Small Starts - Eice's Tale (Social Thread/Character Intro)

[Eice Frex]

"All wings report in!"
Eice reached out a hand that was not her own to adjust a knob in the cockpit of her starfighter, her gaze flicking over readouts and controls. Distorted over the comm, she heard other pilots in her squadron begin to check in.
"Red 10 standing by."
"Red 7 standing by."
"Red 3 standing by."
"Red 6 standing by."
"Red 9 standing by."
"Red 2 standing by."
"Red 11 standing by."
"Red 5 standing by."
The voice was not Eice's own. She puzzled at that, but in the strange, drifting logic that seemed to reign in this place, she did not do so for long.
"Lock S-foils in attack position."
Eice twisted a knob with her unfamiliar fingers, and to either side of her, the blunt, straight wings of her craft split into two. Indicators glowed green, but all of a sudden there was a shudder that ran through the ship. A few lights flickered red, but quickly returned to positive status.
"We're passing through the magnetic field! Hold tight. Switch your deflectors on, double front."
Eice found herself automatically obeying the flight lead's order, pressing a button and twisting another knob. Somewhere in front of her, barely audible over the powerful engines, her tiny ship's deflector screens hummed. That was odd, she mused; no ship this size had deflectors!
"Look at the size of that thing!"
"Cut the chatter Red 2! Accelerate to attack speed."
Eice looked around her, her strange hand pushing up the throttle. Around her, the ships of her squadron were angling in on their target.
Eice looked, and saw, and would not believe it.
At first, it seemed to be a small moon, hanging grey and barren in space. But as Eice looked closer, she saw the vast plains of dark metal that formed its surface; something cold spread inside her as she looked at a huge, crater-like depression on one of the hemispheres.
This was no moon.
"This is it boys."
"Red Leader this is Gold Leader."
"I copy Gold Leader."
"Starting for the target shaft now."
"We're in position. I'm gonna cut across the axis and try and draw their fire."
Eice and the other snubfighters streaked toward the surface of the moon-thing, and leveled out. And then, all hell broke loose.

CORELLIA, SPACE STATION IN ORBIT, 6,903 BBY.

Eice's eyes snapped open, and the diminutive Tintinna gave a squeak as she awoke with a start, blinking owlishly from behind her glasses and shaking her head slightly. She tried to recall the dream that had woken her, but it faded before her recollection, like morning mist under the hot sun.
Sighing, she sat up straight, smoothed her black synthsilk skirt, adjusted her glasses and looked around.
Eice Frex was a loadmaster for the honorable Blackrow Hyperlogistics Corporation, as were her parents before her, and their parents before them. It was her job - her duty and privilege, according to the intra-company propaganda - to ensure that all freight processed and shipped by the company was properly inspected, loaded and logged as per regulations. Her responsibility, it had been drilled into her head almost since birth, was the smooth running of nothing less than pan-Galactic commerce. Without her guidance, ships would be overloaded, accidents would happen, freight would not get through, planets would starve.
The petite Tintinna looked to the right and left, saw no-one, and sighed, sagging backwards into her plastoid seat.
Eice had fallen asleep waiting for the arrival of her flight crew. She was scheduled for an inspection of the great Blackrow freight marshaling yards which orbited Corellia; she had arrived early, in fact, and had been waiting in this lonely stretch of space station corridor outside the hangar bay for...
...she looked down at her wrist chrono, and frowned in irritation.
It wasn't her imagination, they were late!
In the grand scheme of things, she supposed it wasn't impossible that there had been a mistake somewhere in the process. For all the importance the company told her her position had, the fact was that she was just a minor cog in the great machine that was Blackrow Hyperlogistics. She had an inspection lighter reserved for her - she could see it through the hangar doors - but perhaps a crew had never been assigned?
She looked at her watch again, and chewed her lower lip nervously.
She was already late. She would complain to SR (Sapient Resources), of course, but she could either do that now or keep waiting on the off chance her crew did show up. The later the inspection was, however, the more datawork she would have to fill out explaining why it had been delayed, and the deeper the blemish on her record would become, even if it was eventually expunged.
She gave a frustrated sigh, and stood, walking toward the hangar door briskly. She reached into her bag, removing a datapad and thumbing it on to record a memo.
"This is loadmaster Eice Frex, stating for the record that my flight crew is now 47 minutes late for a scheduled inspection. In their absence, I will be piloting the inspection lighter myself."
Eice keyed off the datapad's record function, and put the small device back in her bag. Reaching the hangar door, she stretched to reach up and hit the door controls, causing them to open with a hiss.

The hangar was empty except for a few maintenance droids, who offered no challenge as Eice approached the inspection lighter and climbed the boarding ramp. It was only a simple little ship; a basic utility skiff, one of hundreds used by Blackrow around its orbital facilities.
All the same, Eice chewed her lower lip in nervous excitement as she keyed the hatch closed, and went to take a seat in the pilot seat. She had to stop herself from taking the copilot seat, where she sometimes was invited to sit during close inspections.
She was going to get to fly today.
She slipped the comm headset on, and twisted a knob on the control panel before her.
"*Ahem*. This is delta-delta-lambda-niner to Blackrow Orbital Control. Apologies for our late start, we're leaving the docking bay now, over."
Even before the response came, Eice had ignited the little craft's thrusters and engaged the repulsorlifts, easing off the ship's fixed landing gear and slowly turning the blunt nose toward open space. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door to the corridor open and two flight-suited figures enter the hangar, looking incredulous as they saw the lighter already taking off without them.
"Delta-delta-lambda-niner this is Blackrow Orbital. Who is this? Your window opened 48 minutes ago!"
Eice eased the lighter forward, glancing back as she watched the two figures briefly sprint to catch up with her, but come up short when she moved the ship through the magnetic barrier holding in the hangar's atmosphere and heat. She grinned to herself, reaching down to adjust her seat and make the controls easier for her diminutive reach to access.
"Blackrow Orbital this is delta-delta-lambda-niner, Loadmaster Eice Frex in command. My flight crew never reported in, so I'll be flying the inspection myself. You'll find I have the proper authority and credentials. Over."
There was a pause, and Eice set her course for the Blackrow Freight Marshaling Yards.
"...roger, delta-delta-lambda-niner, we confirm. Be advised, your delayed departure has put you in overlap with several drone barges taking on cargo at the marshaling yards."
Eice sighed, but that was to be expected. Whether she was there to keep things orderly or not, the freight kept moving.
"Copy that, Blackrow Control. Delta-delta-lambda-niner, out."

