Destiny's Rest

Originally Posted by Vaati View Post
Kourahks takes care to turn on his voice modulator and asks "Would you like some help?" He stares through his visor as the little man processes the inquiry.
Nik ignores the synthetic voice from behind him at first, assuming that the question was targeted at some more attractive being nearby. After an awkward silence, curiosity gets the best of the Sullustan, who turns to meet what at first he assumes is a droid. Only after sizing up the being before him does Nik realize that he is talking to the Ubese he had seen around over the course of the last month or so.

The generous question contrasts sharply with the intimidating helmet of the voice's owner, forcing Nik to consider his answer even longer than he usually would. What interest could this Ubese possibly have in mopping floors? he wonders while slowly and deliberately replacing the dirty mop into its bucket, causing it to spill over as the micro-repulsors attempt to compensate. Well, we might as well have some fun with it, he decides.

"Sure, pal, that would be great," Nik says with a cautious smile. Wiping his hands on his jumpsuit, he leads his new assistant over to his cart, which hovers nearby. "You can do my favorite part, waxing!" he says with a smile, reaching into the cart to retrieve an unmarked can and another rag, handing them to the Ubese. "Just follow along behind me," he says, retrieving his mop, grinning to himself as he turns away.

"The name's Nep, Nik Nep. I've been hear a while. You plan on staying long?" he says, doing his best to at least be friendly before his mark discovers he's been fooled.

Oln gives Kat a nod and smile to let him know Oln noticed him. Oln is loath to leave Raxiil no doubt dying to hear about Contesa, but work and the scent of a possible confrontation draw him away. "Sorry love, duty calls." It is very clear to those who know Oln 'Duty' isn't work but causing trouble. "I'll be back. Your not leaving before I show you some of the new vids of my little warrior."

Before Oln slides over to join the fun he turns to the shelves of bottles behind him. He knew he had it somewhere, where though? He'd gotten it from a trader passing through because he knew Kat preferred the stuff. It was damn near impossible to get for a reasonable price from shippers now. Finally he spots it, a large light blue bottle with some creature he assumed is native to Arkania. Oln never understood that. It wasn't actually milk so why have an animal on the bottle? He shrugs.

Finally he joins the couple on the far side of the counter from the pilot. He drags the whiskey with him. He shakes the light blue bottle from side to side temptingly. "Your lucky Cat," Oln pronounces it the same a Kat but he always spells it with C in his head, "not going to be to many more of these in few more months. Bottles yours if you want it." Oln pours the first glass from the bottle for the Trianii.

"And don't worry to much over the old man Cat. He's all 'don't go causing trouble' this and 'I'll throw you in the brig' that. You have to translate from grumpy old human though. It comes out to roughly, 'Hows your day? Your a regular and clearly not causing any trouble, we should have a drink.' I swear he lavishes so much attention on us aliens," Oln adds air quotes around aliens, "you'd think he had ulterior motives." Oln smacks his forehead. "That reminds me, you said that the handsome Cathar you were talking to bought you a drink, didn't you." Oln smiles a large self satisfied grin as he pours Jack's third whiskey.

Mara Aragone, Zeltron Female Noble

~ Crew Compartment Deck, Stateroom 5 ~

Mara arrived on the station a few days ago. It had not taken her long to get settled and get a handle on things in her usual fashion. The modest stateroom compartment is furnished well enough, and the Zeltron woman has been traveling light and her repulsor sled and luggage are able to be stowed under the bed and her clothes all fit in the closest.

Planning journey forth from her stateroom soon, Mara is dressed in her low-cut blue bodysuit. It has designed holes in the outfit to reveal her bare skin; an oval over her abdomen, another along her lower spine stopping just above the crease in her derriere, and her shoulders are practically bare. On her feet are her black, ankle boots with a medium heel. Not the latest in chique fashion of the Core, but still from a decent label.

Checking the mirror, Mara sees that her hair and makeup are as she wants them, no need to be flashy today. The brown hair is long and free, a natural look. The eyeliner around her eyes is impeccable, the blue shadow going well with the color of her irises, and the mascara barely visible. The crimson on her lips really stands out, though.

With a flick of her wrist the lipstick flies over to her case on the other side of the compartment and gently floats down into place. Turning away to sit at the desk, her datapad moves over as if on its own volition to meet her grasp. She composes a message to be sent to her family from the comms center.
I arrived here at this little repair and refueling facility near Botajef, they appear to be doing well. It's called Destiny's Rest... appropriately named perhaps. However, whether it is my destiny or not, I think there are potential opportunities here.

