Ask Coruscant PRELUDE: Rise of the Drellis Syndicate

[Zentripoli]

Digital Row
Lower Market Districts
Coruscant

Coruscant…home to the Republics of old. It was the center of the galaxy, a beacon of hope and strength in some eras, yet a manifestation of corruption and oppression in other eras. But to the Five Syndicates, regardless of the era, it has always represented opportunity and credits…​

Digital Row was lively as the sun began to fade over the Lower Market Districts, but then again it was always lively. Droids and sentients of all sorts whisked from store to store attempting to get last minute shopping done before the sun faded to bring in the night. While this did little to slow the pace of the Lower Market Districts, it did bring a change in its clientele. At night, it was not uncommon to see sentients who were armed or droids out doing their shopping. While violence was rare in these markets as compared to the Underworld, it was still a time to be wary and on guard.

The small Columi was keenly aware he was vulnerable without a cadre of security droids around him, but it simply was not in the cards tonight. He was missing parts for those droids that Nar Shaddaa was short on. Those who possessed those parts in Nar Shaddaa knew they were rare and began charging exorbitant prices. While the Five Syndicates had some pull in the droid market, it was not enough to get a break on the prices...at least not yet. Regardless, it put Zentripoli in a bind and the Columi was unwilling to pay what they were asking, so it warranted a trip to Corsucant.

Droid Gotra was based in Coruscant. Zentripoli had a fondness for those droids--perhaps moreso than sentients. But he would never say as much. Regardless, it gave the Crymorah Syndicate alien an excuse to meet with others from the Five Syndicates, sent by their various organizations to investigate another matter altogether. It was a phenomena occurring in the Core Worlds among their areas of influence: their contacts were disappearing as well as some low level Five Syndicate personnel. What the brilliant alien surmised was that this was not some sort of random irregularity. Based on the key contacts and personnel that went missing, it explained why the credits began to dry up. To Zentripoli, it was an intentional effort that was pushing out Five Syndicate influence from the Core Worlds.

As such, Zentripoli took it upon himself to reserve a back room in a private room rented out in the Durasteel Chasm. The establishment got its name due to have a deck outside that had no guardrails and onlookers were unable to see the bottom, even on the clearest of days. It was rumored that people met on that deck and went missing, assumed that they had been “helped” off the edge. Regardless, the Durasteel Chasm was friendly to the Five Syndicates and hosted the members that would begin investigating the loss of Five Syndicate interests.

Strategically requesting a round table instead of a long one, the Columi was sensitive to the many egos within the Five Syndicates. While he called this meeting, inviting others of the Five Syndicates, he wanted to ensure that they understood this was not a power play on his part, but merely facilitating the solving of a problem. Sitting atop the ZDT-06 “Boost” Transport droid, the small alien waited patiently for the others with his small fingers steepled, deep in thought. In the corner, standing as still as the wall it was up against was a ZDT-510 "Porter" Labor Droid. All of the Five Syndicates knew that the little Columi depended on droids for everything due to the alien's atrophied limbs...that were not even strong enough to lift his own weight.



*Link to the OOC thread HERE.

@Asher
@Pyrenees
@Kestrel
@Die Shize
@Kallus
@Nommie
@DIngle
@wristclerk

 

[Jorhan Praji]

THE SHUTTLE DARTED across the skies of Coruscant, passing unnoticed as but one of many hundreds-of-thousands of such vessels (of varying make and origin) that zipped across the metropolis which, despite no longer being the seat of Government, many saw as ‘Galactic Central’. A simple grey painted vessel, it had no redeeming or distinguishing characteristics about it whatsoever, just as its owner and occupant, Jorhan Praji, liked it. Over the course of his career, the squat little man had gone to some considerable lengths to ensure that he was entirely unrecognisable, unremarkable, and unremarkable, to anyone bar the people who mattered.

He was a short man, something his detractors often liked to point out, pass comment at, and generally remind him off. Fat, which had earned him the nickname ‘The Hutt’ - a name which was remarkably deeper than a spat at his appearance - he was bald, and physically unimposing. At the top of a fat neck however, resided a large almost domed head, bald to a sheen and speckled with age, and it was this, which he counted as his most important asset - his mind.

Jorhan was sat in the cabin of the shuttle, almost in complete darkness. Fingers steepled together under his chin, he stared through his monocle, which to the casual observer made his right eye appear comically out of proportion with his left, and a video screen before him, which provided one of only two sources of light in the dark little room. Whilst dark,the room was far from uncomfortable, a high backed chair (which towered over Jorhans head) fronted a small black desk of rich Wyroshirr wood, whilst in front of that desk sat a larger, rectangular table surrounded by black chairs. A single potted plant was in the center of the table sat a small tree, a miniature Worship that Jorhan practically doted upon. Artwork dotted the walls, whilst behind him through a well hidden door, could be found his private sleeping quarters.

The man was distrurbed from his reading only slightly as a small furry shape, a Loth Cat, wriggled on his lap.

