Idiot's Array

[Sisk_Renelo]

NAR SHADDAA
CALRISSIAN HALL
HIGH ROLLERS FLOOR
2342 HOURS​

Marcus hated it here. He longed for the jungles of Mandallia, for the open plains that he had trained the ge'verde on, for the forge situated at the heart of Clan Renelo's base where he had spent many an hour forging weapons and fixing armor. But now... Now all of that was gone. Obliterated by the Empire, who had held out the olive branch in one hand while preparing to strike with the other. Kriffing hut'uun. Unwilling to even stand in a fair fight. From the bottom of his heart Marcus hated them, hated their cowardly ways, their avarice, hated every part of the ancient religion that they clung to so wholeheartedly like it was their one escape from the pit of anger and despair that was their life. Now and forever, Marcus was a Mandalorian, and that put the sovereign belief in his heart that he would prevail over all enemies, that when the galaxy burned, the Mandalorians would be able to pull themselves from the rubble and begin anew. After all, if just one Mandalorian survived, the culture would as well.

He had forgone his armor tonight, as it would have done nothing but made him a target here, and had pulled a stylishly cut suit from the stores on board the Darasuum Cabur. Mandalorians often operated behind enemy lines, and that required a full range of the latest fashions from across the galaxy, allowing the deadly warriors to move unnoticed wherever they went. The suit was a deep black, and matched well with his red shirt and black tie, but even in the civilian clothing, he still held himself like a warrior, back straight, shoulders back, head held high. And, like a warrior, he moved with an unerring purpose towards his objective. Jack Tamblyn.

The Sabacc table the Hutt Champion sat at was alight with the neon built into the table, the overhead lighting projecting a ruddy glow onto the table and players, but tuned finely enough that a player could lean back slightly and have his or her face bathed in darkness. Besides Tamblyn, 5 other players sat at the table, two human males, a Rodian female, a Devaronian male, and an Anzaat. Marcus recoiled slightly at the soul drinker, but kept his pace steady, his face calm and neutral. As he approached, Tamblyn won a hand, raking a large pile of credits towards himself, and the Rodian chuffed in disgust and stood to leave, uttering a curse in her native language.

Marcus slid smoothly into her vacant seat, pulling a credit chit out of his pocket and sliding it across to the dealer. The Kiughfid dealer picked it up, inserted it smoothly into the slot at his side, handed Marcus a pile of chips, and announced in a pleasant baritone; "New player, 50,000. Rules this hand are Corellian Gambit." With his dextrous fingers, the dealer slid each player two cards, which as Marcus picked them up phased into being as the Ace of Coins and the Queen of Light and Darkness, worth 15 and -2 respectively. Combined with the face card on the table, the 9 of Sabres, he held 21 in his hand.

He slid a chip into the center of table. As the new player, it was tradition for him to make the opening bet. "5,000." As play moved, he turned his head slightly, and nodded at Tamblyn.

 

[Cassanova]

Tamblyn had made his night's plans abundantly clear to the Casino team. It was the weekend, after all, and Jack sought nothing but a spot of recreational irresponsibility. In true Tamblyn style, Jack was playing tonight with the methodology a game that he and a select few other wealthy patrons called 'The man with ten eyes is still blind'. It was a playful way that the incalculably rich could actually feel the rush of gambling without calling upon their other skills. Jack, being a seasoned gambler himself, saw little joy in actually playing the game. Instead, he played the people at the table. Essentially, Jack's little game threw a spanner into the table and really threw off any professional players. He would, quite literally, multiply any existing bet by ten, and refuse to look at his cards until the game was over and the winner was announced.

He had been doing this all night and, in true Corellian style, managed to be up nearly a half a million credits. The female Rodian was not the first victim to succumb to Jack's uncanny luck, in fact she was about the fourth tonight that Jack had cleaned out. Being honest, Jack was more interested in the people at the table, than the game, or the money infront of him.

"New player. 50,000. Rules this hand are Corellian Gambit," Jack shrugged and set about restacking his latest win. Meticulous and blindingly efficiently, the stacks of chips were built with the skill and dexterity of a lifelong gambler - an accurate assessment of Jack Tamblyn, if there ever was.

