Spectre is on Ryloth for business, more specifically with Nem'ro the Hutt. Something that needs to be discussed in the privacy of Nem'ro's throne room, or otherwise he really wouldn't be on the desert planet. But first thing is first, at Nem'ro the Hutt's palace, there would be a cantina in the entrance hall, and the Hutt Council member himself feels like having a drink before going to see Nem'ro. There would be quite a bit of patrons in the entrance, the bar wasn't very filled but the gambling scene was pretty busy, sabacc seemed to be the game of choice. Oh well, Spectre isn't a gambling man.
After passing through the palace doors, nodding at the two Gammorean guards with the crude vibro-axes guarding them, he would then casually stride over to the bar making a beeline to there. There would be more of Nem'ro's Gammorean watching from above as well, making sure the halls stay nice and orderly. Spectre is feeling good as always, he recently got a haul of goods from Makeb, and he also recruited two very capable slicers who will no doubt prove useful. He also has other things in the works as well.
The dapper Kaijdii-Slicer would take a seat at the bar. "Corellian brandy please" he would ask the bartender, who recognizes the Kajidii and fellow Syndicate member dropping by. He would go fix the human Lorda's glass of brandy real quick, and leave it on the counter for him while finished.
"And no, you cannot have that one on your tab" The bartender shot at the disheveled looking man who leant against the bar after he dropped off the drink to Spectre,
"But we hadn't even-"
"No" The bartender was in no mood for games, and certainly not from that man in particular. Harlan Banks, a recent cartel recruit. Though recruit my be a generous word, given his tepid relationship with his own higherups and less than enthusiastic agreement to their terms. But for now these were early days, and he still meant to make do how he could,
"Can you, can you believe this?" He scoffed to whomever was listening. Given his reputation, it probably wasn't anyone. His little bit of theatre over, he leant back to the bartender and spoke quietly,
"Seriously though I'll pay you back, I'll get ya the money, alright, alright? I'm in for a big pay day. Probably. Just trust me" He offered, lowering his red tinted sunglasses at the man as a show of faith. The bartender dismissed him with a snort. Harlan Banks was down on his luck, and he wasn't enjoying it. Not that he had ever been up on his luck it's just that, well, this was worse htan usual. Glancing to either side, he gave a nod to the other man sitting at the table with him. A refined looking gentleman sipping away at a spirit. And with a flick of his wrist he rapped against the far side of the bar with his cane, distracting the bartender, who turned to look. Reaching over the bar with an audible groan Harlan snapped up a pre-poured finger of something alcoholic and gave a little cheers to the man to his left before necking it quickly before the bartender turned back.
Jace enters the cantina and heads for the bar, listening to the disheveled man's promises of paying in the future, he passes the man and sits a couple of stools down from Another well dressed man sipping an expensive brandy, waving the bartender over, he stops in front of the young criminal, an impatient look on his face. "Whiskey, two fingers, neat."
The bartender just stood there staring at the youth, brow furrowed. "You old enough for that, boy?"
Jace's jaw muscles pulsing with his barely contained anger, just smiles an unfriendly smile, his eyes cold, voice firm he repeats his order.
The bartender just shakes his head, a quiet chuckle trailing him and goes to fix Jace's drink, returning with it he places it in front of Jace, not removing his hand from the glass until he credits had been transferred. Taking a sip he scoffs at his luck at finding the only bartender with morals in all of hutt controlled space.
looking down the bar at the two men he raises his glass before taking another sip, thinking of how he was going to rise through the ranks and achieve a position of prominence, and not end up like the disheveled man begging for charity.
The loud and clunky whirr of the Whirlbat fighter would echo out across the desert planet as Randal made his decent from the black space above. He was feeling particularly chipper today, especially with the successful destruction of a resisting fighter pilot who refused to pay the tax to enter the tradeway. He came to a slow stop as he docked his fighter in one of the closer hangars and began his trek towards the cantina. A good day’s work deserved a good day’s reward.
