Engineering Connections

[Amur]

Spoiler: Mission Brief

In order to prepare for the theft of a patent held by Nal Hutta Droidworks we have identified a lead to get intel on the Nal Hutta Droidworks office. An Engineer frequents a bar that hosts a popular Sabacc Gambling ring. We also know he has a gambling addiction and debts to local criminal organization. Lets see if we can pry some useful information from this fool.

Theme​

Nal Hutta: What a dreadful place. Hot, Swampy wet air so your skin couldn't breath, now in the space of those idiot Mandalorians. The Surface looked less like a planet and more of a slimy, pus filled pimple just begging for someone to pop it outs of its retched existence. Yet despite the fact that a part of Amur wishes she just purified this den of bacteria and parasites from the galaxy she was here. There was business to do.

Czerka was one of the most prominent arms dealers in the galaxy, digging it's claws into various aspects of the defense contracting sector. Their weapons were widely known and widely distributed. So keeping them happy and willing to arm your armies was essential, in many ways government were enslaved to these organizations as the war machines they created grew ever bigger and more complex. That was unless you can slowly wrap your fingers around them, make yourself the reason why they were thriving. A favor or two here, an investment there and add in some lucrative contracts and slowly you can begin to cannibalize the cannibalizer.

This brought Amur back to the reason why she was here in the first place. Czerka while they had a division for droids could never really catch up to Nal Hutta Droidworks. Their battledroids always the best on the market, always the first choice for high quality droid security and always chosen over Czerka's droids. So the chance for a group with no direct connections to 'accidentally' get their hands on a bunch of vital patents relating to the security systems and defenses of the droid's operating system and other software, could provide Czerka with an opportunity to either reverse engineer and upgrade a aspect of their droids or get devious and distribute backdoor keys to illegal slicers to sow doubt in NHD's products.

The first part of that bit of industrial espionage took them to a bar. The Winking Dianoga: a suitably disgusting name for a disgusting place. This was where they could get information about the office building she was planning to raid. Amur was sitting at a table outside the bar near the front entrance reviewing everything over again. She was outfitted in her Sith robes and armor, lightsaber at her hip, slug pistol hidden under her robe and adhesive grenades on her belt. She stood out like a sore thumb but then again the goal wasn't to blend in but to be intimidating and ready for anything. She sat scanning the crowds waiting for her partners in crime to join her. They were all relative unknowns amongst the Sith ranks but in a way that played to their favor. It meant it would be that much harder to tie things to the Sith less of a chance for a diplomatic incident if they ran into a engagement with Mandalorians, hopefully they'll never even see one during this op.

The sun was starting to set, and the start of phase one of this op was getting nearer...

Spoiler: OOC/Dice

Link to dice thread.

@Edgestriker @Count @Myrmidon

 

[Zike Rron]

Initially upon taking the contract, Zike found himself somewhat excited to begin the mission. Not only would this endear a mass-producer of armaments to the Sith Empire, but it’d serve himself as a lovely bonus. Having a well-known organisation such as Czerka could prove very prosperous should he find himself requiring a custom weapon or even the drop on the hottest new piece of tech this side of the galaxy. Ah, who was he kidding? A large scale corporation had no reason to care for individuals beneath it that were pawns to their interests, just the same as the Empire. Repeated success would discern himself in the eyes of his superiors if he was lucky, but that was a double-edged blade when interest from your betters often went hand-in-hand with more daring missions that yielded a higher chance of mortality.


One part of the mission that had Zike particularly interested was its destination being in occupied space. In particular, Mandalorian occupied space. He’d heard many tales, and perhaps even mere stories told to inspire hatred for another faction, about them. Encountering a Mandalorian patrol while out on what was meant to be a quiet mission seemed less than optimal, and probably life-threatening depending on how cohesive the squad could become in the matter of mere moments, but the Sith weren’t renowned for their astounding teamwork and incredible communication skills. His Crux-Class Spaceship had already landed not too far away with nought but his mini-droid and sword inside.


