deegee

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Fel nodded at both Viszt and Aellyn. There was nothing left to be said. An hour was plenty. Any longer, they'd be putting down roots. Or they'd be dead. An hour it was. An hour was about the outside edge of how long Fel gave them before something went sideways. Too many questions, a pass-code that flagged them, a fatal mistake. He watched them depart, moving into the belly of the beast, before turning back to face his 'captive' and Jet. Moving closer to Zane, he disengaged the binders on his arms which had been hanging above him, affixed to the seating compartment itself, forcing the kid to essentially hang from his wrists for the ten minute ride. The spacer felt pretty bad about that. It would have been excruciating as the blood left his extremities. He thought back about Imp protocol, which dictated the prisoner should have been stunned, but that did nothing for them but create dead weight to carry. Instead Fel looked to Jet, nodding slightly, and prodded the kid ahead of them, toward the sec checkpoint. At the same time, he input the sec link from Aellyn's datapad.

At the security checkpoint, two black-clad officers held up hands. "State your duty and destination." Fel responded as blandly and matter-of-factly as he could, as pain etched itself onto the kid's face as his arms throbbed with the return of sensation. "RT-774 and RT-717, escorting this local prisoner to cellblock 3-13 for immediate interrogation." The addition of that last bit of information should have been enough to answer the Imps next, as yet unasked question, about why the prisoner was conscious. If he was scheduled for interrogation, they'd need him alert. "what are his charges?" one of the sec troops asked. He was Coruscanti, the thin, wiry, angular features denoting the lineage of a core worlder. You didn't get to be a sec officer in the Imperial Navy without being a 'true believer.' Fel's face scrunched into a disgusted sneer behind the mask. Fel shrugged. "From us? Petty theft. But the local elected magistrate suspected he and his cohorts of being a possible Rebel cell. We're just the escort, sir." The security officer looked to his counterpart, who seemed bored and disconnected, likely thinking of his next shore-leave. He sighed. "Fine. Let me see your ident-tags."

Fel and Jet held out their wrists, and the sec officer scanned their ID chips, which came back with the clearances Aellyn had uploaded. "Alright. Get him outta here -- he stinks." The officer saluted. "For the glory of the Empire!" Fel had never wanted to smack the shit out of anyone so badly, but he returned the salute. "Long live the Emperor."

They moved through strange, but familiar halls. Fel had never served aboard an ImpStar, but the similarities to the Venator were obvious. Even so, they paused at a holo kiosk a deck below their entry point to download tracking and navigation data. Fel spoke in a low tone to Jet. Other troops and officers were moving about their assigned tasks, but nobody took undue notice of them -- yet. They couldn't walk aimlessly with a prisoner for too long without attracting the kind of attention they didn't need. "There. Cell blocks are on decks 67 and 68. Our target is just aft of the main shuttlecraft hangar on deck 77. But this..." he tapped the display. "This is what we're after." It was only 700 yards off. On the same deck they were on. (deck 55.)

They moved off, and kept their 'prisoner' in front of them. As they neared the compartment in question, Fel took the lead, and scanned his access ID chip at the compartment access door, which opened immediately. His hand tightened on the grip of the T-21. But the lights were off. The room was empty. About 100 feet long, with consoles at one end, and what looked like tool and repair bays aft of the consoles. and along one wall, lockers, as far as the eye could see.

Fel spoke to Zane, as he removed the binders. He knew the Stormie vocoder wouldn't impart much sympathy, but he did his best. "Sorry, kid. Had to make it look good." He inclined his jaw at the lockers. "Maintenance. Get yourself a uniform and an ID tag." Zane looked confused, but game for the big show. "C'mon, kid. Time's tickin'."

