A Not-So-Simple Resupply

[Ashiruni]

OOC: Darren needs some PC interaction. Any and all are welcome, and the plot will be fairly fluid to reflect that, but I am going to change it over to a closed thread after a few folks join, so get your kicks in while you can with the socially awkward Zeltron!

At this point, my only intention is having something fun to keep me occupied while Lee Ru is caught up in his plot (yeah, I know I could do the fast forward trick, but it is a bit more interesting switching between characters. It also means I don't have to remember a convoluted series of non-linear events :P), but with the variety of folks on this site, it will undoubtedly be that ^.^

IC: Darren was tense. The Cuyir was starting to run low on supplies and the usual channels were being decidedly uncooperative. Which meant stopping at the closest planet and hoping he would manage to buy enough to keep himself blessedly spacebourne for another few months. He hadn't really paid much attention to where they were, he rarely did, he just told the navicomputer to calculate a route to the nearest inhabited system, plugged it in, and went back to work. He trusted his automatic safeties, at least, he trusted them now that Miran had been reasonably well locked out of them. The only time he gave her access to the navicomputer she tried piloting the Cuyir into the Maw to avoid an Imperial patrol. He most certainly wasn't going to let her try that trick again.

He headed back to the cockpit about the time the Navicomputer dropped them out of hyperspace. Normally he would just let Miran take them in and order some parts, but he was a little tired of the same routine and he decided to take manual control. "Come on, Darren. I know you don't want to do this, why can't I handle it? It's so much fun to talk to people!" [COLOR=#33699]"Yup. And if you had your way we'd never leave. The last thing I need is for you to spend enough credits for us to be stuck here for a month trying to earn enough money to buy the supplies I want."[/COLOR] "Oh please. I only did that once and it was months ago! Don't tell me you're going to hold that grudge against me now."

Darren was just about to retort when the communications console beeped. Darren double checked that the circuit between Miran and the comm console was in the open position before he opened the channel. A pleasant female voice came over the comm: "This is Ord Mantell Traffic Control, please file your flight plan." Darren smiled and spoke up: "This is the Gentleman's Folly, we're headed to the capital, Worlport, for resupply." It took a minute before the reply came, "Acknowledged. A flight path is being transmitted now. Welcome to Ord Mantell." Huh.... Darren thought to himself, Ord Mantell... I am definitely happy I am not letting Miran field this one. As if in answer to his comments, Miran spoke up. "Dammit! I knew this would be a fun place! Why won't you let me have any fun, Darren! I'll behave! I promise!" Darren smiled wryly, and knew full well that Miran would detect as much, "Is that like the last promise you made me? What was that, 'I won't slice into that Imperial Star Destroyer, I promise!', or was it 'I know, I promise I won't shoot that custom's corvette as long as you are on board.'?" "But, but.... Fine! Don't let me have any fun! I'll find something else to do instead!"

The rest of the trip down was made in relative peace for the frustrated Zeltron, but he had to admit that Miran's antics made him somewhat less stressed than he had been before. Maybe he would enjoy this trip after all. He arranged for a refueling and restocking of the Cuyir, which would take several hours, so he decided to enjoy himself a little bit. He spotted a Casino short distance away and decided to spend some time there. Some Sabacc would be genuinely entertaining right about then, so he set himself up with a hundred credits in chips at a low-stakes sabacc table and settled in to wait.

 

[Enderjawa]

((OOC-Id join but my character isn't a gambler.

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

Sisk had been waiting on this rock for three days, trying his best to blend in. It was difficult, being out of his armor and trying to act normal. Well, as normal as it came for Ord Mantell. The planet had always had a bad reputation, and Sisk had been forced to defend himself from muggers at least half a dozen times. You would think that challenging a scruffy man standing at almost 2 meters who carried a very obvious blaster pistol would not have crossed the mind of those who preyed on others, but then again Sisk had never found those who stooped to that level to be particularly overburdened with brains. Police forces, or at least what passed for this equivalent in this place didn't much care, a few creds persuading them to turn a blind eye to the trail of bodies he had left in his wake. Perhaps he should have been paid for removing those certain dregs from society. In some ways it could be considered a service to the community.

He stood leaning against the bar in the Desajiliac Casino, a grand name for a run down dump. The carpets were worn, the table edges scuffed, the dealers shady, and the cocktail waitresses left a lot to be desired, but the thing that annoyed him the most was the alcohol prices. 30 creds for a glass of Corellian Whiskey. And it wasn't even the good stuff. His hand clutched a faux-crystal tumbler, two fingers of the amber colored liquid sloshing around the three ice cubes nestled at the bottom. Sisk's large frame was clad in dark blue pants, knee high black boots, and a marron colored shirt. Over it he wore a black leather jacket, the pistol foregone from his leg and tucked securely into a hidden pocket within easy draw distance. Along his belt lay three silver cylinders, each a few inches long and appearing decorative, but capable of being snapped open into a baton with the flick of a wrist.

The reason Sisk had come here was simple. He had been seeking Darren Foster. The notorious Mandalorian Engineer was a difficult man to track down, but reports from this sector had placed him not to far away only a few days ago. And as Sisk had been in the neighborhood, he had decided to swing by and wait to see if Foster showed up. As the planet's only true spaceport lay not a kilometer from here, and the Zeltron being known for enjoying the occasional hand of cards, Sisk had decided to stake out the casino in hopes of catching a glimpse of the weapons designer. And his patience had paid off, the vod coming in and settling in at a Sabacc table and antying up. Sisk took a small drink of the 'whiskey' and started a meandering path closer to the table. After a few minutes he reached it and slid into an empty chair a few spots down.

