[Part 1: The Meeting] The Spice Must flow

[Dale Kurt]

DALE KURT​

The Slicer's Vice was Dale's favorite bar on Nar Shaddaa, not saying much because he hated most bars on the moon, it reminded him too much of the bars back at home. But Nar Shadda was closest to the place Dale was renting out, and over the month or so where he lived on the moon, he had grown accustomed to the food and drink served at the bar. And the band playing was some nice background noise… so he really had nothing to complain about.

Dale was wearing his regular light armor, he never left the “house” without it, his brown armor was tightly fitted, and his hood was pulled down further than usual, his face mask was off and lying next to his plate of food, he had to rely on his hood to keep his face from being seen. The hood was pulled down far enough to cover his eyes and nose, but it left his mouth uncovered, making eating possible. Dale sat at the table in a sorta hunched over position, eating his food as fast as possible, but still trying not to look like an animal.

 

[Hannibal Grayza]

Ahhh, the familiar smell of drunken indulgence, spice, and desperation. Hannibal was well familiar with the general vibe of underworld-type bars and cantinas on the smuggler's moon, frequenting them himself whenever he was around. This was far too often, at least according to other more 'upstanding' Jedi, though Hannibal mostly just laughed at them and informed them of their status as absolute scrublords. Besides, he was here on business, not (just) pleasure! A certain someone, whom he had never met but had been vaguely described to him, was getting into smuggling some questionably-legal goods.

He was dressed in fashionably tri-buttoned high waisted black trousers featuring subtle criss-cross pinstripes in a lighter tone, a simple white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and Epicant-styled collar, and a well-worn green leather long coat draped stylishly across his shoulders. His equally worn, well-fitted black leather boots clicked softly across the ground as he made his way deeper inside the bar, removing a black felt hat with a wide brim and flat top from his head. He briefly scanned the room, smoke joining the rest floating through the air of the neon-lit bar, finally spotting what he was looking for. He made his way over to the table a very hooded young man was seated at, his droid Ego hovering along behind him.

Wordlessly he slid himself into a seat opposite the young man, plopping his hat onto the crowded table and slightly lowering his round-lensed, mirrored shades to get a better look. He grinned cheekily, eyes sparkling with mischievous energy in response to the other's attempts at remaining generally hidden. "'Sup? Hannibal, at your service. Hans if that's too much for you." He added with a wink, ashing his cigara in one of the many ashtrays laying around.

@Sharky
@Die Shize

 

[Baymon Bluevynson]

Music IC

Spoiler

Baymon and Zenke

Spoiler

​

Slicer’s Vice held all the cards to its name that a gambler held to his chest. Entering the cantina, Baymon Bluevynson expected to find plenty of vice and more than a few slicers within it, along with some spicers and whatever other career criminals rhymed with those two words or did not. Nar Shaddaa was hardly the place to visit if you were looking for sandy beaches or lush grassland, though the city-moon was certainly a jungle. In one establishment of many, a pair of men had just stepped through the entrance, having flown all the way from this place or that one, and they certainly hadn’t come for sand or grass.

While in another setting they might have taken in the scenery and waltzed on up to the bar for a round of drinks and a round of chitchat, this time they moved with a pace of purpose. It had been one cantina after the other of getting jobs or giving them and, frankly, Baymon was getting rather worn out with at all. Fortunately, he zoomed in on one table that seemed suitable, certainly on account of a hooded figure and another who looked oddly familiar. Approaching the table, Baymon and Zenke did little else but stand and stare, Baymon’s gaze darting from the hooded figure to the green-coated one. The hat on the table must have been his. A man of style. How swell.

“You know, in some odd way, you remind me of myself some twenty odd years ago,” Baymon nodded at the green-coated man. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but do take it as a compliment.” He smiled before turning his head to the hooded enigma. “And you remind me of myself after spending a day and a night during an abysmal storm on Odona. First it was the rain and then the sadness that kept my hood over my face...though I guess as much to hide myself from the pirates. A relentless band of brigands if ever there was one!”

With a shrug, Baymon sat down and crossed a leg over the other. Feeling in his element, he took off his own hat and put it on the table before him. Zenke sat opposite, with both men having another man on their left or right. “Baymon Bluevynson,” Baymon introduced himself. The name shouldn’t have been surprising given that it had been put forward for this job. “This is Zenke, my associate.” Zenke held up a hand in greeting. “Though, given our surroundings, perhaps the four of us should simply be called Spice, Slice, Vice and Nice!” He chuckled.


@Mr. Teatime @Sharky

 

[Dale Kurt]

Dale hadn't talked to many people after his "escape" off Tatooine, mostly just people who wanted him to smuggle things for them, and from what he noticed, at least most of the time, the person who wanted him to do a job came to him. IT made for an easy off work-life, he never had to worry about trying to find a job, the jobs just came to him. Dale knew why people who select him over other more experienced smugglers, he wasn't wanted in any system or planet. So Dale knew the exact reason these two very fashionable men came to visit the hooded man. He quickly finished off the rest of his food, and then quickly slipped on his face mask, he didn't want the men to hear his real voice. He pressed a button on his mask to tighten it, and then another one to turn on the voice scrambler. The eyes of the mask lit up a harsh blue and then a soft orange, he pulled back his hood just enough so that his "eyes" were visible.