Jack took a moment, looking to this newcomer, and quickly saw the markers of muscle, posture, and training. This new person had to have been either some sort of military, or the stick up his ass was so big that holding a flag would have have him confused for a flagpole. "5,000."

Then there it came, the false respect - the hint of desire to converse. The fabled polite gesture that surmised to Jack one thing; I need something from you. Jack's response to this varied often, but having just gotten into the groove of enjoying himself and reading people, he was a little disappointed by this turn of events. To which Jack, not giving a care in the world and not looking at his cards, promptly slid forward ten times the bet, "Fifty thousand."

As he leaned forward, sliding the chips in, Jack extended his middle finger in a lewd Corellian gesture that equated to the vulgar dismissal of someone, or an action. Added to that, worn on this finger was Jack's ring, given to him as a token of status by the Grand Lord of the Hutt Cartel himself.

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

Play continued around the table, the Devaronian folding, the Anzaat calling, both humans raising by small margins. Marcus slid another chit at the dealer and was given his new chips. He called, and then watched his cards shift again. The evil one, and then balance. That put him at pure Sabacc, but the table card shifted again, into the 11 of flasks. -12. Marcus tapped the tracker in front of him, and was dealt another card. It phased, and turned into the wheel, -10. Marcus was sitting at -22.

"Raise ten." He had plenty of money. In the year since the destruction of Mandallia, the bounty hunters of Renelo had been fruitful, and Marcus had brought his own substantial sum to the table. With a delicate touch, he gestured to Tamblyn. "Bets to you." He would ignore the rude gesture for now. After all, when one came to ask a favor, it was best to be diplomatic.

Reaching slowly into his breast pocket, Marcus pulled out a dull gold token, embossed on one side with the Renelo emblem, the other sporting a few words in Mandalorian Runes. He turned it slowly in between his fingers, making sure that Tamblyn could see both sides clearly as it slid from finger to finger down his hand, before he used his thumb to raise it back to the top. "Naak, vod." It was a simple phrase, easily translatable if one had spent any time among Mandos, which he knew that Tamblyn had done when they had come to be sheltered by the Hutts.

 

[Cassanova]

Jack pondered the raised bet, fingers tapping idly on the cards. Staying true to his own personal game, he did not lift the cards up to inspect the position that they put him in. Instead, Jack merely leaned forward, sliding another ten thousand into the center of the table. "Call."

A gentle gesture saw a triple whiskey delivered to Jack's hand - naturally the finest quality whiskey that the Casino had on hand; anything less was paramount to serving a glass of water with an algal bloom in it to the Queen of Hapes. Beyond the whiskey and the game infront of him, Jack's mind was more or less left to its own devices. His aloof conciousness was quickly drawn back to the world of the table. Specifically upon Marcus. Specifcally on the golden coin. Unmistakable to Jack, having done a great deal of business with the Mandalorians in the decade prior to current conflicts, was the golden coin and Mandalorian runes. Adding insult to injury was the verbalisation of the Mando'a greeting, 'peace, brother'. Jack wasn't that thick.

With a swift gesture to the dealer, who promptly stopped mid-motion, the bustle around the table died down as Jack began to speak. "Mandalorian is a language I haven't had spoken to me for many years. I believe that your people hold it so dear that it dare not be taught to outsiders," Jack took a drink of whiskey and eyed off Marcus. "I was once told that it was only spoken amongst your kin, your family and brothers-in-arms."

"Either you have me mistaken for someone else, my friend," Jack shrugged as he finished off his whiskey, letting the empty glass rattle on the red oaken table. "Or you're eager to gain my favour."

"What is it, exactly, you need, ner vod?"

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

"Mando'a is used as a sign of trust, at least, belief." Marcus Laid his cards down, the face values facing the table as he spoke gently. "And your willingness to take us in allows me to trust you, at least as far as the desire to keep the Imperials away from your borders drives you." With a practiced motion, he spun the token upon the table's surface, the symbol and the runes blurring together, creating a kaleidoscope of motion as it danced upon the table. Marcus' face was relaxed, serene. If Jack refused, he would search himself for his goal.

