Log:First Order/Black Eyes at the Blue Light
Another trooper stomps through the doors into the Blue Light, a bar which never wanted to serve one, let alone three, First Order operatives. FN-2003 is oblivious to the bar's wishes, as it is, and makes a beeline for the commanding officer and fellow FN, side-stepping a table full of hard-eyed sentients all staring their way. You get used to it. "Perimeter is secure." Slips interuppts, bitter as Arvis' caf, standing stiffly at attention by Locke and FN-2187's table and missing all cues of 'hey kid, things are a wee bit more casual now, pull the stun baton out your butt'.
"Well," FN-2187 shrugs with a half smile. He leans forward, the armor on his elbows clanking softly against the surface of the table. "Once on a 'fighter we ran out of proper cream, so for months they only had the powdered fake junk. Put me off the whole idea, I guess." The trooper, his helmet off and to the side, reaches up to scratch the back of his head. He is thinking, for just a moment, when FN-2003 clambers in. FN-2187 glances up, straightens with the reflexes of a well trained trooper, and then relaxes. "Thanks, Slip," the seated trooper says with a nod. "Want some caf?" The server is coming over, placing a pot, a mug canister, and a tiny dish of sugar in front of the FO types. "'Nother cup, please," FN-2187 requests politely without waiting for Slip to answer.
Entering the tavern by way of the front stairs, Adhar Gann is a figure who looks both a.) about right for Nar Shaddaa and b.) about right for a holo set in ancient sea days, except c.) not really, because his coat is leather and armoplast and such. The appearance of white-clad Stormtroopers gives him pause, but he heads forward to belly up to the bar nonetheless.
"So, you adapted to your surroundings," Locke says, a warm smile creasing his face. "I've always liked that about you stormtroopers. I've always been a little too set in my ways. Since way back in my time with the Empire." His attention turns to Slip, "Ah, FN-2003. I suppose the nerf's out of the bag that we're here casually enjoying some beverages. Sit down, take a load off." A look back to Finn and he says, "A shame, really. I was hoping to pick on him a little bit, too." His eyes follow the entrance of Adhar, but he's yet to do or say anything about it.
/Did/ Slips want caf? The world will never know. The trooper's expression remains impossible to read beneath that helmet, but the permanent 'scowl' etched into its design speaks volumes. Or does it? "I like the powdered cream." He comments vaguely, though still stiff-postured until he's instructed to sit down. "Yessir!" He barks back, trying too hard, and slides in next to FN-21- okay, scoot over a little - there we go. He slides in next to FN-2187 and gingerly removes his helmet. There's a shiner under his left eye, a nice keepsake from a rifle-butt from training this morning, and he eyes the caf greedily before reaching for both cream /and/ sugar, the heathen. "Who were you hoping to pick on, sir?" Adhar is given little more than a second glance, just another dude walking into a bar.
FN-2187 snorts as the server produces another mug. "Not bad," he comments to her as he slides the canister in front of Slip as the offer to sit is extended. "Yeah, of /course/ you like the powdered stuff you nutbag." He wags his head. "We have to, sir," Finn indicates as he pours himself a mug and douses it with sugar. "Part of training. I think it must be because they move us around so much?" The troopers shoulders shrug and scooting over for Slip. "This place seems a bit nice for any action," FN-2187 admits with a frown around the joint.
Yes. Just this dude. Don't mind him. Adhar takes his seat at the bar, nodding for a bartender - waiting for their attention, he pauses to check a computer strapped around his gauntleted wrist. He sighs a bit at what he sees there, and slips from his stool (sans drink, or even attention) and proceeds toward where Locke, Good Finn and Awesome Finn sit, though he stops a respectful, nonthreatenig, non-get-shot-in-the-face distance away. Hands where they can be seen.
"Good afternoon," he offers. "May I join you?"
"You," Commander Locke says to the newly-seated stormie. "I pulled a little prank on 2187 here a while ago. You would've loved it." His hands move to rest on the knee of his crossed legs. Brown eyes turn to focus on the ship captain and says, "I was just about to send these two gentleman to grab you for me." He looks back to the stormies, "Do you mind giving Captain Gann your seat?"
"It tastes the same!" Slips scoffs, shaking his head at his fellow trooper as he pours himself a mug. "Did we specify non-alcoholic caf? We're still on duty." Goody-two-boots takes a testing sip, lips smacking as he tests it. Are they good? They seem to be good. He is mid-slurp when Commander Locke indicates that it was, indeed, Slips himself who was to be the butt of whatever fresh jokes the Order members had in mind. He chokes a little bit with an "right, right sir." Before he's being ordered from his seat. Ever the obedient, kicked-at dog, the trooper nearly knocks his caf from the table in his lurch upright, grabbing his helmet but leaving his mug on the table. "Of course, sir!" He slides back and stands at stiff, awkward attention, leaving room for Adhar to take his seat.
