Log:What Happens on Tatooine
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What Happens on Tatooine | |
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GMed By |
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Orgs |
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Date |
Monday 28/May/2018 |
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IC Date |
Atunda 6/Helona/1158 |
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Location |
Mos Eisley Cantina - Mos Eisley Spaceport, Tatooine |
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Appearing |
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What happens on Tattoine can, if they're very careful and very lucky, accomplish something vital. Of course, there's also drinking and fashion discussions and some swaggering.
A wretched Hive of scum and villainy.
The Mos Eisley Cantina is laden with shady characters at all hours of the day and night. A seemingly never-ending swarm of creatures from the every day to the amazing are arriving and leaving the cantina at all hours. The sounds of music resonate throughout the bar and the thick stench of alcohol permeates the air.
Directly to the front of the bar stands a large stage, which proves to be the source of the booming music. A large circular bar is the centerpiece of the cantina; swarmed with inebriated creatures on every side, busy bar keeps run from patron to patron serving all manor of beverage. Filling the remainder of the room are groupings of tables, almost always filled to capacity with smugglers, cutthroats, thieves, thugs and the lot. If there's trouble to be had, the Cantina is usually the first place to look for it.
Seated at the far end of the bar away from the door, but facing it - and the room in general - is a pair of human customers who don't blend in any better, or worse, than anyone else in this particular den of sum and villainy. Holding a bottle in one hand, no doubt a alcoholic beverage of some kind, and toying with low marked credit chit with the other, Maeve is studying the room with a look of curiosity edged with a general air of cynical amusement.
The other one is David Ironside, apparently looking to become a regular in this fine (not fine at all) establishment. But he's really not. The man is constantly wiping sweat off his forehead, even in the relative cool of the indoors. He's sitting with Maeve at the bar, similar bottle on it in front of him to the one Maeve's playing with. "So.. ever been here before, Maeve?" David says to her quietly. "I have. It went -great-." His tone indicates it went less than ideally, though.
"Once or twice," Maeve confirms in a low voice, "some of my clients favor the.." and there's another of those cynically amused looks aimed around the bar, ".. atmosphere." She angles the bottle she's holding and taps it lightly against the bottle that Dave is nursing, "Don't ask, don't tell, don't question, what I don't need to know, I absolutely don't want to know. That's the rule of thumb with my practice," she explains in that same low voice even as the door opens again to disgorge some already overly inebriated patrons and allow another human to swagger in. By the time the mop haired bearded inhabitant of the bomber jacket joins where they are seated, there's a half-curve of a grin on her face. "Nice jacket," she remarks with a thorough glance that takes in the numerous zippers and buttons, the furry collar, shoulder straps and the variety of locations where any number of sins, aka weapons, could be concealed. "Drink?" she asks, holding aloft her own slightly by invitation before she calls for another round.
Dave turns when Zhu Yan approaches, hearing him before seeing him. "..Why are you wearing that here?" he asks, immediately. Then he follows with "How's the ship doing?" And finally, including Maeve into the conversation, he offers, "Maybe we should find a booth?" Turning back to Yan, he makes an introduction without even being sure it's necessary. "This is Maeve, she's the brains of this operation. I'm just here to be her arm candy. Used to be her pilot too, but then she learned how to fly and took my job away." He gives Maeve a quick wink, turning back to his drink.
"Because it's comfy, that's why." Yeah, definitely a hot planet boy, this one. Zhu Yan waved over a droid and ordered himself the cheapest whiskey they had. He either had an empty wallet, bad taste, or both. Probably both. "Zhu Yan," introduced Zhu Yan. Probably an alias. He didn't look like someone with a weird name like that. "Yan's the first name. Zhu's the family name. Before you're confused." CLARIFICATIOOOON. "Could well find a booth. This the kinda talk we need to have in private?"
