Log:Array Consortium: Dash! Aaaa-aaaaaah!
Looking for Qadira at Shug Ninx's Spacebarn, Adhar comes across a face that he knows well - one that he's seen more and more of. Has the Force brought them together? Let's find out.
NAR SHADDAA. It's a thundery, blustery kind of day. Lightning is striking all around the high-rises and rain is falling hard.
"Leebo! I gotta check the filter! Just keep sorting through it, alright? I'll be back!" shouts Dash Rendar over the storm as he walks down the ramp of the Outrider (fastest ship in the galaxy).
"I hate this. This is awful," Dash mutters to himself, pulling a hydrospanner from his belt and using it to pry a panel off of the underside of the ship.
It's like the future and a Hammer film had a baby, yes. Adhar steps out onto the pad from the spacebarn, blinking in the momentary dazzle of the lightning - and sees you, screwing with things. Because of course. "Ay," he calls, approaching the ship and its captain. "You seen Qadira around here?"
INTRUDER. It's a lightning quick draw that has Dash's DL-54 in hand and pointed squarely at Adhar's mid-section. Once he realizes who it is, though, Rendar flicks the safety back on and tucks it away. "I don't know who that is," Dash says, going back to his work. "Why?"
"She owns the place. You know, tiny redhead?" He shrugs, and peers at the ship. "Having problems?" He does not, however, flinch at being drawn on. Must happen a lot.
"Never seen her. I just park here because who would use a ship that's stuck in the shop for smuggling, right?" he says, slipping the spanner away and reaching up to pull one of the filters out. Looking it over, he groans a little. "Gunked up."
"Leebo, we're gonna need a replacement." He waits and listens. "Yeah, I know you told me so. Just put those rusty circuits to work and bring me one, alright?" he slips his commlink away.
"Depends on what it's in for, I suppose," says Adhar. He squints at the ship again. "So," he says, "What's going on with this boat of yours, huh? Problems?"
"Just a gunked up air filter," Dash says, gesturing to the one he's just thrown onto the landing pad. "Takes more than that to stop her, though. Best ship in the galaxy."
Ahhh, the old standard. Adhar grins, nodding at the ship as you proceed to fiddle with its guts. "I've heard that before," he replies, grinning. "It's a good model, this one. I've got one myself. Not nearly so modified as this one, though. This is one of the earlier production runs, isn't it?" He slips his hands into the pockets of his oversized coat, squatting down a bit so he can get a better look at her underside. "What kind of hull plating you have on this big girl, anyway?"
"Titanium," Dash answers, looking toward the ramp.
Clunking his way out of the ship is an LE-series repair droid. The Leebo in question from before. "Captain, it looks like you've got a visitor. With a dumb jacket. Here's the filter," he says, handing the thing off to Dash. He takes a moment more to regard Adhar with his photoreceptors before turning and heading back into the Outrider.
"Solo helped me tune this ship, so...maybe /second/ fastest in the galaxy," Dash admits, reluctantly. He reaches into the panel and jams the new air filter into place.
"Nice." He stands up, looking at the droid, and waves. "Hey there," he calls, oddly chummily to a droid, but he already looks rather unusual anyway. Doesn't even blink at the coat comment - clearly he's heard that before as well.
He looks to you once you mention Solo and the droid wanders off. "Solo, huh? I saw him the other week," he says. "You a Resistance man, Rendar?"
"Not in this lifetime," Dash says. "Not enough money in it. They're likely to not pay me at all, much less the half up front that I demand." He benchs down and picks up the panel before holding it in place and securing it with the spanner.
"You'd be surprised," say Adhar, but he shrugs. "Selective charity can buy you a lot more clients than a strongarmed deal." So says the current harrier of the Mathall Syndicate. "We keep running into each other. You looking for me, Rendar, or do we just hit the same bars too much?"
"I think you just have a crush on me, Gann," Dash says, finished with his work and sliding the hydrospanner back into its loop. He brushes his hand off and asks, "Was that a thinly-veiled attempt to try and recruit me into your little band of miscreants?"
"If I were asking, I'd just ask," says Adhar, peering at the ship again. "You always struck me as the lone-wolf type. If you're looking to join, though, then sure, you'd be welcome." He takes a couple of steps around the hull, staying in your sightline. "Does your crewman operate the turrets, or do you fire from the cockpit?"
"You must not be familiar with the LE-Series," Dash says, leaning against the ramp. "They've got about four points of articulation. Don't work too well in cramped spaces. No, I do everything except fix the important stuff. Leebo works magic with a hyper," Dash explains.
"I'm familiar with them," says Adhar, "But I also know droids can be modified if they want to be." He shrugs. "I know my crewmen always want additional articulation and whatever if they're smart enough to ask for it." He gives the ship a final lookover before returning his attention to you, tapping the toe of one boot on the deck. "My merry band of miscreants, huh. What have you heard?"
"That you're exceptionally good at getting into trouble. Don't care about that, though. I'm smart enough to get myself out of it. If you pay me well enough, I could probably get you out, too," Dash says, sliding his hands into his blue leather jacket.
"We can get out on our own," he says with a chuckle. Then he nods at your jacket. "Nice color," he says. "Wouldn't even have to change. So, you interested, or what?"
"That depends entirely on what the terms are, Gann," Dash says, flatly. "I wouldn't be very good at my job if I just decided to take up every banner that comes waving my way, you know?"
Adhar nods along. "Fair enough," he says. "We're a group of independent smugglers, captains and crews. Captains who join have voting power on major actions that shape the course of the organization, but otherwise you just keep on doing what you need to. We help each other, share jobs we don't want or can't meet, and my ship provides security as needed in the form of fighter escorts, naval action, or just plain coming to bail you out if you get into jail or if your ship is impounded." He pauses to take a wrapped bonbon from his pocket, a sharp, herbal smell rising from the plastic as he unwraps it and pops it into his mouth. "We also do what we can to assist less experienced or less well-off members get into new ships, or upgrades. That sort of thing. And of course, fuel and repair as needed."
"Sounds fair," Dash says, nodding to the man. "Put me up as 'tentative'," he says, straightening up and brushing at his jacket. "And I'm free to just keep doing what I'm doing, right?"
"With a few caveats," he says. "Captains don't abuse their crews and they don't let their crews abuse each other. Any problems between captains are to be resolved with mediation. And furthermore, no slaving. Not you, not your crew, though in your case that's less of an issue. I don't care what you've done in the past, mind, but while you're with us, we consider slaving a...major offense if you're caught." He says 'major', but it sounds awfully like 'capital'. "Otherwise just help out other members as you can and don't make us look bad, and you're golden."
"I've never made anybody look bad," Dash says. "And I don't have a crew. Just Leebo. I tried, once. Never really caught on, though. Too crowded." His arms fold over his chest and he nods. "Alright. I'll bite."
"Fair enough," says Adhar with a nod. "I'll put your name before the other Captains and see what they say. Meanwhile, you'll be considered an extension of my crew - don't worry, I don't intend to try and order you around. I figure you'll get your coat in no time." He offers you a callused hand. "Welcome to the Consortium."
Dash Rendar takes the man's wrist and gives it a shake. "You can keep the coat. I've got my own outfit. But thanks." Releasing his wrist, Dash's hand falls back to his side. "In any case, I've got 150 tons of spice headed for a prince's birthday party," he says, flashing the man a wink and heading toward the ramp.
"Don't die!" This cheery response is the last thing you get as he turns and leaves himself. Well. There's that for you. What have you gotten yourself into?