deegee

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

“Sir…” Speaking to Fel. She paused, she didn’t know what story to come up with, so she improvised. “Found the technician that needed transport back. Believe he got lost.
Aellyn just turned this plan inside out, she hoped that Fel and Jet didn’t mind the small hiccup.

@Zoie Hart

Fel was formulating a response, maintaining composure, trying his damndest not to be done with both their 'officer' and the fireblasted Chiss right then and there. And then a local decided it was time to crash their party. Literally. This was too fracking much. If it weren't for the thin atmo, and the ever-present wind whipping what passed for O2 away, they could have seen steam coming from Fel's ears. The smuggler looked slowly around, making sure that nobody had taken too much undue notice of the activity in their immediate vicinity. Some locals were glancing their way, and the young toughs above them on the upper level walkway looked like they had collectively crapped their pants. In what amounted to miracle #1 of the day, somehow no other Stormies had noted this activity. If they had, the gig would most certainly have been up. Fel was livid. He scanned their immediate surroundings, spotted a door into what looked like a small storehouse. A quick glance at Jet, insinuating the local toughs on the upper landing. "Round 'em up." The young urchin who literally fell into their midst, Fel picked up by the scruff of the neck, drawing the hand blaster from the small of his back, letting the T-21 rest on its sling. This he pointed in the direction of the door. "In. All of you."

His forearm threw the door open, into the storehouse, revealing a pair of older locals piling and filing different bits of crap and salvaged useful parts onto shelves, and into crates. There were no windows. The faceless Stormtrooper dumped the wheezing urchin on the floor, bringing the T21 up to point loosely at the two workers. "Take a break." They stood, struck dumb and immobile, not comprehending the order. The vocoder barked once more. "Frack off! Out the back!" They took one look at each other, dropped what they were doing, and fled. Fel held them all under the barrel of the long gun for a few moments, until Jet arrived, several young street toughs in tow. Fel counted six. He looked to Jet, who held up a lone finger. Fel winced.

He regarded the Junktown toughs for a few moments, watching their actions. They were all looking to a Duros to see how to act. Fel regarded this Duros, and the human crumpled on the floor that he had carried in here mere moments before, who seemed to be recovering, slightly. He stooped to face the human kid, all skin and bones, greasy hair and sunken eyes. It was like looking into a fireblasted mirror at himself, fifteen years ago. "My partner says one of the guys chasing you got away. Which one -- and where do I find them?" There was no hesitation in Fel's voice. No room for dodging the question. It was heavily implied, there was only one way this could go. Truth, or there would be consequences.

After Zane spilled, Fel looked once more to Jet, jerking his head. The inference was plain. Go get him. Bring him back. They could have no loose ends if this was to work. Fel checked his chron. Looked to the Chiss. "You. How long till your transport arrives?" Five standard minutes. Kriff. This was going to be close. He cast his gaze around the storehouse once more. Saw his method. He moved over to a series of small interstellar-grade cargo containers, opening them. He turned back to the urchins that had been chasing Zane. "Get in." He could see the hesitation writ large on several faces. He primed the light repeater. "I'm not asking again. Get. In." It was tight, two per container, packed like sardines. He sealed them, setting the lock to release in an hour.

Turning back to Aellyn, the last remaining urchin, still recovering on the floor, and their Chiss guest, Fel removed his helmet, dropping it on the floor. The sweat had matted his hair, ran down his temples. The rage was etched onto his features, his mouth pulled back into a snarl. His eyes bore into Aellyn's. "You may not have liked the plan before, might have thought it was overly simple. But if you add any more twists and complexity to this little caper, I swear I will bury you under the Basilisk." The door opened, and Jet entered, carrying a young, unconscious Snivvian over his shoulder, nodding at Fel. Galdaart looked to the youth on the floor for confirmation. Once received, that was the one... he jerked his head to illustrate the cargo containers. Turning back to Aellyn, there was still a fire in his eyes as he continued. "So, what would you have me do here? You want me to shoot this Chiss bastard and hope we don't spill any of his blood, so you can have your gorram officer's uniform? Or are we taking him with us? You just developed a sixth sense for trusting people you just met? What's it gonna be?"

He figured they had two minutes to make a choice, and meet the transport. Whatever the choice was, it was going to be swift, decisive, and there was no going back. As far as the street urchin at his feet, Fel had made his choice. The ones giving chase would sweat it out for an hour. This one could beat it. He had done the kid a favor. The Chiss? He wanted to hear what Aellyn came up with, right here, right now. "No. More. Surprises."

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

..

@Varshanka

??

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Oh Glitter Guppy... where are you? And are you really going to join us? ...a guy can hope.

The Haven in the Sky

"It's time, Cap'n." Cal stood over her, letting his shape block the sun from her eyes. There was a smudge of grease that seemed to be perpetually moving, which had ended up under Cal's right eye for the moment, and he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at The Haven, maybe twenty paces away. "Comm's been pingin' for at least ten minutes. Someone's wavin'. And you know me and public relations. I didn't want to wake you, but better you speak to someone who's got a job fer us. Not me."

