Log:Resistance: Recruiting Rail
Bunker 21 Lounge - Starport District, Nar Shaddaa
Once, this place was a starport fuel bunker, long since swallowed by centuries of new construction. Now, it serves to gas up travelers in an entirely different way.
Accessible by a narrow stairway leading down from its vaulted entrance, the club itself is a flat-topped dome, perhaps the size of a small warehouse. The rough concrete walls are lt by bands of neon, vibrant blues and purples working together to fill the place with a light that roughly estimates the glow of many nebulae. A vast mosaic of starship parts and holographic advertisements dominates the walls, nearly all of them advertisements or logos from thousands of years of spacefaring industry. In case one wasnt entirely certain of this place's identity of a spacer bar, suspended from the roof by a web of durasteel cables, an old starship engine draped in lumicord throws a wide spot of white light upon the center of the room, where a large circle of steel decking serves as the dance floor, surrounded by a padded railing.
Around the dance floor, the lounge is set up into four quarters, floored in polished concrete. An entryway, coat check counter and security scanner is set up at the bottom of the stairs, while to the right low tables and recessed booths of hand-rubbed durasteel, underlit and with seats upholstered in white, provide ample seating for lounge patrons. To the left stands the bar, an irregular structure faced with padded stools and made from the hulls of various starships as a kind of altar to spacer culture - and the shelves behind it are stocked with libations from across the galaxy. Finally, the back quarter of the club is dominated by an enormous holoscreen, upon which is depicted vistas of various planets, scenes of swooping spacecraft, pulsing geometric designs, or feeds from a wide variety of sporting events depending on the night. All in all, it serves as a home away from home (or ship) for spacers of all backgrounds, filled with smoke, laughter, and the droning buzz of alien music from a thousand different worlds. Come on in and take a seat.
With hardly a stutter in her step, Triz quickly scans the bar. New to her so must get the lay of the land. Bar, check. Tables, check. Rough looking spacers, check. "This will do." She turns to look back to Amber "Want I go get drinks and you find us a table? I do owe you a round if memory serves me correctly."
"Serves you better'n'me, but I ain't complainin," Amber rumbles around a clearing of the throat and nods Triz off toward the booze errand while she scours the floorplan for an ideal seat. Corner seats are taken, of course. She's zero desire to sit within hip-bump range of the dancefloor - padded railing or not - and less enthused with the thought of being stuck in the plumb middle. So she follows after Triz and settles for a table near the bar.
It's not hard to see why it hasn't been claimed by a group yet - wobbly. Also, this chair is broken. Greystorm gives its already fractured leg a 'gentle' thump of her toe, finds the sound it makes to be concerning, so sits in one of the other two instead. It DOES make a decent boot prop, though.
Rail Onasi looks up from his datapad as the two women take a seat at a table near his. He does the usual nod and smile before returning to his business. Then he stops to think about something before he lifts his eyes and rests them on Amber again. Something about her seems familiar, but he just can't place.
A smirk is flashed to Amber before she make her way through the crowd and pushes her self up, standing on the rail so she can actually lean over the bar top. Triz eyes the bar keep "Look, I want a double Corellian Whiskey. But," she wags a finger at the fellow "none of that refilled bottle crap. I want a sealed bottle," a slight pause "Crap, just give me the full bottle then. A double glass with that too." She then orders Amber's drink and as a joke plops one of those little umbrellas in it, all paid for with a data chip. Bottle clutched protectively, screw the glasses and the other drink if need be, bottle must be protected. A quick look and she heads to where Amber has found a place to sit. Deliveries made she tears through the seal and fills one of the glasses with the whiskey, sloshing some on the table as it rocks "Great table," she comments and spots the man nodding to them. A simple nod is returned before she tests the whiskey "There we go, real stuff." Out of the corner of her eye she spots the fellow eyeing Amber "I think you have an admirer."
"Story of my life, kid," scoffs the much older blonde under her breath and - for Triz's protection - didn't bother to budge her boots off the 'broken' chair which forces Triz into that third and final seat. There's elbow room for more, but Ambrosia seems capable of spreading out into that space juuust fine.
Shrewd, green eyes fixate on Triz's pour while her left hand takes hold of her own glass of foamy, probably too-warm ale. "Looks a little young, though." A pause. "Even for me." Her mouth twists into a shameless grin, before drowning it in the first of many long sips. "You, though..." A right finger wags in Dermout's direction before slipping under the table to the folds of her shawl/duster, where it remains. Around the second sip of beer, she slides a long, knowing glance in Rail's direction that skims over his face, down his chest to table, then across to the bar.