"I imagine that you were," Adhar says with a chuckle. "For a few reasons, I suppose. Your lads have been watching me for a few weeks since my encounter with the Captain, and with my most recent offering, I expected to hear from you." He looks at the man's rank band, pursing his lips. "Commander. I'm armed, but I'm not an idiot - however, if you'd like me to leave my sidearm with one of your lads before I sit down...?"
"It was very good, sir," FN-2187 insists of the prank at his expense. "I was already mentally preparing myself for latrine duty." He sips his coffee, reaching to add another dump of sugar into it. He doesn't answer Slip, but the wrinkle of his wide nose and cut of his eyes expresses his disdain for the opinion. FN-2187 looks up, realizing there was an order given. "Right away, sir," he says quickly as and slides out of the booth, stands, and carries his caf in one hand and the helmet in the other, his gun swinging from it's mag on his belt. Quickly the caf is set down on a high top table across the short aisle and FN-2187 stands at attention, scanning the bar suspiciously. "Blaster on the table, please," FN-2187 motions to the same high top.
"As FN-2187 said; just leave it on the table," Commander Locke says, offering a warm smile to the man. He reaches for his glass and takes a sip from the straw, regarding the captain. "Tell me about yourself, Captain Gann. I want to see how good my spies are."
As Locke takes to conversation with the Gann individual, Slips sliiiides forward to snag his abandoned caf from the table before once again retreating to the high-top beside FN-2187. "What's the deal with that one?" He asks his fellow trooper softly, taking another sip of caf and studying the interaction with a short glance passed over the rest of the bar. Perimeter secure! Probably. His voice drops further with a conspiratory win. "You think his loyalties are as backwards as that outfit?"
"Dunno, man," FN-2187 says out of the corner of his mouth at the other trooper. "This whole moon is nutty, yanno? I hope the barracks on the Finalizer are ready soon." He keeps a hand on his gun but chances a sip of caf. Every once in a while he glances around, making sure nothing strange is afoot. FN-2187 nearly chokes at Slip's joke. "He isn't loyal to fashion, that's for damn sure." Ah, trooper banter.
"I tend to be fairly open," Adhar says, pulling back his coat to reveal a pair of blasters on his hips, both of which he sets down on the table - one a straight stunner, the other a monstrous thing that was once a Caelli-Merced piece before it was subjected to very heavy-grade modifications. "At least with my own business." He sits down. "I run common freight and smuggled goods alike, head up a circle of independent smugglers who pay their necessary tithe to the Hutts to stay independent. I own the Bunker Twenty-One Lounge over at the spaceport, which your lads already know as they've parked a squad by the front door for several weeks now. I also own the Array Technologies corporation, which as you no doubt know has a single store in the Gearhead District of the moon selling armor products of various sorts. My business connections see all manner of interesting products come across my desk, apparently including still-functioning relics of technology from four thousand years ago. I was as surprised about that one as your folk likely were."
He shrugs. "I also tend to think on my feet, as I did when spinning a tale for one of your officers - a Captain of the Stormtrooper Corps, I believe, from his rank and the fact he was out of armor when I saw him - in an attempt to keep him from what I thought at the time was mortal danger. The trouble is, I don't always check to see where my feet are at the time. Could be anywhere. Usually on the ground, but sometimes, in my mouth...on a mine, that sort of thing. One can never entirely be sure, can one?" He leans forward a bit. "How does that track?"
"The reports did indicate that you did talk a lot, but goodness me; I think they might have been underselling it," Locke says, hands resting on his stomach. "Can I go, now?" he asks, gesturing at himself before looking to the Stormies. "Is it my turn?" He leans forward and says, "I'm going to need that Sith armor delivered to Outpost Ziro. When is a good time for you, Captain?"
"They keep promising us they will be, which means it'll be at least another... What, month? Wanna take bets?" Slips snorts into his caf, trying to keep a straight face. "Nor was he loyal to the nerfherder's grandmother that he stole it from." He leans against the hightop, relaxing again. "Seems like he's got a lot to say - oooh, commander is leaning in. You know what that means." He grins over at FN-2187. "Think we'll have to shoot anyone?" He says 'have to' like he would love nothing more in the world.
"You asked me to talk about myself," Adhar points out. "It happens to be a favorite subject. As for the armor, I'm afraid I can't. Republic Intelligence already got it when I was on Thyferra yesterday, though I have a detailed set of scans on its metallurgical and technical composition that you can have, if you like. And naturally, should another suit come across my desk, I can let you know." He keeps his eyes on the Commander, but the lads in white are never outside of his periphery.