CORELLIA, BLACKROW HYPERLOGISTICS FREIGHT MARSHALING YARDS, 6,903 BBY.

The evenly space grid of shipping containers stretched out in all directions, each piece of freight oriented just so along perfect, computer-calculated, invisible lines. At regular intervals, the lights of navigation buoys blinked, as did the marker lights on the thousands of containers.
The Blackrow Hyperlogistics Orbital Freight Marshaling Yards were a massive complex, although not the only such yard in orbit above Corellia. Czerka alone, Eice knew, had a freight yard that could swallow Blackrow's several times over, and it wasn't even the biggest in the system. Even so, it was an impressive sight, one the young Tintinna knew her family had stewarded for generations.
The yard was essentially a parking orbit for cargo. Rather than keep sealed containers in warehouses aboard space stations or on the surface of Corellia, they were stored in open space, where there were effectively no limits to how much space was available. Non-critical, economy rate cargo was kept here until it could be collected for shipment, usually aboard the hulking automated drone barges which formed much of Blackrow's long-haul fleet.
As Eice approached the yards, she could see several of these, the long, slender-looking shapes of Kolier-class barges. Their massive cargo bays open to space as they maneuvered next to marked pieces of freight, they matched velocity and simply eased sideways over them, scooping them into their holds. Binary loadlifters, along for the ride, would sort the cargo inside.
Removing her datapad from the bag next to her seat, the loadmaster got to work.
Eice's job today was simple. Although most of the freight sorting at the marshaling yard was handled by droids, and required little if any organic intervention or oversight, the company considered it important to send someone out to check up on operations occasionally. Her task primarily was to visually check that the grid system along which all of the assembled shipping containers were organized was in good order; out-of-place containers could result in collisions, which could result in lost or damaged cargo, damaged equipment, shipping delays and - most important - lost revenue for the company. It was vital that everything ran smoothly.
Eice, for her part, did not mind the work as much as she otherwise would have. True, it was utterly tedious, mainly involving flying the ship back and forth along the lines of a grid and matching the expected positions of containers against their actual positions on a map. As was nearly always the case, they matched perfectly.
But today, Eice had something to distract her from the tedium; she was flying the ship herself. True, it was not a particularly novel experience for most people, but for Eice it was wondrous indeed.

Eice had fallen in love with spacecraft at an early age. When other females her age had been playing with dolls, she had been gluing together plasto models of famous starships and floating them on micro-repulsors in her bedroom. When she was 14, she had taken pilot lessons as an elective at the corporate school, and had been on track to become a freighter helmsbeing, before her parents had sat her down and told her about her future as a station-side loadmaster, as they were, and as their parents had been before them.
Eice adored flying, and everything that went with it. But duty to her family and the company that supported them had sent her down a different path, one where indulging such passions was a rarity.

And so Eice flew back and forth above the grid of carefully arranged containers, enjoying herself perhaps more than she had in some time, before something distracted her from her reverie.
It was, to her well-trained eye, a blemish on the perfectly ordered landscape before her. Each container - all of a standardized, rectangular type, 15 meters long by 5 wide by 5 high - had 8 blinking red marker lights, one on each of their corners so that their dimensions were easier to discern. These marker lights formed long, straight dotted lines, stretching on and on along the grid.
One set of lights was skewed up and to the side.
Though she enjoyed flying, Eice had engaged the autopilot on the long straight stretches so that she could keep her hands free for the datapad. Seeing the skewed container, she frowned, disengaging the autopilot and restoring manual control so that she could move down and take a closer look.
Pulling up close, she parked the inspection lighter expertly in the space where the container would have been if it were in proper position; it was now above her and slightly to starboard. Using her datapad, she began to take notes, recording the container's serial number, physical appearance, position, and other pieces of information.
So absorbed was she in this task that she did not notice the enormous shadow which swept over both the container and the little ship. She was just finishing and looking up from her datapad, noting with surprise that she suddenly could not see the stars, when there was the wrenching sensation of a larger artificial gravity field interacting with that of her ship, and the crash of something massive and heavy coming down on the side of her lighter, flipping it sideways violently.
The last thing Eice saw for some time was the cockpit wall rushing up to meet her.

SOME TIME LATER, SOMEWHERE IN THE OUTER RIM, 6,903 BBY.