Rail Onasi dips his head in acknowledgement to the older woman as she looks over to him. She's definitely familiar. He thinks about it for a few more moments before pulling something up on his datapad and watching it, waiting to see if his hunch was right.
A roll of her eyes as she refills her glass from the bottle "Nope not me, last thing I need is any more complications. I am fine and dandy just how I am." Triz doesn't miss the movements of Amber "No, he's all for you, didn't even see me apparently. Which suits me just fine." Her free hand does fall down to her side though, right where the blaster sits in it's holster. Leaning back in her chair, she props a foot on the chair that Amber has her's on.
Damn PR campaign...Ambrosia rolls her gaze away from Rail and takes a final swig - for now - of her ale, then leans forward to mutter at Triz. "If he tries to pull shit, he's dead. But in case he isn't (and I am - is what goes unsaid), you're good to finish'em off, yeah?" Can't be too careful these days, FO patrols increased as they are. Even if you're an undead, salted war bitch. Planting both palms on the table, she rolls them into tightly muscled fists and pushes to her feet. Slowly. Arthritis? Maybe. She makes a little show of twisting her back into looser submission, then saunters on toward the bar, except happens to pause at Onasi's table, almost shoulder-to-shoulder, and casts a stern look down her nose at him.
"You got somethin' to say?"
Speaking of guys that could stop Triz and Amber in their tracks, enters Jax Greystorm. Though he won't in the reasons Rail does or even in the ways that they hint at. Though there he is with Sesti and he makes his way to the bar not acting like he notices the pair in the club. He oders a drink for himself and a drink for Sesti.
Triz smirks "Do I get your berth if you kick it?" She lets that lay there for a time, a shit eating grin on her face "No worries, I got it covered," is said in a more serious tone. The slight whine of her blaster charging up is mostly muffled by the noise of the bar. She does spot Jax and Sesti enter and if they see it or not she gives a wink to the pair. The foot falls from the chair and she angles herself to cover Amber, her blaster cradled in her lap out of sight, hopefully, but pointed in the direction of the man Amber has approached.
Rail Onasi looks up at Amber as she pauses at his table. There's a hint of a smile and he slides the datapad so that she can get a good look at it. And wouldn't you know it; it's the video of her being all gung-ho 'join the Resistance' and what-not. "Inspiring, you know?" he comments, reaching over to collapse the display on the datapad.
Kadi is not a guy and generally doesn't stop anyone in their tracks. Except maybe her husband, but that's a different story. She also is infamously oblivious, so wanders into the bar, probably because she was told to avoid it by someone or other. That's about all it would take really. Course she does bring her coterie of droids, the once daring duo now a fabulous foursome. She heads over to the bar, literally and totally missing everyone she should recognize. "Hey, can I get a Corellian Brandy?"
Grumpy Greystorm's face cracks, crinkling into an unmistakably amused expression as her own image plays back with all its melodramatic flare. There's no sense in denial. That's her!
"Damn right it is. Just thought I'd wander this way to see if you're lookin' to talk or lookin' to dance." It's an either-or sort of statement. One doesn't oft do both in the context she's putting it. Her right hand's moved away from her hip, but feet have slipped into a slightly guarded stance. "You wanna /talk/, might be I find you a seat with my lovely friend, over there," her left shoulder pivots aside just a little, arm extending weakly to indicate Triz.
"You're pretty and all, and I'd be honored, but I've always had two left feet, so dancing's right out of the question," Rail says, monotone as always. There is a hint of jest in his eyes, though. He moves to stand, both hands visible as he attempts to not catch a blaster bolt. "Lead the way," he says, gesturing to the table.
Jax takes a sip of his Corellian Whiskey. He glances to catch sight of 'Grumpy' Greystorm and Rail. Thougn it's fleeting. His eyes watching the room for the moment. Taking in if anyone besides him is paying the Rail and the Resistance folks attention. HIs eyes finding Kadi drinking brandy. He raises his glass to the fellow Wayward.
One thing about Triz is she has good peripheral vision so she doesn't miss Kadi entering, well more like she doesn't miss the troop of droids that follow her. Left hand picks up the whiskey glass, the right still in her lap, fingers curled around her blaster and her eyes on Amber and the man. A cold smile comes when Amber indicates her. "Interesting," she says to herself. Mostly.
"Huh. Well, now that I know you're full of shit, right this way..." Ambrosia rolls one of her shoulders - maybe there really /is/ a crick in it - and takes the lead. She's entrusting Triz to watch her backside, evidently, since it gets shown to the left-footed gentleman for the seven steps required to journey the distance. Her head turns a few degrees to the right as she goes, catching Jax's passing glance within her own for the tiny slivers of a second. Far as mother-son interactions go between the two, it's fairly standard.