Maeve Zavir murmurs to the droid and buys a much better bottle of whiskey to be delivered to the table, only saying - as the droid ambles away - "I like some of my taste buds to still be attached to my tongue by the time I'm done drinking," - by way of explanation. Dave's remarks make her grin and tip her head subtly at him, "You're still the one who explains how stuff works when I'm in the middle of a piloting snafu," before she shifts her focus to Zhu Yan and inclines her head, along with a smile, at Yan, "I'm Maeve Zavir, but you can call me Maeve if you'd like, I also respond to 'Doc' 'yo medic' and various cries for help." The droid ambles back with both bottles, a trio of not quite grubby looking glasses, all of which are set on the table as Mae angles her datapad slightly and clears the bar tab before doing anything else. "Less public, fewer listening ears, and no one trying to mug for our booze, all are good ideas."
"Glad that's settled then. I still have good ideas." David verbally pats himself on the back before physically hopping off his bar stool, scanning the booths for one that's free. "Over there." he points to the furthest one from the entrance. The proverbial "Han Shot First" booth. When the drinks come, Dave carries all three to said booth and slides in on the end with the wall. Finally, he reaches over to pull one of the bottles to himself.
Up stood Zhu Yan, moving over towards the booth with the blaster hole in the back wall, and took his glass of tastebud-destroyer before sitting his beautiful butt down. "Alright, so," he said, leaning forward and being quieter than his normal lack of indoor voice. "Scuttlebutt has it that you need a pilot for a job. Here I am. What's the deal?"
Taking the empty seat at the end of the booth, angling subtly still so that she can keep an eye on the room while finishing the last of the booze in the bottle she's holding, Mae is silent for a moment as everyone takes their respective seats. Comfort being somewhat relative. "To the point then," she agrees in a quiet voice of her own. "I need a pilot and crew, of a non-descript ship, whose time and discretion can be assured for an agreed upon value before, during and afterward. Who can get to Mon Cal, and back, intact."
David sits quietly, watching Yan while Maeve lays out her plan, nodding along when appropriate and drinking his booze otherwise. He rids himself of his jacket, adjusting his holster for comfort. "I can't be the pilot, and it can't be my ship. So, here we are with you." He adds.
Zhu Yan's smile faltered. "Mon Cal," he repeated. He leaned back in the booth, arms folded, closed body language. Enthusiasm was replaced with skepticism and he gave the woman a look that was harder than what seemed possible from the short, jolly man. "Mon Cal is beyond dangerous at the minute. I got to be up close and personal when they poisoned the ocean." He was in the X-Wing skimming the surface scanning the thing for weaknesses. "Normally I don't ask why, and instead I ask how much. Today, I ask, why?"
"Because I'm one of the best physicians that you'll ever meet, and I'm also one of the best damned scientists that the Order doesn't currently control," Mae's words are calmly, bluntly, and absolutely devoid of arrogance as she answers his question. "My knowledge of hostile bacterium, hostile virii and it's application for chemical weapons makes me uniquely qualified to have a shot at determining if it's possible to reverse what the Order has done to Mon Cal. I'm also no slouch at understanding computers and basic engineering. In short? If the Order can do this to a world, there's a way to reverse it. I aim to find out how. I also have a half ton of medical supplies that I have promised to get to the people there who have need of it, and I can't do it alone. My ship," there's a faint tug of a smile that curves her lips, "is a sleek and insanely expensive racing yacht. But she's distinctive. I'd rather not have her shot full of holes before I've put so much as a scratch on her paint job."
David nods in agreement. "I saw your X-Wing, I was in one of the N-1s. Thanks for the help, I'm not sure it's been said actually, but you're a valued ally. At least, I think so." He pauses to drink his beverage. "And yes. What the doctor says is true. She is one of the best, saves us tons on bacta." He nudges Maeve softly with his elbow. "And is somehow able to control Sar Yavok. Which also helps." He strokes his chin, adding, "I fly a YT-1300. We go to Mon Calamari on the wrong day and the Supreme Leader might order it shot down for the hell of it."
"So it's humanitarian aid, then?" Yan's eyes were pointed ceiling-ward as he went through his abormally huge mental database of lies, falsehoods, tall tales, myths, and so forth. Hrmmmmm. "It could work," he mused quietly. "Could work." He was thinking long and hard about this. How would he pull it off? Concentration was written all over his face. "Alright," he said. "Twenty thousand credits, I get you in and out, and I reserve the right to pull the plug the second it goes wampa-shaped."