Standing in the shade of one of the trees a distance away from the building they were all supposed to meet at, the Kaleesh could not help but simply watch the coming and going of various patrons in the area. They were all so different. So… unique. The planet had its own attraction about it, which was not necessarily in its visual appeal, nor even its wretched scent that currently burned his shielded nose, but rather its sense of freedom. Many low-lives would be within that bar, as well as the target if their intel was correct. How many of them would be armed? How many would cower beneath a display of strength? There were so many unpredictable variables in this scenario, and it thrilled him. People here could make an active choice against them… but of course, that’d only likely occur if the Sith made an attempt to disgruntled them. An avenue best left unexplored, lest attention is drawn not only to them but the mere presence of Sith in occupied space.


For this part of the mission, Zike did not want to risk his identity being known by any of those that may happen upon the merry band of Sith. Therefore, outfitted in his heavy armour with the T-Visor covering his Kaleesh visage, he could not help but wonder whether such attire would command more respect from those inside the pub, or even earn their ire from the sheer resemblance to Mandalorians. Life is best lived in the moment and not dwelled upon with anxiety, and so after a while of watching the comings and goings, he proceeded from the sanctuary of the tree, away from the possibly hostile fauna, and towards the more sentient kind of fauna where his group was believed to be.


The disgusting heat from this planet served well to irritate the Kaleesh within his heavy armour, but not enough to distract him from fulfilling the mission that would allow him to escape. When he neared the steps of The Winking Dianoga, he caught sight of fellow Sith robings. Likely to be one of his compatriots as a random Sith being here seemed very unreasonable given uneasy tensions with the Mandalorians. The armoured male moved towards the occupied table, his curved lightsabers positioned slightly further back on his belt, slightly behind the hip with one, and slightly in front of his other hip for the opposing lightsaber hilt. Ease of access was always a delight. Pulling a stool out from the table, he sat down before looking towards the clearing again, a new alien dialect entering the noise of a pub that already exhibited numerous different dialects; after all, how likely were they to pick up the specific language it was if they didn’t understand it? "Dianogas tik zinot wo akute, tarianie zhol tezn buti zo akimo? Gana iv anas, tikurzi aras tave others?" The foreign language reverberated from the masked individuals' helm, attempting to add a layer of privacy to their discussion.

 

[Crux Vosk]

For the briefest of moments Crux heard the voices of his parents in his mind.....all life is precious...........he couldn’t help but wonder if they had ever stepped foot on this foul place. Violet eyes closed he sat away from the other sentient beings, all to himself. Reaching out with his mind he tried connecting with the different creatures that drew breath all around him, the effort combined with the heat causing his red face to bead with sweat. The dark side could be felt here, not only from the sith that lay near, but also in the raw selfish emotions that permeated the thick humidity of the place. Anger, jealousy, envy, lust, all were given in spades, the bar they were meant to infiltrate a veritable hotbed of all these emotions......it’s darkness overcame the surroundings.


The acolyte considered the force, looked inward to it trying to understand the greater mastery of this place. An exercise he had started since leaving the academy. His dark masters would not have approved, they would have said these methods to liberal for a sith, instead the instruction would be to harness the force and use it.....bend to his will, and yet the Devaronian couldn’t help but feel a comfort in simple meditation with the force cloaking his massive frame.


Once two points converged, he assumed the mission was nearly a go. Lifting himself up, he would begin wading through the filthy crowd towards the same table as his compatriots. Where others in the order moved with stealth and grace, Crux moves more akin to a rock in a riverbed. The crowd breaking around him as he pushed forward, hardly noticing the jostling around him. At over 300 pounds of sith trained muscle, and standing well over 6 foot he was used to it. Combined with the fact he wore his full armor only added to the effect. A phrik gilded handed moved up, scrapping against the durasteel, removing the condensation from his breast plate, a dark cloak billowing behind him shielding some of the view. His double bladed lightsaber hung openly on his left hip, no attempt at hiding what he was, as if that was even an option.


Violet eyes cut across the area before finding the table with his more mundane senses. His beard was unkempt, almost moist form sweet the deep purple of it against his red skin. Horns curved up. He had never been able to be inconspicuous.


As he sat he’d address Zike, one part of the team that already lay familiar with him. “I am here.....Warrid is nearby.........the force is with us, but not within those walls.....”. He would gesture slowly towards the bar. While the darkside was strong here, there was none nearby sans themselves that was strong with it. His voice was slow, almost gravely. “Where to begin?”