”Be still Topher.” the man mumbled half-heartedly, for he had long since given up on attempting to provide instructions to his feline compatriot. He was ignored, and the wriggling abated in its own time. Returning his attention to the screen in front of him, Jorhan continued to read a dossier of information pertaining to the annual reports and performance of the company he sat as a member of. It made for pleasant reading, a droid company run by an associate of his, a being of near-parallel…

No.

He thought to himself, as if mentally hitting backspace on his thoughts.

.... being that thought itself as intelligent as he.

Much better.” Jorhan congratulated himself, drawing out of his thoughts as a notification from the bridge came through on his screen. They were landing.

More specifically he was landing atop a place known as ‘Durasteel Chasm’, a meeting point and front operation for the Five-Syndicates, the Criminal conglomerate to which ultimately, they all answered. He stood from his chair, gently lifting Topher off his lap as he did so, and placing the creature back on the chair. Brushing the fur off his trousers and coat, he snapped his pistol into its concealed holster, confirmed his armoured vest was in place, and walked to the exit ramp, whereupon he was met by a heavy set human, who appeared capable only of communicating in single syllable words - normally ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.

Jorhan ignored the man, well, he thought it was a man, who just fell into step behind him, saying nothing, and likely thinking less, as he walked into the meeting space, and introduced himself saying: ”I am unaccustomed to meeting in the Core, far to,” he ran his right hand across the windowsill to his right and looked at his fingers with a sneer ”....dirty.” the small, fat little man paused a few feet away from the chairman and owner of the company upon the board of which he sat, and, totally unfazed by the vast droid which held the diminutive creature, introduced himself.

”Jorhan Praji, we’ve spoken on the comm.” he finished, snapping his spare hand, as the vast man behind him handed him an absurdly small napkin, which Jorhan then used to wipe the imperceptibly small amount of dust from his other hand.

First impressions, always count.

 

[Chet Rublof]

Chet had not planned on returning to the Core this soon after his indiscretions on Carida, however this was too good an opportunity to pass up. His business on Tatooine had been disappointing to say the least, though, perhaps, this might be a chance to accomplish more. His ships autopilot maneuvered through the Coruscant skyline, weaving along the lanes of traffic reserved for the smaller starships. He was glad of the autopilot – flying was one thing he had never taken to. Strange really, he reflected, it was after all just applied physics. He made a mental note to reflect further on his failings that evening. His self criticism was cut short by binging from the control desk to authorise him to land. The security presence on the landing pad in front of him was visible even from this height.​

​

He clicked at his remote to follow, not that it would be much use in a place like this, against well-funded, well-armed opposition, not that it was ever actually much use anywhere, it was more of a pet than anything.​

​

The ramp opened as the ship touched down, his feet were on the steel of the landing pad seconds later, the ship taking off moments later and heading to its designated holding pattern.​

​

A bearded human, well, half human, half giant of some description approached from a door across the pad, flanked by armed, masked guards.​

​

“This way Mr Rublof.”​

​

The interior itself surprised Chet, it was much more restrained and understated than he had anticipated. His only previous trips to the old Republic capital were as a child, to various medical conventions with his father; held in upmarket residential buildings, universities and hospital executive suites.​

​

His guide knocked twice on a door, before touching his finger to a keypad, holding it for Chet to enter.​

​

“The round table is a nice touch. Chet Rublof.”​

​

His remote buzzed next to him and whirred, almost as if it expected an introduction.​

 

[Scudd Jastain]

The Starrunner class light freighter lovingly named the Pack Ratt nosed down in to Coruscant's atmosphere and began weaving its way around and through the eccumenopolis's towers and spires at the Duros pilot's deft touch. Scudd Jastain loved to fly at the edge of his ability and taking the seemingly ungainly craft sharply around obstacles and through dense traffic was too good an opportunity to pass up. Though the authorities and air traffic control were soon to take notice and they did not look kindly on those sorts of antics, plus it wouldn't do to miss or attract attention to his task. So it was after a few more tight turns he reluctantly slid into the traffic and waited for his landing clearance.

While his destination, the Durasteel Chasm, was not terribly far down into the city's depth he chose a landing pad farther down still to avoid some of the unpleasant attention from security and law enforcement that mounted the higher up you went. After locking down the Ratt, making sure his QC droid Hatt was following him, and slipping the docking officer some credits to conveniently not notice the blaster on each hip he set off towards the markets. It was a bit of a walk to be sure, but it gave him some time to mull over everything that he had been told once more and ready himself for the ego he was about to walk in to.

The Syndicates had interests and credit earning ventures all over the known galaxy, but word had it that money was drying up in the core worlds over the last little bit. Scudd had noticed it himself to an extent, there was less call for cargo to be moved from the core and a number of the contacts that he and his old mentor had made over the years were either ignoring him or had just dropped off the face of the galaxy. Someone somewhere had proposed a meeting in order to suss out what was going on, and by dint of familiarity with the area and always asking for something to do Scudd had been politely volunTOLD to go and take care of this before it became a large concern. The information he had was incomplete but maybe, just maybe, whoever else the Syndicates were sending had something that would fill in the gaps or visa versa.

