Unlikely Buddies

[Terrant Kast]

These things always did tend to start in a Cantina, didn't they? That was the thought running through Terrant Kast's mind as he approached the seedy joint before him. The building seemed to have been more carved into the city, rather than constructed in any sort. It's walls were stained with the wear of time, and was patched together with an assortment of different materials including various stones, durasteel, & plastoid. The door looked like it'd been made of a repurposed starfighter hull, and the sign had blaster marks in it. The Mandalorian simply shook his head and ducked through the doorway, careful not to hit his head on the frame, and looked around the establishment. The music playing from the nearby Bith & Human band was a popular tune that he'd heard in most establishments through the Mid & Outer Rim. Kast reached for his head and popped his helmet off, its seal letting forth an audible hiss as it slid off his head. Blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the unfiltered light, he clipped the battered helmet to his belt.

Slowly he waded through the crowd, his helmet bouncing against his thigh-plate with an audible clinking as he took each step, and occasionally battering the legs of passersbys. His square stature, and the amount of weapons strapped to him discouraged any complaints greater than an ugly look, however. He approached the bar where he'd been told to meet his contact, and soon found the sleazy character he'd been communicating with. The man was a Devaronian, one horn half cut off, wearing a greasy calf-length overcoat and a grungy tunic. Sliding onto the stool next to him, Terrant began to wave the bartender over to take his order, but the Devaronian cut him off "Don't wa-wa-waste your time partner, I'm not going to stick around long enough for you to get your drink. I do-do-don't really like dealing with mercenaries, and I don't like this establishment."

Terrant slowly lowered the hand that had been flagging the bartender down, and turned his head to cast an annoyed expression, "Alright then, I don't particularly enjoy sleazy patrons so why don't you begin telling me what you'd like to hire my services for before I go ahead and leave?"

The man squinted his eyes and took a puff of an electro-vapor-cigarra, letting the vapor out of his mouth edgily, as if he relied upon it to breathe. "It's a simple snatch and grab op-op-operation," the Devaronian stuttered out, "You'll be af-af-afforded a partner, who's already been briefed with information as to where you're going. He-he-here is a datadisk with more information... I'll be going now." With that, the alien stood and left, weaving through the crowd and becoming indistinguishable from the other patrons in the establishment. Terrant blinked a few times, clearly annoyed with what he'd been dealt, but he then swiveled his body to face the direction that the Devaronian had motioned when he'd been speaking. His eyes came to rest on a fresh faced flyboy, and he let out an audible sigh - this would be one of those missions. Sliding off his stool he wove through the crowd, sliding onto the booth across from the pilot, "I suppose you're my partner on this then?"

@TAC

 

[William Prescott]

Some world probably in the outer-rim.

"What an absolutely dreary place," Willi said to himself. The starship captain walked leisurely through the colorful streets of the backwater planet, taking in the sights, smells, and sounds - the good, the bad, and the ugly. William Prescott walked at a leisure pace, taking care to experience the unique characteristics of the world. The market stalls along the busy street offered food and trinkets, the bustle and ambiance interchangeable with market streets from here to Coruscant. Every world had their cultural nuances and flavors, but Willi was blown away by the similarities sentients shared - those developed independently and learned.

The ace pilot was to meet his contact at a local cantina, Mr. and Mrs. Wuf, a mom & pop sorta place. The run-down shops and homes, about three stories high and made of whatever salvage the locals had stripped off of travelers, matched the decor of the Wuf. What made the "architecture" even more striking beyond its composition was the colors - some roof sidings a light salmon, others a deep beige, while most were the traditional manufacturer's grey. Willi noted that the sign above the door was actually the same color as his skin, minus the blaster marks which had scorched the first few letters of 'cantina' away. Not a good sign, the Zeltron mused to himself as he ambled in the front door.

The crowded, smoked filled room was noisy enough to be alive, but at a respectable low-din that was appropriate for the cantina atmosphere. Willi had read many a holonovel that had tried and desperately failed to capture the novelty of this cantina's ambiance. His contact said he would meet him at the bar, which had been fine for the Zeltron. A good drink was always the best way to start a mission.

