Never tell me the Odds

[Nor'baal]

Dar felt sick - he didn’t look all that good either. ”This is frakking crazy,’’ he shouted at his piloting droid, the Czerka Class Luxury Yacht swooping down low over the skyline of the Smugglers Moon ”...it cannot be done!’’ he bellowed again, the Droid merely nodding in faked interest. Aware his guest was on board, the driving force which had prodded and nagged Dar - one of his more ‘socialite’ associates - into formulating the plan, Dar slammed up the privacy screen on his room and shut down the Commlink to his Droid, before collapsing in his chair.

”Was I pissed when I made this up?’’ he lamented, bringing the plan back up on the screen. ”Or is the boss completely mental?” he asked to himself, reviewing the plan once more. ”Get guns from a Hutt, with money we do not have to actually give him, go to Coruscant, collect the money, give the guns to the cell, strike at a prison if we even get that far.’’ he stopped, gently bashed his head on the table.

’’Genius!’’ he shouted, sarcasm dripping from his tone. Waving his hand, information coming to him that the Yacht was nearly at its destination, he rose from his chair and headed up to his guests room, tapping on the door. ”Nearly here Boss.’’ he informed the man, fastening his holster, and beginning to search around for a pistol to go in it.

’’I’m too old for this rubbish.’’ he muttered to himself.

@Aberforth (OOC - Please invite whoever you want)

 

[Kallus]

Zogg winced at the sound of muffled shouting and shook his head with a chuckle, turning his concentration back to checking his gear. Always on the lookout for the next big adventure it was only a matter of time before he found something that sounded reasonably exciting..... and paid well of course. And while smuggling guns from Hutt space to Coruscant was a little more low key than his normal type of fun, something just felt right about this job. But if the fecal matter really did hit the rotary impeller he'd be there to block the bolts and clear the road for the people calling the shots. Just the way he liked it.

What He didn't like was how bright, shiny and clean everything was on this yacht. Not that cleanliness irked him on its own, but he hadn't seen one speck of dust or one misplaced object on the whole ship. It made him feel rather out of place, what with his banged up armor, worn in clothes, and battle scarred shield. It made him acutely aware of even the dirt and grease under his fingernails and the ruff stubble on his wattle. After boarding he sequestered himself into the small cargo hold and began relentlessly cleaning all of his gear, just so he wouldn't commit an atrocity against such order and cleanliness. Though He'd decided to give up after the second attempt at polishing his shield.

It now sat leaned up against a crate, the overhead lights shining dully off of the plastoid. After wiping down his hammer and checking it's charge he slipped it into the loop on his belt, followed by his knife tucked away out of sight. He slipped the straps of his med kit over his lower shoulders and buckled it across his chest so that the kit was held snugly against his back. Then he looked to his rifle and shield, cupping his chin in one big hand. "This should be just a business transaction, so it might send the wrong message if we go in loaded for gundark." He mused out loud.