Tell Uncle Max that I have avoided any criminal elements... thus far, anyway. I used the last stipend to purchase that stealth field generator as he suggested to help me get out of any situations that are troublesome. I have not needed to use it yet, but I keep it with me.

I was actually able to find myself a job. Don't laugh. It was pretty easy, actually. The weaselly man that I spoke to was tripping over himself to decide the actual job title. Closest thing he came up with was Customer Relations Liaison Specialist or something like that. Maybe that's a fancy title for one of the models they use to provide eye candy for the new, sleek spaceships. The way he was staring at me, I am sure he was just hoping to continue leering at me while fantasizing about taking me to bed.

Not to worry, he did not look like much fun and is not nearly high enough in the organization to justify a dalliance. I will comm later. Kisses.
~ M
Ejecting the datachip, she lets the datapad float back to its place in the cubbyhole by the desk, Mara tucks it into her bra above her left breast. The form-fitting jumpsuit reveals ample cleavage and she knows that it will provide an attention getter when she needs to request a private comm cast to send her message home. She sighs, That lecherous Yaro Hollander will be so busy staring, he will likely say "yes" to anything.

Mara picks up her handbag, her pulse wave pistol inside and only one stun grenade. The other grenades are within her luggage and tucked away. Checking herself once more in the mirror, she palms the compartment door open. Seeing the hallway empty, she leaves her stateroom and heads towards the turbolift that leads to the comms center deck, her heels clacking on the durasteel deck plates. The turbolift doors open on the upper level and she can hear the sounds of the socializing going on the bar, but resists the urge to go in there and continues on past.

Sidestepping around the Sullustan and the Ubese helping him clean up the awful smelling... whatever it is, I don't want to know, she gives them a polite smile, "Excuse me." The rather tall Zeltron woman continues past and heads towards the comms center, the tight fitting blue cloth over her rear revealing to the janitor and his helper that she has no panty lines visible.
Character Sheet

Verico's straddling the top turret of a ship wrestling with a piece stuck in the turning apparatus of the gun. Oh come on what the heck is stuck in this thing. Some one must have really taken their time with this. That or they just whacked at this thing with a hammer until it was good and broke. Hey Nico think you could help me with this huh. Nico sits there for a while and looks at Verico tilting his head from side to side. After a few minutes he crows at Verico for a long while. What that is a horrible response I asked for help and you laugh at me. Nico then caws a few more times like he is saying something. What do you mean I am being lazy. Their is no fraking way I am sticking my sword in there and then banging on it with a hammer a bunch of times. Ugh you crazy crazy bird besides you are the one being lazy just hop on that leaver I set up that would help me out more Nico tilts his head some more like he is thinking about then one loud caw. What fine I will feed you a treat when we are done this is the last job we have today. Finally Nico flies and lands on the lever then after a little time and wiggling the bolt pops out. Verico sighs finally we are done Nico you will get a good fish tonight. Nico starts cawing loudly and non stop. Verico eventually has to raise his voice to quite him down once he does he looks around and sees that everyone is staring at him and Nico. Well that is everything on this bird at least for the time being. Come on Nico lets get going it is quitting time. After a little more work the turret's workings are all closed up and the leaver is broken down.

Verico climbs down off the ship walks over to the ships captain. Well that is everything sir I do not know who did this but some one must have hammered this bolt in your turret to stop it from moving. Whoever did that it was in there real good. If it wasn't for Nico up there I never would have gotten it out. I closed the outer bit up the turret should work fine again. So just sign this form and once I scan your card we will be done here. After finishing all of that Verico hands the ship captain the bolt. Verico lights up his pipe smokes for a bit. Nico lets go girl huh its time I get you that fish. Nico does a flyby of the area and lands on Verico's shoulder. Verico then begins walking toward the office so he can turn in his tool kit clip board and cred scanner for the day.

“hey” turning to Oln ”I have no problems with aliens, they have problems with me” the tone can be best described as hostile, passed the moment he return to his usual tone, while he may appear older he’s just under the 40s, looking again the Trianii ”good, just remember, I will keep an eye on you” taking his last drink he looks the glass playing with it ”you must really be blind to call that handsome, it was just a cathar and he’s a suspicious one” drinking his whisky ”kid, less jokes, if you…hear something tell me” he finish his drink and prepares to leave, everyone his guilty unless proven for Jack, his ways may not be polite but are quite effective.

Walking away from the counter he moves to the exit, as he pass close to the sullustan he pay attention to not walk where hes cleaning “Nik” one of the few that Jack treat in a polite manner, he gives a look to the ubese but don’t say a word “tell me Nick, do you remember a big male cathar with a robotic arm ?”

