is given to Sar...."You're in charge until we leave the ground, Yavok. Your decision." Because, hell. That's just the way it works with the two of them.
Sar Yavok comes to a halt behind one of the vendor carts near the bar and crouches down, peeking around the side of it and further down the road. "Well...I reckon we wouldn't be worth a damn in the freedom fightin' business if we didn't at least make an attempt to try and help these folks out," Sar says, unslinging the G8 from around his body and setting it down on the ground, looking towards Tess. "Reckon you oughta at least be worth a damn, Ul'datha, so here." He peeks out again and says, "I say we bring the thunder for a minute or two and then see about gettin' our asses out of here."
A look to the sky and he says, "The fact that we've only seen one TIE means they ain't likely here in force." Any reasoning is good reasoning when you're trying to justify a firefight. "Sound good?"
Tess puts her blaster and kneels down to take the G8, turns it over a few times, and then brings it up so the butt is sitting in the curve of her shoulder, her hand running along the underbarrel. "Copy that." She says with a nod and a glance around the edge of the cart further down the street, then up. "I can get a vantage point from the second floor of one of these buildings once the shooting starts." She offers with a glance at the Lt. Colonel. "Catch them in a cross fire, give the locals a chance to get into cover." She'll have to move fast, but she does move pretty fast when she gets moving...
"Sounds like a plan, Yavok..." Gren acknowledges, though there is the start of a frown. "No more than a few minutes, though. Even one TIE is going to tear us up, if we get caught out here." The pilot glances toward the vantage point that the sniper has in mind, and then down at his pistol. Hopefully he remembered to reload the bastard. A clearing his his throat, and he leans even closer into cover. "You ever think we're bad luck, Sar?" Idle conversation until the violence.
"Scratch that. We're marchin' down this street full force. Way my daddy did it, way I do it," Sar says, currently decked out in his father's old Rebel brass coat. Inconspicuous, he is not. A look to Gren and he says, "Won't tear us up too bad if we close in on its friends." A pause. "I hope." He sits down on the ground and fishes a cigarillo from his jacket pocket. He takes a few moments to light it up and peeks back out down the empty street. He squints a bit and returns his eyes to the two of them, sucking down a plume of smoke and exhaling it slowly. "You remember that time we got held up by Imp remnants back on Naboo?" It's clear Sar either has a plan or is just getting nostalgic in his old age.
Tess doesn't even skip a beat and nods to Sar, still looking down the street, "You're the boss." She settles her back against the cart and makes sure the G8 is locked and loaded, running through routines in her head to familiarize herself with the unfamiliar weapon in the couple seconds she's got while Sar lights a cigarillo. In what is going to probably get her smacked, she reaches over and takes it out of his mouth to take a drag, then hands it back. "My dad always said a bunch of shit in Bothan that I don't understand and don't really care about... but he's dead, so clearly his way didn't work.." Again she looks back around the cart. "Let's go break shit."
"Naboo. Don't remind me. You gave a Gungan the keys to our speeder, and, if I recall...we had grenades." Gren replies to Sar with a sigh. "It worked, but I don't think the Gungan was happy with the outcome." The pilot's eyes search the street, maybe looking for a gungan, or a speeder. Or a bag of grenades. Instead, he sighs. "I'm -really- not a fan of walking down the street like some old Corellian gunfighter." He squares his shoulders though, and shkes his head. "Maybe they'll think I'm one of them, and not shoot me. But, aye. The Private has the right idea."
From down the street there's more shouting. A young man with blonde hair breaks cover, a local to judge by clothing and appearances, sprinting across the street - and from behind him, a blaster bolt streaks through the air faster than he can run. It catches him in the back, between the shoulderblades. He throws up his arms and crashes limply to the ground, motionless in death.
A moment later, and three First Order Stormtroopers step out from the alleyway, one lowering his blaster. He walks towards the corpse, prodding it with his boot, and turns to say something to the other two - but the words are lost, they're still a good eighty yards away. Then one of the others, a woman judging by the curves of the armor, looks up the street towards Sar, Gren, and Tess. Busted.