Mae makes a huff sound that comes out as a laugh and Dave elbows her in the side and earns himself an elbow jab accompanied by a shin-kick under the table. "I do no such thing. Yavok does what Yavok is going to do, I merely anticipate to a certain extent then navigate accordingly," and it doesn't take a particularly keen ear to hear the fondness in her tone of voice. "He's the one who pointed us to you, and it's also why he's not here," she adds, both blunt and diplomatic at the same time. "At it's core, all of this is about preserving as many lives as possible, yes," she confirms with a nod. Her eyes narrow subtly, "Forty thousand, and I reserve the right to a single challenge of the pull the plug ruling."
David grins when he's kicked in the shin. It's fine, he can still limp back to his ship. "If you're worried about things going wrong, you could always let me fly your ship so that way it might not go wrong at all." he adds, only bragging a little bit. "Essentially we're only collecting a sample of water anyway, we could pick up cargo bound for Mon Cal first so we have a legitimate reason for going there. It'll buy us time with the offloading as well." David brainstorms out loud.
"Cargo-bound is a good idea. How do you feel about being disguised?" asked Yan, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers on the table. "Because I bet you ten credits the First Order knows who you are, at least by name." He glanced over at David. "You especially."
Sharing a sidelong look with Dave, "Never bet on a sure thing," Mae advises in a voice that conveys mild amusement before she turns back toward Yan. "Only if I get to foot the bill for the disguises. Few things of low stress entertain me more than a shopping expedition. Especially one that puts Dave on the runway," there's a decidedly gleeful look in her eyes, however briefly before she sobers again. "Him," she tips a nod toward Dave, "I'll absolutely believe. Me? I'd doubt but I'll go along anyway. What's the point of paying for expert advice if I'm not going to take it." She pours out sone whiskey into her glass the tops off Yan's, "Any idea who we could slide the medical supplies to?"
"Take your pick. So many on Mon Cal are dying or about-to-be, you'll have queues forming up. Just pick the people who will pay you the most." Zhu Yan, mercenary. Some things never change. "Forty thousand credits into my bank account, you reserve the right to one," and he raised his index finger to underscore the point, "protestation of my gee-tee-eff-ooo declaration, and I purchase any disguises that may be needed. I will bring along you and any retainer who is unlikely to be shot on sight, or in Sar Yavok's case, smell." He paused. "Sar, Gren, and Amber are instant no's, by the way."
Maeve doesn't even hesitate before nodding. "Deal. And for what its worth, the Trio you just mentioned are not currently in the loop on this. No will they be until we pull this off. Sar pointed me to you for the exact reason that a shoot on sight," a wry glimpse of a smile is shared, "or smell, order is a real thing. So myself, Dave and one or two trusted others. How soon?" Mae wonders as she nudges her whiskey glass with one finger tip. "I can have the money in your account today. 30 today and the other ten upon completion." '
"I'm mildly surprised that Sar would even mention me considering I repossessed his ship out from under him, then sold it," mused Zhu Yan, something resembling a wicked smirk on his face. Maybe he was guilty of taking a little bit too much satisfaction out of getting revenge for unpaid debts. "As soon as it takes to get ready. Come up with a cover identity, and we'll go shopping. You want either unobtrusive-but-not-too-unobtrusive, or so dramatic that people's weirdness filter kicks in. Greasy tech, or Hapan nobility." He was thinking out the plan as he went, judging from the glazed and unfocused expression on his face. "I can use one of my old ones. I'll need to spray-paint the Redline down, change out the IFF, but that's easy. Dave and whoever else needs to know when to stay on the down-low."
Amusement drifts into Mae's expression and tone of voice, "If I'd known about the ship thing I'd have offered to buy it. But I'm not always in the loop," admitted with a shrug. Sar suggested you. A mutual acquaintance agreed, regarding your particular set of skills and abilities. Again, taking the advice that has bern offered by experts." She wrinkles her nose slightly, "Greasy tech? No. Outrageous personality and public persona? That i can swing."
"Good. When coming up with a character, try to use your own background. Makes it easier if you're questioned," Yan said somberly. Maybe the Corellian(?) should take his own advice sometimes. Then again, he'd been deliberately obfuscating his identity for over a decade now. He suddenly broke out into a smile. "And above all else, have fun! The more fun you're having, the more genuine you seem!" God he was insensitive. People were dying, yo!