"R-r-ripping debate in the House today. Old Basil spoke for th-th-three hours. D-d-dropped dead at the end of it. Haaahhh," came a humanoid's voice from the end of the bar. Willi winced as he took his alcohol - something Corellian, something with quite a kick, but exactly what he did not know. The contact had a stutter when Willi had spoken to him, and so he assumed that was him. He walked over to the man, tapping his shoulder with a quick and none-too-serious 'one, two, three.' The human man whipped around, blaster out and aimed at Willi's stomach, and the Zeltron could do little more than greet him with a grin and a somewhat surprised expression.

"The name's Prescott. You looking for me?" he asked, carefully yet warmly, allowing his pheromones to embrace the human. The man gave him a look up and down, and Willi noted the 'Bottomely' named tag sewn into the mechanics overalls. "N-n-n-no," the man replied. Willi nodded as if agreeing, his eyebrows high, and with arms still out but relaxed he turned and walked back his place at the bar. He didn't look back at Bottomely.

"Ca-ca-ca-captain Prescott?" asked a Devaronian, flashing his yellow and nastily sharp teeth at the Zeltron. Grinning back menacingly back, Willi responded with a quick chortle and said, "Quite right." The alien nodded fiercely and then twitched a bit at the end. Willi found his eyebrows raising once more, and then took another drag at the Corellian ale. He was already feeling it? Wow. "Wa-wa-wait for me over there," the alien commanded, and pointed a long arm tipped by too-long, yellowing fingernails towards an empty booth. Willi realized his eyebrows had never descended, and after momentarily considering taking his drink for the road, he concluded that he honestly had nothing better to do.

Throwing a few credits at the bartender, he grabbed two more of the same drink - the way you grab three glasses with your thumbs and first two fingers of both hands, as he had not yet finished the first drink - and happily carried them off to the booth. He polished the first off, and he realized he had a buzz. William Lathia Prescott drank a lot of alcohol, and so whatever the hell this must be had quite a kick. Working his way through the second drink as diligently as a Twi'lek dancer works through the second of a set, he nonchalantly surveyed the cantina. The Devaronian with the speech impediment - maybe his contact, maybe a front for his contact - sat unmoving at the bar while he watched the front door. Roughly two dozen patrons enjoyed the cantina with varying degrees of enjoyment, volume, and arm movement. Some of the aliens lacked obvious arms, which on the whole brought the general average-arm-movement-per-patron down. But that didn't bother Willi.

Eventually, about a half-hour later and into Willi's fifth drink of the particularly strong ale, a Mandalorian walked in. Willi had a good view of the bloke, along with the rest of those assembled, and his alien friend seemed especially intent on watching the entrance of the newcomer. The hiss of the rough-and-gruff type caught the attention of the patrons who hadn't first seen him come in, but most went back to their own business. No good messing with the Mandalorian type. As he walked in and sat down, Willi noticed that a pack of street rats - four thugs including one human, one Twi'lek, one Gamorrean, and one Codru-Ji - seemed especially intent on their interaction. It was an odd pairing, the four of them, and immediately something in the back of the now drunk Zeltron's mind went off like fireworks. But he did astoundingly little to show.

Within a few minutes, the Devaronian peeled out of the bar, leaving the Mandalorian after pointing Willi out. The Zeltron's allusive contact? A hitman sent to kill poor Willi? The supposed partner for the venture, as previously discussed? An accomplice to the four ruffians? Willi had no idea, and while he figured it was probably the first or the third, he was particularly interested in the potential of the second and fourth.

The Mandalorian, visibly annoyed - which further worried the Zeltron - slipped into the stuffy booth across from Willi. The latter was relaxed back into the booth's back corner, one leg up on the booth-seat with his left arm drapped over it, his right arm and hand out of view as they hovered close - but not too close - to the blaster strapped to his right leg. The Mandalorian said something about partners, Willi couldn't be too sure exactly what, but it nonetheless called for a nice, short sigh of relief. At least the Mandalorian wouldn't be trying to kill him. Willi's eyes flicked over to the four brutes seated across the cantina. One of them made eye contact with him while they furiously spoke amongst themselves. Willi let out another sigh, this one a little longer and more pained, before sitting up straight and looking to his new partner.

"Do you know the rules of a barfight?" he asked simply. His words were clear and spoken pointedly, he was confident, blissfully unaware of how much he had drank and how it slowed down how quickly he spoke. His pheromones were radiating wildly, although he doubted he could turn on the big, tough Mandalorian too much. He allowed a few seconds for the Mandalorian to respond, but had never really planned to listen. "They are simple. Don't break the tables. Chairs are fair game. Don't involve the bartender. Don't involve other patrons. Don't break the front glass." Willi leaned to the side drunkenly, looking past the Mando before sitting erect ocne more. "There's no front window, so put that one in your fancy man pocket for later." Every 'p' was very forcefully dictated when he spoke. He was surely drunk.