 

[Myourn]

The tingent blues and swirling storms of hyperspace elapsed, fading from the center of a cyclone into the stretched lights of stars and finally Nal Hutta, the "Glorious Jewel" of the hutts amidst a blanket of stars and darkness. Nal Hutta was perhaps one of the least flattering planets to add to the neti's repertoire - both in appearance and the jurisdiction it was under. The planet was tinged with a yellow-green color akin to mucus, with a heat suitable only for the hutts and those who relished in whatever trivial strength prolonged exposure created. For ages, Warrid Myourn had isolated himself to the planet Korriban, an arid desert starved of water. This world was like living inside of a hutt.

The faction in control of the system was none other than the Mandalorians, ancient allies of the Sith Order, notably, the Imperials. Myourn admittedly knew little of them specifically - most of his knowledge confined to a broad understanding of the role they played in conquering the galaxy some centuries ago. He did, however, know that the Mandalorians had been Sith-led, up until recently. In its tenacious rule, the Imperial Republica had incited considerable rebellion, amongst which was this warrior culture. The emphasis on strength was almost Sith-like, barbarians as they were. Embittered conquerers, efficient, powerful even, but nothing more. Yet, in this, their one passion, they were masters. Their rebellion had also marked the weakness of the ruling Sith and political schemers on Coruscant, and, for seeing the truth in that, they'd earned Warrid's respect.

This planet, however, was far from such a moniker.

Myourn's ship, a Vector-Class shuttle, hummed with life. Leaning into his chair, his thumb and index finger pressed to his mouth, Warrid turned to his piloting droid, a 286 unit. "Initiate the landing sequence. Put us down at the agreed coordinates," Warrid said, rising from his chair. The droid's glossy black dome swiveled towards his master and let out a low, bassy grunt of acknowledgment before returning to his work.

The neti stepped out from his shuttle, breathing in the putrid air. His battle robes and crimson cloak billowed in the release of compressed air from the loading ramp. The spaceport was remarkably open, much different from Korriban's. He could see out into the world's hazed surroundings, thick with a yellowed mist and murky, green bogs. Already an aqualish was on him, demanding credits as a landing fee in the flood of noise from passing crowds of aliens. Its voice was a compilation of various grunts reverberating through to flesh bags making up the creature's mouth. Warrid raised his hand apologetically, reaching into his robes to withdraw a small sum of credits - enough to pay the fee.

Warrid's neck lowered and his posture slouched, the sith reaffirming the saber hilt in each of his sleeves. The Winking Dianoga, a curious name, was his destination - not far from here. Sifting through the groups of ishi tibs, quarren, rodians, and the like, the neti kept his head down, gazing just above their heads, his hood draped over his paled face. Through the mix of creatures the galaxy had to offer, he found his companions, one of which he was familiar.

"Nu Sua Stai," he muttered, just as the devaronian finished his sentence. He glanced down at his companions, noting their lightsabers. "Nu ziur scisa kash guduma. Sis kash zo delicate vietoves, ir pagal tave vietoves ant Korriban ir tave blow: iv our Kal’Evos, tave Lord: aras mazet luyk kia xuontai utorigal. Mes setup zinot see sis corunk." The neti was clearly unsatisfied, but coldly composed as always. He flashed a glance at the Kaleesh, disappointment and a sly smile cracking across his bark-like face. "Sso sis pora nu tariam suga etch vyktimas jis kash lauke caus zo scene ax su dujozimas sabaac ir guta in wunthir sulig jis. Iun joks zinia mes adata."

 

[Amur]

"Auktoi zhol amzi. Mes zinot nie adata nuo umus. You have a lot of nerve to even speak with me after our last encounter mandolorian." Amur replied to zike making sure to pour as much spite as she could say into the word Mandolorian. She was actually pleased with the foresight the Kaleesh brought with the simple disguise. Useful maybe they could even pose a mock surrender with it but that hopefully wouldn't be required right now. Vosk whilst impossible to not become the focal point of any crowd he was in could potentially use it to cloak the rest of the group. After all if your eyes mainly gravitated to to the giant devaronian then would it be able to peer at anyhting else? The Neti was straight to planning and Amur was agreeing that it would best to handle this with as little drama possible.