Kourahks sees the devilish grin on the man, but he brushes it off as nothing more than the guy being glad to get some help. With his visor staring blankly at the smaller creature, he takes the rag and can of wax and kneels down, beginning his service to the Sullustan. As he starts his task, he finds all he can focus on in his reflection, its only after he had waxed a couple meters that he realizes the man was talking to him. "I expect I shall be here for at least a month or so, I'm waiting for my next hunt." he says, still waxing, staring at himself and inadvertently the hind-end of the some attractive woman via the newly waxed floor, though he makes an effort not to stare. Why not share with the man, he seems like the least-likely to use it against me. Glancing up for a second, he says, ""I just returned from Dathormir, the Rancor proved to be challenging adversaries. I love a challenge."

After he has waxed a decent stretch of the hallway, Kourahks stands up to relieve the pressure on his knees, and promptly falls back down on his backside. He looks up at the little Sullustan and sees the biggest grin the little man could muster, as he leans over in a full body laugh. After letting the initial shock of incident fades from his mind, he has a flash of rage at being the the butt of a practical joke.And after I tried to help him. All off-worders are the same. He gets up carefully, making sure not to fall this time, and turns around, about to leave.

Verico drops everything off at the office and makes his way to the bar Nico on his shoulder. Verico passes the Security guard on his way giving him a small salute unknowingly before heading to the bar. He makes sure to give a wide birth around Kourahks and the cleaning. Hey I think one of you might have missed a spot here.. Once in the bar Verico heads straight to the counter. On the way he stumbles a bit either from turning to get a look at the cleaning or from scanning the whole bar. Nico caws loudly as he stumbles and takes off to the bar. Verico finally makes it to the bar once there he takes his trench off and places it on the seat next to him. Any one still looking will see a ton of heraldry and symbols on his armor. Verico pats Nico on the back to quite her down. You can be so demanding for a warbird. I guess pops was right I should have raised you like a warbeast instead of a pet. Then again that would mean I'd end up leaving Onderon alone that would not have done. Hey bartender how about the usual for Nico and I will take large glass of whiskey Though Verico rarely drinks to get drunk it is two years to the day since he was forced to leave home and wrongfully accused of killing the king by his traitorous son. To the true King of Onderon may he rest in piece. He then downs the whole glass in a gulp. One more bar tender he then relights his glistening polished pipe. Verico then turns to the huge cat being next to him. I hope you don't mind if I light this pipe up and smoke. Hey nice to meet you my name is Verico. He then puts down the pipe and offers his hand to the cat man next to him.

"Yes, lucky indeed." The creamy liquid swirled around the bottle as he gave it a gentle spin, mixing the contents so as the bring out the sweet taste of the drink.

The Trianii watched Jack watched away, content for the moment to, to be be free of ridicule and harassment and allowed to enjoy his drink. Uncorking the bottle, Katjur let the sweet and potent scent waft upwards, gently swaying the bottle underneath his large black nose.

Twitching at the potency, he let the drink air out before indulging, instead turning his emerald eyes back to the bartender. Studying Oln for a moment, Kat cocked his head slightly to the side as he attempted to multitask, both listening to other conversations, and focusing on the Miraluka in front of him.

"For a man with no eyes, how is it you handle the bottles with such accuracy and dexterity? Scent, perhaps? Or is it this ... Force?" Katjur knew that the questions were probing, and slightly rude, but had boggled his mind long enough that he had decided they needed answering.

Waiting for the man to answer, he picked up the bottle and in one quick motion, a fourth of the potent liquid vanished. Savoring the taste and the icy burning sensation as the drink rolled down his throat. Kat's long tongue whipped out and licked at the bits of liquid that clung to his mouth.

Luka, Human Male Scoundrel

Destiny’s Rest Operations and Command Center

Luka stood alone on the station’s elevated bridge platform, staring out through the ceiling-to-floor transparisteel window toward the silent black Verge. There, at the edge of the void, bright drive-glows of starships flared white then winked out of existence as they leapt into hyperspace, tiny gnats tearing holes into the fabric of reality, only to be swallowed whole by the universe.

It was oddly soothing.

A score of ships had already come and gone that morning, and a score more would come in the next few hours, everything from Starscape yachts to Lethiek-class freighters with the odd retrofitted snub fighter in between. The Rest had been doing a brisk trade over the last few months, and even after the news had come of the war’s end, it showed no signs of slowing. Inside, activity on the station was chaotic, with dozens of beings yelling at each other in dozens of languages, hurrying this way and that down too-narrow corridors, passing trundling freight droids and blue-uniformed station personnel. And over it all, flat computer voices droned instructions and directions and advertisements in Basic, Binary, Huttese.