"But the most important rule," Willi said, his voice whispering to a hush as he leaned in, "Never be the amateur who pulls his blaster first."

With that, Willi practically threw himself to his feet, launching himself clear of the booth and flat on to the nearest table. Everyone gasped and the patrons sitting there shouted loud, profane words at the Zeltron as the rest looked on. From his position lying on his stomach, Willi flicked the hair from his face and looked around. "Oh good! The Jizz band is still jizzing! What great showmanship!" The attention of the bar turned quickly to the four ruffians, however, as they simultaneously and very eerily stood, lining up horizontally across from Willi and his new friend. Many of the patrons took that as a cue to leave, including those who had their drinks spilled by Willi. Others simply moved to clear a path between the four and the two, but wanting to stay and watch. Looked like quite a show was abut to commence.

@Prudence

 

[Terrant Kast]

Terrant's senses were entirely too alert, having enjoyed no alcohol to dull them. While pushing through the sea of disgusting individuals lingering and 'dancing' in between the bar and the booths, something caught his eye. Having developed a penchant for fighting, and general violence, since a young age he had picked up a natural talent for spotting potential threats in his peripheral. As his eyes darted through the room, they settled upon a somewhat distant, but definitely together group of individuals lingering towards the walls of the bar. It was an unlikely group of thugs, two meager sized - one a human and one a Twi'lek - and two unfortunately large - a Gamorrean and a Codru-Ji. They seemed to be attempting to blend into the back of the bar, drawing little attention from the other patrons as the human pretended to nurse an empty drink, but Terrant tucked them away into the back of his mind. Reaching the booth he commented on the seeming nature of their relationship, which elicited an unexpected sigh from the flyboy. Terrant's seat was, unfortunately, with its back facing the thugs. The positioning left him feeling rather uncomfortable, as the tactical man in him didn't enjoy turning his back to a thread, but he kept his senses keen and remained upright.

He was all too aware of the shift in the pilot's posture as he let out the sigh, shifting away from what was likely a quick-draw posture on a thigh-holstered blaster, ready to fire on Terrant should he be a less-friendly visitor. How nice, my partner is trigger happy... He wasn't even able to finish the thought as the drunken man across from him began to speak. The new chatter drew Terrant's attention, and he cocked an eyebrow at the man's appearance. His eyes darted across the man- no the boy- 's appearance, and was very suddenly aware that he wasn't as entirely human as Terrant had thought. The slight purple/pink tint to his skin gave away Zeltronian genetics, which was quickly confirmed as he felt a stirring in his gut. The sensation was a familiar one that he had grown accustomed to when interacting with Zeltronians, a natural pheremonal defense mechanism to disarm, or seduce, the individuals they interacted with. As the man rattled on about the rules of a bar fight, he noted that the man's speech didn't sound entirely natural. It was slowed, as if he had to spend a second considering each word, leading Terrant to believe the man was very intoxicated. Fucking great, a trigger happy, drunk, partner. He began to wrap up his speech about bar-fight rules, and Terrant's eyes began to cut to the area adjacent to their small booth, carved into the cantina wall. With a quick snatch of his hand he retrieved a bottle from the tray of a nearby serving-droid, downing the Corellian beer that was likely meant for a patron several booths down, without alerting the droid to his sleight of hand. If he was going to get into a fight with a drunk Zeltronian pilot as his only partner, he was going to need a little bit of alcohol in his blood. "That's about the jist of it as I remember it."

As the last of the beer flooded his throat he could see his partner stagger to his feet, before planting himself on a nearby table. Terrant laid the bottle on the table, carefully pulling his helmet onto his head and sealing it with a click, before retrieving the bottle once more, and holding it upside down in his left hand. With his right he retrieved a stun baton that he used on more sensitive missions, and gracefully slid himself from the booth. Standing a couple inches taller than his partner, and holding himself significantly more sober, Terrant hoped to offset the advantage that they likely thought they had after his display. The crowd that Terrant had once had to push his way through parted like a religious sea, leaving a clear path between those who had deemed themselves combatants, surrounded by those who had deemed themselves spectators. It was squaring up to be 4-on-2, which were better odds than Terrant had found himself in before. Terrant began to twirl his baton in his right hand, drawing the attention of the Gamorrean towards the moving target, and away from the bottle in his left hand. Bringing it up, parallel to his helmet, he then brought it down in a fast downward-diagonal manner, smacking it against the side of the Gamorrean's head as he lunged forward, the beast let out a wail and took several steps backwards to recover himself. Terrant pressed on, his baton now coming down across the side of the beast's face, sending tendrils of arcing electricity into its face, before jabbing into its gut. This lead the alien to shriek and wail, writhing to its knees.