Eice Frex had looked better, she knew.
The half-starved Tintinna female, sporting a disheveled synthsilk skirt and a wrinkled malashet blouse, had given the stevedore droids and organic dock-workers unloading the drone barge quite a shock when they had discovered her, holed up in her damaged lighter where the barge's crew of binary loadlifters had dutifully stowed it before the droid ship had gone to hyperspace, taking its accidental passenger with it. She had survived the long voyage using her own ship's life support system, supplementing its consumables with the contents of the emergency vac suits' atmosphere bottles. She had eaten the ship's emergency survival rations, and after those had run out, had managed to track down the barge's manifest and crack open the scant few containers carrying anything resembling foodstuffs. Water she had gotten from condensed moisture dripping off the barge's cooling system.
She had gotten the lighter moved to a corner of the spaceport where she was reasonably certain it wouldn't be stolen before she could get back to it, and used most of the credits that had been in her pockets to access a data terminal. It was there that she discovered her corporate login had been disabled, and her expense account revoked. Holomail on her private account informed her that - owing to her extended unexplained absence, and apparent theft of company property - her position with Blackrow Hyperlogistics had been terminated, and that she now had a warrant for her arrest issued in the Corellian System on charges of grand theft spacecraft, apparently for the lighter she had been sealed in the drone barge with.
Far from home, with only a few decicreds to her name and no-one to call on, Eice had been cast adrift.

The frightened and bewildered Tintinna now began to explore her new surroundings.
The spaceport was a deep-space way-station, likely a place that had formed around the presence of one of the old hyperspace navigational beacons long ago, and which had persisted even after the beacons became largely obsolete. It was not an especially busy place, or it normally wasn't at least, although that appeared to have changed recently.
Apparently, there was an Ossein flagship in dock, which had brought all sorts of interesting people aboard. The corridors were crowded with a diverse array of species, and out of the windows of the station, Eice could see dozens of ships buzzing around.
Eventually, she stumbled into a cantina, rummaging in her pockets and digging out the last of her credits. Looking around at the food and drinks many of the patrons held, she licked her lips, and strode up to the bar.
"E-Excuse me." She said, managing to catch the attention of the bartender droid. "Um... blue milk, please."

 

[Daesha Keever]

The Ossien Fleet. The stuff of lore, legend, and loathing, discussed in hushed whispers in the backrooms of every spacer bar by a gaggle of karking idiots who had no idea what they were talking about. Stories abound of the heroics of Ossein pilots, the daring of their blockade runners, and the savagery of their pirates. She remembered one of the Gutkurrs, a swoop jockey they called Keth, a skinny little Lethan runt, swore that he once met an Ossein woman. Said she was an eight foot tall human woman with snow white skin and blonde hair to her ankles, and that she shot lightning from her eyes and fire from the other end. He was usually drunk so everyone just humored his incessant, inebriated interjections.

Ever since she had escaped Nar Shadda Daesh'afenn had come to know the real Ossein Fleet, and had been admittedly disappointed. She knew full well the myths surrounding the interstellar nomads were almost certainly just that, myths, the realization that the Ossein were just people didn't exactly capture her imagination. Not that living your entire life in a pressurized can constantly risking the dangers of open space wasn't interesting in its own right, but the hype surpassed reality. But what they lacked in inspirational value they made up for in potential monetary value. Their weren't that many ways to make money in space, but smuggling was one of them and the fleet was apparently no strangers to 'free trading' as well. For the sake of not turning themselves into wanted fugitives the fleet took to hiring independent smugglers to make the last leg of their runs for them, or to bring in new contraband. It was a solid strategy, if Daesha was caught before she reached the fleet and tried to rat out the Ossein they would have plausible deniability, or just bolt before anyone caught up to them.

Regardless of the unfeelingly practical nature of the bargain, the Ossein were some of the safest people a smuggler could deal with. They lived by a code of honor, and had enough sense not to stab their freelancers in the back. This was why she was sitting in this rust-plated, vomit-scented cantina with an empty ship and full jacket pockets. She had just worked out a deal with one of the 'Noy', an Ossein captain, for a shipment of less than legal substances to be used at their discretion. Or indiscretion, it didn't matter to her she had her credits and a happy customer that knew her name, win-win. A good deal always made watered down Corellian swill taste sweeter.

She had just ordered another shot of 'fine imported Corellian rum' when something caught her eye. Or rather, someone. A Tintinna woman, or at least she thought it was a woman, the short frames and soft features of the rodents made it hard to guess their ages unless they were at an extreme end of the age spectrum. But it was less her species that was interesting, and more the fact that she looked like a corporate secretary after being dragged through a gutter on Nal Hutta. She was dressed in synthsilk and malashet, not exactly bank-breaking materials but meant to look like them, and her short grey blouse and substantial spectacles screamed bureaucrat. She wasn't armed, she wasn't escorted, she wasn't even asserting herself as patrons leered and jeered at her as she stumbled past, shoulders hunched up so high Dae had to wonder if they were dislocated. The girl wasn't just frightened, she looked shattered, devastated, a look she'd seen before on people who'd had the Hutts pay their family a visit.

Daesha watched from the corner of her eye as the Tintinna shuffled through the bar, eagerly eying the meals of the other patrons, before climbing onto a seat at the counter and asking, as meekly as physically possible, for a glass of blue milk. There was a story here, one she was hesitant to guess at, but couldn't resist inquiring into.

"So," She began in Huttese, as awkwardly as she possibly could. "What's your story?"

 

[Dedric Ryker]

____________

Theme
​

It was loud around the open hangar. A series of droids the man had rented attended to his hawkbat interceptor in addition to his own to greasy hands. The deck and air was cold enough to send a shiver down most people's spines but Dedric's focus on his maintenance warmed him. The cloying scent of oil and sweat filled the cold air of the hangar and he wasn't the only one working on a machine. The cacophony of activity was due to multiple people calling out, droids clanking with each action, throttles rising and falling from various craft.

Dedric stepped away from one of the two engines that made up the bulk of the interceptor's mass. He walked over to a small cart that had a host of tools. Some were already dirty from use, others just worn with time. The man did not pick any of these tools up, instead hitting the commlink resting at the top to see if any new messages had come in. There were none so he turned back to his work. The upturned wings of the hawkbat interceptor were an iconic symbol for him personally. He had owned the vessel for the better part of a decade and it still served him well.