The voice from below was deep and resonant, unmistakable.

He allowed himself a long moment before he turned.

Luka was not a tall man. He had nothing of his father’s imposing stature or presence, the infinite will or the devilish charm. Instead, he was neatly compact and square-featured, as if he contained everything he needed to be utterly self-sufficient.

His father stood on the decking below, head tilted upward. It was a strange sensation, to be looking down on his father. For a second, Marko almost looked old, the lines etched into face seeming heavier than usual, his deep-set eyes shadowed.

“That communications relay back on line?”

Luka nodded. “An hour ago.”

He imagined Marko knew it too, or at least, had no real worry it would be fixed, or that Luka would handle the myriad of issues that arose on a daily basis on the old station with the same efficacy he always did. No, this was Marko’s way of asking about Donovan, the unsaid, any news?

Marko looked up at him, expression unfathomable, mouth set into a thin line, eyes unmoving, and they stared at each other without breaking gazes as if pointedly ignoring the third person in the room, unseen and unacknowledged.

Somewhere, a low proximity buzzer signaled the arrival of another ship, and it seemed to break something.

Marko made a stiff nod.

“Let me know if you spot that fluctuation in the gravity well generator again. I don’t want to be picking up my tools from the ceiling this week,” he said, his voice crisp, with only a hint of its usual wryness. He turned.

Luka watched him as he left. The tension he read in Marko’s body language disappeared as soon as the big man passed another crew member, slipping away to roguish saunter and a devil-may-care grin. Marko exchanged some pleasantries with the man that Luka couldn’t hear, and the crewman laughed.

Luka let out a breath, slow, like atmosphere bleeding from a ship’s hull.

He climbed down from the platform and prepared to make his rounds, slipping on his tool belt, out of habit. It was a rare day when he actually had to fix anything himself anymore, but he wouldn’t be his father’s son if he went unprepared. Reflexively, he checked the snub slugthrower at his hip. It weighed more than a blaster, a heavy metal frame with a clip full of slugs. It boomed when he fired it, the noise shockingly loud, the piercing slugs unnerving in a station with transparisteel windows.

Luka tugged at his black bantha hide jacket, letting the shoulders settle around his frame, fixing the sleek lapels. Underneath, he wore simple spacer’s pants, shirt, and boots, unremarkable wear, but the jacket was imported from the core.

He walked out of the command center and began to make his rounds. Most employees and many regulars knew him, and he got nods or greetings as he went, more businesslike than personable. He only socialized in limited circles, and he imagined most thought him standoffish, possessing a shadow of his father’s charm.

The repairs on docking bay six were in full swing, an additional crew having been brought in overnight to fix the damage from the shuttle that had come in hot and left a rent in the decking when its repulsors had failed. Over in the bowels of the waste reclamation tanks, the new units were performing at 110% of maximum efficiency, and the faint sour tang that wafted in the air every time someone on the station used one of its freshers was gone. The bar seemed to be doing a brisk business, even at the early hour, though station relative meant nothing to a spacer. Vidscreens flashed up with the latest news from Botajef, and a scrolling casualty report from the war.

Luka caught himself staring at it for a moment before he forced himself to turn. A few of the station’s employees caught up to him, requesting his approval on one form or another. He pressed his thumprint to the bioreactive screen and keyed in his codes.

He knew could have stayed in the Ops center and checked all the systems by vidscreen and readout, but that had always seemed like the easy way out to him, a modicum of effort when he needed to be hands-on.

A full circuit took about four hours, but Luka cut across an access gantry midway through, heading toward back toward the comm center. He told himself it was to double-check the array repair.
Character Sheet

Verico looks over his shoulder and notices lima the bosses son and the only one that Verico has let himself get close to in the two years he had been here. Verico then quickly turns back to the Triiani at his right. Excuse me do you mind if I light up. I mean my bird is already eating that fish kind of measily. Yet you haven't said anything I thought I might as well ask before you get all pissy.

Not even waiting until the cat answers Verico grabs the bar use pay phone and calls his pall Luka and waits for either man to answer. I so hate this ring.

Verico then pulls something out of a coat pocket shakes it around and bangs it on the counter hard. He pulls the top of and lites it with torch. It burns and gives of an auful and horribly stinking smell. Verico puts the lid back on it and extinguishs the fire. He then takes something out of his poket and sticks it in the container. One more mark one more year I promise gramps & pops I will never forget or forgive. That peice of shite king that traitorous swine. One more year until he is dead. Verified then stamps on the arm of his armorial first I get this fixed then I start working toward his death. I swear it to you on my word and my life what is left of it. 2 and counting how long will I have to wait for to start toward this.


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