On step number five, though, she stops, turns around, and points to something behind Rail. "Actually, you're gonna wanna bring your own chair." Lips purse into a poorly apologetic line, then she resumes her steps and reclaims her original seat. And space for her boot. "This young man," she explains to Triz," has seen our Ad. Evidently it still circulates, or he's saved it."
Sesti settles her back against the bar alongside Jax, tilting her head flirtatiously towards Jax as she sips her own Corellian whiskey, because Jax would make sure she has a whiskey, too, of course. Although she gives him a smile, her words are a little less sexy. "So, how much trouble do you think your mother is stirring up, now?"
"That's fair," Rail says, following behind Ambrosia. He does take a few moments to stop by another table and amicably request the usage of one of their non-broken chairs. Succeeding in this, he finally arrives at Amber and Triz's. "Didn't save it. Just knew where to look for it. I watched it a lot when it first aired, to be honest."
Jax Greystorm looks at Sesti with a frown, his voice low. "Possibly more than she knows. Hopefully I can catch her in between what ever." He takes a drink of his whiskey, "I don't see anyone watching her at the moment though. That's good." He looks at Sesti, "Did you know?"
"Is that thing still out there?" Triz asks with a shake of her head about the ad. But when the guy admits to watching it "Slow night on the holovision was it?" When it strikes her that he watched it a lot "Why Amber, you are a celeb." She looks at the man "I can get you her autograph, reasonably priced, of course." She still keeps her right hand in her lap with the blaster. Slightly turning back to the table as the pair get closer.
Kadi nods to Jax, gets her brandy and has a nice drink. "Thanks," she tells the bartender, paying for her drink. She is at the bar, the droids with her, and she's just noticed Jax and Sesti, due mostly to Jax nodding her way. "Hey, Jax," she says. "And - Sesti. I didn't know you two were here." The others - Kadi is still Ms. Oblivious.
"That's cute," Ambrosia smirks at Triz and settles back into her slouch. "Tell me, which 'me' you like best in those ads. This me," she picks up the beer and 'toasts' to Rail in similar fashion to the ad, "Or dead me?" Reference of course to the fleeting half second image - one of many chaotic footage pieces - of Sesti/Jax's gruesome resuscitation efforts on her corpse during the 'beware Kylo Ren' smear ad. "And by 'like best', I mean which put the feels in ya more? PR folks'll love some feeback."
Triz and Amber have taken up occupation at a 3-seater table, claiming the third seat with their feet, and Rail has pulled up a chair alongside, between the ladies.
"Know if your mother was here? How would I know? She is wherever she kriffin well wants to be at any given time," Sesti's smile remains in place, despite the dryness of her tone. She takes a sip from her whiskey, and leans in closer to him to whisper in his ear, and give him a wink. Then she looks over his shoulder towards Kadi. "Hello, Kadi. Your entourage has doubled."
Speaking of entourage, it was only a matter of time before Ax found his wife. It was almost as if he could simply sense where she was. The Echani meanders into the bar, looking about. Some of the Waywards had talked about this place, but this was his first time coming here. Silver-grey eyes scan the room, and they settle upon the gaggle of droids and his wife. With a grin, he makes his approach, giving a nod towards those that he knows.
"No. It was something this moon needed at the time," Rail answers deadpan to Triz. "I don't know either of your stories, but I was born and raised here. And watching the people of this moon get the life get kicked out of them for nearly thirty years can kinda wear on you. But when that ad started circulating, when we could see that there was someone out there who cared about us...I don't know if y'all witnessed yourselves, but it was almost like everyone here took a breath at the same time."
"Kadi. Hey there's Ax." He turns to the bartender and orders a trio of drinks, Corellian Ales. He walks over to the table with Triz, Amber, Rail. He sits the drinks on the table, "From the Zabrak at the bar. She's a fan." In with the trio of bottles in a data chip that just happens to be sit down next to Amber's drink. The Corellian turning and walking off towards the bar again.
Kadi grins at Jax, as he mentions her husband, and turns to see him approaching. "Hey, Ax," she says. By now she's getting used to him showing up where she is. Like he's got a tracker on her or something. "I didn't think you'd miss me that quickly," she teases. Then she takes another sip of her drink and tries to change the subject. "Sesti and Jax, I am surprised to run into you two here. It's nice though - feels like no matter where I go, I run into Waywards."
From the bar, when Jax sets down the trio of ales, Sesti wiggles her fingers towards Amber, giving her a fawning smile of adoration that she knows will make Amber throw up in her mouth. That accomplished, she turns around and rests her elbows on the bar, looking where Jax indicated Ax had entered.