Sar Yavok smirks and chuckles softly at Gren's response, but before he can say anything there's some super terrible murder happening in his peripherals. Old Corellian gunfighter, you say? Yes, please. Sar stands up out of his cover, his pistol hanging loosely in his grip as he eyes the three soldiers. A look to his compatriots and he says, "Find cover. I'm gonna go be a hero, okay?"
His eyes return to the trio of space nazis and he squints at them. High noon and all. He exhales a quick puff of breath and hefts his handcannon, sending four blaster bolts down range towards the opposition.
"Yeah." Tess is about as likely to sit back behind cover as she is to suddenly like wearing dresses. As soon as Sar starts blasting off with his hand cannon, she hefts the G8 out over the top of the cart she's kneeling behind to use it for stability. Trailing her shot a shot against one of the other troopers after Sar goes ham on the lot of them with overwhelming blasts, squeezing off three quick bursts spread between the pair still standing. "Boom."
"Bloody showoffs." Gren intones with a shake of his head. He doesn't slink into cover, either. He does walk a few steps behind the two meatshields, though. Because, damn it. He's too skilled, and handsome to end up killed by a ground pounder. "I'm going to be a heroooo..." He mocks under his breath, puffing himself all up, and continuing down the street, waiting for the inevitable horde of stormtroopers. Because, that's just the way things work when you're an old school Rebel, isn't it? "Nice shooting, Private." Her, he won't mock.
The Stormtrooper who had shot the kid is the first to die, Sar's fusillade catching him head, chest, belly, flipping him onto his back in a tangled and smoking heap of death. The female Stormtrooper yells something, but she probably should have fired instead; Tess's first shot explodes her helmet and much of what is inside, and she collapses like a marionette with its strings cut; she's dead before she hits the ground, although her left foot twitches spasmodically for several long moments afterwards. The third figure does at least bring up his blaster carbine, but Tess's second shot spins him around and he crashes to his face, motionless. The patrol has been wiped out inside of five seconds. There's a scream, rapidly stifled, from the direction of the brothel. And then silence falls again on the street. The dog wanders down to the nearest corpse and lifts a leg.
"Cool," Sar says, executing his often-practiced blaster twirl to holster and looking at the two of them. "Jawa?" he asks, before moving very much in that direction. "Good shootin', Private. Maybe I won't steal Adelle away from you after all." <Resistance> Old Yeller Sar Yavok did an AAR in the past!
The silence after the gunbattle, Tess doesn't like that part at all. She lifts the blaster and scans the street until the dog pees on one of the corpses, "I'm going to go get that dog." She says, already heading in that direction, "I'm naming him First Urinal. We'll him Fur." She just hopes the dog is in the direction of the Jawa, seriously... she's divided! Orders are orders, but you don't ignore the oppertunity to get a companion that pees on corpses lightly.
"Aye. Jawa. It'll be guarded if these aren't the worst bucketheads since Endor. Fucking teddybears killing them..." Gren agrees, and cautions. He doesn't settle the blaster into its holster. Not yet. "Let's get a move on, then." He smiles as the private moves off to gather up the dog, not arguing in the least. His robot dog needs a playmate. He does start toward the public hangars, though. Not wasting a second. That TIE is going to be toast, if he has his way.
From a street or two over comes the sound of an amplified voice, partly broken up by the wind: "Remain in your...", "...curfew, and any violators..." "any resistance... " (or maybe that's "Resistance" with a capital R?), "...well rewarded..." Sure sounds like thirty pieces of silver are being offered.
It's the better part of three quarters of a mile as the crow flies to the hangars at the spaceport. But to get there, they will have to negotiate the patrols of three Stormtroopers, and of course the TIE fighter or fighters overhead.
"Good fucking job, Gren. You done sailed us up a river of shit," Sar remarks to literally his only friend in the galaxy. He continues listening to the broadcasts and grunts, throwing his hands up as he continues to march towards the hangars. "Don't worry, Yavok. Oi've got a smashing lead on a cache of weapons. It will be jolly fun. Hup hup," Sar says, mocking his Nancy of a partner in crime. "Private Ul'datha, keep your eyes open. Extra open. Sounds like they're offering a reward for our type, so who knows what'll come out of the woodwork."