"I have heard grumblings from the Hutt representatives as of late. Of how we were offered sanctuary but have done nothing to pay for it." This was true. The weekly shipments of food that were delivered to the Enclaves were accompanied by Hutt minions, and grumbling had become more present during these dropoffs. "But, as I'm sure you know, the Mandalorians need a figure to rally behind, a central leader who is able to speak to the Clans as a whole." This was also true, as the only times the Mandalorians truly made an impact were behind the rallying words and actions of a Mand'alor.

"After the near genocide of our people, we retreated to Hutt Space to regroup, and to offer our services to help beat back the empire. But without a rallying cry beyond our hate, there is no focus, no unity." Marcus sat back slightly, and watched the coin spin on the tabletop, the lights reflecting off the surface in sharp beams of luminescent gold.

 

[Cassanova]

Jack nodded in agreement, "And such is the pennance of war, Mister Mandalorian. You have lost your home. Your army is in tatters, and you are self-admitted you have no leader."

With a roll of his shoulders, Jack eyed Marcus off. "So you come to me saying that you need a leader to lead your hopelessly lost, repeatedly defeated band of merry warriors so you can what? Get some personal retribution against the Empire from under the safekeeping of the Hutt Cartel?"

It was abundantly clear that Jack had little respect for the forethought that appeared to emanate from the Mandalorian clans. Ten years of repeated defeats, leading to the their ultimate eviction and humiliation as a culture, and complete discreditation as a combatant group. "What do you want me to do? Clone someone for you? Pick someone myself?"

"Stop wasting my time, and tell me why you're here ruining my weekend."

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

Marcus chucked slightly. "there will be plenty more weekends Mr. Tamblyn. And while you may not put much stock on my people for the last decade or so, don't forget we conquered the galaxy right before. Mandalorians are the deadliest warriors in the galaxy, and one of us, even without weapons or armor is worth ten of your enforcers. And I'm nut just offering Clan Renelo, I'm offering all the clans. And not for personal grievances, although there are many, but to bring balance back to the galaxy. That's all we've ever striven for. Balance." A Mandalorians life revolved around balance. Peace and war. Clan and people. Hope and despair. Thus had become even more apparent over the last year.

"I don't want a clone, or some appointed leader from the Hutts. I want the man who almost brought us back together again. The man who conquered the Jedi Temple and saved my people. I want Sisk Renelo. He's the only one who can bring the Mandalorians together and convince them to fight for you. He disappeared during the attack on Mandallia, and I need your help to find him, and if possible, to get him back."

 

[Cassanova]

"Mister Mandalorian..." Jack made a poignant remark, "Any gambler in this casino can make ten million credits, but what makes him a fool is losing it all in the the minutes following his victory. If you can't draw the similarity between an idiot gambler and what the Mandalorian clans accomplished ten years ago, then you are an absolute scum-sucking dimwit."

"Let's not forget that your Mandalorians clearly aren't that good. You had a huge sector of space, and you couldn't defend it. You couldn't fight your way out of that. So I would amend your statement to say that Mandalorians aren't the deadliest warriors in the galaxy. These days they are closer to being the dead-est warriors in the galaxy," Jack shrugged. He knew the Mandalorians weren't that good, and had known it or over a decade. Hell, Jack knew that when he was heping Corden Vencu and Mandal Motors scrounge back what semblance of self-respect they had in the year leading up to the fall of Coruscant. "I can name five enforcers within the Cartel who could put any five Mandalorians into their graves on their own. So you best check how you speak about the people who work for me, Mandalorian."

"So before you go getting yourself into a pride-fuelled rage over my apparent insults to your kind, know that I'm a fair man. I don't say no without knowing the facts." Jack took a quick sip of whiskey and motioned to everyone around the table to leave. The dealer, the other players, even the spectators left the high-rollers area in a matter of seconds, Jack watching on with a ferocious glare.