"Xaz zhol vaidas kais antai kash nie aikste nuo apgaule nuo kair iv mus. Still zhol galez peresti apgaule kia j'us ir tave kaleesh. tezn because kair kioska del dartov'ne spell tave qorit iv gudrybe. Mes tezn zinot kia zaist our raka duobe'. Still if you insist on settling our rivalry with this game then fine. Let me lay out the rules." Amur added now, the sith tongue took some thought it was still a second language that didn't come completely natural for Amur, but the privacy it afforded was worth the trouble. Amur envied how fluid it was for Zike and Myourn as each word was delivered with the proper syntax, flair and even could have the hintings of an accent. This would be noted as something to improve upon to make herself that little bit better. Still that could be dealt with after getting the hell out of here as Amur now delivered her on site briefing.

"mes buti satci zo gu'jiteij vadinti svein jubesi. Fibitja buti tym buti buti gerti ir zaist sso zo sabacc lenta cij. Tym zinot zo didelis jonja kia zo zetoas: kafka. Kafka ir jiso rengtisan zinot geroze iv minirgi netolise stai. Fibitja buti tym buti sari kia dujoz kia apklot anas jonja. Misi jis ir mes gal fasona jis kunnyunr, ax mes gal dar sari kia husa vi Kafka ai norzi tarnas tapti' kia kanamsi. Nu drivatuz zodis mes zinot zo jatgija xilia kia mis niant zivija ir na vykti jis kia zo grazus dyease aikste tikurzi rareu galez âtitukvi mus. Does that sound fair to you?"


It was really that simple. Of course the the fact that their target Toydarian was a complication, they were naturally resistant to mind tricks, hopefully though a good bit of alcohol would be getting in the way of that. Ideally adding more credits and leverage would be best but sometimes you need to knock out some teeth to get what you want. Either way was fine for Amur.

 

[Zike Rron]

When the two familiar bodies came towards the table, a small gesture of greeting was offered in the form of a slight hand raise which could just as easily be mistaken for a gentle tapping of the table. The thought of being among three other Sith in this mission eased the possible tensions that could arise within him. If something was to go eerie, there were three other bodies aside from his that would have to be riddled with slugs and bolts. That meant his chance of survival was much higher, especially when within proximity of the giant Devaronian. In truth, he had no idea on how his team would act when the presence of subtlety was paramount in this mission, at least for the time while the engineer was in the midst of a well-populated bar. A bar fight, while potentially fun for some of them, would cause too much ruckus and draw too much heat to the area. A situation best avoided lest the Sith come to discover The Winking Dianoga hired effective ‘help’.


It came as a soothing revelation that Amur was not only capable of understanding Sith, but indeed, in its vocalisation. Beneath his visor, a smile crept upon his crimson features at the end of her sentence. She was framing the situation already to be advantageous to the group, although he was unsure of whether there’d be anyone actively paying attention to the outskirts of a bar when most of the noise would be on the interior. "Zhol's nutarijas anas mes pradme su gudrybe. Vultumas jis valia vokti ataedias mes adata kia sainti. Su tave Devaronian stai, vi duob vi tave spiritas, mes uzsit't buti madjen sh'jatau kian ny.." Zike spat the words out while facing the direction of Amur, gesticulating mild annoyance with his hand that currently rest on the table. In the case that people were paying attention to the outside, it’d work best if he played to the girls feigned story.


Svein Jubesi. That was the name of a Toydarian that had not only garnered the attention of a Hutt by the name of Kafka, but additionally the focus of four Sith while continuing to gamble his way out of debt in a location that likely had informants for Kafka already inside. Zike had to admire a man that could catch the attention of so many powerful individuals while being mostly indistinguishable.


As curious as fate had been for the Toydarian in the grand scheme of the universe, there was no escaping the mission, nor the engineers encounter with the Sith, even if he never found out their true purpose for being there. "Mes setup visa zaist Sabacc su jis, five tauta, mazo mes loimisa tave chance iv mus losing. Vi veek vi tym finishes wo gerti, mes buy another eilie nuo mus visa mazo zhol dartov\'ne kioska del. Dujoz ax lose, su anas ny spiritas jiso lips valia buti loose ir jiso inhibitions kaire." The Kaleesh nodded towards Amur as if he accepted the conditions she’d offered, further bolstering their ruse should any patrons be intrigued by the hooded individuals outside that perhaps seemed more befitting of an unceremonious cult gathering.


