Log:CDF: Of Dogs and Drugs
Inside CDF, the weather is nice, because they have a roof. The sound of keys being tapped into terminals fills the front of the office area, and a tall man emerges from the office marked 'Director' with a cup of caf, dressed in an understated blue and yellow uniform, slightly militaristic. He pulls up in front of a desk marked 'Darsi', dropping a datapad onto the surface. "Mister... Voss? says a female Togruta ate 'is dog, 'Scootles'." An eyebrow raises. "You know anything about that?"
A hand, red skinned where there is actual hand and black and grey metal where there inexplicably isn't, reaches across the desk. Rato Darsi eyes the datapad for a long moment, eyes flicking back and forth before she drops it back where it was placed with a shrug. "Not me." She answers, a little smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Again, you are racist. But I know of this man, he yells at Rheisa about bag of..." She twists her face up trying to remember. "Cream?" Another shrug and she tilts her head at him, still with that twisted, annoying little smirk. "Lost pets is issue for us, now?"
"Lost pets is issue for us if we're the ones eatin' 'em, yeah," Corr replies, eying Rato suspiciously. Apparently he's not putting it past her and doesn't care if that makes him a space racist. "If it ain't your fault, then we'll forget it. But if it is we gotta do somethin' or we'll never build much trust in this neighborhood."
Rato Darsi throws her hands up. "Why is it me who has to be one eating dog? Do you ever see me eat street beast?" She pauses, a finger flicking up. "No answering that." She lets her hands drop back to the top of the desk, pigments contracting in her headtails as those yellow eyes narrow up at her boss. "Am good, tame Togruta. Is not my first 'civilized' home and I am not eating dog or any crawley moon prey. Has worms, maybe." She has a point. "I am eating at noisy bars and other holes of feces like rest of you. Maybe is you who eat dog, hm?" She levels an accussing finger.
"I didn't eat the dog," Corr replies calmly, rolling his eyes at his tame Togruta terminal-typer. "I didn't say you did either, alright? Just makin' sure we're not snackin' on the locals' livestock without permission." Reaching for the datapad on the desk, he swipes the screen and taps a few times until it finally does what he wants. "I got word of a pretty sizable drug deal goin' down in Ko Hentota, want you to get more on it for me, and if your shift ain't over yet, come check out the lay of the land with me."
"I only eat pussy," Sar says, wandering out of his office, holding a paper plate with some unidentifiable form of street meat resting on it. He cracks a grin and chuckles to himself, recognizing himself as the most hilarious man in the entire world. "What's going on?" he asks, looking between Rato and Corr, and dressed like he just drug himself in from off-world.
"Mhmmmm." Rato doesn't seem convinced, but Sar's timely arrival gives her a new victim for the blame. She obviously isn't swayed by his claims of not-blaming-her. This is, after all, the man who got himself shot over an issue of 'y'all look the same'. "See? You are accussing wrong servant. He is admitting it, but noooooo - is poor /Rato/ who eats dog." She crosses her arms at her chest like a petulant child, slouching back in her seat. Drug deals, though, always catch her attention and her hodge-podge, Frankenstein's monster of a trash-heap datapad is in her hand in a flash, slights forgotten in her excitement. "Which drug?" She asks brightly, a stream of binary illuminated onscreen. "Is like when ex girlfriend call you nerf-herder but is not meaning meat beast?" There is a near imperceptible wiggle at the tips of her headtails. "Sar! Drugs!" She announces gleefully.
Corr spends a moment in confusion looking between the two of them, opening his mouth to say "That ain't what he- he means- y'know what, that's fine." The ex-soldier decides not to explain things further. "They're the illicit kind of drugs. Illegal ones, most places. Bein' this is Nar, prob'ly not 'illegal' per se, but still. S'posed to be going down under the name 'Frax Industries'."
"I've eaten a few peoples pets," Sar says, stabbing at the slab of meat on his plate with a duraplast fork. He pops the bite in his mouth and speaks while he chews, "Caught up with this Imperial brass after the war. Real psychopath. Was livin' large on Corellia; big mansion, long-legged women, everything. I tied him to a chair and ate all of the fish out of his fish tank. Well, I fed some of them to him. The spiky ones." He swallows his bite and looks to Corr as he tries to explain Sar's meaning to the Togruta. "I meant that I give oral sex to women. It's an idiom. You like girls, you know what's up." Up-nod to to Rato. He sniffs and wipes some grease off on his pants before looking back to Corr, "They harmful, or just for shits who like to party with daddy's money?"