"Huh," is Triz's reply right before she sips her whiskey. "Lot of good that did," she says with a touch of sarcasm in her tone. "The struggle still goes on, just a few of the names have changed. Actually a lot of the names have changed." A cut of her eyes as she sees Ax head to the bar where Jax, Sesti and Kadi are and the gaggle of droids. "So this is why you were staring at Amber then?" She asks as she turns her attention back to the man. Brows rise as Jax makes his way to the table and leaves the data chip before returning.
"Hey babe," Ax says with a grin, leaning in to give Kadi a gentle kiss on the cheek. He then looks over towards Jax and Sesti, giving them both a nod. "Hey Greystorms," then a look is given to the table where Amber, Triz, and Rail were. He gives a wave that way, but just looks back towards the bar. "So, what's good here? Anything top shelf, or is this just another dive like the rest of the bars on this moon, selling swill as top shelf, or watering down the top shelf stuff to the point where it's too weak to taste?"
"/See?/" Greystorm Sr thumps a palm in emphasis down atop the table while the other hand points a meaningful finger at Triz, almost booping her nose in the closeness. The thumped palm slides back into her lap, leaving the new drink untouched, since she's still got a ways to go on hers, then goes up to scratch at the hollow of her throat and dip a finger under her shirt's neckline. Meanwhile, the thin pool of condensation radiating outward from the fresh glass fails to touch that which is not there. The data chip. Is gone.
"STORY of my life." An unappreciative head tilt aims a squint-eyed pseudo-glare at Sesti across the way in punctuation of her point. DOES she vomit in her mouth a little? Maybe, if there weren't a decent cause for that whole charade. Ax's wave gets noticed but goes unreplied, for now. Amber settles a sideways look back onto their guest, instead. "Breathing's good. Guess you also sighed a little sigh of relief when we rescued that stalled transport full of FO junior recruits that they swiped from the moon. Bunch of orphans or cast-offs, mostly. You wouldn't believe how many parents didn't want them back." *Sip* "Or maybe you would. So. Injustices like that piss you off enough to make you wanna do somethin' 'bout it?"
Rail Onasi takes a sip from his gin and tonic and nods to Amber. "I'd believe it. It's easier for a lot of people here to just pawn them off on somebody else, as awful as it sounds." He sets his glass down and wipes his hand off on his pants. To Amber's second question, Rail offers a simple, determined nod.
A dip of her head, respectfully, to Ax is Triz's answer to his wave before she turns back to Amber and the guy. "By the way, what is your name?" She asks fairly forwardly. Triz smirks as Amber's palm slams the table. A shrug "Yes, yes, you were right. Again." A quick recall of that mission that Amber brings up "I wonder what happened to them. There was that one girl, the leader, all of her misconceptions of the FO dashed." And for once Triz actually sounds hurt by it all. When Amber asks her question she looks directly into the guy's eyes, studying them. Looking for something.
Kadi tilts her cheek for that kiss, and then she shrugs. "Bit of both, I think. There is good stuff, here." She offers her brandy for a taste test if Ax is so inclined. "But I think you have to ask for it." She only notices Ambrosia and Triz as she follows where Jax went. She dips her head only briefly, but otherwise ignores them. They're busy. That's about all she needs to know, right? Yup, and Amber should be pleased at that. She doesn't even ask!
Ax smiles and nods to his wife. "Alright, we'll see. You can keep the brandy though, I think I'm gonna see what they consider their finest Corellian whiskey." He motions for a bartender and places his order, showing a wad of credits at the same time to signify that he's wanting their best, not their best for a budget drink. While he waits, he looks over towards Sesti and Jax. "Guessing that over there is business, huh?" he asks, nodding his head towards Amber, Triz, and Rail. "Meaning, I shouldn't go over and say hello and should just sit here and enjoy my drink before I head out for that long flight tonight."
Jax makes it back to the bar and reclaims his glass of whiskey eyeing it to make sure Sesti didn't guzzle it while he was away. He doesn't comment either way and takes a drink. "Ax, so how do you track of Kadi like that? Do you have a tracker on her or is it one of the droids?" He says not looking back towards the table. His tone jovial, "And it's good to have Garr back."
Jax Greystorm shrugs, "I don't know. I'm not invited is all I can tell you, Ax."
Sesti smirks as her ploy seems to have some measure of success. "Don't get any ideas," she tells Jax when he asks Ax how he keeps track of Kadi. Then she nods to her husband. "It is. Has he said where he was hiding out?"