Terrant was preparing a strong downward blow to finish it off when a chair met him in the side, sending him tumbling into a roll. His vision became blurred as he rolled into the nearest wall, his journey ended abruptly by its hard surface. He made his way to his hands and knees, turning his head to look where the chair had come from, and he could see the Codru-Ji cracking the knuckles on his four hands as he approached Terrant with a quick and aggressive pace. "Oh this is great. This is just great." His mechanical voice hissed through the speakers on his helmet as he rolled into another booth devoid of patrons to take cover from the storming Codru-Ji. Finding himself now sitting upright on his rear, he slid himself with his legs under the table, toppling it onto its side to act as a shield, hoping the Codru-Ji would at least be slowed down by it during his approach. He hoped that his partner, a man entirely unintroduced, was fairing better than he.

 

[William Prescott]

They were off to an astonishingly terrific start to this venture.

As Willi stumbled to his feet, sort of half-rolling off of the table and sending glasses crashing down, he paused. I haven't the slightest idea what the actual mission is here. The Zeltron put his hands up as if in a boxing match, smiling wildly and drunkenly at his opponents. I haven't the slightest idea why I am fighting these thugs. These distracting thoughts - which were trivial and inconsequential at this point anyways - melted away as his foes began to make advances to the two compatriots. Willi was very pleased to see the larger two break off and head towards the Mandalorian, who was off to his right a few meters. The bastard brandished a broken and a baton. Weapons. Amateur Willi mused to himself as he watched the armored man do his chicken dance.

Suddenly, the Twi'lek and human demanded the space captain's attention. And they did so by smashing him over the head with a chair which the latter had thrown. Willi, having been completely enthralled by the Mandalorian and his stick, was caught completely off guard. The Zeltron let out a yelp as he stumbled backwards into the booth he had previously flung himself out of. "Why you sniviling son of a-" he began, only to be shut up as the Twi'lek grabbed him by the collar and threw him back onto the table he had previously inhabited.

All Willi could manage was a light scoff. He flung his limbs around a bit until he was able to stand on the table. He crouched, grabbing a hefty tanker and brandishing it. The twi'lek and human watched him carefully as he stood, crouched like a fierce Dxon predator, posed to strike with the glass. They kept themselves nimble, weaving with him as he bounced back and forth on the table.

This carried on for several seconds as they took measure of him.

Then a few seconds more.

Their own weaving slowed up a bit, and the two ruffians exchanged glances.

Then a few more seconds of the bobbing.

Eventually, the pair stopped and stood up straight, giving the Zeltron a puzzled look.

Willi himself stopped suddenly, looking quite offended. "What? I really like this jizz song."

With that, the two pounced. Willi, absolutely plastered beyond acceptable limits, did not even realize it when they started to move, his head still bobbing to the music. He yelped again as the Twi'lek crashed into him. He flailed wildly as his legs buckled, and the tankard - still firmly in his hand - smashed against the temple of the human as he followed his Twi'lek friend in for the tackle. The human made no noise or reaction, but his tense body completely relaxed, and the inertia of his movement flung his unconscious body crashing into a nearby table. The twi'lek's tackle had sent Willi flying himself, up and over the lekku'ed bastard, and the Zeltron struggled to his feet.

Confused at what had just occurred, the Twi'lek looked wildly back and forth between the unconscious human and Willi. The latter shrugged nonchalantly with a half-cocked grin before quick drawing his blaster, shooting the Twi'lek square in the chest with the stun setting. He then turned and fired several more of the rings into the Gamorrean as it struggled to his feet. Willi looked down at the blaster. "I had no idea this damned thing had a stun setting!" he exclaimed, somewhat confused, but also genuinely pleased that his weapon was more advanced than he had ever realized.