He swung open the doors, and revealed himself to the patrons. He was a Rodian who’s skin was a dark greenish-blue, which became lighter as it reached his mouth area. His massive black eyes swerved, the blue flakes catching the eyes of some of the customers waiting for their food or drink. Randal had left most his weapons within his ship, and carried only his pulse pistol, should things get hairy. However, this deep into Hutt space, there wouldn’t be many problems. Not unless you wanted your neck having a meeting with a vibro-axe.
The doors would clang shut, as Randal was quickly patted down and allowed to enter. He wasn’t well known within the Cartel, but they certainly saw his Whirlbat land. A symbol of the Cartel’s pirates. As he sauntered towards the bar, he made sure to keep an eye out for those taking a peek at his pockets, however in any case those thieves would be out of luck. Randal hadn’t exactly gotten a modest income of credits in recent times. And his lint-lined pockets proved it.
Eying Spectre, he made sure to take a seat only two down from where the Cartel’s most infamous non-Hutt leadership sat. It paid to be informed, often handsomely. Though, Randal hadn’t been paid yet, so he turned to order from the bartender with a semi-high pitched sigh.
“Just a glass of water, please.”
At this point, he would swing himself sideways on the stool to face Spectre and speak to him. Randal figured that if the man wanted to be left alone, he would have had his drink upon a fancy ship or private room. However, he lacked the courage to simply strike up conversation with one of the most well known Cartel members in the galaxy, and additionally his boss. So for now, he would keep to himself.
Ryloth... Michael Drake was rather familiar with Ryloth. The planet's infamous black market was so ingrained within Twi'lek society that the name Ryloth was almost synonymous with crime. While the slave trade was unarguably the predominant market here (which he found quite unsavory), Michael Drake had always been more interested in the vast quantities of Ryll that inhabited the planet. In all likelihood, it was why the Cartel had set up operations here as well, which could prove problematic for the independent trader. That being said, wherever the Cartel found itself, there was doubtlessly some seedy cantina with plenty of drunken Cartel goons who'd spill out some secrets in their drunken stupors, or at the very least, some new contacts who could prove valuable in the future.
When Drake entered the Palace Cantina, his rudimentary training took over, and he quickly looked over the room for anyone he'd recognize. Almost immediately he noticed the Spectre--legendary slicer, and a Kajidii in his own right--and his mind began racing with potential reasons why a senior member of the Cartel was at some dive on Ryloth. In all likelihood, it was something important, or at the very least something worth investigating. As he made his way over to the bar, Drake straightened out his crimson jacket with his prosthetic arm, and made sure that his MH31 Blaster was still at his hip. If he wanted to start asking questions, a good place to start would be with the three men that accompanied him.
Drake took a seat at the bar close to the three recruits, and immediately went to get himself a drink. "A pint of Tarisian Ale..." he asked the Bartender, who for once, didn't say anything smart about his customer. The smuggler took a quick swig from his pint glass, before turning to Harlan, who seemed to be the least preoccupied of the three. "And, uh, a finger of Hull Stripper too." Winking at Harlan, Drake discretely poured the shot of Hull Stripper into a flask, and tossed it at the charlatan beneath the counter while the Bartender wasn't paying attention.
"A Rodian, a swindler, and a kid walk into a bar..." he smirked, turning back to his Tarisian Ale as if nothing had happened. "There's gotta be a joke in there somewhere."
The Hutt Cartel Kajidii would start taking a sip of his brandy - his favourite beverage of choice - as soon as it was set on the counter, and then he overhead a guy (@Nightfall096) who apparently has problems paying for his drinks, and then went to questionable lengths to get a taste of a drink. The guy was suited, but was heavyset and had some sort of cane. He doesn't look like someone who belongs in Nem'ro's palace. Other than that, Spectre really wasn't interested in him and had his eyes forward once again. Even when Spectre, when he started out as a basadi with nothing to his name, didn't go to those kind of lengths. Seems a bit desperate.