A minute or so later, Jack and Marcus were alone in the area, still seated at the table, "Why would I put my resources at risk for a Mandalorian who I have never met, who I don't know if I can trust, who you want me to put into a command position of what is left of your once-unrivalled culture? You want me to put my reputation, my money, and the lives of my men at risk."

"Give me one good reason." Jack promptly raised a finger to accentuate an addendum, "And I dno't want to hear a damn thing about how things were. The Mandalorian clans blew their chance to be great ten years ago and have been on a steady decline since then. Don't live in the glory days. You're in a weak bargaining position here, vod. You're protected only by the good will of myself, Borga and Vero the Hutt."

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

Marcus bit back a retort. This man was an ass, plain and simple. He hadn't been there when whatever dark influence that Sith had put over Vencu and Bralor had infected the rest of the clans. Hadn't watched his culture die because one man had tried to change who the Mandalorians were. Hadn't watched his clan claw its way from the ashes, beat back the empire, and then protect Mandalorian space with almost no resources, few men, and then had the Empire come back. All he knew was opulence and deception, lying his way to the top. He spun the coin again, and its dull sound against the tabletop focused his mind. "Because Mr. Tamblyn, If you want to make the Empire seem weak, you take away something that they orchestrated the destruction of an entire sector for."

The facts were clear. Renelo had been the only clan not afforded time to run. They had been attacked by the largest fleet. They had been the focus of the Empire's wrath. And it wasn't because they were particularly dangerous at the time. After all, the Empire only needed to keep the blockade in place to keep them impotent of performing large scale assaults, keeping them confined to small troop movements, but had instead launched a full scale invasion of a sector that did not need to be invaded, all because of Sisk's vision and leadership. After the Aliit Akaan, the Mandalorians had been in no position to threaten anybody, but obviously the Empire had seen something in Sisk, something that they saw as dangerous, that had prompted a change in the status quo against his people. Even Bralor, living on the homeworld of the Mandalorian people had been afforded time to escape.

But Renelo had made the Empire pay, at least in part. The mine field that had been laid right under their noses had performed spectacularly, taking out multiple Imperial capital ships, and the Renelo fighters and Basilisks had taken a toll on the Imperial Starfighters sent to the surface. Despite what Jack Tamblyn thought, Marcus would have dared him to do the same with the same resources that had been available to his clan. But he knew, that as someone who operated from the shadows, he wouldn't have been able to do so.

"You take away Sisk, you take away the Empire's victory. You publicize it, flaunt it, you show the galaxy that the Hutts can take away whatever the Empire possesses, and do it from right under their very nose." The coin began to slow, tilting precariously before falling, the symbol of Renelo, the mythosaur skull with the three slashes, prominently displayed.

 

[Cassanova]

"So you want me to take away the Empire's victory of the Mandalorian clans for one man, who may command the respect of a few hundred?" Jack shook his head, "You need to understand, Mandalorian, that the times of days past has ended. You don't need some puppeteering Mandalore, some hero with a demi-god complex."

Jack rubbed his forehead. The Empire was already knocking at the Cartel's door, it was a problem that Jack was trying to dissipate, not worsen. "Let's not forget that breaking into wherever they are holding Renelo, breaking him out, and bringing him back to Cartel space poses a huge problem for me; The Empire would not consider that an act of kindness."

"I fail to see the benefit in drawing the attention of the Empire just so you and your band of has-beens can get nostalgic. Especially, when you and your kind have only been living off the Cartel's generosity like a handful of blood sucking parasites." Jack eyed off Marcus carefully. "Let's not forget, Mandalorian, that the little things count for alot. You haven't even told me your name. Not one Mandalorian has offered his or her help to the Cartel's operations and efforts since we took you in."

"Yet here you sit, demanding-- sorry, I apologise -- adamantly requesting and stating that is in our best interest to throw our men against the Empire, to draw attention to us - not on you - to us. All we get is the Empire knowing that we can be a thorn in their side. Taking one man, one apparent symbol from their capture... And then what? You and Renelo run off into the sunset and leave the Cartel to deal with the Empire?"