The droids working on the other side of the small ship sparked once as it incorrectly gauged the spacing between the active current in one of the exposed wings. It whirred as as it retracted the manipulator arm it was using. "Watch it you you bucket of bolts!" He skirted the craft to see if any damage had been done. Fortunately it was superficial and nothing more than what the vessel had already seen. Dedric sighed and shook his head at the blank expression from the droid.

Looking at his own chrono he thought about getting a long deserved drink. Dedric grabbed a rag and wiped his hands as best he could before tossing the rag on top of his MR astromech droid. "Make sure the rentables don't break anything." The small droid chirped in response before returning to work. Dedric was wearing a simple flight suit with a leather jacket. The upper half of his flight suit was rolled down to show the black undershirt he wore beneath making it look like he just had a pair of pants on. His 4C blaster pistol was on his hip as was his survival knife on the opposite hip.

Swaggering his way to the nearest cantina he caught the tail end of a blue skinned beauty. Dedric's gaze didn't linger though. People came and went. His current priority was to enjoy neat glass of Ithorian Mist. The man sat alone with nobody on either side of him as he sipped at the drink. He had consumed better but this wasn't too expensive.

His gaze lingered on the game of grave-ball that was one display. A few other screens had assorted news and current events but nothing that particularly caught his attention. Perhaps after a few more drinks he would get bored and try to talk to one of the ladies present. The drinks were not good enough for him to sit alone in silence to enjoy over an extended period of time. His blue eyes caught sight of the similarly hued twi'lek he had seen earlier. He looked her over again, this time being able to see her face. Dedric had to do a double take on what he first thought was a strange looking chadra'fan but then realized it was a Tintinna. Dedric mumured a sound of curiosity before returning to his drink in time to hear several people cheer at one of the grav-ball teams scoring.

 

[Reedlee Voon]

The view from within the cockpit of the Hawk-Bat Interceptor shifted as it lowered in its landing sequence, being marshaled by one of the massive ships docking crew amidst the bustling bazaar that covered the deck. Spotted with other craft and colorful tents Reedlee’s ship aptly named “Voon’s Boon” touched down in the painted area designated for landing and mantinence.

Releasing the cockpits seal and pushing it upward Voon took a moment to stretch his arms before hitting the lock on his flight harness and stepping out of the cockpit, picking up his pack that sits between his legs during flight. Taking a moment to survey the other parked ships he cracked a smile seeing he was directly across from another Hawk-Bat with some droids looking veritably lost attempting to work on the ship.

“Where can I find blue milk in this mess?” He said to the marshal while taking off his helmet and placing it in the cockpit and closing it before sliding down. Turning to see the man point at a ramshackle cantina down a ways, Voss slung his pack and flipped his blaster on safe before pulling out his datapad.

Logging his last job in the pad Voss kept a running spread of past work and payouts as a makeshift resume, logging it as he walked Voss couldn’t help but wonder at the size and scope of his surroundings never ceasing to be amazed by the variations in landscapes he encountered after living most of his life on the same space station.

Before he knew it Voss had reached the cantina, noticing a motley crew of patrons already formed at the counter he cocked his head at the rodent like creature and blinked a few times to make sure he was awake. But sure as he was it seemed to be having a conversation with another sentient, making his way to the counter proper he saddled up a few seats away from another man before ordering a blue milk.

Stowing his datapad on his utility belt, Voss was dressed in a green flight suit with a brown leather utility belt and shoulder holster accompanied by white painted dueling armor. Designed to resemble his ships paint so that he would be the recognizable owner, and he liked it that way.

 

[Rin "Tinker" Kosakami]

Rin ashed his cigarra against an ashtray on the bar as he took another sip of his glass of Nikta. The relative quiet ambience of the station's cantina helped to sooth the remnants of his headache. Rin had just finished a seven hour shift of repairing starship hull microfractures and dealing with a particularly irate Bothan who dissagreed with the 30,000 credit price tag that went hand and hand with an entire engine retooling for his medium freighter. He looked forward to savoring the time that the Ossein main ship spent docked or in orbit around a star base, although he loved living aboard the massive vessel he still enjoyed sampling something new every time he disembarked.

Taking another drag off of his cigarra, Rin looked over at the seat next to him where some type of barely three foot tall rodent sat down and ordered a blue milk. He sniffed his cigarra just to make sure that he didn't accidentally roll one with some of his glitterstim in it before turning back to his data pad which held the manifest for the parts and supplies that had been delivered to his garage. The tiny rodent looked like she already had her hands full without another random patron sticking his nose in her business.

 

[Eice Frex]