And so it was that he found himself at the Durasteel Chasm, making his was to the door to the back room designated as the meeting spot, quietly thankful they they weren't meeting directly on the open balcony. There was a large man nonchalantly standing by the door, absolutely not guarding it in any way.... if one was a fool. Scudd fished through his pockets on the way up to the door pulling out the token that would identify him as a Syndicate member and flashing it to the big man quickly. After a brief glare from the man he begrudgingly unlocked the door and knocked twice to announce Scudd's arrival, opening it up to allow him through.

There were already three beings in the room, not counting the droids, two humans and a Columi sitting around a circular table in the room's center. Scudd looked at all three one after the other then ran the token over the knuckles of his left hand in a flourish before palming it and bringing his hand over his chest while he bowed low. "I am Scudd Jastain," He said straitening up before motioning Hatt into a corner and taking a seat. "I represent some of the more um..... shipping focused interests and have been called upon as problem solver here and there."

 

[Pidge Batana]

“Lower Galactic Market, Digital Row, please,” Pidge said to the Navdroid driving the speeder taxi.

She had flagged down from outside her rented apartment. The chipped paint on the speeder read “Ukej’tura Transportation: Faster Transport for Fewer Credits”. She hopped in and began her descent to the lower levels. It was only three levels down, but even the short plummet down through the ship lanes made her slightly nauseous. Neon lights and holo projections passed by Pidge so fast it looked as if it was raining light in reverse. The air smelled like speeder fuel and fried food of some sort. The whine of speeders was loud in her ears. Certainly fast transport, she thought as her dizzying descent reached an end. “Thank you for choosing Ukej’tura, please check for your belongings as you exit. Watch your step as there may be a gap between the speeder and the dock”. Pidge swiped her credit chip and stepped onto the dock by the Durasteel Chasm.

Pidge was there for a syndicate meeting. She hadn’t been briefed on it’s purpose other than it had something to do with droids and tech- her specialties. She had been commed last minute and asked to attend by a contact in the Black Sun because she was local. Looking around, she didn’t see many familiar syndicate faces. Their influence really was slipping. She fingered her blaster and motioned for her R4 to follow her to the conference room.

 

[Orys]

Orys was always one to be punctual, thus as soon as he received the details of the location of the meeting he had made his way there prior to it starting. He was sitting outside enjoying the fresh air when he noticed others arriving at the same location, likely for the meeting. He donned his usual equipment so they likely recognized him too. He allowed everyone else to pass him as he cut the cap of a fresh cigar off with his vibro-knife, releasing an audible hum to those around him. Lighting the cigar he puffed on it for a few moments taking in the sights of the Durasteel Chasm, and more so what waited below it.

As time went by and more people arrived he checked the time on his Datapad, taking note the meeting would start soon. A shame as he was really enjoying his cigar. Ashing it one time over the edge and into the chasm he stored it away, getting up from his seat and gathering his things. His droid "Blicky" accompanied him as he made his way back into the establishment and towards the conference room. He was slightly uncomfortable not knowing exactly what the meeting was about and he knew damn well the syndicates didn't have a strong foothold here. In fact he knew that another syndicate laid claim to this territory but alas, this was the life of a gangster.

He entered the room with his droid, taking the closest seat to the door. He idly rested a hand on his blaster while waiting for anyone else to arrive. Better safe than sorry.​

 

[Baymon Bluevynson]

OOC: Feel free to skip the first part. Just following the personal intro trend lol

Music IC

Spoiler

​

In the lounge of the L’Ambroisie, curdled smoke curled through the air with the bittersweet scent of burnt earth and charcoal cherries. The smoker breathed in, a warm cloud eddying down his throat and disappearing in his chest. He breathed out, a puff of misty white escaping between lips to mingle with the silent symphony of the olfactory orchestra. Though it wasn’t so alone. There was sound in this starship yet, and beyond the rhythmic hum of the vessel itself was the melody of a piano that drifted from the overhead speakers and overtook the noise.

The man lounging in a leather seat took in a breath of remembrance, cradled the company of erstwhile familiarity, and sighed out his memories. The cigar he had in this moment tasted just like the cigar in that moment, like dark chocolate, but instead of a piano recording back then he had been listening to a live performance from elegant fingers that danced more than played. The same piece but a different player. Yet the harmony hasn’t faded. Chocolate tastes like chocolate.

The notes took him; tinkles that gave him tingles, soft and feathery keys pressed upon like fingertips to stars. The life of forgotten years turned back and forth in his brain like music sheets, up and down like the keys on a piano, and he closed his eyes with a smile. I’m there again. Here but there, everywhere and nowhere, always and never. Floating. Floating on a sea—not of the space between the stars but of the waters. The oceans. Floating. Floating on a sea...

