Ask Social Moving Day

[Helen Holcomb]

Helen Holcomb grinned in satisfaction as the last of the Holcomb Garages transports, bearing the last of her personnel and remaining equipment, set down in the cavernous main docking bay of Hulk 854, or as it would soon be called, Holcomb 1. Already, some of the staff were celebrating; someone had broken out a heretofore unsuspected liquor collection and had set up a respectable wet bar behind what Helen thought must be an old reception desk which - among other pieces of furniture - appeared to have been dragged to the bay from elsewhere on the station by the former occupants.

Helen took a sip from her tumbler of syrspirit, smirking in satisfaction. The pirates, despite their numbers and firepower, had folded quickly in the face of an organized opponent, and the pilot had to admit it was the most satisfying victory she'd had in some time. As she thought of it, though, her face fell slightly; things had gotten somewhat out of control toward the end...

She glanced over toward the group of hired mercenaries, pursed her lips and took another sip.

The pirates may not have shown quarter in the same situation, but dammit, Helen and those she associated with were supposed to be better than them. The Barancar Orbital Authority may not have cared if the pirates were alive or dead as far as issuing the bounties went, but Helen didn't kill because it was convenient.

Shaking her head, she drained the rest of her glass and started back over toward the group of mercenaries, who were already mingling with her own crew. Grinning, she waved.

"Welcome aboard, everyone! It's not much of a spread, I admit, but it's... what we've got."

 

[Yossk]

The Trandoshans were aboard the station long before the rest of their crew arrived. Their ship was buckled and battered, beaten to hell and back yet still alive. His crew was still around, for the most part. They were quite litterslly screaming too, their reptilian vocal cords howling out as they swarmed through the halls. Blaster fire was heard as they clipped any body they found, many of them using vibro weapons to remove the heads of the pirates as proof. Bags were filled with proof of each and every kill, brought back to the hangar where their officer decided to set up shop. But that is not all the Trandoshans were grabbing. Blasters, melee weapons, armor, everything not nailed down and even some things that were. All were boxed up and tagged as loot.

His left eye was wrapped in gauze as that side of his vision was blackened. His left arm was missing a few inches below his shoulder, cut in a straight line and cauterized by his own saber. His one still present hand held tight to the weapon, the amber blade illuminating the area around him. He held it down and angled to the ground away from his body as he circled the small group of kneeling pirates like a tiger circling it's prey. His blue body armor and the leather side cape he wore was worn and obviously covered still with dust and debris from the bridge. Yet the black hilt tight in his hand was pristine. The remaining pirates were cowering in fear, one even having a part of his own arm severed by the blade as he made a go for his now removed side arm.

"Your comradess fought well," the young Trandoshan spoke with no hint of any emotion in his voice, "I can give you that. But, ssadly for you, the pride of the Trandoshan navy was too sstrong. Take pride in knowing that you all were the causse for itss remodel, and take more pride in knowing it's evolution shall be due to your punishment to it. Its a shame you will not be alive to ssee it launched." With that, Yossk motioned with his saber to move the prisoners to a new ship that arrived: Yossk's personal Pursuer-Class Enforcement Ship.

Once the prisoners would be secured in their cells, only then would Yossk retract his saber. It would find its way onto his hip as the limber reptile would move to set up a few tables with his men. Chairs would be set around them and various drinks and food found in the station would be set up on them, with the various crates of plundered loot being moved into their commander's personal craft. Even though their main frigate was smashed into near oblivion, and many of their crewmates were injured, it seemed to be a jovial time for Yossk's crew. They were built from survivors, so they would keep surviving no matter what. As long as Yossk was there they had a vision that would keep them going long after their will was gone. But now was time for celebration. Pondering would be later.

 

[Kellan Solari]

Behind the controls of a starfighter, mentally running all the calculations and microdecisions involved in deadly space combat, Kellan felt intimately at home. Incalculable hours spent at the helm of such deadly pursuits had programmed each movement, each response into the very fibers of his muscles. Entire neuropathic networks built and cultivated around the reality of fighting for one’s life in the cold, dispassionate vacuum of space. The result was a being who felt most at ease in the cockpit. Most at home.

But removed from that perilous station and set adrift in a social situation such as the one he found himself in now, and Lieutenant Solari felt very alien indeed. The Hulk’s main docking bay was a hive of activity and amidst the crewmen and stevedores hauling equipment and cargo to and fro, clusters of partygoers milled about in bawdy conversation. A decorated TIE Pilot of the Imperial Navy, Solari found striking up idle chatter with such mercenaries an exceedingly difficult task. As such, he busied himself tending to his ferment or pretending to inspect the girders and steel plating of the bay’s interior. He was in the middle of one such performative inspection when he caught sight of their de facto leader beelining towards them, drink in hand.