The Commander's smile flattens near instantly. "Well, you should think on your feet and get that suit back for us. I would hate to scorch up the walls in here. And you know I just, uh, I hate the sound of blaster fire. So loud. And in a booth. Can you imagine? So, please save my eardrums the hassle and, you know, get the suit back. Alright?" He smiles once again. "If I have to come knocking again, I'll likely be in the company of Kylo Ren and he's less...amicable than I am. Maybe you've heard of him? Tall, black mask, lightsaber; the works."
"Three weeks? I give it eight. /Minimum/." Slip's smirk only widens at FN-2187's threats. "Please, many have tried and all have failed. I am untouchable." The audience winces. "Sithspit, did he say 'Kylo'? Did you hear him name drop Wren?" There is excitement, because threats - yay! ... But really, he wants /nothing/ to do with that guy. Kylo scares the absolute shit out of FN-2003 and he doesn't try to hide it.
"Yes, I've heard of him," Adhar says, his expression equally flat. "Flaming sword and sorcerous powers, the whole thing. Very scary, this generation's Vader, and I'm sure were I holding out on you, Commander, it would be an effective threat: but in this case - with all due respect - you might find that /he/ will have a better time of conjuring it than I ever will. You'll still have to go to Hosnian Prime or wherever those agents have taken it off to to get the thing."
FN-2187 can't hide his reaction either. His shoulders tighten up and he hefts his blaster a little closer into himself. He glances to Slip, frowning. "I heard!" he grunts and swipes a foot to knock into Slip's in a universal 'shut the fuck up' gesture. He turns, gathering up his helmet and putting it back onto his head. Menacing visor vision, go! "Should FN-2003 and I take him out back, sir?" FN-2187 grunts the protocol called for offer with a firm, flat tone. Back to trooper mode, it seems. His blaster is raised slightly.
"No, no; I'm very busy and important. So many files, so much oversight. The plight of the administrator," Locke says, waving dismissively at the thought of any extra work. "I tell you what. You do this for me. Track down whoever has it now, and I'll, uh-" he's distracted by Finn for a moment. "I'll keep FN-2187 and FN-2003 here from shooting you, for one. And just to sweeten the deal, I'll see about getting the detail reassigned from outside your front door. Deal?"
There is a twin pair of white-clad sentinels glaring that expression-less glare down at Adhar. At FN-2187's urging, Slips replaces his caf to the table and pulls his helmet back on to flank his companion. Is he disappointed that they /aren't/ taking this guy out back? It looks like it. Though their threat is dismissed amid the courtesy of diplomacy and petty politics, Slip's hand still moves to his blaster as his caf grows cold behind the troopers.
He takes a long moment. He does. His eyes close. So many guns in his face right now. Should he put a grenade on the table? That'd make things fun, for sure. But no. "Commander," Adhar says after this, opening his eyes once more, "I'm going to state this for posterity. I have no magical powers, unlike your name-dropped friend there. I have no connections with Republic Intelligence, and for someone who is busy and important, you don't seem to be hearing what I'm trying to do - which is, of course, to save you from wasting your resources. So I'm going to say this again: I don't have your armor, I have no means of /getting/ the armor, and when I go and waste my time trying to find out where it went and return to you with what is bound to be a very disappointing report, it will be without any trace of deception. If your lads would have reached out to me the day I put out word, you'd have it in your hands; however, this appears to be one time that the Republic actually does its job, which ultimately - of course- stabs me in the arse." He looks across at the man, dark eyes on dark eyes. "Are we clear?"
FN-2187 silently stands, his reflective visor not allowing anyone to see his face of the emotions he might convey there. The words of Adhar get a reaction, even if it's just a /slight/ jolt under the thick armor. "Watch how you speak to the Commander, citizen," FN-2187 warns with a slight edge to his voice. His helmet tilts just a /smidge/ towards Arvis to await orders.
Arvis Locke breathes a heavy sigh and slaps the table harshly before catching himself. He points a finger across the table at the man and chuckles softly. "I don't like this part, I swear. They like this part, though." The officer moves to slide out of the booth, picking up his hat and gloves as he goes. "FN-2003, FN-2187; could you assist me in convincing Captain Gann?" He steps over to the table where the Captain's weapons are resting and he picks them up, looking back over to him. "Don't kill him. He's still got a mission to do."
They're so intimidating! So, so intimidating. While this captain may not be as swayed by the pair of trooper's prescence and overbearing, white-clad glare as he perhaps should be... Well, the next part will be a time to re-think it. "With pleasure, sir." Slip's voice, made tinny and monotonous by his helmet, hides a grin. He tromps forward a step to flank close to the seated Adhar, his weapon coming to bear. "Come with us, citizen." His caf is forgotten and doomed to a sad, stale life - left to cool to its eventual demise, flushed down a recycler.