"Your negotiation skills are appalling, Mandalorian. Its no wonder you require two languages to string a logical thought together..."

Jack rubbed his temples with his fingers, sitting silently in thought for a moment.

"Listen, I understand and empathise your position, Mandalorian, but I cannot in my right mind invest Cartel resources into Mandalorian prisoners of war. Especially with our current arrangement. We need more from you. We need a more tangible investment on your behalf. Not just your alliance."

"No." Jack leaned back and gently tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table's edge.

"We want your alleigance."

 

[Logan]

The Mandalorian's were a breed near extinction. The Sith genocide had been swift, brutal and executed without mercy. Nothing remained of the once proud culture but a few thousand individuals scattered across a vast galaxy. A far cry from times as recent as ten years ago when the Mandalorian war-machine ignited fear in the hearts of anyone who heard its name. Time spent reminiscing days long past was time wasted at this point. The Mandalorians would never be what they were, despite how hard the remaining few would try to bring it back. Men.. men like Sisk would try to bring those days back. He would attempt to unite the clans under the name Renelo and lead them to war against the Imperium for their crimes no doubt. Call himself Mandalore the Vengeant perhaps. More like Mandalore the Fool. Desperate times called for desperate measures, maybe the long tradition of Mandalore leading the clans into battle was an archaic one and wouldn't work in the galaxy at large anymore. Bryar was a Renelo by birth. His father was a Renelo and his father before him. It was an odd thing to think that perhaps the culture he believed in, the one that molded him into the man that stood now could be flawed.. outdated. Vying for a title had caused the Mandalorian people to seal their own fate, the Empress just mailed the letter.

Still, the fates had conspired to bring two Mandalorians to the Smuggler's Moon to kneel at the feet of Hutt's once more. Bryar and his fellow associate and vod Marcus had managed to acquired a chance opportunity at council with Mister Jack Tamblyn to discuss the Cartel's aiding the forceful release of Sisk Renelo from Imperial prison. The request wasn't a light one, but when men sought to make a deal with the Devil the terms were rarely standard fair.

From the shadows of the high roller's floor Bryar had been watching the game between Marcus Renelo and Jack Tamblyn. Not the obvious one taking place on the table either, no Bryar was watching the delicate dance going on between the two men. Even from far away one could tell things weren't progressing very smoothly. Facial expressions, body language, all of it was pointing to a flailing Mandalorian and an ever increasingly irritated Corellian. Until this point Bryar had been content eyeing the two from a distance, finding an odd sense of satisfaction from watching Marcus twist in the wind. Standing with arms crossed, it finally crossed Bryar's mind that it may be a good idea to intervene before Marcus blew the entire deal and Jack walked away from the table. It wasn't an easy thing to gain audience with a Cartel Captain and Bryar wasn't about to let some idiot with vapid reasoning and nonsensical delusions of grandeur blow such an important opportunity. Taking the cigarette that had thus far been hanging between his lips, Bryar put it out on a passing server's ashtray. Moving for the first time since the two at the table had begun their dance, Bryar crossed the room quickly and silently approached behind Marcus. Leaning into his ear, Bryar spoke to Marcus, his words whispered and rapid. The look on Marcus' face would tell anyone who was looking that the news he was receiving did not please him, but the look on Bryar's face would tell them that whatever he was saying wasn't a request. Marcus stood and with a huff turned and left the table with little more than a word of goodbye. What a tactless rube.

"You'll have to excuse him," Bryar said with a slight smile and apologetic eye. Bryar was sure he was treading on thin ice here, swapping out negotiators in the middle of speaking with dignitaries was generally frowned upon. Noticing the hushed tones of the table, Bryar attempted to cool the room off a bit by introducing himself. "Bryar Renelo," He said to no one in particular, though his gaze was set on Jack. Reaching across the table, Bryar extended a hand to Jack. It was an outdated gesture, but real gangster's like Jack might see it as a sign of respect. That was the intent, anyway. "A pleasure to play with you and the rest, Mister Tamblyn."