Their mission had been a rousing success, as evidenced by where they all currently stood, but it was not without its…cultural miscommunications. Whitetail was afflicted by a streak of leniency so profound it seemed, that it extended even to the very pirate scum who had been gunning for them. The son of a lawman from a backwater planet, Kellan had little regard for the lives of those who would prey on others. Pirates, scoundrels, thieves. The very types that had harried and harassed his father’s living days and had seen fit to end them. Violently.

His time in the Imperial Navy had taken such sentiments and calcified them into hardened coda. The suffering wrought by lawlessness was pervasive. And only those with the iron will available to speak the pirates own language could ever hope to stem the tide. Hinterland authorities such as those available on Barancar couldn’t hope to serve anything even resembling justice. If Kellan were to venture a guess, he imagined some of those pirates would see daylight before their little celebration here had even wrapped up.

Unpleasantness notwithstanding, Solari had good reason to attend tonight’s little gathering. Invigorated by his experience in the Super Kobra’s saddle, he had wasted no time in offering up his share of the bounty to Yossk in exchange for its papers. The Trandoshan, feeling perhaps a brotherly sense of arms after such a spirited battle, had agreed though both parties were aware that Kellan was getting the better end of the bargain. The AFC-X1 'Super Kobra' was as fine a craft as the Imperial had ever piloted, hampered only by its lack of a hyperdrive. A fact that would effectively tether the fighter to sublight action. No pilot could truly hope to operate independently without the flexibility that hyperspace travel permitted. But such modifications to a privately owned starfighter were costly and required a skilled hand.

But then what are friends for? He thought to himself as he watched Helen Holcomb cross the hangar bay floor towards the gathering of mercenaries.

“Nice place you have here boss.” he said, raising his glass to the nearing Lepi. Kellan wore a wry smile. “Heard you got it for a steal.”

@AutoFox @Olwin

 

[Hauron Solus]

Spoiler: Music

Rancor Squadron had accepted their fair share of surrenders from the pirates. They had the effective means of transporting them securely to their next location. The Mandalorian mercenaries would reap the rewards of the pirate bounties and from the long term relationship with the captured space station. The Group Leader was excited to see the progress underway.

Hauron looked forward to a tour of the space station and he was sure there would be plenty of time for that later. Victory had been achieved at the cost of great sacrifice and he could see the Trandoshans perhaps felt that more than anyone else. The Rally Master watched the reptilian crews scavenge as much as possible to no doubt go towards their ship repairs among other things. It was probably a good idea Rancor Squad hold off on moving anything onto the station immediately, lest the Trandoshans mistake them for loot left by the corsairs and try to take it as spoils of war.

The Mandalorian swaggered over to join with the other leaders of the victory. The warriors that followed him from his ship dispersed and went to their own areas to celebrate or begin nesting. Though the outsiders would not see it, Hauron had a slightly quirked of a smile underneath his helmet. "The station is wonderful." An optimistic tone was clear in his voice. The Rally Master tended to be chipper and have a positive upbeat tone to his words hinting at an otherwise hidden expression.

"If we need more booze, I think the Squad has some bootleg tihaar onboard." It was understatement how much they had. There was enough to probably give the celebrating team alcohol poisoning. But the alcoholic drink was not for everyone. There was probably some spice being shared on the down low but as long as it did not hurt anyone, Hauron would turn a blind eye. Maybe the mikkian would partake if the occasion arose. This was a rare chance for his people to relax.

@AutoFox @Olwin @The Good Doctor @Tic

 

[Kellan Solari]

As Whitetail (@AutoFox) seemed otherwise indisposed, Kellan opted to turn his attention elsewhere. Part of him wondered if she was purposefully snubbing him. Perhaps she was still sore over that business with the escape pods. But then why invite him at all? She was under no obligation to host him on her newly acquired station.

No, Kellan decided, more than likely she’s preoccupied with ensuring the Dosh (@Olwin) don’t make light hors d'oeuvres out of the remaining captive pirates.

Giving his ferment an idle swirl he turned towards the nearby Mandalorian (@Darasuum). He hadn’t caught the man’s name but in his experience, they weren't generally worth learning so far as bucketheads were concerned. That is, unless you were particularly skilled at memorizing sigils and armour decals. Solari generally just attempted to avoid insulting the more ‘violently prone’ species.

“Great turnout.” he said, making some vague gesture towards the hangar’s occupants. He struck out his free hand. “Kellan by the way. Don’t think we were ever formally introduced. Quite a ship you’ve got. What’s it called? The Lovely Lance? Yeah, really astral. Have you got aftermarket parts on it?”