But quickly the bar started filling up while buisness continued on around in the palace's cantina as he would take an occasional glance, keeping aware of his surroundings. There were conversations going on around the bar, and at a glance sideways, he would find a Rodian (@Atom) looking at him while sat sideways at his stool to face him, he hasn't said anything yet though. Could be any number of reasons, maybe he just wants to get good look at the Kajidii-Slicer while he is out in public, or maybe he wanted to strike up a conversation, or is waiting at a good moment to do so. Maybe his position might be a little intimidating, but Spectre is pretty chill and relaxed nowadays, even if a bit not the best in a social environment. He is introverted, but not as much as he used to be. He would look fully towards the Rodian, he would still have his glass of brandy in hand. "Hello there, something I can help you with?" he would ask kindly, with his usual soft-tone of voice and still having pleasant looking smile on his face. How will the Rodian respond?
Randal glanced at the newcomer, with what might have been a frown. However it quickly changed back to a grim line as the bartender slid a glass of water down the counter for him to enjoy. He managed to mutter a thanks before turning his eyes to stare at the water.
However the newcomer piqued his interest when he both ordered for himself, and the unlucky person without a good drink. Either he was too generous or was after something. Maybe Randal was being overly analytic... but it usually helped on the battlefield.
When the man spoke, it was clear that the Rodian had understood, and did not simply speak his home planet’s language. He also seemed to posses at least some knowledge of Galactic Basic. This was evident when he turned to listen as the man would mutter to himself. However, Randal was not one to shy away from conversation... and it was better than silence.
“You know, round here I’m not simply called ‘Rodian’.”
He made air quotes with his gloved fingers, letting his glass rest for a moment. Without the gloves, the suction cups would make for a hard time letting go of the glass if he needed to do so quickly. By now he had completely turned to Drake, with one hand grasping the glass and elbow rested upon the counter, the other in his lap.
“Name’s Randal, long story. What brings you to Hutt space? Never seen you around.”
However not seeing people was quite common for a Pirate, as he lacked any visual transmission tech on his ship, so he mostly relied on radio audio to communicate. With most of his time spent in space, it could get quite lonely.
The Rodian was staring at his glass when the man spoke, seemingly in a trance of thinking. However that didn’t stop him from jolting his eyes in the direction of the speaker when his trance was interrupted. He simply stared for a moment, and if he could have blinked, he probably would have.
But Randal was cool under pressure, a trait beat into him by his upbringing. Despite the man’s warm attitude... well, he was a leader of Hutt space. Randal guessed that he was a stone cold killer. Like him. He probably only put the mask of a warm smile on for new recruits. Welcome to the Cartel.
But Randal wouldn’t let these thoughts get to him. While being overly analytic on the battlefield was always a boon, in social situations, it was a bane. So after nearly a second of silent thinking he spoke, his attention fully on Spectre.
“You know, I’m really glad you asked.”
It was true. Randal was not brave in fights nor social situations, unless he needed to be to gain the favor of someone else.
“I’ve been dry on commission for my raids,”
Also true. Randal was beginning to lose credits on fuel and repairs more than he was earning for his pirate job.
“I need some real juicy routes, you know? I sure a guy like you would have an idea in mind, cause I need cash... fast.”
As if to emphasize the point, he raised his glass of water with another sigh. If he didn’t start getting back out there for better raid targets, he’d be barely getting by. At least drinking water was enough to help save him enough money for ship repairs and some fuel.
“And last I checked the bounty board, I’m no man to go up against Sith Lords.”
"And hopefully all crawl out of it!" Harlan replied to the man with a heavy, breathy laugh, as if his lungs couldn't quite take the strain he put on them just to make it, like a punctured, wheezing tire. That didn't stop him from breathing in a sniff of the Hull Stripper and taking a sip.