The old rebel continues to fidget in her seat for a second, plucking at her shirt with a little fanning motion. "Always friggin hot in this joint. All these...damn ugly lights," a vague motion gets cast about to the neon flashes everywhere. "Gann's sense of decorating hit the flusher, on this one." Meanwhile, the other hand is fishing her datapad out of inner coat pocket under the rim of table. Fingers catch what slides out of her shirt between thighs and she plugs it in for a quick few glances to the screen, before passing it under table to Triz.
The remainder of her first ale goes down the hatch, then a portion of whatever stronger stuff Jax dropped for them. All good humor's faded from Ambrosia’s mask, leaving in its place the darkening glare of a pissed off woman. "So, name, yeah. And how is it you're earning your bread these days? You got wings? Or maybe you got eyes and ears in all the right places. Or wrong ones..." One brow raises.
"It is good to have Gar back," Ax says with a smile. "As for how I find my wife when I want to, It's simple. It's not an electronic tracking device though. She'd find that too easy to thwart." He gives Kadi a quick wink and a smile. "Same way I found her when she crashed on that swamp planet a while back. Since that moment, it's been a lot easier to locate her via the same methods I used then. Deduction, reason, and logic."
"Rail," the Nar Shaddaan says, offering a hand across to Triz. "Rail Onasi," he elaborates. His attention turns back to Amber and he says, "I'm a pilot, yeah. Did fighter patrols for a few years with NSec, but I've been freelance for a while, now."
Kadi blinks at Jax, and laughs. "I check that, you know. Randomly. And frequently." Ahem. So Ax is a fair bit trickier than one might think. The tracker is more likely in the armor Kadi wears, if there is one. She grins at Ax's comment, chuckling softly. "If that led you here to find me, I think maybe you should get your logic, deduction and reasoning skills checked, even if it did get you to the right place."
Jax Greystorm looks at drink in his hand and then back at Ax and Kadi. Then he glances back to Sesti. THen he takes a drink of his scotch. "So is that what I look like when I do that? Stick my foot in my mouth?"
Triz lets her blaster lay in her lap as she feels the datapad being passed to her. She looks down as she takes it, reads the screen, then passes it back. She looks around the place and misses the hand being offered at first. "Oh," she says as she finally notices it and gives it a shake "Triz, a pilot as well." Looking at Amber she nods "He was probably drunk and on stims by the look of it. It's why I like the Blue what ever it's called better. Besides, I know the bar keep there and he keeps a good supply of Corellian whiskey there. Good stuff I might add." Back to Rail "NSec huh? I did some merc work a few years back myself. But I was CDF before that."
"Mostly, it was deduction, I tried other places first. I mean, it's not like a petite redhead with an army of droids following her doesn't leave people talking," Ax says with a grin. "Just gotta ask the right people," he adds, using finger quotes on the next part. "Hey, have you seen a hot redhead human lady, grease stains on her hands, maybe on her cheek, walking around with an entourage of droids?" Ax grins. "People remember that, you know. All I gotta do is narrow it down to the right district, and that's usually pretty simple." Ax's glass arrives and he looks at it with untrusting eyes. "That's not amber, that's yellow," he says to the bartender. "You should check with your supplier. Corellian whiskey is amber in color, always. Yellow usually means a knock-off."
"You are more adorable," Sesti tells Jax, giving him a grin as she takes a sip from her whiskey. "Although, I may be biased." She turns back again, leaning her elbows on the bar, her shoulder pressing lightly against Jax's.
"Yeah, I like to pop in there now and again, give Ashkuri a migraine or three." Amber continues to nurse the Corellian Ale. "What kind of freelance," she aims lowly at Rail. "You got a steady employer?"
Kadi laughs softly. "Sesti, you are totally biased," she says. "Though Jax is pretty adorable, I think Ax is more so, personally." Then she grins at Ax. "Okay, I'll accept that," she says with a nod. Seems Ax did not put his foot in it too badly. this time. "At least I will if you buy me a drink and dinner." Which he was probably doing anyway, but never mind. The conversation between Ax and the server - she leaves that to him. He's the connoisseur after all.
"I'm with the Ebon Guard right now, but it's...y'know," Rail says, offering a shrug and picking up his glass. He eyes his chronometer and breathes a sigh. "I actually need to be going. Here," he says, pulling a card from the inside of his jacket and sliding it towards the center of the table, for either Triz or Amber to take. "I'd like to continue this conversation at a later date, if that's cool with you." He offers a half-smile and stands up, taking the time to light a cigarette before he heads toward the door.
Triz sits back, her eyes still wandering over the place as she gets a bit lost in thought. It's easy to tell as she bites the bottom of her lip. then with a shake of her head as she returns to the here and now "Sorry, mind wondered off there. What kind of ships?" She asks Rail.