@Daesh'afenn @Dedric Ryker @Reedlee Voon @Rin "Tinker" Kosakami

Eice heard her stomach growl as she waited for the bartender droid to pour her the blue milk; she chewed her lower lip, and tried not to think about how hungry she was. The last of the edible food aboard the drone barge - there hadn't been much - had run out two days before, and after the milk she wouldn't even have enough cash to order from one of the vending machines in the station's central concourse.
Blue milk, she assured herself, was fortifying. It gave all the nutrients the average being needed in a tasty liquid. It was just that you couldn't actually chew it, and-
"So, choy?'s do story?"
Eice blinked, looking up and briefly around before spotting a blue-skinned female Twi'lek fixing her with an inquiring expression. The Tintinna adjusted her glasses nervously, straightening herself on the bar-stool the way one might when caught by surprise by their boss.
"I... u-um..." the little lost loadmaster stammered nervously. "...I-I'm sorry, I don't speak huttese. Er... mee hagwa speak huttese."
Eice was fairly certain she had said the huttese phrase correctly; it was all she knew in that language. She only spoke basic, plus a few phrases in bocce; she had only ever even heard huttese spoken in holos.
I guess I really am in the Outer Rim now. She thought to herself.
A few more people entered the cantina; a Morganian who briefly glanced in her direction, and two others who did the same, a near-human who sat further down along the bar, and a human who sat directly next to her. Neither seemed to pay too much attention to her afterward, but the Tintinna couldn't help but feel uneasy. That, she reasoned, was only natural given the situation.
She had returned her gaze to the Twi'lek woman when the bartender droid muttered something behind her. Eice turned, and only partially stifled a joyful squeak when she saw the tall glass of blue milk. Seizing it instantly, she drank nearly half of it in one long guzzle, the rich, sweet taste a welcome variation from the scarce, metallic-tasting water she had managed to collect from the drone barge's innards.
Afterward, she caught her breath and held the glass, not bothering to wipe away the milk mustache on her upper lip. At that moment, a whole bottle of NN182 would not even have come close, even if Eice had been of legal age to drink.
Then again, I'm not on Corellia anymore... would anyone care if I drank? No, being drunk is the last thing I need right now.
Another part of Eice's brain was saying that being drunk would actually be perfect in her present situation, but it was then that she realized the twi'lek woman was still there. The Tintinna's cheeks burned beneath her fur as she turned back around, embarrassed at just how excited she had just been over a simple glass of blue milk.
"...s-sorry." She said. "I was... really thirsty."

By the way, if anyone's curious, here's the huttese translator I used.

 

[Daesha Keever]

So there was a language barrier, huh? Well that was just fan-karking-tastic wasn't it? Daesha's primary languages were Ryl and Huttese, both spoken mostly in the Outer Rim, with a solid grasp of Durese and Binary which were critical to spacers. But the little Tintinna and her incomplete Huttese weren't from the Outer Rim, that was clear, this girl was from the Mid Rim at the bare minimum. Maybe the Core.

Whoever she was, she spoke Basic, was clearly in some form of distress, and apparently really, really liked bantha milk given how quickly she gunned the tall glass she had been given. Or perhaps she was just hungry, as she had been eyeing those spacer meals around the cantina. Waving down the bartender droid, she placed an order in for a small order of flatcakes to be sent to the Tintinna, that she would pay for. A combination of interest, concern, and a sense that someone with credit may want the young woman back drove the unusually altruistic decision. As the droid went about preparing the meal, Daesha turned again to the woman and made another attempt at communication, this time leading with her name.

"I'm Daesh'afenn. Daesha." She pointed to herself, before gesturing back to the Tintinna. From there she began a quick inquiry, cycling through her two remaining spoken languages. "Do you speak Ryl? Do you speak Durese?"

 

[Tippi Snibit]

Tippi Snibit wriggled his way out of the tight engine space of his battered old IX-N Antipode interceptor, covered in engine oil and smelling like a fuel leak. His starboard stabilizer had shaken loose for the third time this year while he was out on a quick safety buzz around the station they were currently docked at. Most pilots would be mad about this right now, but Tippi loved a challenge. He'd been banging around in the engine for the better part of an hour now with a cosmowrench, a hydrospanner, and a roll of spacer's tape held in his mouth. He emerged from his work very pleased with himself, though the droids probably wouldn't be very happy if they got up here to take a look at the mound of tape and haphazardly bent and rearranged parts he'd twisted into place to hold down the wayward stabilizer. If it was stupid but it worked, it wasn't stupid!

Tippi dropped his tools into his belt pouch next to his little folded up VZ-1 pistol (strange deep-space ports could be dangerous for little guys) and wiped his paws on his greasy tan flight suit. He waddled across the dented and scorched tan painted wing of his fighter to the open cockpit to drop off his tape and the safety goggles he had been wearing- nothing was worse than a sudden leak spraying you in the eyes- and looked around for his companion, eager to tell someone about his victory here today. Dedric was nowhere to be found. Throwing up his hands in exasperation, Tippi called out a series of bleets to his wingmates astromech, who responded with a whistle and pointed a electrical probe toward the spaceport docking ramp. Probably rushing off to a cantina no doubt. He was always forgetting to take Tippi with him when he wandered off, but Tippi wouldn't hold it against him. Dedric was probably just forgetful. Tippi squeaked a thank you to the little droid, who gave a beep that sounded an awful lot like a shrug.

The Chadra-fan sealed up his cockpit and climbed down the short access ladder to the deck before making a bee-line after his favorite wingman, waddling across the cavernous hangar at a full trot. Tippi waved to a couple of techs on his way to the cantina, reminding himself to visit them later- he had some trinkets for the Verpine Zraii's brood of larvae. The spaceport was bustling with activity and lots of different smells. He liked making stops at these little ports-of-call. There was always so much to see and hear and eat and drink. Speaking of drinks, he finally spied Dedrics distinctive jacket through a crowd in the ports little cantina and made his way over. He squeezed between the big human and the space-mouse looking creature who was more his size. He liked her skirt. Tippi nudged Dedric in the side, playfully admonishing him for leaving his partner behind with a series of squeaks and chitters. Standing on his tippi-toes to see over the edge of the bar, he waved to get the bartenders attention and jabbed a thick furry finger at the lomin-ale tap. The bartender obliged as Tippi fished out a mixture of republic credits and Hutt peggats, trying to work out the exchange rate in his head. He plopped a fistful of coins on the bar, confident that he hadn't overpaid by too much for the drink. Foam clung to his snout as he took a sip of the refreshingly cool drink.