The man in the green-coated man, Hannibal was his name, looked rather... rich, his suit and style didn't seem to imitate other criminals Dale had met, but criminals came in all shapes and sizes, but he knew that this man wasn't here just to talk, or Dale hoped so, he hoped the green-coated man had some sort of job for him. He was itching to get back into his ship, to fly again. The other two men, Baymon and Zenke, seemed quite... talkative, he had said that Dale reminded him of himself, after an abysmal storm... was that a compliment? or an insult. Baymon has said the four of them were the Spice, Slice, Vice and Nice, Dale wondered which was which, and what exactly a Nice was...

Dale sat back in his chair and laid his left foot on his right leg, a much more comfortable sitting position. "Well then, I'm gonna go ahead and assume that I'm the spice here, and im also gonna assume that the Slice, Vice, and the Nice would like something from me." Dale said with his mechanical sounding voice, "Name's Dale by the way, and my both my ship and skills are available... for a certain price. Nothing you rich boys can't afford im sure."

 

[Hannibal Grayza]

Hannibal's green eyes flashed over to the new bespoke-looking arrival, winking cheekily at the assertion of resemblance but offering no further comment on it. If their impressions of Hannibal were like he thought they were, the clothes were doing their job, so it all works out. He laughed at Baymon's comments towards Dale, however, once again ashing his cigarra in the ashtray he'd taken from somewhere or other. Hannibal leaned forward across the table a bit, putting his hand up to his face as if speaking sneakily, "Tall dark and grim is Nice. Don't worry, I bet he only looks grumpy." he said in a stage whisper, completely audible to all at the table, then sat back and laughed again. "No offense, but a starfighter isn't much use for what I need here. I'm more looking for a licensed pilot without a record to fly a ship we don't currently own. That last bit can be remedied, of course." he explained conversationally, as if discussing the weather, passing a simple datapad over the table that showed an image of a beat-up looking YT-1930, mildly modified. "The cargo on it is intended by its present owner to go to a group I'm not terribly fond of, and I would really rather it went to someone else instead, if you get my drift."

In short, the plan was to steal the freighter along with all its substantial cargo and take it somewhere else. The freighter belonged to a smuggler who did quite a bit of work smuggler for pirate groups, and Hannibal would really rather the contents make their way to element among the syndicates he got along with instead. "You can even keep the ship, if ya like." he added, leaning back in his seat.

@Die Shize @Sharky

 

[Baymon Bluevynson]

Music IC [Recurring]

Spoiler

​

Baymon lifted his head with a smile as Dale Spice introduced himself. The forename seemed to do justice to his arcane appearance, not so much due to any definition of the word as to how it sounded when spoken or looked when spelt. I wonder...any connection between valleys and orange eyes? The thought sneaked away as the cigarra-toting young man quite appropriately dubbed Zenke as Nice. As far as rich boys and the jobs to make them so went, though, Baymon could only agree with Hannibal’s disposition. Wasn’t I under the impression that we were getting a job, not giving one?

Evidently, he had the roles reversed. Dale was in the same position as Baymon, and it was Hannibal who needed their services. That worked well too. Clearly, there was some miscommunication that preceded this preceding, as even Dale sounded like Baymon might have been hiring him. Wow. When the datapad slid over beneath Hannibal’s tongue, all eyes went to it. Baymon leaned over with some intentional intent, as though he were trying to peer through glass for treasure sealed behind it. Ship. Cargo. Smugglers. Pirates. Looks run-of-the-mill enough. The plan seemed achievable on that same note

“I was never too sure about the 1930.” Baymon crossed his brows in contemplation. “Beyond the inarguable truth in sales figures, there’s a certain wistful quality to the 1300—the bird that soared the stars!” He shook his head with a smile, recalling the adventure tales from a certain imperial era. “Whatever the YT, have to hand it to the Corellians and their shipbuilding prowess. What's that saying? 'Crowns are to regalia as ships are to Corellia'? Something like that.”

“Anywho," Baymon gestured toward Zenke. "Mr. Nice can pilot a ship better than most, unless Mr. Spice wants to take the proverbial wheel.” He shrugged. “I seldom do myself. My starship specialty is arranging for their procurement and their voyage, along with what they carry. In addition to that, I can get the correct course and course correction to keep us away from undesirable neighbors, pesky pirates or otherwise. Probably, then, my part is decided in this riveting adventure to smuggle from a smuggler. What needs to be decided next on my behalf is the reward for such a noble quest.” He raised a brow with an afterthought. "Besides the ship itself, assuming Dale here doesn't want it."


@Sharky @Mr. Teatime