 

[Cassanova]

Jack watched the abrupt arrival of this newcomer and was almost pleasantly relieved for the change of company - despite the social ettiquette that had been rudely ignored by barging in like that. Such breaches were usually dealt with by the quick actions of security guards, but Jack allowed it with a small, forceful gesture to the security guards who were ready to move at Bryar. When the handshake was offered, Jack reciprocated with a smile, "Finally, someone who knows how to introduce himself."

Jack did, however, look to the guards and point to Marcus. In one swift gesture three of the burliest occupants, who seemed to be not there a second ago, moved towards the rude Mandalorian, cupping him forcefully by an arm and shouler each, while the other led them towards the front exit of the building. Some breaches of social etiquette were inexcusable.

With play at the table finally resuming, Jack motioned to the new dealer who arrived to ensure 'fair and unweighted play for all members'. Naturally, Jack knew this dealer, the same as the others who worked at the Casino. This one was a Loriddian woman of middling attractiveness, "Losine, my dear. Would you mind changing out these for me?" With a professional nod, hiding a schoolgirl grin, a quick exchange of chips occurred and Jack finally brought his attention to bear on Bryar.

Mindlessly rearrangign his chips as he spoke, Jack - for the time being - avoided eye contact with the newly arrived Mandalorian, "So are you here to beg me to throw my resources at the Imperium just so you can rally behind a man who is apparently such a great warrior that he could single handedly best any ten of my Enforcers?" Jack passed a wink to the dealer, and slid in five thousand credits to the pile, "Or do you have something remotely interesting to discuss with me?"

 

[Logan]

Bryar did little more than smile contently as he listened to Jack speak. The man lacked a certain.. eloquence one would expect from one so high in the chain of command, but this was the Cartel he was dealing with here. Bryar supposed he could forgive Jack for his less-than subtly irritation laden rhetoric. The new dealer at the table had began to dole out cards to those who were still playing, though whether they were here to play or simply listen on the precarious conversation going at the table was anyone's guess. Bryar didn't even bother to check his cards before calling any bets around the table. This wasn't about money, Bryar and Jack had business to discuss, but the illusion of play would keep prying eyes away from the table. Or maybe it was mere Jack's presence that did that, who knew.

"I see all you know about Sisk are the stories told by infatuated men that revere him like sheep flocking to a new god." Bryar's tone was odd, a half-mix between anger and the shame of speaking of a fellow Mandalorian in such a way, especially the de facto leader of his own clan. "Those that would tell you Sisk would lead the Mandalorians on a glorious path of retribution against the Empire should be put down, their idiocy only further dilutes a now near extinct culture." Bryar lit another cigarette before continuing, careful to keep it's trails of smoke away from Jack. Others were smoking on the high roller's floor, but not at this table so hopefully he didn't mind. Under normal circumstances Bryar wouldn't have bothered in fear of offending the Cartel Champion, but he was no emissary. His negotiating skills were plebeian at best, and honestly he was feeling five kinds of nervous even if his face wouldn't show it. "And if Sisk was really as great a warrior as the fables would lead you to believe he would have been able to escape capture in the first place. I did." Reaching up to his temple, Bryar moved a stray piece of hair away from his eye. "So no, I did not come here to beg for the Cartel's aide in a frivolous prison-break for a man best left forgotten. The winds of change have been sweeping through the galaxy for some time now, as I'm sure you know, and I think it's high time the Mandalorian clans finally move with it. Trying to catch Jack's still avoidant gaze, Bryar made a gesture to one of the servers to bring over two drinks for he and Jack. He was sure they would know what Jack preferred. "I suppose it depends then, Mister Tamblyn," Bryar said as he pushed his own stack of 50,000 into the center of the pot, "is Mandalorian allegiance worth murdering an Imperial prisoner of war?"