"Keep the lie as simple and as close to the truth as possible, I know," Mae replies with another of those wry smiles. "I'm no confidence artist, but I'm not a squeaky noob either."
"Stick with me for a couple of days and you'll be selling water to Dagobah swamp runners." There was the typical Zhu Yan ego at play there. It usually entered the room before him like some sort of sentient oppressive force. "So. Besides Dave-oh here," he said, gesturing to the silent pilot, "who else you got in mind?"
"Two others, ground pounder types," Mae answers without naming names. "We'll see. Discretion is paramount. Ability to follow orders without argument for the sake of the job. And zero tree peeing for the duration of the run. It's a tall order. But the right mix can be found," she exhales a breath and eyes Yan. "This thing. Between you and Sar, is it settled or does he still owe you?"
"It's long settled," Yan confirmed with a sharp nod. "It was only ever professional, no matter how heated it got. Someone getting one-up on Yavok is rare, so I just like to brag," he continued, with a grin. "You understand, though, that I'm in this for the payday and not a moral crusade. If there's an order that'll get me killed, you best know I'm not gonna follow it. Only fair to tell you up-front."
"Trust me, it's spikes his wheel still, just a bit," Mae remarks in return with a grin of her own. "Which is healthy. The man needs a needle jabbed into his ego on a regular basis to keep him grounded." She taps the edge of the glass, again, with one fingertip. "I understand that you're a man who's motivated by profit with his own set of internal goals, morals and guiding reasons. Understand that I'm motivated by getting these supplies where they need to go, gleaning any intel that we can in the process, and getting back out - intact - and alive. I'm not interested in heroics, dramatic daring-dos or anything else. In. Out. Done."
"Good. There's enough crusades going on already. Last thing I want to do is be drafted into one." Yan, aren't you known for hanging out with Defiance Barter & Acquisitions? That's a crusade in of itself. Bundle of contradictions. "I'd suggest that you make sure you know who's going to get the supplies before we arrive, as well. We're going to be counting minutes in hostile territory, the shorter time we spend there, the better." "Fair enough," Mae replies as she lifts the glass and downs the contents with a slight grimace after doing so. "I'll have that lined up and a fall back before we lift off," said with a nod. "Disguises and back stories, layered, as needed. How back stopped with the idents need to be?"
"Enough detail to pass basic Imperial screening," answered Yan, lacing his fingers together again, with that glazed-over thoughtful expression on his face. "Ideally you want something that no one will question for fear of reprisal, or something that no one will care about. If your visa says tourism, it's a pretty good way in."
"I'll think up something," there's a speculative look on Mae's face as well. Not quite that glazed-over look but something akin, "something no one will question. Or care to notice about. Something.. irreverent and harmless. Mostly harmless, at that. Aye, I can do that." She casts a sidelong look at Dave, "I'm thinking a spoiled, to wealthy buyer for some tacky merchant house who's goal is to capitalize on what ever can be bought. Flamboyant and ridiculous. Security for said flamboyant idiot would be natural. Or something along those lines," and a look back to Yan. "I'll figure it out. And I'll move that money to your account. Now, as this heat as horrid on my hair, and the sand is no doubt doing atrocious things to my ship, I'd say we're settled here. Agreed?"
"Agreed," agreed Yan. He stuck out his hand to shake. "Honestly, you cold-worlders need to learn to deal with heat better. I was on a tropical planet that was exploding the other day." Matter-of-fact! "It was lovely."
Mae leans forward and sets her hand in his, "My dear, why ever would I want to? I'm unreasonable when the temperature is above a moderate degree. Incoherent when it's ridiculous. Positively murderous when it's insane. Tropical is not my thing. I prefer the rainy, thunderstorm prone, and cold to the tropical clime. Unless there's a steady supply of alcoholic beverages, a gorgeous expanse of sand and ocean and I'm tempting carcinoma by tanning? Then it's not for me," she grips his hand briefly as she says this then slides free of the booth, drawing Dave with her as she stand. "Nice meeting you, Yan and like I said, nice jacket."
"Why thank you, it is indeed a nice jacket." And it was wonderful for catching attention too. Maybe there was method to Zhu Yan's madness after all.