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Fel was already on the move. He picked up the helmet, and looked down to the local urchin as he slid the mask back in place, his voice now issuing from its vocoder. "We got a bus to catch. And you heard my partner. You're comin' with." He considered the cargo crates. Considered how many of the assembled locals had likely made their containers stink of urine and shite. Also momentarily considered taking the time to do exactly what the urchin had suggested. But it would take too long, and ultimately, he knew even the hour-long lock he'd imposed wouldn't hold water. The workers would come back. The workers would let out the kids. And then -- then what? They'd go complain to a local Imperial peace officer that some troopers they couldn't identify assaulted them? They'd retaliate in some way? The thought was laughable. "Your buddies got nothin' on us. I couldn't care less if they popped out and danced a jig right here, right now."

As he spoke, he looked around to make sure the rest of the team was gearing up from their little vacation in the storehouse. Fishing in the two rear pouches of the Trooper's utility belt, Fel fished out what he was after: binders. Clapping them on the urchin's wrists - tight - he spoke once more to the assembled group before moving out. "Transport. On the double. This one's under arrest for *attempting to pickpocket* our lab tech here." Fel shouldered the T-21, and held the kid under threat of the EC-17, held loosely but ready. The kid didn't need to act much or put on a performance. Fel was moving at a fast march, and the kid... well, if he kept up, fine. If he didn't, Fel dragged him. If he stepped out of line, or moved in a way that was anything other than exactly where Fel's hand wanted to be, he was jerked back into line. It looked the part, and they covered ground in a standard cover formation, Jet leading the group, Fel & Aellyn trailing the Chiss and to either side.

The transport arrived at what passed for the town square, a small squad of 'clean whites' -- four of them -- spilled out the loading door on the flank of the K79-S80 ITT, which was about the size of an armored car. Fel spoke up. "RT-774, escorting this tech back to base. This one --" he tossed Zane to the dirt in front of him "was trying to relieve the tech's pockets of his creds. I'm taking him in." The lead trooper, wearing the shoulder epaulet of an officer, and carrying an E-11 with the stock extended -- not something you see too often -- replied. "You're late, 774."

Fel smiled behind the visor, as the eyes of the other troops looked to their squad leader, and then back to their assembled group of misfit toys. He didn't skip a beat. "Take it up with greasy here, LT. We were on schedule till he tried lifting the man's wallet. May we?" He insinuated the ITT, and the Lieutenant nodded. He had superiors to answer to as well, and being behind schedule was as good a reason for an ass-chewing as any. Fel could see the response coming before it had arrived. In a culture of fear-based paranoia (which the Imperial regime certainly was) the fewer waves made, the better. So it followed that in certain circumstances, the fewer questions asked, the better. Fel dragged Zane back to his feet.

They piled into the ITT, and Fel was pleased to find there were no further troops inside, only the driver and his co-chair. Happily, the Chiss didn't seem to need direction, and merely took a seat close to the driver's compartment. Fel locked Zane's binders above his head at one of the rear-most seating positions, locking eyes with the kid for a short second and giving him a barely-perceptible nod. Turning back to face the cabin, he noted that one of the LT's troops had occupied the roof turret, while the rest were ranged amongst Fel's group, their stark white plasteel in sharp contrast to his team's own dirty, worn gear. It imparted the right feel. Fel's squad had seen a lot of action, had been on assignment a long time, whereas these squeaky-clean bucket-heads seemed like they spent their time marching in formation, being good little imps. Fel appreciated the implied superiority that imparted to them. He even caught one of the subordinate troops surreptitiously knocking some of the local dirt out of the tread in his boot.

Stormtroopers were a dime a dozen. And they knew this. Anything a trooper could do to individualize themselves, or stand out in a crowd of identical buckets was quietly encouraged among the legions, so for the 'clean whites' here, Fel knew that he and his squad looked like combat vets. And that was where he wanted to be.

The ITT began to move, the inertia letting them all know that the thing wasn't as dumpy and slow as it might have appeared. The Lieutenant spoke up again, from his position sitting beside Aellyn. "ETA three minutes to the Basilisk... so, how long you three been on LRP here?"

Ghosts of Highlake

Vaguely have the idea of a gambler who owns the town's brothel.
They're a long retired bandit, that had a great eye but no Quickdraw.
Would this be good?

@AwesomeZero5

That sounds great! Let's see him / her!

'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!