“Baymon?”

His own name being spoken brought him out of his trance as he blinked himself from the verges of slumber. Standing before him was a man with a look of concern on his face, but Baymon didn’t know where to pinpoint it and that concerned him. “What’s wrong?”

“Your cigar,” the man pointed. Baymon followed the finger to find that his cigar had been reduced to a branch of ash that might have just then crumbled upon the black wool of his trousers to stain it grey. Quickly, he flicked the cigar, flakes of ash falling off to scatter into a tray with a round rim whose gaps made it look like the parapets of a castle wall. No, just a dream. I’m still on the other side. The gate's closed. I can’t get back in.

“Thank you, Zenke,” Baymon spoke solemnly, searching the man’s eyes. “You are ever a true friend, in the big moments and the small ones. I thank you for that.”

Zenke said nothing, but his nod said everything. “We’ll be setting down on Coruscant soon, Baymon. The rendezvous will be minutes away from the landing site. I thought you should know.”

It was Baymon’s turn to nod, sensing that his friend might have also been concerned that he had disturbed him. You can never disturb me. At that thought, Baymon looked away, setting his gaze on a fish tank where colorful critters swam every which way as though they were dancing like ballerinas on a stage. He lifted a glass to his lips, spiced brandy tingling them and then his throat as he watched the oblivious fish swim out their blissful lives. Only I can disturb me.

Baymon and Zenke

Spoiler

Music OOC

Spoiler

​

Some time later, having docked the L’Ambroisie and taken to his personal CC3 Avian airspeeder, Baymon was driven across the Lower Market Districts of Coruscant by his favorite chaperone, Zenke. As the sun shone down its last moments, more and more billboards were beginning to shine with as many colors as the fish in Baymon’s ship, hoping to lure forth the denizens of the city and empty as many pockets as possible. Come night, Digital Row would be lit up like lightbulbs, and somewhere some poor soul on death row would be getting lit up in the same fashion.

Baymon had been among those individuals asked-and-told to liaison with each other over a rather sensitive subject in a meeting chiefly facilitated by one Zentripoli, a member of the Crymorah Families as much as Baymon was. Who else would be gathered this fine hour was reserved for a list not so widely distributed, given the nature of the dealings and the dealers. Baymon didn’t expect things to turn sour, though he was yet employed by the Five Syndicates of all organizations, and Zenke was as wary as ever. One of them had to be.

The speeder parked outside the Durasteel Chasm and the two men got out. Zenke, dressed in blue jeans and a cotton jacket, and Baymon, in a three-piece black dress suit, gold-striped red tie over white shirt, and a black fedora to top it all off. The establishment standing before them, and the name that went with it, made him wish that his dress shoes had a bit more click-clack to them, but the rubber soles were more practical.

“Ah! Zenke! Look who it is!” Baymon delighted, his thoughts drifting from shoes to lekku. He might have called out to the Twi’lek, Pidgelle, as he watched her walk into the building, but resolved that he would be seeing her soon enough. “I do like a nice surprise. Well, shall we?”

With that, the two men strolled into the Durasteel Chasm, entering the backroom moments after Pidgelle did, to search for her face while taking in the faces of those already present. There was a big bald Human, a mean-bearded Human, a more friendly-bearded Human, an orange-eyed Duros and, to Baymon's delectation, a two-foot Columi who was as cute as a button, never mind the fact that he was warded by an impressionable droid character. Zentripoli’s role in this little gathering aside, his very appearance had stolen Baymon’s attention as he waltzed into the room with Zenke behind him.

“Gentlemen! Lady,” He hand-bowed Pidgelle’s way. “Hope I’m not late! Traffic was a brutal negotiation, like trading with Trandoshans! Is this coffee?” Without waiting for a response, he stopped at a small table against the wall to pour himself a steaming cup, with a pinch of disappointment after not finding his delicacy. “Shame.” He turned to the round table with cup and saucer in hand. “I have the meanest mania for muffins. Oh well!”

With Zenke standing behind him, Baymon found a seat somewhere to the left of Zentripoli, nodding in unrestrained satisfaction at the choice in furniture. “Smart move! This table will certainly keep our pride in its place. Perfect for a round of sabacc after we take care of business!” With a chuckle, he searched the countenances around him for cues and clues before slurping on black coffee. Chocolate flavoring. How fitting.

 

[Armand T Crossac]

Usually, Crossac didn't mind traveling by public transport. But then, usually, he carried less stuff. Arriving at a platform by the Digital Row among the lower market districts, the scoundrel made his way out of the shuttle whilst carrying four spotlights, all attached to one tripod stand each. It was quite the hassle, seeing as they made traveling through the busy streets rather bothersome. Still, through an excessive amount of "Excuse me" and slight scuffles, he finally arrived at the Durasteel Chasm.