It had a kick, more than he was expecting. It went down his throat like fire and sent him coughing, though from an outside perspective it wouldn't be clear if it sounded really any different from his laughter before. That said, he waved to the man who bought him the drink (@Ginger), and spluttered out between the coughs,
"Thank ya pal, that's honour among thieves right there, helping the downtrodden, and don't be fooled I'm pretty sure we're probably both those anyway" he finished with another strained laugh as his lungs caught up to his words. Harlan was not exactly in the best position he had to admit, but he could still talk. He was good at talking.
"But here ah, let me introduce myself" He hopped off his small bar stool and made his way down to the younger gentleman who'd paid for his drink with a hand outstretched, offering a shake,
"Harlan Banks, a, uh, newly acquired asset of the Cartel" He finished with a cough, before planting himself beside the man. He could still see Spectre across from them, though he appeared pre-occupied, and it probably wasn't his place to go just say 'heya' to a Kajidii. He didn't think so at least, he was still learning the rules around here outside of 'keep ya head down'.
Jace continued to sip his whiskey as the room began to fill, the the Rodian was speaking with the well dressed man and the new guy tossing the disheveled one a drink, scoffing at the man's comedic musings, Varro grumbles to himself. "Kid? Brother I haven't been a kid in a long time not since, we'll it's not important, I can promise you though that this kid will still be standing tall when your hunched over with arthritis... Well if any of us live that long, our chosen profession isn't the best for a long life."
He finishes his smirk still in place as he waits to see what happens, half listening to the conversation of the Rodian, he looked over to the drunk, as he heard him speak his name, Jace shoots the man a hard look, unable to help that the man just rubbed him wrong, probably because he reminded him of his father, swallowing the last drops of his drink he taps his glass, calling the bartender to refill it, he does without a word, sighing he tries to shake off his tension. @Harlan Banks@Michael Drake
"And I'm Michael Drake, Captain of the Arrowhead, pleasure to make your aquaintence." Drake flashed a charming grin, and stuck out his prosthetic hand for a firm handshake. He glanced over his shoulder at the Rodian, and nodded apologetically at the alien bounty hunter. "And my apologies Randal, I should've been more considerate. I'm just here on business, same as you guys I'd assume."
Of course, that wasn't entirely true. While Drake was absolutely here for work (it was typical of outlaws to be vague about their exact profession), he hardly represented the Cartel as they did. He glanced over at Jace and, deciding him to be the more volatile of the three, decided to hold the sarcastic remark that'd been brewing on the tip of his tongue.
"And you're absolutely right: it's been a while since I've been to Hutt Space. Business has been pretty good out in the Mid Rim until recently, but I'm short on credits, and I heard things were going well on Ryloth. Besides--"he took a swig of his Tarisian Ale, before smirking once again,"--nothin' in the galaxy'll lift your spirits quite as well as a Twi'lek dancer."
Much like Harlan, he was evidently a pretty smooth talker, though he was almost entirely the opposite in appearance. He was irreverent enough in his speech that his casual remarks seemed genuine and not a facade of confidence or dishonesty.
"But anyways, enough of me. What brings you Basadis all the way to Nem'ro's Palace?" Drake finished, addressing all three men at once.
Randal sighed and took a sip of water from his glass before placing it back down on the counter. Contrary to his previous demeanor, the glass slammed down a little too hard. Not enough to garner attention, but a small detail among the man’s usually calm appearance.
“I’m not interested in the dancers, it’s a waste of time and money if you ask me.”
The glass half finished, he frowned a little. It was cheap, but certainly not free.
“As for your question, you’ve either got a keen eye or a sharp ear. Yeah, I’m Basadi. Pirate, specifically. Business is down so I came for a refresher.”
As to prove his point, he raised and shook his glass a bit, before putting it to his lips. Deciding to chug the rest for a momentary relief, he signaled for the bartender to give him a refill, and slid the glass down the counter.
“I’ve seen it a million times, everyone thinks they’re invincible until the shields go down. Usually by then it’s too late to beg. You don’t get commission on dead traders and smugglers.”