With the possibility of avoiding gratuitous violence on a man already down on his luck, Zike sought fit to follow such an avenue until it became openly disadvantageous to the group. Wringing the neck of a Toydarian in exchange for leaving the planet before the Mandalorians could arrive was an action that Zike was open for, but truthfully, such an action should be avoided. He cast a sidelong glance towards the brute of a Devaronian beside him. Zike didn’t want to find out today through the engineer whether there was truly a devil inside of Crux.

 

[Crux Vosk]

The Sith voices range clear in the Devaronian’s ears. It wasn’t his first language, but it was one he was more than accustomed to. The texts both holo and physical where riddled with the language, and in his training it had been necessary to become fluent in it. As for Warid, the devil wondered how a man made of living wood could ever question the stealth of others. Still the violet eyes showed nothing, except cold at odds with the burning flesh surrounding them.


A deep sigh at the thought of playing Sabacc. Yet the plan was sound. “I was not born for hiding, nor has the dark side required it of me until this day. I will hold their eyes......you three hold the hands, and from the lips we will hear the truth.” Not wanting to prolong a conversation that held little meaning now that a plan was conceived it was best to set it in motion. “Allow me entry first.......and no one will notice you.” With that the Devaronian would vacate the table and begin walking towards the mark. His gate was of confidence, a creature that knew his purpose and walked in the belief of the power around him. Wether that faith was well placed, was yet to be seen.


Ignoring any further conversation from the group he’d allow them further discussions of their stealth and intrigue plot. His purpose was clear, be the distraction. Allow the overtness of his physique to provide hiding for the others. As his long strides carried him closer to the bar, he marveled at the working of the dark side. It had collected them for this mission, and with little struggle it became apparent how they should proceed.


Walking through the doors he would disappear from the rest of the group. Inside he noted it was crowded. Multiple tables set up, multiple games of Sabacc. Being played, a game he new little about. Yet, he wasn’t here to win, and the force would guide his hand. Violet eyes scanned the room full of the smoke from deathsticks until the target could be seen. Squat even for his species, he was clearly in the throws of the game, a drink next to him hardly touched, a worried look on his face. A low gravely sound escapes his throat in annoyance, it wouldn’t do if his debts increased and another took him from their grasp. He could feel some of the looks from the patrons, yet he ignored them. Opting instead to push through the crowd towards the table in question. At the moment it had one open seat, so he went for it arriving at the same time as a human.


“Hey pal.....this is....hiccup........my seat...”. The man would say slurring his words. A large mug of a thick dark liquid clasped in his hand. With a movement of haste surprising from the larger being Crux gabbed him by the front of his shirt, reliving him of the mug. He then lifted him bodily, and with a light toss sent him tumbling to the ground. Aided more by the alcohol in the humans system then by anything else the human didn’t get up.


A hush fell over the room as more eyes settled in on the sith. Raising the mug of beer he’d let out a bellow “Arghhhhh” before bringing it to his lips downing the entire contents in a few cups. Slamming it on the table he’d wave at a passing Twi’Lek slave, “another round!” He’d yell in a gravely voice, causing the silence to be overtaken by cheers. Around him the bar would return to hits hustle and bustle, the patrons merely stepping over the human leaving him be. Sitting heavily in the chair Crux would reach in and throw down 3/4 of the credits he had on him, receiving his first hand as another massive mug was laid down next to him.


If that didn’t capture everyone’s attention, he wasn’t sure what would.

 

[Myourn]

Warrid listened carefully to each of the plans presented, nodding - his paled hand raised to his mouth in thought. He flicked his skeletal fingers at Amur and Rron. "Anas kash zo geros manti. Mes'll zaist until tym's malleable. Verciau kia blend kash vi zo sefank. Dar posing vi gangsters could cause complications nu'd prefer mes sainti." The neti looked to the devaronian just has he began to speak, now going on about doing what he did best, attracting attention. The neti sighed, looking at the two others as Vosk departed. Tym trokn sso anas. Rasiz tym gal kaer tave ataedias Salini Sulig ccha lightsabers vi duobe'. Xauti Zo sot sso tave sabacc enta," he instructed, adjusting his crimson cowl. "Nu'll macias j'us siela."