An incredibly large man was there to greet him. Well, he wasn't really there to greet Armand specifically, but rather the participants of the meeting. Although he had expected a questioning look and a few questions about the spotlights, the man simply gave him a blank look. Crossac didn't mind it at all, seeing as he already found the situation somewhat awkward. "I would love to show you my token, but as you see, my hands are full" he said, hoping to be given a free pass. Apparently, it wouldn't suffice as the blank stare was maintained. Sighing, the scoundrel put down two of the spotlights and brought out a token from his back pocket. Once the large guard nodded and let out a simple "Yes", Crossac put back the token, picked up the spotlights and followed the other into the meeting room.

Once there, he quickly scanned the room. Anyone looking at him would be given a nod to serve as a greeting. With that, the scoundrel got to work and planted two of the spotlights by the door and two of them to the side of the room. It was far from the most elegant entrance he had ever made, but if he was lucky, the others would think nothing of it - if he was really lucky, they'd just think of him as someone toiling away in the background. With all the spotlights connected, the scoundrel plugged them into a wall socket. "All in a day's work" he thought before taking a few careful steps to a seat by the table. Seeing as they all seemed to be waiting for the room to fill up just a little more, Crossac let out an awkward "Hi" and a matching smile before turning to look at the entrance, hoping that Garus the Hutt would arrive sooner rather than later.

 

[Garus Wathanda]

This was it. It was show time, something he had been waiting half his life time to do; he was going to strike it big. Garus was waiting, listening through the comlink that Armand held on his person, waiting for the cue that his henchmen was done. "Master, your precipitation indicates that you are nervous. Do you require a stimulant?" Chime questioned, as the Hutt was pacing back and forth in one of the side rooms, his droid was correct, he was a sweaty mess. Armand was just getting past the security his young accomplice was going to be ready any moment now. "No, no I'm fine." The Hutt lied, as he fiddled with the microphone in his hand, rehearsing the lines he had written in his mind. He could hear the people coming in from the hall, several more had arrived, which only increased his anxiety. It was nerve wracking, probably the performance of his lifetime honestly. He slithered over and stole a table cloth off one of the tables, using it to wipe off the sweat that had accumulated across his face. Yes, he needed to keep a cool head. This was just a performance, one that he had done before. It would make no difference. Just this time, it would be for the men he was hoping to impress. And he always was able to impress.

He could hear Armand setting up now, making out what the man was doing, and knew in his heart it was time. "Chime, set party protocol. Optimal strobe, maximum volume. Perimeter sweep of room starting at first verse." He ordered, as his fateful drone flashed several lights from his small frame and began to float on ahead of his Hutt master. Garus slithered forth, his hand flipping on the device around his waist, as the music would begin to enter the small meeting room, eminating from the small droid that entered. The spot lights flipped on just as the Hutt made his grand entrance, as he proceeded through the small display, he gave a nod to Armand; the young man had well earned his pay for today. Garus raised the microphone to his lips, as once he entered into the hall, he would break into the first verse, his hand pointing towards the small alien host who had invited him here:

"Hello, it's me
I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet
To go over everything
They say that time's supposed to heal ya, but I ain't done much healing
Hello, can you hear me?
I'm on Nal Hutta dreaming about who I used to be
When I was younger and free
I've forgotten how it felt before the world fell at my feet."

His mind panicked for a split second, as he was now half way towards his seat, feeling all eyes look onto him as he went into the chorus, but the Hutt pushed on, as Chime let loose his array of strobe lights making a rather colorful display, combined with the spotlights that Armand had placed earlier.

"Hello from the other side
I must have called a thousand times
To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done
But when I call, you never seem to be home."

Having reached his seat at the table, it was time to bring the song to a close, as Garus poured the last of his soul power in the verse, hoping to leave the rest of his cronies stunned by the power of music.

"Hello
How are you?
It's so typical of me to talk about myself; I'm sorry
I hope that we're all well
Have you ever made it out of a deal where nothing ever happened?
It's no secret that the whole of us are running out of time."

Chime'a volume began to die down, as the sang came to a close. Garus put his hand over his chest as he went into the last chorus.

"So hello from the other side
I must have called a thousand times
To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done
But when I call, you never seem to be home
Hello from the outside
At least I can say that I've tried
To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart
But it don't matter
It clearly doesn't tear you apart."
Garus let the microphone drop from his head, dropping his head down, but given the microphone was on a clip, the device reeled back into the holster on the belt, as the Hutt kept his dramatic pose; though his hearts were beating so fast he felt at risk of a heart attack. As the silence reigned about the room for a moment, Chime floated down to the front of the table and made a small announcement. "I would like to introduce my master, the Fabulous Garus the Hutt and Master Armand Crossac to this meeting." The small droid buzzed with excitement as it moved to float about his master's shoulder, as Garus raised his head and smiled smugly, his hands set on the table. "So, how is everyone doing? Buisness is good?" He asked, looking at the table of fellow criminals that had been assembled.

 

[Uul Rha Shan]

Well this has been a boring job so far. Here he thought that he will be hired to tear someone apart
. Or something of the like. But no. He is simply here to protect the little whatever he is from whoever it is that he is concerned about.