Tess and her new dog are pulling up the rear of this little trio, but she's got eyes running along the sight of the G8, watching their flanks as the sound of shouting from Stormtroopers makes its way to them where they're approaching. "Copy that, boss." Tess looks down to Lil'Fur. "Keep your nose peeled and your pecker ready. I intend to give you a whole bunch of bodies to pee on."
"Oh. Blow it out your ass, Sar. You know Kal. He's good people. He didn't sell us out." Gren replies, keeping his feet moving, and flicking his eyes over his shoulder toward the sound of the amplified voice. "Rivers of shit are where we flourish, partner. We'll be fine. Really." He falls silent, now. Waiting for fan to further spread the shit.
Four blocks are covered without incident, sticking to back alleyways, not catching sight of the enemy. Along one sideroad there's a fellow crouched beside a building, a blaster carbine in his hands; he is facing the other way, watching in silence as a Stormtrooper patrol passes without spotting him.
Then they run into trouble. The alley they're in disgorges onto a junction, a confluence of several streets, and there's an AT-ST standing at the crossroads, with a good half-dozen Stormtroopers standing around beneath the vehicle. While they're not exactly on edge, they're not precisely relaxed either; their conversation holds an edge from what can be overheard. "We're stuck here. Like they're ever gonna come through here," complains a nasal-sounding fellow. A short squat Stormtrooper with Sergeant rank insignia retorts, "Who did you piss off to get assigned to my squad?" There's either a long detour involved or some way of getting past this roadblock is needed.
AT-STs suck so hard when you're infantry. Like, really. They're the worst. And Sar isn't having any of their bullshit today. He's ducked behind a wall, overlooking the intersection, "Got themselves a baby-walker, Delede." He quirks his lips to the side as he thinks for a few moments. "Alright, Gren. Naboo. I'll go Gungan. You and Tess gimme about forty-five second and get its attention, okay? Cool." With that, the Corellian slinks away down a side-street, off to do who knows what.
"Stay here." Tess says to her new companion. He's way too low level to get involved in fighting an AT-ST, so she pats the dogs head and moves forward at a low crouch to peer out at the towering infantry killer... "Well that's a hell of a thing... why don't we have those?" Seriously, what gives? All after thoughts, she's taking this all in stride. It isn't a lack of fear, but a directness of duty, especially with orders coming at her from the Lt. Colonel. "Roger that." Blaster coming up tot he ready, leaning it against the corner of the alleyway for support and zeroing in on the big ass bipedal bomber. "One one thousand..." Counting off to forty-five before she unloads, knowing full well that hitting it wont do the first shit.
But those big white bullet sponges?
It's glorious in its red mistiness.
"Just don't end up like the Gungan, Sar..." Gren says to the man as he hurries off. And, then he proceeds to count down as well...allowing the lady to the take the first shots, just like the gentleman that he is. After that? He's leaning out from behind cover, and snapping off a flurry of blaster bolts from his modified DL-44. He might not be a brawler, but the pilot is a hell of a shot. The Sergeant is his first target, and from there, he targets the rest of the squad, shooting fast, and sure. "Damn, I missed this, Private!" And now he's gonna get exploded by a mini-walker.
And all hell opens up as Gren and Tess unload on the poor innocent unsuspecting...well, unsuspecting...Stormtroopers. Three or four go down, killed instantly or twitching into death, including Whiny Nasal Trooper and his cranky-ass Sergeant. But the survivors, wounded and bloodied as they are, open fire somewhat limply. And then so does the AT-ST, and it's not playing around. A chunk of building falls off right where Tess is crouching, and the cannon rounds chew up the road towards Gren's feet. One of the injured Stormtroopers screams as the AT-ST steps round, one heavy clawed foot crushing the man's legs, but the AT-ST driver gives precisely zero shits as the walker starts towards Gren and Tess.