Jax takes a sip of his glass. "Alright that's why it tasted like something from Ryloth." He says in agreement with Ax. "I guess I need to raid your good shelf to remember what the real stuff taste like. I'd been drinking 'Yellow' too much." He looks back to Sesti. "Yeah, I'm partial to you too." He winks. "So where's this trip taking you Ax?"
"Ebon Guard..." Ambrosia muses, offering Rail an ambiguous upnod as he lights his cig. "That's the newest little sprout of a Manadlorian...pod. Tribe? Clan? The hell do they call themselves?" Besides the 'Ebon Guard', anyway. "Whatever." She stuffs the card into a pocket. "Might be it's 'cool' with me." A small wink gets offered to Rail before he turns away, then she sobers up and settles a more pensive look squarely at Triz.
...in a trash heap of a back alley somewhere...
"Behind the old Sabacc'n'Smokes under the whore house on Cresh st," Ambrosia relays aside to Triz as she leans against a scummy wall in the alleyway of that precise location. Overhead, a broken neon light casts spastic shapes on the ground. It hangs by a near-shredded conduit dangling out a broken window from an unused room high above. The cat house. Seems some client got a little overzealous. "20:00 hrs, standard. S'all I told'im." She takes a sip of something from her jacket, then slips it away again. A thin wail of music filters out that broken window, supplying their rendezvous point with a little soundtrack.
Nodding but not leaning against the wall. Who knows what is growing there. "Now I see why this place is not on my sight seeing list," Triz says a bit sarcastic as she looks up to the broken window. "I guess," cutting her eyes to Amber "you ground types get used to these kind of places. Huh?"
"This the kinda place you folks hang around?" Rail asks, walking up to the two of them from the spot he was hanging out at across the street. Sporting his red leather jacket that matches perfectly with the red Corellian bloodstripes running down his pants. "If so, I might have to reconsider this whole thing." It's a joke, of course, as evidenced by the half grin that his lips peel into.
A wry half smile twists the old broad's frown upside down. "What you tryin' to say there, Dermout? Not /all/ of us need to spend cred on a good lay." Letting that image burn it's way through Triz's brain for a moment, she unpockets something else and ignites a stump of a nik stik. The warming glow pulses a red flush of light up the length of her face as she takes a deep draw, then exhales back into shadow. "Just getting hard to find a more decent hub, ya know? Order's patrols growing restless, 'round here. While Eebua's no longer a problem, there's a new player in town and word on the street is, this slug's gonna be a bigger pain in the ass."
A wisp of smoke trails out the LC's nose as she shifts her weight off the wall and gestures with the smoldering stik at the approaching figure. "S'matter, stripey? Your nose too clean fer your own moon?" Ambrosia's voice has dropped into a low slur again. She can't claim Corellian drawl, so much as nerve damage for the lazy tongue tonight. A mostly steady hand lifts to take another drag before she stomps it underfoot.
With a laugh "I will not be paying one way or the other, Amber." Then quickly adding "Not that I am actually looking either." A sigh and a nod "That they are and scant intel on their movements. Either our informants are getting lax or the FO is getting tricky. Wish I knew what was what." She dusts her hands off on one another "What is with the slugs getting all cozy with them anyway? Not like the FO gives a wit about them when all is said and done." When the man approaches Triz eyes the red stripes for a moment. Then his face, the pause longer than normal. Then a nod "That be up to you, sir." She says about the reconsidering remark.
"My mother raised me not to hang around places like this," Rail says with a grin, extending a hand to Amber and Triz, "Good to see you two again. Sorry about last night. Had some business to take care of." He looks between the two of them and asks, "I trust that you've both been well?"
"Well, like I tell all my 'kids', I ain't your mother." Amber shakes his offered hand for a firm two pumps. "You weren't under contract to share a drink, so no sweat. Didn't get quite enough of your company last night to know yet if I'm glad you made it back for round two." Oh, but the niceties! "We're fine." Right, Triz?
Triz once again eyes the pants that Rail wears. "Doing well, actually." Her eyes narrow slightly "So when did you serve in the Corellian military, what being from Nar and all. Not many were accepted in my home world's service. You know, an honor thing." Yes, so tactful is Triz.
Rail Onasi looks down at his pants and sucks his teeth before looking back to Triz, "Corellian, huh? Happens every time." He slides his hands into his pockets and he explains, "They belonged to a friend of mine. Died a few years back. Left 'em to me. I thought it was weird to leave behind...pants, y'know, but...well, I looked into them and now I wear them in his honor. It's gotten me punched a few times, but well, you know." He stands up straighter and says, "Go ahead and take your shot, if need be."