Ah well. At least he is being paid for this job unlike others that he has done so far since stealing himself from slavery.

Wait.. will any of these beings he is meeting with recognize him as an escaped slave? Too late to worry about that or to have second thoughts. He accepted the job. Nothing more can be done besides see the job get done. As people started to come into the room then it started to get interesting. No wonder the little being hired him. If these people became displeased or whatever the meeting can take a nasty turn if they didn't simply leave.

Well perhaps then this will not be too bad. The Raptor blinked his reptilian eyes as he studied everyone in the room. Naturally he is armed with his rifle currently strapped to his back. But he also has claws and teeth he can use as weapons if push came to shove. While he does not plan to die here the Raptor can also simply shield the one who hired him if one of these people decided to start shooting.

Narrowing his eyes the Raptor quietly waited to see how the meeting will progress. Who knows. Perhaps his presence is all that will be needed to keep everyone in line.

 

[Zentripoli]

Durasteel Chasm
Digital Row
Lower Market Districts
Coruscant

The diminutive alien simply watched as the members of the Five Syndicates filed in. It was an eclectic mix, coming from the different syndicates. Business among criminals, especially a loosely affiliated collective of syndicates was always dicey. But Zentripoli knew the motivators that would keep the gathering civil: the opportunity to please their bosses, the opportunity for credits, and of course, the opportunity for power. Such were the common veins that ran through the room.

Jorhan arrived first and acknowledged the Columi, one of the board members of Zeno Droid Technologies (ZDT). Zentripoli’s overly large black orbs observed the large criminal known as “The Hutt”, mostly due to this bulbous shape as a human. As he spoke, his small voice was amplified slightly by speakers that seemed to receive the sound of his voice.

“Zentripoli. Obviously a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Delightedly, profit will unite us soon with ZDT.”

Whenever Zentripoli spoke, the hovering droid he sat upon would dip and bob as if it were Zentripoli himself, seeming to match the nonverbal communication. The two manipulator arms gestured and moved as the Columi spoke, almost as if the transport droid was part of him. When Chet knocked and entered, the Columi watched him as he entered. Zentripoli responded to his comment about the round table, “Intent on keeping this information session casual, of course. Pleasure, Mr. Rublof.”

The droid that Zentripoli sat atop of turned slightly as it floated, held aloft by its quiet repulsors. Zentripoli responded to Scudd, “Mr. Jastain. Problem solving and fact finding will be our primary objective this day. Welcome.”

Zentripoli gave Pidge a respectful nod, looking at the droid intently, as if studying it.

All of the droid accompaniment pleased Zentripoli—they were not adverse to their presence, which was the Columi’s very livelihood. He gave Orys a respectful nod as he took a seat.

Smirking at the arrival of Baymon, a fellow Crymorah Syndicate member, Zentripoli was about to explain the lack of accommodations in the way of refreshments, but when the human continued speaking, the small alien opted for a lack of explanation. Sitting to the left of Zentripoli, he said, “Mr. Bluevynson, pleasure as always…”

Crossac entered and Zentripoli responded to his greeting while curiously observing the spotlights being plugged in, “Welcome, Mr. Crossac. My curiosity is—“

Zentripoli did not need to finish his questions as Garus made his appearance, led by a singing performance. The droid introduced Crossac and the Hutt after the song. Zentripoli was actually quite surprised that the Hutt sounded remarkably sufficient and it was pleasing to his ear. Silently, he was thankful that such a sense was not lost to him like taste and smell.

As the Hutt finished his performance, the small alien clapped with a smile. Uul Rha Shan, Zentripoli’s hired bodyguard, arrived near the end. The reptilian mercenary made its way over next to Zentripoli, which would be the last one needed to queue him to explain the reason for the gathering.

“Greetings. I am Zentripoli, member of one of the Crymorah families. This gathering is to address a common phenomena that each syndicate is experiencing with their holdings in Coruscant—contacts, credits and holds on territory is being lost and in most cases, simply dried up. The original supposition held that the cause of this decline stemmed from organic loss and depreciation, along with coincidental loss of interaction with those loyal to our interests here. Upon further analysis, it is clear that the territories we see as within our purview are being assaulted. This assault has been intentional and quite subtle over the years. In fact, we have only just now confirmed this direct, yet discreet takeover of Coruscant. In particular, the Lower Market Districts, Uscru Districts, The Works, and our interests in the Verity District. It is these areas that we all have been requested to investigate, with a subtle hand, to understand why this is occurring. If we run into opposition, it is requested that this conflict occur in a discreet fashion and that we discover who or what is driving this effort against us. Overt, direct action against the offenders is discouraged until we reconvene and have a clearer understanding of how widespread and deep this takeover his manifested over the past five years.”

The little alien steepled his small fingers and continued, “For the sake of expediency and efficiency, it is recommended that those gathered here divide up into smaller groups and each group take a district to discover the root of these efforts against us in these respective districts…”

His eyes swept the room and made eye contact with all the criminals.