Tippi squeaked at Dedric and gestured around the cantina, inquiring if he'd made any new friends while Tippi had been working, or if he'd just been betting on grav-ball again.

 

[Dennys Waszylla]

"Holy SMOKES, this place is big! I'd never run out of places to find in a station like this, I tell ya what!" Dennys said all this to no one in particular, snapping pictures away on his camera as he wandered around in his tan slacks, leather sandals, and brightly colored shirt with a floral print on it for design. It had taken so long to find a way to visit the famous Ossein at a station they frequented and he was not disappointed by even the first views of the construct. All the man had was stories to run on for what to expect, meaning he'd put them aside to try to gather the real truth of the society instead of relying on myth and possible misinformation. While he knew a good smattering of languages, for whatever else he needed he had brought a datapad with a list of words for fairly quick translation, at least hopefully. And that was only if he came across a language that was programmed into the damned thing. It sat in the sizeable pack on his back that he carried, part strength training and part storage of useful things as needed when he traveled.

As he wandered where he was allowed for now, the Exile's mind wandered to a bit darker thoughts as they naturally did. He wondered how strong some of these Ossein were, how hard they were willing to fight to survive and partially wanting to try to see how far one would go before they either won or he snapped their necks. The ship itself interested him too, wondering how easy it would be to weaponize the rumored behemoth ships as if cost were no issue. Boy it would be a beautiful thing to see the rain of fire from such a craft rain down on a world, hopefully one hiding some surviving Jedi. Ah, but he was truly on vacation here and not under any orders, so such thoughts would have to wait for another time.

Entering the cantina Dennys took some more pictures of some of the patrons and the architecture, all bound for the scrap book he was setting up for the adventure. Finished for now, he let his camera fall to his chest as it hang from a strap around his neck as he stepped up to the bar. "Hey there, champ! I know you probably get guys like me in all the time, but as a tourist I like to try all sorts of new things from the places I visit. You got a specialty or a favorite that the locals like? I'm willing to give that a try. Don't worry if its strong, I've got a good constitution." With a wink he slid over a few credits, a bit more than what a usual drink was worth to function as a tip. If he needed more he could supply, instead using his gut to gauge how much the drink would cost. Satisfied with the transaction he took a sip as he looked around, idly listening to the conversations of others. He might join in if one group or another seemed open to such a thing, though out of respect he would stay apart if none seemed interested. It wouldn't do to upset the locals, after all.

 

[Dedric Ryker]

____________

The establishment was getting busier by the second it seemed. Dedric saw the various pilots, tradesmen and tourists come in for quicker than they left. That was the way of an alcohol related establishment. Feeling a slight prod on his side he looked over horizontally only to then be forced to look down at his cohort. The Chadra'fan was as tall as a human child but was familiar to the human mutt. "Oh sorry mate. I figured you were going to pass off any invitation. You seemed really fixated on it." He slapped the stool next to him as a belated welcome and offer to join.

Dedric pushed the currency Tippi offered back towards the chadra'fan. "I've got first round." He would pay for his friend's first drink since he had forgotten about him earlier. He looked around as if uncertain himself whether or not he had made any friends. "Nope, no new friends."

Taking another sip he glanced over once again at the blue skinned twi'lek and her meek acquaintance. The cantina wasn't loud but he couldn't make out what the taller female was saying. Huttese? was that it he thought to himself before turning back to his friend. He got an idea. A devilish grin quirked its way into his expression. It was the type of face he just had that said he was up to no good or something brilliant, sometimes both. "Not yet anyway. anybody you see that you like?" Dedric was a wingman both out in the voids of space as well as the bustling ports they visited.

He had already started weighing the possibility of successfully charming one of the women in the cantina. The twi'lek had caught his eye and somehow seemed familiar but the increasing number of people that came in would lead to more opportunities. He had never really seen much of Tippi's game in the cantina before. Some gals just found him adorable in any setting so he had it easy in that sense. In that regard Dedric was a little jealous of the Chadr'fan. But tonight, the two of them, they could do great together.

@Eice Frex @Daesh'afenn @Tippi Snibit ​

 

[Reedlee Voon]

Sipping on his blue milk Voon couldn't help but notice the new additions to the counter, another rodent like sentient conversing with a human. Although he had lived his live prior on a space station Voon wasn't all that accustomed to the various and somewhat uncommon races that one was bound to encounter in a setting such as this.

Taking a moment he raised his glass once more only to spot a man looking wildly out of place, as Voon was currently surrounded by types sporting outfits resembling pilots and mechanics. The touristesque man was at the other end of the bar, catching his attention Voon couldn't help but stare for a moment before stifling a grin. His attire and mannerisms reminded Voon of the people he used to swindle out of more credits than items were worth back in his earlier days.

Casting his gaze back to the newly arrived Chadra'fan seated next to the human looking pilot on his left Voon couldn't help but ask out of curiosity. "Excuse me, you speak the same language as he does?" The question arose as the thought entered his mind, Voon has a definite lack of other languages both spoken and written as his instruction never covered these topics.

Voon sipped his drink while giving the duo a once over trying to pinpoint their roles, based on the things they carried and the conversation they had.