"Triz isn't fine," Amber corrects her earlier statement under breath and pockets her hands to lean a shoulder against that greasy wall again. She, too, eyes Rail's trousers, but if her own sentiments are riled, it doesn't show. She might've birthed some 'Corellians' sired by a Corellian, but that doesn't make /her/ Corellian. It's not an STD...being Corellian. Even if some view the stereotype as deplorable.
"That /is/ weird," she agrees about the bequeathment of pants. "Take it you don't go near the Core much then, huh?"
Triz's eyes narrow even more "You do know that a Corellian can kill anyone wearing Bloodstripes falsely without repercussion, be they Corellian or not." Her hand rests on her blaster "Might I suggest that you put those pants away somewhere safe as a true way to honor your departed friend." Amber's comment confuses her at first but the Corellian in her has been riled up. All she can seem to focus on is those pants. Turning to Amber "It is an honor thing. Deeply ingrained to all Corellian's. Most red Bloodstripes are awarded posthumously. Only very rarely are they given to someone still living."
"I'll think about it," Rail offers to Triz, his arms crossing over his chest. "I'd take your hand off of that blaster, though, Miss Dermout. It's not a good look." His attention turns to the more level-headed of the women and he asks, "So, about what we were talking about last night. I want to...help, as it were."
LC Greystorm uplifts both hands, palms warding off any hasty actions from either party. It's worrisome when /she/ is perceived as the most level-headed, isn't it? "So he's got shitty style sense, let's not...here." One hand moves slowly back into her jacket to pull out the flask, which gets extended to Triz. She clears her throat. "Help. You want to help? He wants to help," the flask wags at her once.
"Tell me 'bout your time in NSec, Stripey." Oh yes. Another unimaginative nickname coined. Hat. Stripey. What'll she come up with next? "Why'd you ditch?"
Triz does not remove her hand from the blaster "Nor is wearing Corellian Bloodstripes that were not awarded a good look. Sir. Also it's not Miss. It's Lieutenant and I, sir, am the air wing lead officer." She turns to Amber shaking her head. "Not getting off to a good start is he?" As Amber asks the questions she turns back to Rail.
"They weren't handling the problem," Rail begins, looking over to Amber. "They were either ignoring it completely out of incompetence, or being paid to ignore it completely." He looks to Triz and says, "Listen, Lieutenant; I told you to take your shot. I didn't tell you to stand here in the street and insult me. Now either shoot me or let it slide."
"HEY." Now Ambro's found her big girl voice again, and steps off the wall. "Look, I'm as irreverent as they come, so forgive me for not being as prickly about the pants, Lt, but you keep raising your spines to this here recruit and we got a problem, clear?" Then the finger gets turned on said recruit and her eyes narrow. "The lady's made her point. Let's just accept the warning for the enlightening value it holds and agree that when in mixed company in the future, may be wise to trot about in something else. Get used to being insulted, if you think you've got the rocks to join this fight against those bastard sons and daughters of the Empire. You'll be fresh meat with plenty of old salts with low tolerance shadowing over your ass. Clear? Y'all wanna ring each other's bell, you do it on your own time. Right now all I wanna hear is what this guy thinks he'd bring to the table, before somethin else gets tossed out that window up there and we all wake up with a rash."
Triz stares at the man for a long time. Then with a shake of her head "No." Then turns to Amber "I think it is time for me to depart but I do not want him in my squadron if he can not see the insult he pays me as well as all of Corellia and Corellians." She nods to Amber "I shall leave this to you, Colonel. But it best that I leave." Another shake of her head Triz makes her way from the area. Head held high as she does.
"Yes ma'am," Rail answers to Amber, dipping his head in acknowledgement before casting another glance to Triz. He furrows his brow as Triz storms off. "Normally, Corellians are honored that I'm keeping the memory of my mentor and friend alive, but I guess you can't please everyone," Rail says, sighing and leaning back against the wall. His blue eyes turn back to Amber and he says, "As far as what I'd bring to the table, aside from the apparent infighting; I'm a solid fighter pilot and I can hold my own groundside. Obviously, given the choice, I'd like to keep things low-impact; maybe something in intelligence, but...I suppose that's not up to my discretion. I'm just a recruit, after all."
"Fine," Is the growly response Lt Dermout gets from the ground pounder, and Ambro doesn't move to stand in her way. Doesn't apologize for her either, simply turns and resumes the line of discussion like there wasn't almost a brawl in this back alley. "We'd put you through some drills, ferret out your strengths and weaknesses, fix what's broke..." Greystorm tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly. "You grew up on this moon, so ought to have some street sense, I'll give ya that, but what makes you think you're cut out for intelligence operations? You ever spent much time OFF this moon, mingling in other circles? Or you just know your way around a computer? Wiz kid or some such," there's a low chuckle in her throat and she finally puts her flask away since Triz has opted to depart rather than take a hit of the good stuff and soothe hurt nerves.