“As this effort involves all of us, I am merely serving as facilitator. As such, I solicit thoughts and ideas on this approach and the division of individuals here to accomplish the goals stated…”

 

[Chet Rublof]

This seemed......bigger than Chet anticipated. He thought he had been brought here to make an example, incinerating a prominent official causing the syndicate problems. How wrong he was.

"Subtle for now...... I assume that should we establish a connection that we will be allowed to..... make an example?"

Chets version of subtle was leaving enough evidence that another target was implicated.. this may need adaptation for this particular job.

"Some of our contacts must have some information, our name still inspires enough dread to make people talk, even this far into the core."

 

[Jorhan Praji]

Zentropili had certainly attracted a motley and diverse range of people to this gathering, that much was certain. Jorhan kept his thoughts to himself as the first individual entered the room, Chet Rudlof as he was too soon find out, the podgy little man, Jorhan, watching him from the safety of his chair as Chets remote buzzed about the room, its owner remaining mostly silent as the next number of their veritable menagerie arrived. Scudd Jastain was next, introducing himself with the subtlety of a brick covered in barbed wire, by stating his interests were in ‘shipping’ - which rather obviously meant smuggling.

Jorhan couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that particular introduction.

Already the room was getting far to full, as Pidge Batana arrived, deciding, for some reason, to never let her hand drop from her weapon. Nervous disposition clearly, Jorhan made a mental note, before briefly toying with the idea of making a loud noise, just to check how jittery she really way. Pidge wasn’t the only one who decided to attend a business meeting strapped, with Orn doing likewise.

Sure, Jorhan was armed - but you didn’t wear it openly at a civilised gathering, surely?

Baymond was next, a fellow board-member of Zentropolis budding droid venture, and he entered the room with all the debonair of an old holomovie star, reeking of cigar smoke, and dressed to the nines. Clearly a more old-school member of the Criminal Classes. Immediately, he made a move to dominate the room, calling someone names, the Twi'leks, Jorhan would quickly ascertain, upon seeing them arrive together. Jorhan kept his face impassive as Baymond began to wax lyrical about his desperate need for muffins.

Jorhan, did not care.

Fortunately, a new arrival was quick to draw the limelight in what was fast becoming a theatrical display of criminal skullduggery, Armand, who took his seat before a rather strange sight created them all. A Hutt, a species Jorhan had little time for, was next, entering the room like it was a one man Hutt rodeo, and Jorhan, well Jorhan was lost for words.

"I would like to introduce my master, the Fabulous Garus the Hutt and Master Armand Crossac to this meeting."

Jorhan listened to the Droid, still not quite sure what to make of the situation that had just been inflicted on them all. Slowly, he put down his small glass of water, and dabbed his lips with a handkerchief before saying ”Jee doth tee bla tee kotky gee jedha baciyox'a?” fluently and perfectly accented Huttese.

He kept his thoughts about the matter to himself, before finally, after the practical tsunami of criminals had finished arriving, making their entrances and finally taking their seats, due to its close, listening to what their host had gathered them all together. Jorhan listened to the diminuite alien, before finally Zen arrived at his final point.

“For the sake of expediency and efficiency, it is recommended that those gathered here divide up into smaller groups and each group take a district to discover the root of these efforts against us in these respective districts…”

Jorhan spoke in his usual clipped tones;

”You do not need to deploy agents to discover the cause of such a change in fortunes, the answer is a simple one. For decades, if not greatly longer, the balance of power has been shifting, the powerbase moving away from one group,” he gestured to those around the table ”...to others, such as the Police and Corporate interests. Such a move has led to the former being disregarded by your usual customer base, and people moving to more stable fields of employment. Unable to enforce their own influence, the Cymorah have lost power completely..”

”There is only one way to reestablish such power, it must be taken. You would be far better equipped to reestablish this power if your found out who is responsible, either by supporting or muscling you out, for the loss of that power in the first place. It is obvious why the Cymorah lost the Core Worlds, we just need to find out who to put pressure on, or otherwise take care of to re establish that power.”

Jorhan said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

”Chet,” the fat little man gestured at the last speaker ”...is evidently better suited to the application of force than the finer details of power building, so, find whoever filled the vaccum the Cymorah left, and well….” he looked around the table ”...incentivise them.”[/COLOR

 

[Scudd Jastain]

Taking a seat after his brief introduction Scudd allowed himself to feel a small amount of satisfaction. He was not familiar with the protocol for a meeting like this, if there was any to begin with, so he stuck to short and to the point with only a small bit of flair this time. He settled in and went about trying to read those that were already in the room and the others as they arrived, and in retrospect he was not ready for the sheer variety of personalities and backgrounds that were going to be on display.