The regular patrons and the bartender were less than thrilled about the mess, and even less happy about the introduction of blasters into the barfight. As the Cordu-Ji cornered and attempted to crush his new friend, Willi sent several wild bolts in the large being's direction at the same time as he launched himself for the door. "Time to go, bucket brains!" he hollered, fiddling with the blaster as he sprinted, obviously a bit annoyed that it flicked between settings without his command. The Captain crashed out into the street, and immediately fell flat on his face, tripping as much over air as any particular ledge or crevice. He drunkenly scrambled to his feet, grabbing the blaster which he had tossed in his sprawl, and looking around wildly.

"The HWK is that away," he announced once his friend joined him, pointing to a small port half a klick down the street. As the Zeltron began a light trot in that general direction, he noticed a few more thugs around the corner of the cantina. He picked up the pace of his trot a bit.

"By the way," he commented in a voice somewhere between out of breath and drunker than a schoolboy on a Saturday night, stumbling only a tad as he went, "the name is Willi."[/color}

@Prudence

 

[Terrant Kast]

Terrant drew his legs up towards his abdomen, his knees meeting the armored plates on his stomach as he waited for the Codru-Ji to approach. He began a mental count in his head, prepared to lash out and attack even if he wasn't able to see the Codru-Ji, assuming that the beast might try a stealthy approach.

One... he counted in his head, his knees beginning to burn to lash out at the table before him.

Two... almost there, if he didn't see anything soon Kast would go ahead and move forward blindly.

Three... Kast was about to lash out blindly at the table when he saw the hulking head of a Codru-Ji poke over the top of it peering down at him.

With all the effort he could exert with his legs he kicked out at the table, sending it flying into the thigh / abdomen of the approaching Codru-Ji. The alien let out a sharp cry as the table smacked against him, sending him staggering back onto his ass. Terrant sent his weight surging forward, his feet meeting the ground with a thud, and already he was in a crouch ready to fight. The Gamorrean was staggering to his feet, his head still spinning from the beating that Terrant had given him, and his 'partner' was... doing a dance number on a nearby table?

Terrant shook his head, trying to rid himself of the mental image of the man so ill-prepared for a fight. He charged forwards towards the Gamorrean, reaching for his baton - and realizing that it was definitely no longer on his belt. The stun baton had flown from his hand when he'd been smacked by the chair, and he was now entirely unsure about where on the bar's floor it was. Not expecting to be so suddenly unarmed, he switched up and lashed out with his left hand - catching the Gamorrean across the face. The beast turned its head with the blow, blood coming from its snout, but the blow didn't have nearly the effect that Terrant was hoping for.

Instead the pig-like-humanoid wound back and smacked his fist into Terrant's helmet, sending the visor back into his nose and drawing some blood from it. Meanwhile Terrant's body was staggering backwards, running into a wall. He jerked his arm out to the side, drawing a retractable blade from his gauntlet. It was a less-desirable backup plan, but he would gut the thug if that's what it ended up requiring. Just as he was drawing his arm back, reading to thrust it into the charging Gamorrean's gut, he heard a discharging blaster. The Twi'lek who had been fighting his partner was now dropped to the ground, the tell tale sizzling energy of a stun round still arcing from its body. As he was gathering what had happened to the other adversary, he witnessed the Gamorrean drop to the ground, stun rounds unloaded into him as well.

His partner remarked something about not knowing his blaster could stun, leading Terrant to just purse his lips. The man was a true idiot, but he was also a hair impressed - that meant that this cockpit jockey had been willing to kill their opponents, perhaps there was something to work with inside the drunken fool after all. As the pilot dispatched the Codru-Ji, Kast retracted the blade back into his gauntlet, and retrieved his lost stun baton. With a shake of his head Terrant followed the pilot out of the establishment, leading the bartender to deal with what had been the four thugs. They weren't even three paces out of the door, however, when the pilot was once again on the ground. "For a pilot you seem to have a difficult time staying off the ground." Terrant chortled to himself more than anyone else, as he attempted to nonchalantly follow the staggering man.

The man pointed wildly in the direction of the spaceport, announcing that his ship was in 'that direction', this was going to be a long mission for sure. Terrant began to move in the indicated direction, an arm hooking around the waist of his partner to more drag him than anything else, and prevent him from falling over. As more an after thought than anything else, the pilot introduced himself. Terrant snorted at the fact they were just now getting to introductions, and gave a stiff nod, "A pleasure, Willi. I'm Terrant Kast."