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

Marcus growled low in his throat. "Check your tongue, verd, or I will cut it out. Sisk took you in when you had no place to go, no aliit, no purpose. He helped you rebuild that pretty kit and gave you a chance to be a warrior again." He knew plenty in the Clan who would have gutted the man for his words, but he held back. "And the only reason you escaped was because you were off world at the time, following Sisk's orders to keep the Mandalore Sector safe. If you had been there I have no doubt you would have met the same fate as so many of our vode." His hand picked up his coin, and slid it back into his pocket. "And if you insult the Alor again, you will not leave this planet alive. If not by my hand, then by Elias'. You were not there during the rebuilding of the Protectors, during the push on the core, during the fall of Brentaal, Alsakan, and Coruscant. You did not watch the Jedi flee before us, and those who remained die by his blades." Sisk had kept the Mandalorian spirit pure for almost two decades, and this insult to him was not only an insult to the Alor of the Clan this man claimed to call his own, it was an insult to everyone who had ever shed blood in the cause for a united Mandalorian people. He turned his head to Jack.

"Sisk and Sisk alone can claim the loyalty of Renelo, Fett, Skirata, and Orar. The greatest four of the remaining Clans. We may be few, but when properly equipped, you will not find a better fighting force. That is what the rescue of Sisk offers you. Battle hardened warriors of every discipline ready to fight and die not only for our honor and vengeance, but to keep you alive. Sisk can keep them focused, strong, and loyal. You will not find another who can claim that level of respect. Not Verus, Dex, or Kenshin." He was no diplomat and he knew it, but he knew that Jack could not possibly be so dense as to think that the Mandalorians had no fight left in them. Those who had been pushed into a corner fought harder, longer, and more fiercely then those who had an escape route, and right now the Mandalorians didn't have an escape route. "You didn't take the Clan in out of the goodness of your heart. I know that and so do you. You took us in because you knew that we could be useful. And that's what we're offering to be. Troops who can go where you can't. Strike targets that you can't. Quick, deadly and silent."

 

[Cassanova]

Jack rolled his eyes as Marcus reappeared, clearly having slipped the guards that escorted him out of the building. Moments later when they arrived, Jack waved them off, sliding back his seat and standing up staring at Marcus with cold, intense eyes, "Let's not forget, vod, that you've no evidence to support that Sisk is even alive. Or if he is, where he's being kept."

The Corellian chuckled at the all-too-evident infighting of the Renelo clan and wondered how that may be of use, but kept to the discussion of the Sisk's unknown predicament, "You, whatever-the-kriff-your-name-is. You barge into my casino, demand that you're worth ten of my best men, and demand that I see the profit in throwing my people against the Imperium in the faint hopes that your fearless leader - who got himself caught, by the way - is still alive, and imprisoned in a location that we can successfully exfiltrate him from whatever facility that is." Jack slid his hands into his pockets and shook his head with a chuckle of disbelief.

"Bryar's plan had more merit to it; albeit, it still relied on the part where we had the intel about if he was alive or dead," Jack paused, looking back and forth between the two, "And at least he had the decency to introduce himself. Seriously..." Jack couldn't stop himself from shaking his head back and forth, "Ori'buyce, kih'kovid."

A quick glance to the dealer saw the game officially ended, and Jack buttoned his coat, "Unless you two have confirmed actionable intelligence that Sisk is alive, imprisoned, and where that may be - there's no discussion to be had. Once you have that information, I will consider doing what I can - without the unnecessary wastage of manpower, money or resources." Jack's eyes said it all; That is not a request. "Got it?"

 

[Sisk_Renelo]

"I'll be back." Marcus stood, and flipped the cards that were left on the table. the last flux had changed the two cards he still held into the Idiot, and the 3 of Flasks. The Dealer's card had turned into the 2 of Sabers. "Idiot's Array." He reached out a small chit in his hand, and the dealer transferred his winnings to it. He pulled it back and slipped it into his breast pocket. " The Empire may be massive, and finding one man may seem impossible, but doing the impossible is our trade. You'll get your proof." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the Casino heading towards the landing pads where his ship sat on it's struts, waiting for him.

As he entered the cool dark interior, he pulled his commlink out of his pocket and flicked it on, tuning it to an old frequency. "Verus, Elias, I'm going to need your help..."