"Sar Yavok has eaten more pets than this one." Rato jabs a finger at her own chest. She really isn't letting this whole 'did you eat the dog' thing go. She is still tap-tap-tapping at that datapad as she laments the smear to her good reputation, inputting a quick and brutal search on 'Frax Industries'. Nerdin'. Thankfully though, her loose grasp on figurative speech is clearly assisted by the one-who-actually-eats-pets and she makes a face at him, turning away from her screen for a moment. "I see." A pause as her gaze drifts momentarily to the ceiling, trying to discern what is up and why she is knowledgable about it, but decides to drop it with a simple: "I do not like anyone." She stands, grabs her shawl from the back of her chair, and flicks it up and over her montrals. "Drugs?"
"She really don't," Corr confirms, with a short nod. Shrugging the uniform-y jacket off, the man nods again as Rato asks her question and is clearly preparing to go. "Yeah, we'll go check it out. Way I hear it, they're not the harmful kind, but this Frax Industries, they're a mining firm, least on paper. And here they're sellin' illicit drugs. Only word is, ain't just drugs they're sellin'." Collecting his rifle from a rack on the wall, he slings it over his shoulder and heads out onto the street.
"Yeah, that makes sense," Sar says of Rato's admission to the dislike of sentient life in general. "Good thing I love ya, kid," Sar says, smacking her on the shoulder as he moves to throw his plate in the trash. Plucking out a cigarillo, he looks over to Corr as he grabs /his/ rifle down off the wall and says, "Well, I guess we're goin'. Come on, Nerd." With that, he wanders off after the young'n.
KO HENTOTA. The Undercity, the area underneath the rest of the city. It's a lawless place, and one where you wouldn't want to be caught out on the street after the synth-sun shorts out for the night. That's why the three CDF wannabe cops are down here, though; this is where all the 'good stuff' (read: bad stuff) happens. "Frax Industries, here, this is the first time I heard about 'em but apparently they're a legit operation out on Dorvalla. Records go back a coupla decades, that sorta thing. Not sure how they're messed up in all this, if they're branching out into illegal trade or someone's using the name to hide."
Sar Yavok found more street meat on their way to the Undercity, so he's chomping on some sort of vermin that's been skewered onto a metal stick. "You two don't know what you're missing out on, really." He bites a large chunk off of the roasted animal and tosses the thing away, wiping his mouth, afterwards. A loud sniff and he unslings his rifle, ready for whatever.
"Is false." Rato says, way too quickly. How she is walking without falling or smashing into anything is a wonder, because she hasn't looked up from her datapad since they started. "These records are fake, they go back five years and then is baka." She shoves the terminal at her boss. "See?" The Togruta's voice is slightly warped behind the breathing mask she opts to wear down here in the slums. Her eyes lazily follow the arc of Sar's discarded meat without comment.
Evidently Corr is so used to the slum environment he doesn't even bother to wear the mask. It'll probably cut a few years off his life, but there's a good chance he won't make it to an age where it matters. "Huh," he mutters, considering the new information with a pursed lip. "Well, that's interesting. Let's see what this drop point looks like. My CI said it'd be up by that burnt-out diner." The director indicates a nearby shack with busted neon signage. It looks empty.
"Knew a guy who was doing limb transplants on the cheap out here. One of 'em shorted out on him, went haywire," he makes popping noise with his mouth, "Cybernetic leg straight through the chest. Real messy way to go." He sniffs a bit and shuffles his rifle around, looking between the two of them, "So, what's the gameplan here?"
The Togruta, on the other hand, simply /is/ the slum environment. Eyeing the diner, her attention is momentarily swayed by the brothel she found Valko at the other night. As they pass it, Rato reaches out to gently tug at Sar's elbow and nods toward it, shawl shifting around sensitive montrals. "I warn you now, do not be going in this place for your oral sexes." She gestures in the general direction of her nether regions and gives him a knowing nod. "Red scratchies. I know from good source." She pauses, following the look from Sar to Corr as her own cybernetics tink-tink against the sides of her clunky datapad. "We... Buy drugs?" She suggests, hopefully. "So to know. See process." Obviously.
"It's a cold drop," Corr explains, although the other two's stories both get Looks. Like 'what the hell kind of operation is this' Looks. Then he just kind of shrugs and shakes his head, which is Waldin-ese for 'Oh yeah I hired these degenerates'. Leading the way, he cuts a short path up to the diner, peeking in through the boarded up windows. "Looks clear." Around the side, it only takes two tries to knock in the rusty old lock. This leaves them standing in a small pantry crowded with crates, most of which are stamped 'Frax Industries.' "Let's open it up and see what we got. Don't look like zoochberry pies, I'll tell you that much."
"I wish it was zoochberry pies," Sar says, wandering towards one of the crates. "Still kinda hungry." He pulls a knife from his boot and uses it to pry away at the top of one of them. There's a loud cracking sound and he pulls the top back, looking inside. "Well, shit. You didn't say fuck-all about guns."
To be continued...