 

[William Prescott]

Willi was somewhat lucky that he had the sturdy Mandalorian there. As an afterthought to their current predicament, it occurred to the young Zeltron that "good operating procedure" might call for the starship Captain to drink a little less when meeting with a client. Yes, that would do well for the future. As Willi stumbled along the beaten road towards the port, he took solace in recognizing that he really hadn't met with the client on this particular occasion. Indeed, Willi hadn't the slightest idea who the blokes chasing them were, who his partner Terrant Kast was, and what exactly it was that the two of them had been hired to do.

Midday on the beautiful, outrim world might have been nice for the local residents. The markets were busy, the sun was shining, and life seemed quaint and simple on this world. Soon, however, it was interrupted by the shriek of blaster bolts slicing through the air. A stall next next to the half-running duo exploded from a stray shot, throwing the delicious, locally grown vegetables spewing everywhere. Willi had to practically tackle the Mandalorian into the door port to get him to halt and get them out of the line of fire. Returning a few wild shots while he messed with the terminal, the Zeltron picked pieces of lettuce out of his hair.

"Lay down some cover fire for me while I figure this out," Willi said to Kast, somewhat nonchalantly. "I have absolutely no idea what I set for this terminal's passcode. Let me try to remember." The Zeltron holstered his blaster and rifled through his pockets. A thick ozone was developing around them as blaster bolts dug up the hard ground and blackened the durasteel around them. People shrieked as they attempted to move themselves, their children, and their livelihoods out of harm's way. The Mandalorian could scream and shoot all he want, but Willi had a single mind in searching those pockets. Eventually the pinkish man produced a datapad. Sitting down with his back against the wall, he ignored the continuous trade of blaster fire. He held down the power button and the datapad beeped on.

"Almost there," he said to his companion, flicking him a quick smile before the datapad beeped once more, calling away his attention. William Prescott spent a good 28 long, grueling seconds cycling through several files on the datapad. "Aha!" he exclaimed, hopping to his feet. He carefully entered in the passcode to the terminal 0-A-2-A-J-9-2--4-K-M-V. The terminal went -bonk- as it denied him entry. He tried again. 9-O-P-E-M-9-0-3-C-9. -bonk- Now somewhat frazzled, Willi peaked his head around the corner of the large doorframe. He immediately pulled it backed in as shots flew around him. The Zeltron tucked his datapad into his shirt, grumbling something about the passcode being close or their adversaries getting closer, and he pulled his blaster from his holster, aimed it at the terminal, and pulled the trigger.

The large beams of the stun charge vibrated into the terminal, and Willi cursed audibly. He took his fist and gave the blaster a few good blasts of its own. Then, taking careful aim - although his hand waived somewhat wildly due to his drunkness - he blasted the terminal and it popped and sizzled with sparks. The door next to them groaned loudly, as if protesting the wild antics of the drunk , before finally the emergency circuit kicked in, the servos squeeled as they activated, and the doors yawned open.

Hopping through the opening before it was probably appropriate, Willi dead sprinted for the ship. It was ugly. A nerf-herder light freighter, and she wasn't in great shape. As he reached the ramp, Willi threw open a small panel and punched in several numbers. The ramp slow descended. It got jammed just as the first of the newest ruffians rounded the corner. Willi gave it a hearty smack, sending the ramp back down much more quickly, and shot randomly behind him as he started pre-flight from the panel.

"I need a co-pilot!" he hollared as he scrambled onto the still lowering lamp. He let a few more bolts loose, causing several explosions from machinery he hit quite a ways off of his target, before he sprinted through the small ship and into the cockpit. The Hawk was yelling all sorts of warnings, especially as the ruffians fired their damned blasters at her precious hull. Willi slammed his fist down on the firing sequence, and the forward dual laser cannon erupted loudly - blasting half a hole into the already rough-looking hanger's wall. It was a good ten feet from the ruffians, but it did make them duck a bit more, at least for a moment.

Willi flicked a few more widgets and do-dads. It was anybody's guess whether they actually did anything for the pre-flight warm-up, or if it was just part of his Captain's gig. "Grab the stabilizer!" he shouted to Kast as he punched the ignition, rocketing them upwards and out of the hanger. Soon they would be safely in orbit, and barring the ruffians getting in their own ship and blasting the half-a-ship out of the sky, they could exchange proper introductions and figure out what exactly it was they had been hired to do.