His hand delved into an inner pocket on the jacket and came up clutching a thousand cred chit. "Chips."

"Breaking one thousand." The dealer called as his hands found the chit and slid it easily into a cashbox, his hands coming back up with a twenty fifty-cred chips in them. He slid them across the table to the Mandalorian and went back to shuffling the cards. "This round is Corellian Gambit, gentlebeings." His hands flashed as they shuffled, and Sisk kept a close eye on them. It was a shuffle meant to stack the deck, and Sisk kept an eye on the cards with slightly bent edges as they moved in pre-determined patterns. They were the only ones in the deck that lined worn, and if he knew anything it was that those cards wouldn't randomize. Someone here had bribed the dealer.

The cards were dealt quickly, and Sisk picked up his hand. +18. Not the best hand, but that could change with the push of a button. First bet was to him. He tossed two chips into the center of the table, his eyes focused on the Devaronian across from him who had received the marked cards.

"One hundred."

 

[Ashiruni]

Darren was concerned. Since his arrival at this table, he'd seen three separate people fold out and walk away. It was a fact of life for him, and was entirely appropriate considering he was wearing an ubese environmental suit. Very few people were ballsy enough to approach an ubese, and though Darren wasn't entirely sure why, it was something he was more than willing to exploit. And then this man, calmly and deliberately, approached the table and bought himself in. This was going to be trouble.

Zeltrons are renowned for their empathic abilities, and what Darren sensed in the newcomer was not the mind of an elated or calculating Sabacc player, but the mind of a victorious hunter who has found his quarry. Of course, if he wanted to find out more, he was going to have to socialize. That is what he came here for, but he hadn't anticipated this particular wrinkle. He looked at his cards, The Idiot and the Commander of Coins. Twelve. It's a fair start. he thought.

The newcomer opened with a very high bet for a low-stakes game. The highest chips on the table were worth fifty credits, and there were only about fifty on the entire table. The devaronian's mind sparked with glee, though outwardly his appearance changed rather little. Two more of their companions left the table, in one case not having enough chips, the other trying to hold on to a rapidly dwindling supply.

"You're betting high. Good hand, perhaps?" Darren addressed the newcomer as while he matched the bet with five, twenty credit chips of his own. Observation held many advantages, but once a baseline was established, one had to poke and prod at a thing to determine how it would react.

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

Sisk smiled slowly as the betting commenced. "I wasn't aware 100 was considered high now." The player next to Darren looked at his cards and grimaced, then folded his hand. His bet was matched by the Devaronian next in line called and then raised 20. His right hand moved easily around the rim of his faux-crystal tumbler as his nostrils were assaulted with the sweet scent of bac and other illicit drugs swirling through the air. He smiled as the dealer came back to him.

"Call. And raise you another 80." His chips clinked slightly against the others as they entered the pile in the middle, and Sisk watched as his cards shifted. He now held the Master of Flasks, the 1 of Staves, The Ace of Coins, and Endurance, for a grand total of +22. He raised the tumbler and rotated it slightly, allowing the small Mandalorian sigil stitched into the hem of his coat sleeve to be visible to Darren. "Besides, I hold a simple philosophy. Give it your all. That goes for pretty much everything in life. War. Love. Gambling. Drinking. Approaching life with a vigor makes it worth it."

 

[Ashiruni]

Darren smiled behind his cannibalized rebreather mask. "This is a low stakes table. Most of the patrons here have difficulty paying rent, let alone their gambling debts." Darren pointedly looked down, the entire mask moving it's muzzle with him, to look at his chips. He had a mere thirteen ten credit chips, seven additional twenty credit chips, and five fifties, barely over a half of the initial buy-in Sisk had made.

Darren thought for a moment before deciding to fold. He'd acquired the Queen of Air and Darkness, and the Seven of Staves. While seventeen wasn't the worst hand, the odds were against his acquiring the six or less he required to win and he wasn't about to risk more than he had to just yet. He intended to draw this curious fellow out more, but it would be difficult if Darren found himself short on funds.

"I think..." he let his voice trail off as he noticed the embroidered symbol. His quivering hand, still holding his four cards, was frozen two centimeters above the table. He recovered a second later, but the damage had already been done. Completely disregarding Sisk's further commentary, Darren set his cards on the table and stood up, trying his damnedest to maintain a calm demeanor. "I think I have had enough sabacc for the evening. Good da-ay, gentlemen." His voice had cracked, slightly, not that it mattered. The language filter would remove most of that, though a good translator would certainly pick up on the inflection.

With that, Darren walked away and headed toward the side exit, his chips lying forgotten on the table. The well equipped might also notice a sudden increase in local comms traffic almost immediately after Darren left. If one could decrypt it, the message said: "Miran. Three droidekas. Meet me en route and intercept the man tailing me." A short video of Sisk revealing his sleeve was attached to the tail end of the transmission. Darren was taking no chances. The last people he had seen wearing that symbol had killed his wife in a pointless civil war. If there was to be a fight, it would be held on his terms, not on those of whomever this man was.