"Lads." Adhar gets to his feet, sighing. "Beat me all you want, it won't change reality. But I really would recommend against this." He looks to the Commander, sounding suddenly tired. "The Empire failed the last time, Commander. D'you ever think it might've been the tactics?"
"Yes sir," FN-2187 says with a short nod. He doesn't even wait to take Adhar out back. He steps forward, glancing to Slip before bringing his blast up. "Sorry, mate. Warned you." There is actual remorse in his voice, should one listen closely enough. The butt end of the weapon flashes forward, cracking against Adhar's nose. FN-2187 steps back and motions at Slip. "Either get a hit in or finish your caf, Slip. I wanna get back to base."
"That'll ring his bell. Wow," the Commander says of Finn's rifle-butting. While he waits for the troopers to do what they do, he starts playing with the Captain's guns. "You know, with the two of them, I feel like one of those old holo stars. Maybe I, uh, maybe I missed my calling, you know?" He takes a few moments to eject the clips from the two weapons and steps forward, letting them clatter to the floor in front of Adhar. He slides his gloves onto his hands and says, "I would definitely get a cold compress on that one right away, Captain. Now, don't leave me hanging with that armor. I don't care if you have to start an archaeological firm and /dig/ up another set; you're going to make sure that it gets to me. Okay? Okay."
This asshole is more slippery than he looks. Despite the other trooper's success and FN-2003's eagerness to get a hit in, there's a reason they call him 'Slips'. His left eye, still swollen shut, flups with his depth perception and his own punch smashes into the side of the booth instead of Adhar, chipping away some wood. Is he going to be able to cover for it? "Next one is your face if you don't do what the commander says." Are they going to buy it? No, he's a terrible liar and a terrible punch-er. Beneath his helmet, Slips goes bright red.
It's not the first time he's had his nose broken. It's not even the first time he's had it broken with a rifle butt. Doesn't make it hurt any less, however, and as his head jerks back and the blood flows freely, a mark is drawn on a slate in his mind. A red moire of pain slides over his eyes, and he staggers, the red line of the break gushing blood across the bridge of his nose.
And yet, he manages to keep his cool, or as much as you can with your face split open. Adhar chokes a bit on blood, spitting it across the floor. "That's all right, man," he says through a tight veil of pain as FN-2187 steps back, "I forgive you. I heard where you all come from." He straightens up, gritting his teeth against the pain, and looks at the Commander with his black eyes flat and glossy.
"You'll hear from me," he says. That's it. No bravado, no weakness, just the words. Simple as that.
"That was-that was just awful, FN-2003," the Commander says, looking the stormtrooper over. "Gonna need to work on that, for sure." He leans forward as Adhar speaks. Standing up straight again, he shakes his head, saying, "I didn't like that. Did either of you like that?" He looks between the two of them and says, "Alright. I was going to eat, but all of this blood is really ruining my appetite. Somebody hit him again and lets get out of here." He places his cap on his head and moves to stand near the door.
FN-2187 rolls his eyes safely hidden under his helmet at Slip. What is tangible is the deep inhale he takes to calm himself. His hands are shaking just a little as he grips the blaster tightly. Silently he steps back, motioning for Slip to give the guy some space to leave. One more hit is give to Adhar's shoulder with the blaster butt, but the knock is honestly secretly more of a 'get the fuck out of here, you dolt' push forward. Adhar's parting words get a grunt from FN-2187. "Where we come from? Does he mean the Finalizer?" the trooper wonders to his buddy. "How the heck would he know about the barracks refurb?"
It /was/ awful, and it doesn't get better. FN-2003 promised the next punch would be to Adhar's face, and he doesn't prove himself a liar, but his next kick is made uneasy by the sudden blood on the floor and instead connects with the bottom of the table. Glass clinks, it makes a loud noise, and Slips just looks dumb. 'If he falls, the Order is spared his weakness' plays at the back of his head with a groan. "Dunno, mate." He mutters in response to Finn.
Adhar takes the hit, gritting his teeth as he feels something give a little. "You'll hear from me," he repeats to the Commander, trying his best to keep the tone flat. Neutral. All the while, marks on the chalkboard.
"The gall of some people to just come along and ruin a perfectly good drink," the Commander begins. "I was more than accomodating, don't you think?" he asks, knowing darn well that he was. "That's another reason these people need the First Order. I grew up under the Empire, of course and I, uh, I had /manners/. And that's just-you know, and that's just the tip of the iceberg..." he continues this rant all the way back to the Outpost.