"Fellas, fellas, fellas, I think it's safe to say that while no, you're right" he looked to the younger gentleman (@TheRevanchist) who had joined them, commenting on their prospects of living well,
"I've never heard working round these parts as being particularly, how'd ya say it, good for ya health? But, business is booming at the moment, Makeb, Ryloth..." Harlan lowered his sunglasses a tad, looking knowingly at the Captain (@Ginger) and the Rodian (@Atom). Everyone was a little cagey about openly discussing what it was they exactly did. Understandably so, but in a bar in Nemro's palace and in earshot of one of the Cartel's very own bigshots (@Faster Than Light), there wasn't a whole lot of innocence to go round here,
"Plenty of ways for a few lowly businessmen to make a name for themselves, ain't that right Mr Kajidii?" He spoke over to Spectre. Harlan was trying to make conversation. Trying to make a good impression to all of them, especially to Spectre. But knowing his luck, he'd probably stepped in it all over again. And he didn't exactly need another debt on his shoulders, or price on his head.
"And so funnily enough Drake, that's why I'm here, to see what kind of a man I can make of myself" he would announce to the group. Though it wouldn't stop him grumbling to himself about having to be doing it under the thumb of the Cartel later. There was a lot of things he'd left behind for his freedom in the galaxy. To be working for someone else and not atleast get that stuff back wasn't exactly progress in his mind.
Spectre listened to the Rodian as he decided to answer him, with some hesitation he could see but he still did it. So, it looks like the Rodian is looking for a job and he does raids. Looks like the man is looking for a good route to raid, so he must be some sort of pirate and looking for a 'juicy route'. Well, there are lots of trade routes off the top of his head that he could think of. "Well, there is Manaan" for the kolto shipments. "Also Makeb, you heard about the Hutt decree right?" there are shipments of coaxium and Isotope 5 going out here and there, and if someone were to seize one and turn it in to any Hutt Lorda, Spectre included. It's dangerous, but it's well worth the reward. Now Spectre would take a sip of his brandy as he would then ask his new conversational partner. "So, what all skills do you have. If you are looking for something easier, but still pays good. I have a project that's underway, and I think I might need additional manpower" he would leave for the Rodian to answer.
The sounds of conversations continued to go on around them Spectre turned around in the direction of where he heard the words 'Mr. Kajidii', it's that weird round person and Spectre's smile dropped in annoyance, and then turn his eyes back on the Rodian again.
Meant to be an immediate response to the Randal post at me.
The Rodian listened carefully to the man’s words, nodding as he spoke. Anything one of his bosses said was to be listened to carefully, and a misunderstanding could cost him more than just an awkward moment. When he finished speaking, Randal answered his question.
“I consider myself an ace pilot, but I’m just as viable on the ground as well. If you need man power-“
He was cut short by the sound of a glass sliding across the counter. A refill to his water that had previously run out. He caught it, and spoke again.
“Don’t see why you should put anyone important out there, and I’m up for anything. Trust me, Water is great but aid rather be living the high life... or middle class life.”
He chuckled and took a quick sip, his massive eyes seemingly rotating around the room. But with the pure color and no pupils, it was hard to tell where he was truly looking.
Varro was starting to loosen up the whiskey doing it's job, the young criminal was a little caught off guard he was sitting so near a Lorda, of course he'd heard of Spectre, never seen him though. Standing he stretches his back before heading towards Michael and Harlan and the others easier to talk to than towards after all, bypassing Spectre and Randal, but staying in earshot in case any good dirt was to be dropped, leaning back against the bar he answers Michael's question of why he was here in the palace of Nem'ro. "Why does anyone come to a place like this?"He pauses to sip his drink before rating the glass on the bar beside him."Opportunity, since my Vigo seems more interested in sending me away to work for other people, rather than him.. I decided I might as well try to earn some credits and curry some favor, and lest not forget about those Twi'lek Dancers, I've heard they're quite... flexible."
Varro finishes with a jest, while he probably shouldn't trust any of these men, he could allow himself to have a good time and not take out his problems on undeserving, well other people. @Michael Drake@Harlan Banks