"Not a whiz kid by any stretch of the imagination, no," he says with a half chuckle. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offers one to Amber before he lights one up himself. Nothing suspicious here, folks. Just a young man conversing with an aged, muscular prostitute. Carry on. He takes a long drag and looks down the street, "And I've only ever been off-world a handful of times. But I'm willing to learn. Just put me wherever you need me, honestly." He ashes his cigarette.
"Mm." It's too ambiguous a grunt to mean anything, but Amber accepts the offer of cig anyway and steps closer to light it off his. Nothing suspicious at all. "Well, it's good to be flexible. I like my troops cross-trained enough to fire a turret and Dameron likes his cross-trained enough to survive a night on the 'other side'. So, Stripey..." she puffs the new light into life, then restores personal space to its previous boundary. A light cough aside shakes some crud from her lungs and adds to the dna collection underfoot. "You've had eyes and ears on this shithole - your home - lot longer than the rest of us. What sense YOU make of the growing relationship between First Order and Hutt regime...s? Any juicy secrets up in that head of yours?"
"Juicy secrets? I'm sure you know better than most how tight-lipped those stormtroopers are, Miss Amber," he says, taking a drag from his cigarette. "But I think it's a lot of posturing, honestly. First Order aren't the most inclusive, as it were. No reason for them to work with the Hutts other than to make their presence in the Galaxy known, you know? Test the waters."
"It's Greystorm," Amber corrects without too ruffled a feather. Not like she wears any patches these days. "Lieutenant Colonel, if your balls are mine to break." She keeps the cigarette held between teeth. "Haven't been a 'Miss' in forty years." A tiny smirk wrinkles 'round her eyes a little more deeply. "Or feels that way. Married to the fight. Nah, I don't 'spect you'd know much about their inner operations - the First Order - I was thinking more the /local/ scene. Crime orgs and which gang might be in this or that pocket...the social network. We've picked up bits and pieces of which mouths might be singing to whose ears, but nothing like a local to set the record straight. In fact...intriguing bit of intelligence came to me last night. How well you think you know your newest employers...the Ebon Guard. Mandalorians, yeah?"
"Greystorm," he repeats, doing his best to remember it. He takes another long drag from his cigarette and nods to her, "Yeah, I've picked up a little bit of the goings on. Hard not to when you're looking for work out here." He looks over to her and says, "I don't know that much about them, no. They kinda keep me at an arm's length, not being a Mando myself."
"Mm. Well, seems the Order might be looking to recruit some Mandalorian-grade warriors on this moon." Ambrosia shrugs a shoulder. "So, Onasi, let's say you were to disappear tomorrow - there any family or friends who might come inquiring as to your whereabouts? Anyone less enamored with our cause than yourself?"
"Probably. Probably black, that is. Hides the stains better." Greystorm Sr takes a final suck on the cig, then grinds it under her toe. No need to illuminate what they're standing in, now. "But there will definitely be a 'bag'. Once we bring you inside, that's it. You don't breathe a word of sensitive information to anyone outside our hive. You don't bring anyone home to base with you, either, or our security puts a hole in their head so big you could take an AT-AT on a stroll through it. Resistance business takes priority over personal agendas and booty calls and familial woes. Once enlisted, your ass doesn't /leave/ home without superior say-so and/or official orders. You think you can abide by those terms?"
"Understood. And I can," Rail says, nodding to the woman. "And are you going to be providing new pants or do I need to pick up a pair myself in order to avoid some sort of Corellian honor killing?"
The question raises an outright laugh from the LC. "I imagine we could rustle something up for you, but no guarantees on the fit. Might be better if you nabbed a second pair of pants. You DO have other clothes...?"
"Probably somewhere. I'm a simple man, is what I'm saying," Rail offers with a grin, flicking his cigarette out into the street. Straightening out his coat, he looks back to Amber and says, "Well, I guess I should go buy a new pair of pants, huh?"
"Maybe two pair," Amber advises and resumes her lean against the wall of shame like she's no intention of bugging out anywhere fast. "Shit gets downright scary sometimes, ya know?" A little wink goes his way and she adds around a sigh. "Meet me on Harloff St, Gearhead district, 0-400. It'll be early yet for most patrols to be up and about. Gives us a better window to get you in, under cover, for a little orientation."
"I'll be there," Rail says, standing up straight and offering a hand to the woman. "Thank you for this opportunity, Colonel Greystorm. Your confidence means a lot to me."
"Prove it," is all Amber says, scarcely taking his hand in hers before waving him off.