 

[Logan]

The return of Marcus to the table was not a surprise - Bryar knew his Mandalorian blood wouldn't let him be ushered away so easily. And when he did finally show back up, the anger was radiating off him like heat from a sun. His words erupted from pursed lips, a mix of insults in basic and threats in Mando'a. All of his words were irrelevant, Marcus had seen to that himself. Jack held not a single ounce of respect for this idiot, that much was clear. Though it seemed Bryar wasn't in too good of standing with Jack either, but at least his head was above water. This meeting having been blown, and the game evidently over, Bryar stood and faced Marcus first.

"Your antiquated views on the galaxy are the reason the Mandalorian's are in the position they're in, Marcus. You speak with the mind of a child and the emotion of a woman during her time of the month." Bryar said, his voice like venom. "You know nothing about me or what I've done or did, and if it were my choice, I'd slit your throat where you stand. If the only way you can fight back against the empire is to follow some di'kut that couldn't even escape his sector than you and the others like you are already doomed, and you doom the entire Mandalorian culture." Bryar had no more words for Marcus. He turned his attention to Jack. "My apoligies for all of this, Mister Tamblyn. But my interests in this matter do not hinge on whether or not Sisk Renelo is still alive. Only that if he is - he is to be made dead, and if he isn't, well than this conversation has been entirely pointless and I'm sorry for wasting your time." Rubbing his temples to relieve some stress, Bryar sighed. "I'll leave you with one word of... advice, Mister Tamblyn. If you let the Mandalorians rally behind Sisk Renelo you're allowing an entire culture to die, and with it an alleigence of men and women that would fight by your side with honor and without question. You let a man break out of jail and try to declare himself Mandalore, well.. you've seen what can happen to a warmachine when everyone is vying for the same inconsequential title. It's been the same for thousands of years. Take the chance to break the cycle."

Before turning to leave, Bryar slid a small card across the table towards Jack. [color=0066c]"If it would ever come up, let me know."[/color]

 

[Cassanova]

Jack shook his head with a desbelieving grin, and scooped up the card from the table, slipping it into his pocket. "Bryar," Jack pointed to the Mandalorian with a commanding gesture, "Keep your domestic bullshit out of my establishments."

With little more than a passing glance, Jack turned and went off to drink some whiskey elsewhere...

/endthread?

 

[Mistress]

She was watching them intently for a time, the lady in the smooth satin dress, accented by a draping lengthy blue cape. It was pinned around her ivory neck by a deep blue Tanzanite broach that cost more than most women lock away into a safe hold during an entire lifetime. She wasn't dressed in her armor this night, but rather with the purpose to turn heads. Her poise and eloquence put the local girls to shame, and yet some of them present were the town's pride it seemed. None have ever seen her with her hair down. Only her family would recognize her face, although they might need to look twice before realizing who she is. If one believed in Lady Luck, perhaps he would imagine she had as fare a face as Xotomi. But one man's luck, could be a lady's skill in the Force.

They held her future in their hands and they couldn't get on the task. "Unbelievable," she whispered softly with a sigh, as she slowly placed a glass to her lips. She had one story that was ever changing. Her recent immersion into believing her husband dead took her down a path of despair. This left her heart fall victim to the Darkside of the Force. It was a place she knew all too well in her youth. She didn't try to shake free of its grasp. There was nothing else she had to fill the void she feels. And then the most remarkable thing happened when she saved the life of Kyouteki. As a lifelong Projective Telepath, Xotomi had proof of what her daughter has been telling her all along. She finally saw Sisk. She even showed the vision to the others who wished to see it. Her abilities came crashing back to her. Certainly Xotomi Renelo was not about to turn away from her link to the Force.

She watched as it went terribly wrong. The boys just couldn't play nice. The egos of men destroyed a potential for an exchange. Perhaps Xotomi is the only one here willing to gamble, with more at stake. 'Thank you for waiting for me, fellas,' she thought as she watched them walk away from the table of the most powerful man on the planet. It seems her fellow Mandalorians aren't at all too skilled at schmoozing, and just don't have her patience. Perhaps she will put a Force Choke on their balls later! That seems very much to be due them! However there is nothing so desperate that can justifiably interrupt her from having another drink at the bar.