Recent content by Drorre Vesajiliac

Dance off? Or a more traditional - Nominate a champion, winner claims the title of Lorda!

Moving his way into the observation box with his fellow Hutt, Nor'baal chuckled to himself, musing at the forming alliance between himself and his fellow. Since the Exchange skirmish had kicked off, the two Hutts had grown closer, his associates nightclubs and 'shipping' growing with each day...

Gambling? Would that make everything in life considerably better? Yes! the strangely lithe young Hutt decides to himself as he slapped down ¥50,000.00 on a game of Binspo, a form of gambling favored in the outer rim. The younger Nor'baal likes to consider himself something of an artists at it...

<Ho Ho Ho!> came the deep boom of the Hutt, Nor'baal the Younger (otherwise known as Drorre) over the speakers in the Club. The deep resounding boom of his malicious laugh all that was needed to confirm that it was in fact him. He said nothing else, simply wiring instructions to the gang on his...

He could have sworn he recognized the mercinary, Jett something, a friend or work associate of his belated father, Nor'baal the Elder. Of course Drorre made use of his father curvias now, referring to himself as Nor'baal 'The Younger' as was the tradition of his people*. Waving to his...

I will eat your Character.

In deference to the Supreme Chancellor, Drorre remained silent as he spoke (for normally Hutts would be more than willing to interject into a Non-Hutts speech). He had to admit to being somewhat surprised when the man mentioned Voren Makr, an old associate of his belated fathers, and thus...

OOC - Sorry for my taking so long to reply to this! Noting the Chancellors acceptance of his cultural lack of dimorphism, the Hutt listened to his democratically elected compatriot make the usual small talk required before a discussion could commence. It was a facet of both their cultures...

Waving forwards his prize possession, a second-hand Droid which would serve as his announcer, the Hutt smiled. Tapping into the room, and bowing before the Hutt, and then to the Chancellor (whom the Hutt was frantically trying to identify using his data-pad), the droid began a long winded...

But not with the sheer volume of baby oil we use.

It had been nearly a week since the odd man from the RSS had contacted him, pressing a pardon for his smuggling crimes on Coruscant into his podgy hands (dependent on his compliance naturally) and demanding he call an encrypted, unrecordble and untraceable number at a certain time. All-in-all...

The alarms had been removed a while ago, after-all panic buttons tending to somewhat ruin the feel of the 'Crazy Party' on board. As such, desperately heaving open a door whilst a man who insisted on saying he was ''DJ Gruupa!'' over and over again on the in-ship music system, was really rather...

''And in the green corner, the man, the mith, the hermaprodite, GRRRRRRRAPPPPPAAA!'' bellowed the announcer as the obese Hutt wobbled around, waving his hands as if demanding that the crowd shout louder. ''And in the red corner! The Slime-Ball himself! JABBBAAAA!'' Came the somewhat hoarse cry...

I will body slam you.

Straight to the negotiation, the Hutt noted mentally, trying to scrape together a value in his head as to what to remunerate for this new guard. He was in need of some muscle, his personally physical prowess being somewhat inhibited by his species, but at the same time he didn't want to overpay...