The neti stepped away from the pair, following a small crowd into the cantina. Immediately the repugnant stench of alcohol and ixetal fell upon him. It was dark and full of patrons of every race in the known galaxy. Rodians populated the bar, vying for drinks from the tender. Quarren snarled at one another in a sloppy, moist language Warrid hadn't been able to learn, even partially. Talz honked at one another in a booth off to the side, and the sounds of music boomed throughout the cantina - instruments Warrid had never heard before amongst the chatter of dozens of languages spoken by even more patrons.

Opening himself up to the force, Myourn grasped a dissimilar perspective. The cantina sprang to light - life where there had been darkness. He felt the flow of energy from creature to creature - their influences on one another. The swirling emotions, like liquid heating and cooling around the patrons as it traveled from one to the next and around pairs. Their energy dissipated and agitated. He felt their anger, their lusts. The surface emotions of each and every one of them. Though only one stood out to him. It was a poignant aroma, a feeling slowly churning into a boil, a smoldering fire. Greed.

Warrid looked to the source. He could just make out their target, surrounded by playing cards and the staunch neon lights of slot machines dimmed by grease. As Amur said, he was a Toydarian, grey in color, and visually flustered. He sported a small hat and vest tapering just over his bulbous stomach. In the cantina's dim lighting, he'd taken on darkened facial hair.

Amidst the crowds and deafening music, Warrid could still, however, make out Vosk. His horns extended beyond even Myourn when slouched, and, of course, he was beginning to attract attention. The neti swiftly made his way to the sabacc table, weaving and maneuvering through the crowds of aliens. Just as he was about to reach it, a twi'lek had launched himself from his seat, tossing his cards into the table in fervent anger as his snarled through his carnivorous teeth.

Warrid sidestepped, drawing his cloak close to his body as the twi'lek stomped away. He drifted to the table, extending his long fingers to the now empty seat. "May I sit?" he inquired, any trace of his accent gone from his galactic basic. The toydarian lifted his hand dismissively, pursing the lips beneath his snout. Myourn parted his cloak, sitting at the table just as the chatter and music silence, the sound of a scuffle taking its place. The Sith's eye ridges furrowed and rose as he looked from the cards dealt to him to the source. It was Vosk pummeling and shunting some drunk aside with ease. The abrupt silence erupted into a chorus as the devaronian demanded another drink, their cheers resonating throughout the cantina.

 

[Amur]

Amur nodded in agreement with Myourn's reply. She then took the time to quickly reposition her lightsaber so her cloak could better conceal it. Vosk was already walking with absolute purpose to his swagger (whatever swagger a sith devaronian could even muster). This little team was already showing good promise reminding her of some of the drilling that her sith instructors had planted into her mind.

Edoui is potep su tave sensitive:, sveni kia asha.

A Sith in tune with themselves, the situation and the force only need to act to pick the right action at the time. She got up after giving the Neti time to put some distance and disperse into the the crowd. The Winking Dianoga was a scene to behold. Music blaring, people and smells of all kinds blending together into a single amorphous mass that on a bad day would possibly give her a migraine. A far cry to the hoity toity nonsense of the parties common amongst the political caste of coruscant. The scene before her was as nauseating as it was fascinating. The dens of low lives were more honest than a well kept dinner table. Vice was to be had ever just needed to look around from people who were enslaved to their money, to those who needed to drink away their pain, and those who needed to drown their heavy hearts in pleasure. What a wonderful den of scumbags.

Amur moved through the crowd with essence of savois-faire. ducking around the waitress carrying a platter of intoxicants, lean through that group of drunks unaware of anyone around them. It was easy to find the Toydarian as all she had to do was follow Vosk. When he stopped in front of a particular table she made note of the Toydarian. Amur then still entrenched in the living waves of the crowd shut her eyes. A good bit of methodical breathing she was able to dull the noise of the cantina allowing her mind to connect to the force. It's funny how in many ways a Sith and a Jedi could be interchangeable but they were still so stark in differences. She then let her mind open up to the sensations of the bar around her taking in the minutiae, focus primarily on the Toydarian trying to read the air in the force the creature gave off. Mind reading was out of the question but there was still a thousand subtle ways someone can betray their feelings. She got ultimately got one overarching emotion from Svein: Anxiety.