 

[Eice Frex]

Eice bit her lower lip again nervously, watching as the Twi'lek indicated herself and - apparently - gave her name. The little Tintinna nodded; that much she could understand. When her apparent new friend experimentally cycled through two more languages, she could only shake her head in a negative. She decided that she could at least give her name.
"Um... Eice. Ee-chee." She said, indicating herself.
She had begun to make an interrogative in bocce, when suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned around.
The bartender droid was behind her, holding out some old and dusty piece of technology on a neck strap. Eice blinked, looking confused, but the droid reached down to press a button on the item's side and twist a knob, causing a few indicator lights to glow and a small amber readout to display words in aurebesh characters and in a written language Eice thought might be huttese. The droid nodded for her to take it.
Comprehension dawned, and the Tintinna carefully took the antique translating vocoder from the bartender, hanging it around her neck, fitting the clunky earpiece which would translate what was said to her, and clearing her throat. In response, the box emitted a garbled sound, which caused Eice to jump slightly in brief surprise, before she composed herself.
"Ah... sorry, is this any better?" She asked, fiddling with a knob on the side of the device, which adjusted her volume so that her voice could be heard more clearly. The translator was an old one, and apparently was only capable of rendering her words in a flat, electronic monotone; still, it was better than basic in these parts, she wagered.

 

[Daesha Keever]

Daesha was surprised at the sudden levels of traffic the bar was getting, and not just because of the colorful array of individuals it brought in. Chadra-fan and humans, pilots and tourists, traders and pirates. Only the Outer Rim could offer such a wide and colorful array of scum, which was the only reason Daesha was paying attention to all of them. There was no telling who intended what in a place like this, and with it being so crowded she kept one eye open.

She turned the remainder of her focus back to the Tintinna just in time for her to ask her something that had traces of Durese, or something that sounded like it. Again Daesha had no reply, as she didn't speak with of the languages the little rodent did. She had been prepared to simply leave the conversation be, give the Tintinna her flatcakes and be on her way when the old bartender wheeled around and presented the oldest translating vocoder Daesha had ever seen. She was surprised that dust didn't shoot out of the speaker when the Tintinna fired it up. But after a few seconds of rather sharp feedback and garbled gibberish, the device hummed to life and Daesha was finally able to get some coherent, if mechanical Huttese out of her new acquaintance.

"Finally! I was worried we'd have to get into charades or something." Her satisfaction at finally getting some straight conversation from the girl was cut short when she noticed the droid bartender flickering his photoreceptor at her. Odds were the glorified beer keg was asking for payment for services rendered, which he would get later. In the meantime the droid wheeled around and presented a short stack of flatcakes to the rodent.

"You looked like you were about to keel over so I got you something."

 

[Tippi Snibit]

Typical Dedric, Tippi thought. He might be forgetful, but he made up for it when he could. Tipii scooped up his credits and peggats back into his belt pouch, grateful for the round. Although, if their history told him anything, it would likely be Tippi footing the bulk of the bill once Dedric got drunk and found some Twilek floozy to swagger off with. Tippi didn't mind though. Having fun was what these ports were all about for Jazaq like them, right? Everyone needed to let loose sometimes. Tippi climbed up onto the offered bar stool with a snort of approval.

Tippi eyed the bar for himself now. He hadn't really had eyes yet for anyone but his wingmate so far tonight, but it was worth a look. He saw some potential in the mouse-girl next to him, and tried to signal as much to Dedric with a sideways nod of the head and a wink. He liked her skirt, even though the Twi'lek girl next to her seemed to have bought her flatcakes. That was hard to compete with as far as picking people up in a cantina went. The devilish look in the humans eyes though told him this night probably wouldn't end in anything good. It was a good thing he was always up for the unexpected. Tippi liked an adventure. The look on his face wasn't fooling Tippi. He chittered at Dedric to see what he had in mind, taking a sip of his ale in preparation for a crazy answer.

@Darasuum

 

[Dennys Waszylla]

It was the crackling of the translator device as it struggled to life after probably decades of inactivity that caught Dennys' attention, turning to look at the source of the noise. The Tintinna that wore it was adorable, the fur, ears, and tail making her movements incredibly charming. While not the first one he had seen, Denny hadn't expected to see one so far out on the Outer Rim, nor one with as determined a look in her eye and a surety of her stance as he was reading now. Perhaps he was a bit off in his perceptions due to his inexperience with the race, yet he felt fairly certain so that was what he would go with when he strode up to her to talk. He put the drink on a nearby table as he knelt down, smile on his face.

"Are you a local? Oh, I'm sorry, that's rude of me. My name is Dennys and I'm a tourist. It's an absolute DREAM that I get to travel with the Ossein, see some of their legendary ships and culture first-hand. Man, this is going to make for an AMAZING scrapbook." He shook his head, remembering past memories for a moment before shaking them away. He was probably confusing the poor thing. "In any case, I couldn't help but notice your translation device around your neck. I've never seen a model like that and I was wondering if I could take a picture, for my new scrapbook. I thought it would be rude to just start taking pictures, some people don't like that. Usually criminals, they don't like pictures of themselves for some reason. Ah, I got sidetracked. In any case, it's nice to meet ya!" He extended his hand to the Tintinna, a jovial smile on his face as he did so. He loved meeting new people, though hopefully his goofy personality didn't upset her at all.

 

[Eice Frex]

((As nobody else seems to be posting, I'm going to post again.))
@Daesh'afenn @Dedric Ryker @Reedlee Voon @Rin "Tinker" Kosakami @Tippi Snibit @Dennys Waszylla

Eice heard the flat, mechanical translation of what the Twi'lek was saying on a half-second delay, but she brightened all the same, grateful to finally be able to understand the other female. She was about to respond when she felt something bump her elbow, turning around to find it was the edge of a plate of flatcakes.
The Tintinna's eyes almost watered, and she inhaled the scent of the food deeply.
"Ohgodsthankyou~"
The words were barely picked up by the translator. Eice set upon the flatcakes with a vengeance; having had nothing but survival rations and "durable" foodstuffs over the last several days had given the unintended stowaway a significant appetite for real food, one the blue milk had not sated. She barely cut up the cakes, inhaling one in only a few large pieces, the taste of batter and synth-syrup delighting her tongue.