And what's Sar doing while all of this is going on? Well, he's hijacking a speeder, of course. An X-34 landspeeder to be more precise. "Good machine," he remarks to himself, finally managing to get the repulsor lifts to kick on. "Could use a tune-up, but that ain't exactly hear nor there." He smacks the dashboard a few times and kicks the thing in gear.
BOOM. BOOM. Aaaaaargh! The humanity! People are getting shot up real nice, from the sounds of things, but there's still the matter of the giant, walking tank. Well, Sar's driving the remedy to that problem. He hopes.
Returning from his absence in style, the Old Man manuevers the weighty landspeeder around the corner, zooming past Gren and Tess and counting to himself. "I really, really hope this works," he says, jamming the throttle down and hoisting himself up to a crouch in his seat. He keeps the speeder on track; headed straight for the AT-ST, trying his best to keep the hair out of his eyes.
Satisfied enough that it's going to hit its mark, the Lt. Colonel props a foot up on the side of the speeder and uses it to launch himself out of the vehicle, sending himself into a very clumsy roll/slide/scrape along 20 feet of concrete.
Tess is on the move, not wanting to get crushed by no falling building or shot to death by Stormtroopers. She vaults right over the crumbling remains of the wall into the building and smashes out one of the windows with the butt of her gun, grinning a little as dust and blaster bolts fly all around her head. A couple catch her clothes, leave burns on her, but nothing has hit her direct yet... which means she's clear and present still a big ass deadly danger to the remaining bucketheads.
All that movement must be making her soft. "Ugh... I missed. I hate missing. I wish Addell was here." That's her sniper rifle. She hasn't mentioned her in a few minutes.
Gren is pretty damn nimble when he needs to be. And he's hitting deck, and rolling out of the way as blaster cannon fire tears apart the ground all around him. "It's ok...not everyone can be perfect, Private!" Just him, is clearly what he's thinking, as he bounces back to his feet, and runs out to try and grab Sar, and pull him to his feet with his off-hand. Hopefully he can walk. "Fuck, you lard-arsed bastard!" He's shouting, as he tries, and fails to move his old friend. He really needs to hit the gym.
The First Order goon at the controls/helm/yoke/wheel of the AT-ST spots the speeder hurtling towards it, yanking violently on the delicate controls. The walker starts turning, its cannon blasting innocent pavement (and spattering molten tar and fragments of concrete) but missing the speeder by feet, and it can't step rapidly enough out of the way. The speeder slams into its left leg with a crunch, almost stopping dead, but the speeder's leg buckles almost in slow motion. A lurch of its good leg and then it's toppling, falling onto its side with an earth-shaking crash. And then comes the fire, from the speeder; it bursts into flame, and hydraulic fluid spraying from the AT-ST's mangled legs burns easily and hot. There's a thudding coming from the roof turret hatch of the walker; the pilot and gunner must be inside, but the turret hatch must be jammed. "Help us!" screams a shrill, albeit muffled voice, "It's burning in here!"
"Get the hell off me, Delede!" Sar shouts, swatting at Gren's meaty hands. "What did I tell you about being a hero!?" He stands up under his own strength and gives Gren a punch in the arm, "Literally never fuckin' stop!" He chuckles and brushes himself off, looking towards the downed AT-ST and taking a long, deep breath that is exhaled quickly. He waves for Tess to come join the two of them and he walks over to the burning vehicle. "Might be our chance to catch some bucketheads."
He grips the lever of the hatch and pulls back on it with everything he's got, but it's not enough to overpower the busted locking mechanism that took a hit from the fall. A look to the two of them and he wipes some sweat from his face, saying, "Fuck 'em. I tried." With that, he moves on towards the hangar.
Tess comes over with her weapon still at the ready, circling a little so that when Sar opens the hatch, the first thing they see after the freedom of not burning alive, is her blaster rifle pointed in at them. Provided they're not burning already... "I hope those suits are fire proof?" Seriously, she almost wants to put them out of their misery.