Cal led the way back into the ship, passing immediately through the cargo bay, wide enough for the two of them to lie down end to end across the ship, and three times that long, mebbe. At the far end, he climbed the ladder to the flight deck and crew spaces, passing through the galley, the port and starboard berths, and finally entered into the cockpit. As if Ashes needed any directions, he pointed a gloved finger at the flashing screen.

"Our luck's gotta change soon, right Cap?" He had tugged a glove off, and bit absently at a nail.

Ghosts of Highlake

How goes character making?

@AwesomeZero5

90% done -- have a look at the character tab... my character is up (minus a bio... still not sure how much I want to post!

Ghosts of Highlake

Oh yes, all of those would be good possibilities. Or someone who simply falls into a minority group of some sort and has received a great deal of discrimination and hatred as a result. Like an Asian-American (who received terrible treatment in the West) and or a Black man making their way in the West...

Ghosts of Highlake

@deegee

I had an idea for a character, but I'm afraid it might be similar to the one you made. He would be a mercenary who was who would survive a lynching and would be after those who tried to kill him. Or my character could be a priest or preacher who is lynched by some racists and trying to stop a family from being killed. Surviving the lynching and getting revenge on the men who wanted to kill him.

@Eviledd1984

Hiya Eviledd1984! Ever seen Magnificent Seven? (Either the original or the remake?) or Silverado? Or Deadwood? All large ensemble pieces. No clear, central character. (Well, arguably. But I would say almost any of the characters are potentially central, main characters to the story.) There are so many permutations of the cowboy character, so many tropes to play on, so many real life hardships to draw on, there need be no real reason for that much overlap. Something unique would be just as fulfilling!

Seeking a Western

Character mostly up! (trying to decide just how much Bio I'll even give...)

Seeking a Western

Hi all -- many, many apologies. I "floated" a Star Wars RP (incidentally called 'floating') and it really took off. This one kind of took a back burner, but I have not forgotten the tumbleweeds, wide brims and the cotton-mouth after a swig of whiskey!

In fact, I might well put up a character sheet this afternoon over on the RP thread. (link a few posts up from here.)

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

There was little left to say (and Fel hated hearing his voice through Imperial vocoders... felt like the past catching up with him, and he didn't need the reminder) so he simply took a heading, sighted in his T-21 and digitally connected it to the helmet's tac readout, checked the area at the bottom of the ramp for any signs of movement or life, and went back to button up the ship. Jet looked like he had been poured into the uniform, it fit like a glove. Whether he'd ever admit it or not, his physique made being a Stormtrooper look good. And Aellyn? ...Fel stifled the urge to make a joke about needing to run the plastoid plating through the cleaners' a couple more times, gave the thumbs-up, and moved out.

There was an ever-present wind that sand blasted the armour with anything that Lotho could whip up. Fel kept them on their main heading, deviating only to avoid mounds of refuse that looked more like trouble than actual traversable geography. All things being equal, they made good time. More than once, either Fel or Jet spotted something that the UA could possibly use in the future (or six weeks ago...) but they did their level best to not look like kids in a candy-shop, instead marking locations with transponders for retrieval later, keeping on task. Still, it wasn't every day you were faced with a you-pull parts lot that covers a whole planet, and actually has parts for an 150+ year old vessel. Fel was occasionally lazy, often cash-strapped... but mostly, the main reason the UA was always in need of something was that the parts were hard to find, or that more efficient, newer components needed heavy modification (thank you, Jet.)

As they fell into routine (checking heat signatures, moving in formation, double-checking headings, checking the tight spots and possible threats...) Fel thought of the task at hand, Abelene and her people, the promise of credits filling their fuel tanks and bellies. It gave him focus, determination. Time counted on, and keeps countin'. They had covered better than four of the five kilometers in a little over an hour. The terrain was deceptively troublesome, and they were taking every precaution to not be seen, especially as they neared the settlement, and the greater concentration of Imps.

There was as many variations of Stormie helmet as there were hot meals in a month. Most looked indistinguishable from the outside, aside from the obvious snow trooper, and scout troopers, and the paint and unit insignia of individual squads, mostly added in the field. Luckily, most variants did not include a target reticule. (heh.) The helmets Fel had acquired were pretty stripped-down, no datapad uplinks, no vacuum capability... just the standard issue polarized lenses and toxin scrubbers. It wasn't unlike Fel's pilot's helmet. Images of Dantooine flashed through Fel's mind. The fire... always the fire...

Galdaart shook his head to clear the images, steadying his breathing. Calling a halt to the group, he took another bearing and called the others forward. "Settlement's just over that rise, I make it a little over 500 meters. ImpStar is on the far side of the settlement, drydocked in a valley to the East. Fastest route, and best chance of getting our hands on an Imp uniform is to move straight through town. Game faces, folks. Don't feel like you need to quote Imperial regs here... just act like you own the place." Fel checked the load in the T-21, its near-3" bore more than a little intimidating for anyone unlucky enough to be on the receiving end, and moved off toward Derrivan's Point.