Getting a hold of herself, she turned around again, setting the plate on her lap, noting the way one of the other patrons - a male Chadra-Fan, she believed - was glancing at her and nudging his friend. She looked back to the Twi'lek, about to respond to her, when suddenly someone in a loud floral-print shirt was kneeling down in front of her, looking jubilant. His abrupt arrival made Eice squeak and nearly drop her plate.
"I-I'm not a loc-... u-um..."
The newcomer - a human male - was rapid-firing questions at her, and Eice squirmed nervously, unsure what to say. He said something about pictures, and criminals, and Eice abruptly realized that she actually was considered a criminal in at least one system. How could that be?!
She squinted her eyes closed, drank another long gulp of her remaining blue milk, and slammed the glass back on the bar. It clacked loudly on the lexoplast bar-top.
"I-I'm with these people!" She declared loudly, though she sounded terrified. "Yes! H-Hello! I'm Eice and it's very nice to meet you too!"
Eice then shotgunned the rest of her milk, and started in on the rest of her flatcakes, scarfing them quickly. She was trembling like a leaf, everything was happening so fast...

 

[Dedric Ryker]

____________

The man to the side of Dedric's partner and himself asked a question. He looked at Tippi and then back at the man. He wore a green flight suit and he thought he may have seen a similarly colored ship earlier. "Well not exactly. He understands me and I understand him...for the most part." Dedric took another sip and glanced at the Chadra'fan as if he would confirm the statement in his own way.

Dedric had turned away from the two females to answer the question. Now he looked over his shoulder to see some button happy tourist in a tacky shirt. The pilot's eyes were stoic and overtly judgmental of the man. His right hand waved to the bartender to pour him a second drink as he downed the last of what he had. Perhaps a few more drinks and he would be able to enjoy the noise.

Nothing was more annoying to a gal than getting swarmed by sausage. So Dedric craned his neck to see if there was a music player available nearby. Sometimes they would have live music but at the moment it seemed to be playing on the mediocre speaker system. Reaching into his pocket he felt around to see if he had any credit chips he could deposit. By the event's end he would probably have spent just as many credits on the music as drinks unless he ended up feeling generous and buying other people drinks.

@Reedlee Voon @Tippi Snibit​

 

[Daesha Keever]

Daesha was somewhat surprised at how ravenously the little Tintinna, Eice she called herself, inhaled flatcakes like a cleaning droid. Clearly she was enjoying the cakes, or at the very least she was too hungry to care. While Eice was busy stuffing her snout with breakfast pastries, the bartender droid nodded to Daesha and slowly slid her an open, expecting hand. He was finally cashing in on Eice's little gadget, and the Twi'lek had to pay up. She wasn't a heartless woman, she gave a credit chip or two to the beggars she passed on the street, but she intended to cash in these chips with her new rodent associate at a later date.

After giving her begrudging payment to the glorified beer keg she turned back to Eice just in time for some human in the most flamboyant of shirts coming up to Eice and asking a volley of loud and possibly invasive questions. Her suspicion detector fired up instantly as she raced through mental possibilities as to why this colorful clown was here in the middle of this backwater cantina in the middle of nowhere. She heard the word 'Ossein' in his ramble, one of the few words in Basic she knew, but he could easily be lying to Eice to maintain a façade. Or he was just ignorant, as he could find Ossein fleets in far closer and safer places across the galaxy. He must have been out here for something else besides gawking at people, right? Although he certainly played the demeanor of a wandering simpleton quite well.

"Hey." More Huttese again, but it was her primary language after all. "Who the kark are you?"

She made a mental note to by some linguistics software to study later.

 

[Tippi Snibit]

Tippi nodded along with Dedrics response to the stranger. Basic was a little much for his little vocal cords- too slow and low pitched for him to get the hang of, outside a few words. A lot of languages were like that. Chadra-fan was rapid fire and very tonal- so much more so than most people would understand. Tippi did his best though. Dedric was a big help, translating Tippis squeaks, squeals, chitters and chirps as best he could. Sometimes he even got it right. Sometimes he just made things up that sounded good for the situation. Tippi didn't mind. He was sure Dedric had a good plan when he did things like that.

The furry little runt finished his lomin-ale and waved down the bartender droid to pour him another. He licked the forth off his snout while he waited. He spotted his wingman eyeing the music box in the corner of the little deep-space cantina. Tippi patted the humans leg and pointed toward the box, then waved, indicating that he would buy the first set of songs. He carefully pushed his lomin-ale up onto the bar and then tottered over to the corner. He could barely see up over the lip of the display, but it was enough to see a few lines of text. Tippi slipped a couple of credits into the machine and reached up and punched in the combo for a Jizz band he recognized. The eclectic sounds filled the cantina a few moments later, and Tippi shuffled through a jig on his way back to the bar, happy with his up beat choice.

 

[Dennys Waszylla]

Dennys was about to start taking pictures when the woman came up to him, saying things he understood without the need for his translation guide. He gave a big laugh, just enjoying himself before he gave a bow to the lady. "Dennys Waszylla, at your service! Retired war veteran turned career tourist! I've been looking forward to travelling on an Ossein Fleet for a long time and I've worked just as long to get my way onto one! It'll be the biggest adventure I'll have been on yet! And don't worry, I don't intend on going around and getting in the way. Plus, I've got plenty of savings to spend once I'm there. Sorry if I seemed a bit intense, I'm just excited as all hell! In any case, it's nice to meet you!" He held his hand out in case anyone wanted to give it a shake in greeting, though he wasn't sure if that was a thing in this region in space. He certainly hoped he didn't startle Eice, that had never been his intent.