So even though they don't get a live specimen to take home and experiment on, Tess still gets to watch some stormtroopers burn to death... and that's okay with her. Once she's heard the pop of flesh bursting like a ripe zit, she hoists her blaster, raises her free hand, and whistles for Fur to follow. Only then does she make her way towards the Hanger with Sar and Gren. "For the record, that was awesome. I'm going to treasure this adventure forever." She might not be serious, but she is. She's crazy.
"Stop hitting me! I have to be able to fly, arsehole. And I -really- need to offload some cargo!" Gren shouts at Sar, as they head for the hangar. A final look over at the burning AT-ST, and he can't help but smile. "That -was- like Naboo. You survived though. So you're better than a Gungan, if nothing else." He takes the time switch out mags in his heavy blaster as they walk. "Private. Treasure every adventure. And learn from your elders." A pause..."And don't count your mynocks before they hatch, either. We still have to make it off this rock. Forever might be a matter of minutes."
From inside the hatch comes the crump of a blaster. And then another. And then silence, no more screaming or thudding. Looks like they put themselves out of their own misery. But this is not the time nor place to investigate, if they didn't get off a radio call they'll be checked on soon enough. Back into the alleyways and side streets. There's more evidence of fighting here, a couple of dead Troopers and several dead civilians like where they fell.
They're almost at the spaceport, in fact they're cutting through an industrial warehouse district to get at the spaceport from the side, when there are voices ahead. Assuming that discretion is the better part of valor (which might be a rash assumption where you three are concerned), a sneak peek around the corner yields the following interesting little scene: there are three Stormtroopers and five or six civilians, gathered together, the focus of the assembly being the lead Stormtrooper, a woman, speaking with a weaselly looking fellow. "I know where he is," smirks the Weasel, "I know which ship he is, and I can guess which way he's coming back. So ante up, lady." He rubs thumb and forefinger together, and the men smirk. It might be just a group of turncoats about to sell out Sar, Gren and Tess...but the nearest civilian, standing a little behind the nearest Stormtrooper, reaches casually behind him to draw a knife.
"And always use protection, even if she says she's got it covered...because, y'know. Or else you end up with a half-trandoshan love brood who you have to raise, but then they only call you on your birthday," Sar says, joining in on the imparting of wisdom. He rolls his shoulders and pulls his dad's jacket closer around himself, looking to see if he's ripped it anywhere. Luckily, his little tumble only managed to leave a bad case of road rash along the length of his left leg.
The Lt. Colonel limps his way into the area where the little transaction is going down. His leg is really starting to hurt, so he's not in a good mood. "Lookin' for us?" he asks, lifting the barrel of his blaster. He squeezes the trigger four good times, but his stance is off and only one of those actually makes contact. Here's hoping Gren and Tess are worth a damn.
"Yeah, yeah..." Tess is taking all this worldly advice in stride, but she's more concerned with her new companion. Who is hopelessly ineffective at smelling a trap... how could Fur almost let them run right into Stormtroopers and Benedict Arnolds? Jesus, bro, get your shit together.
Thankfully, she's not a chump when it matters. With very little charges left in the rifle, since she wasn't given replacement packs, Tess unloads three quick blasts at the stormtroopers surrounding the group of traitors.
"I'm a smuggler!" She's shit at espionage and that's the best she could come up for for covering the fact they're actually not smugglers... but resistance.
Let's hope Gren isn't an idiot.
"She's new. We're Resistance, folks. And you -really- don't want to mess with us. I'm expecting you planned on using that knife on the Bucketheads, so I won't shoot you." Gren states calmly, and with enough volume to be heard over the what is likely a few noisily dying stormtroopers, and the chaos that has been unleashed. But, Delede is certainly not going to go murdering a bunch of poorly unarmed citizens if he can help it. Not Good Guy Captain Delede, anyway. "Fight the First Order. They did this to your city. Resist." Get it? He's a super clever sod. He keeps his DL-44 visible, and half-way trained on them, but he is still going to keep moving toward the hangar.
"Dammit, man, we had them," the Weasel says in disgust. He looks down at the twitching woman and squats to yank her helmet off. She's alive, just, blood bubbling from her nose and mouth, and without compassion he grasps the back of her hair with one hand, her chin with the other, and snaps her neck. "You kids get over the fence here. Wait three minutes and there'll be a disturbance at the main gate. YOu'll be able to get to your ship."