Before being able to ponder the best approach to get under the Toydarian's skin Amur stepped back to avoid the tumbling mass of man Vosk effortlessly threw away like one throws trash into a dumpster. The silence filled the air before Vosk bribed the bar's gratitude with another round of booze. Amur joined the cheering chorus of the crowd now she may as well have been there this entire time. She made her way around the table squeezing her slender figure into a seat that was next to Svein. She wanted to make sure that in the event the wretch tried to fly off she could grab a hold of him. She took a relaxed position in the table even crossing her legs, if the Toydarian showed an interest in the masked sith well she was now in place where she could be flirty in every way.

"If he's going to buy us drinks then deal me in. I could use a lucky break." She replied letting a bit of her imperial accent leak through. In her old life it was something that many found charming, she suspect that many times the only reason people even listened to her was the sound of voice, it was one of the few things that was spared by the fire. She handed over enough credits to buy in and got dealt a hand.

 

[Zike Rron]

It did not take too long before the hand of fate had been dealt, and upon the flipped over cards, the future of this mission was decided. The outline of a plan had been consolidated and agreed upon by the troupe. One by one they had been slinking into the confines of the tavern. Tapping his fingers against the table, one by one, Zike awaited his turn to enter the fray. It mattered very little on how they would perceive the Sith Acolyte, the chances they would openly confront him so early on was minimal, especially with the armour he was wearing. Although, as time went on, and more merry-making was had, combined with the influx of alcohol, some may get rowdy enough to fancy their chances. They'd just have to finish their mission before that time came.

Hands pushed against the edge of the table, using its sturdy structure to assist his rising from the chair. As he stood, his amber eyes burned through the window on the building, scanning the internals of the bar for anything of immediate concern. It was around about this time that Zike noticed his red friend introduce a patron to the floor with an announcement that caused the crowd to roar in appreciation. Beneath his visor, a smile lightened his features as he made his way inside. His movements were swift, and with purpose, while he moved in and out of the crowds, ensuring he did not touch those around him. It was like a dance with how he navigated around the patrons, a shadow that clung to the back, exchanging itself with others in the area.

Eventually, Zike found himself at the table with the unfortunate Toydarian, pulling a chair out before easing his body into it. He lifted his hand upwards from the table as greeting, not bothering to look at the others while distributing credits for a hand in the game, "Take it easy on me, it's my first time." Came the voice from the visor, devoid of any discernible accent, perhaps because of the muffling from his helmet. Once his cards were received, he pulled them across the table towards himself.

 

[Crux Vosk]

Taking another heavy drink of the strong beer Crux would look around, violet eyes full of violence peering through the crowds. One by one the crew would make their excuses and arrive at the table in the ever revolving door of gamblers. To his own plan he gave the Toydarian little more than a cursory look. Opting to view the creature as he truly saw him, unworthy of his time. Instead he kept his eyes on everyone else.


The initial order had gotten a lot of yells and applause, but it was starting to die off. He doubted anyone had paid any attention to the entrance of the other sith, so he counted it as a success. However, the looks of a couple repugnants showed that he’d garnered the attention of those that might meet in violence. Shrugging and finishing the mug in one more drink he placed another order. It didn’t matter, he was were he was meant to be, the dark side would guide his hands.


After Zike had sat down the dealer would start to pass out the cards. Closing his eyes, the Devaronian reached out with his sixth sense. This wasn’t a game he knew, cared for, or even had any interest in. Still, all experiences have their worth. Instead he would exercise the darker side of the force and see what uses it would see fit to benefit him with. Taking the cards he’d look down on them. No smile reached his lips, and no emotion.


Laying the cards face down so no wandering eyes could hope to see them, he’d push several more credits onto the table. As he did the uglies that had watched him seemed to inch a little closer. The betting went back and forth for some time until it was just a few left. Pushing the remaining credits he had, he’d finally speak. “I’ve won a fight, how about another!” Continuing his act of the drunken rager he’d take another deep drink slamming the mug on the table. “All in mates!”


He’d watch for who called, the table going round, the Toydarian in, he’d see what his fellow sith opted to do, but either way when the betting closed and the cards were flipped his humble pile became a mountain. Straight Sabacc.......”ANOTHER ROUND THEN!” The Toydarian now really has his head in his hands as Crux held the lion share of the credits on the table.