"Just another Taungsday in the office," he commented, mostly to himself, as he eased them up and away from the small city and up towards the atmosphere.

 

[Terrant Kast]

Terrant almost felt for anyone that had been otherwise enjoying their day in the backwater world's market. As he and Willi burst from the cantina, Terrant practically dragging the smaller man through the streets as they moved, their every footstep was punctuated by blaster fire from behind them. "For fekks sake." Terrant muttered to himself, gripping his left arm around the captain a bit tighter to keep from losing him as they sped along. The insanity of the situation that he didn't even know the captain's last name, let alone the nature of their mission together, wasn't even close to lost on him. He debated grunting the question to Willi as they twisted through the alley, but he chose to focus on the task at hand instead.

A left turn took them into a wide straight alley, lined on each side by dozens of carts full of produce, poultry, and other common items that locals would come to this market for. Just as he took stock of their surroundings a stall next to them erupted from stray fire, peppering them with airborne vegetables. As various shaped foodstuffs smacked into him from the decimated cart, he felt a searing pain on the back of his shoulder - indicating one of the shots had hit home at the larger target.

"FETH" he grunted loudly as Willi pushed the pair into a shallow recess in the wall which housed a door, and began to wildly fire at their pursuers. Terrant gripped his eyes closed for a moment, hearing the sound of errant shots leaving Willi's blaster, and no accompanying cry or groan to indicate that they'd hit home. A few more moments later Terrant opened his eyes, having pushed the pain to the back of his mine, and drew his carbine. Leveling it down alley he began to return fire, allowing his sights to track from target to target.

Behind him Willi was muttering to himself about having forgotten the passcode, his lackadaisical attitude inspiring rage in the wounded mercenary. Rather than crushin the man's pink head against the doorframe, he instead focused his pain and anger into this aim, slicing down two humans that charged forward with holdout blasters.

"Hurry it up Willi!" He grunted, ducking behind the cover of the door frame for a second to swap the power pack in his carbine, before peeping back out from his cover. He could now see that the amount of approaching thugs was increasing, indicating that the criminals had called for, and received, backup. Needing to distract from he and Willi's position, Terrant's eyes wandered to the other side of the alley. One of the stalls had featured a plastoid wall on 2 sides, causing it to conceal its occupants from the approaching thugs. Inside he could see a group of civilians, at least seventeen, hiding from the approaching thugs.

Clenching his teeth Terrant fired on their plastoid wall, the thin material twisting and warping under his fire, revealing the non combatants packed in like rodents. Similar to scared mice they scattered at their newfound attention, drawing the fire of some of the errant minded thugs, allowing Terrant to cut them down in their momentary idiocy. This distraction earned Terrant three more bodies lying smoking on the ground, their blasters now forever silent. Turning his head around as his blaster blindly sent suppressive fire downrange, he shouted at Willi who was punching codes in error into the machine, "Get that thing open or I'll push you out next and blast this door down myself."

Seeming to take the idea as some kind of subconscious hint, the pilot took aim at the door and fired, pouring a stun bolt into its console. Realizing that he was partnered with a moron, Terrant turned his attention back to the approaching thugs. Three more shots left his carbine, dropping one of the thugs and sending another to the wall, nursing a burned shoulder. His carbine began to bark out an alerting sound, and Terrant dropped another spent powerpack to the ground. As he pounded his last powerpack for the carbine into its slot, the door opened with a sputter of sparks and smoke.

Thankful that he no longer had to fight off a seemingly endless supply of goons, Terrant ran through the door after Willi, only to be greeted by one of the ugliest ships he'd ever seen. As if confirming his mental complaints about its shape, the ramp began to seize up, until Willi smacked it, causing it to finish opening. "Will this piece of shit even make it past atmosphere?! I'm not about to die on a ship this ugly."

Still he followed, almost on auto-pilot, into the cockpit to serve as Willi's copilot. He slid into the busted up seat beside the drunken pilot, attempting to get some power to the stabilizes and plot a jump away from here, to any nearby planet that was friendly to criminals until they could determine their ultimate destination. The pilot was scrambling through a mind numbing routine, mashing buttons that Terrant was fairly certain didn't even belong in this model ship, but he didn't protest. Instead he jerked the stabilizers left and right, keeping up with the captain's wild navigating, while his hands occasionally wandered to the weapon's console, attempting to orient the cannons to handle their 'friends'.