Sar Yavok offers a salute to his new best friend, Mister Snaps and says, "Thanks, boss. We'll buy you a drink next time we're around."
Listening to the guy's instructions, Sar slips his blaster away and clips it into a secure position, before he hefts himself, slowly but surely, over the fence. He scoots down to the floor and exhales slowly, looking down to his chronometer to keep track of the time.
Tess waits for the old man to go over the fence, then literally spiders her ass over it like it's a knee wall, she even manages to bring Fur along because she's use to running from the police. Or something. It's good to be in great physical shape and twenty years old. Once on the other side, Tess slides the weapon back off her back, not yet ready to admit they're home free until they are, in fact, home free.
"But, honestly...you'd likely be better off if we don't ever come back. Be safe, Old Top." Gren says with a small grin, before eyeing the fence, and frowning. He really would prefer not to climb. But, here goes. He very slowly and somewhat awkardly makes his way over. Once he's back on the ground, he eyes Sar, eyeing his chronometer, and can't help but laugh. "He called us kids. Did you hear that? Best planet ever." Blaster is back out, and he looks at Tess, and then to Sar. "Help me with preflight when we're aboard, Sar. Then heat up the turrets..." A glance at the sniper..."Can you shoot a turret?" Pause..."You any better, these days?" This is directed to Yavok. It seems prudent. "I'm going to be in a hurry. I really need your 'fresher."
The spaceport has several squads of Troopers at key positions, aided by a couple of AT-STs...but at the appointed minute, a fireball erupts from the main gate, a pall of black smoke billowing up into the blue sky. Instantly the soldiers are running towards the incident, and now gunfire erupts - apparently the unfortunate troopers at the gate, those who weren't caught in the explosion, are now under fire. The AT-STs, too, break into lumbering trots. There are but two troopers left at the foot of the ramp of Sar's ship, and no doubt some combination of your firearms skills will soon negate their threat. The TIEs are another matter; they'll tag on to the escaping craft, and some aerial hijinks will ensue before Sar can jump into hyperspace!
Sar Yavok limps his way towards the Dusty Jawa, grinning as the explosion goes off in the background. He levels the EE-3 at the poor troopers who got stuck with literally the worst post ever. He squeezes the trigger a couple of times and vents some skulls, before he moves past them to head up the ramp, "Turrets are slaved to the targetting computer in the cockpit now, Delede. Should make it a little easier on you. But I'll make sure the hyperdrive is purring all pretty-like for you."
"Good because I suck at turrets." Tess assures them without even skipping a beat. As they pass the Stormtroopers at the ramp of the ship, she pulls her blaster pistol and puts one more right in the face plate of a twitching buckethead on her way up into the Jawa. Only once they're inside does she toss the G8 back to Sar and immediately take her sniper rifle off the bench to craddle like a child seperated from their favorite teddybear. "I missed you... This is Fur." Introducing Addell to their new companion. "Fur, this is Addell, she's my better half." Kneeling down, tursting Gren to fly them out of here, while she introduces her two pals to one another.
"Someone get that kid a shrink. She makes us look cuddly...." Gren observes as he follows up the ramp into the Jawa. "Plot a course to the tertiary rendevous system, Sar. We'll head home the longest way." Delede's doing a -very- abbreviated pre-flight, here. Flipping switches, checking gauges, and heating up the weapons. "Hold on, kid. This is going to get fancy!" A shout over his shoulder, and he's kicking on the repulsors, hauling back on the stick, and hitting the throttle. The Jawa tears off of the ground, and rolls over into a complex, and likely extra-flourishey climb. Eyes flicker to the sensors, and he punches shields online. Just in time to absorb the static of near misses. "TIEs incoming." He's flying defensively, as they head for egress at full speed. A few chance deflection shots might not knock the First Order starfighters out of the sky, but they likely make for a bad day, nonetheless. Once they've left the gravity well, the Jawa will waste no time in entering hyperspace. And Captain Delede will waste no time in dealing with bad food choices.