The small Columi who introduced himself as Zentripoli seemed pleasant if a little cold and dispassionate, though that may have just been the droids around him that gave that impression. But he seemed calm, collected and well informed. Scudd had caught Jorhan's eye-roll and put on a thin smile in return, though the response stung more than it really should have or would have under normal circumstances, but he was to to both be effective and impress. Though the short human seemed to watch everything with a reserved level of disdain he was confident in his bearing, and one did not end up invited to a syndicate joint meeting if their confidence was just an act. He would have to keep an eye on this human. That left Chet, the rough looking human hadn't said much but if appearance alone was anything to go by Scudd felt it was safe to assume that they were cut form the same cloth.

Next to arrive was the Twi'lek Pidge, she seemed to keep her hand near her blaster which Scudd could understand though it struck him that she looked as nervous as he felt. He greeted her with a small smile that everyone would receive and a nod as Hatt moved closer to greet the R4 until that followed her. The next man stood, hand also near his blaster ready to draw if need be, but stayed silent not giving much for Scudd to form an opinion on. Baymon seemed a much more lively character and his short discourse on traffic and muffins somewhat helped cut the growing tension in the room. Then came Mr. Crossac with his lights and Scudd watched in amusement wondering what that man was doing with such manic energy.

A Hutt entering with a well sung musical number and light show had honestly not been what he had expected, but he had to admit it was impressive. Well coordinated and timed, with a really solid and bassy vocal performance from the Hutt that ended as he reached his spot at the table. Scudd couldn't help but clap politely, a well done show deserves applause. 'I need to step up my game if im to compete with that next time.' He though to himself. 'Maybe pyrotechnics?'

With the arrival of a rather intimidating looking Saurian species that set up close to Zentripoli there were now ten of them in the room altogether, not counting the droids that most of them had brought, and things were getting a little tight. 'Seems this is quite a larger affair than I thought, and a very good opportunity to make a positive impression if I handle this well. Just hope no one tipped off the heat, this meeting is one kriffing hell of a target.' Pulling out the token once more he began passing it over the knuckles of his left hand again as he listened to things start in earnest.

Scudd blinked at Zentripoli's opening remarks, but then began nodding slowly as the smaller being continued. So it wasn't just a fluke that his contacts had been going dark, and according to what the Columi was saying it wasn't because of stricter crackdowns and involvement from the authorities but someone or perhaps many someones muscling in on their territory. Either way that had earned whoever was responsible a harsh response from not just one syndicate but it seemed like bloody well all of them. Though insults like this obviously required addressing, there was blood in the water, an enemy to be taught respect, and credits to be made here.

Choosing to listen and consider what others had to say before speaking both Chet and Zorhan spoke their mind, but the fat man's pointed statements and all around arrogance struck at Scudd's already slightly wounded pride. his ire surged and he was speaking before he could stop himself. "You're stating the obvious and contradicting yourself." He took a breath to interrupt and calm himself, holding back his frustration at his own outburst, before continuing more calmly. "You say that there is no need to deploy agents and state that it is the police and corporations that are making things difficult for us here, but then you say it is far better to determine 'who is responsible' as if he didn't just ask us to do that."

He leaned back in his seat, turning slightly to address the whole room and not just Jorhan, flicking the token into the air and catching it as it fell.

"Our associate here says that there is evidence that someone is taking over rackets here on Coruscant without consulting or paying up to the syndicates, and he is asking us to help find out who is doing it and how. In the big picture it doesn't matter if it's the cops cracking down, a bunch of small organizations taking bites out of what they think to be an easy target, or a larger one. Either way we find out who it is," he looked over to Jorhan in agreement "quietly, and make them pay. but those particulars are important to how we respond. And I do mean we, all of us here and not just the Cymorah, as once this has been dealt with there will be more than enough credits to be made here to keep everyone happy."

"Now on to what to do, and this allows all of us to look into things ourselves to see if Zentripoli here is correct. Four districts to cover so it would make sense that there would be a team for each, four in total. And I know that a Coruscant district is a lot of ground for two or three people to cover, but it's not like we are going to be knocking on every door and shaking down everyone we meet for information. We do this smart and quiet, start with any contacts or businesses that dried up and see if the money is still flowing, if it is we follow it and report back to everyone else. I have been through the Uscru Entertainment district on business before, but if any of you more refined types don't want to I am more than comfortable slogging through the Works."

He swung his bulbous eyes around the table, taking in all of their reactions that he could see and praying to high heaven that his little speech and focus on the task would take away from his outburst.

 

[Pidge Batana]

It was the first time Pidge had been to such a large gathering of syndicates. Scoundrels and Businessmen, she thought, although she knew most liked to be thought of as the latter. She was... well... sort of neither. Most of her trade was legal, yet her business was not licensed or legitimate. It was more ‘under the table’ deals. She knew the art of subtlety well, so most people didn’t know she was running a business, especially because, unless she had a buyer, most people who browsed her products did so through the holo net, never setting eyes on her face. Maybe it was this difference that set her apart from the others. She had noticed a few staring, and one rather pudgy, official looking man, who Pidge secretly thought had more neck than head, was watching her blaster intently. It was probably better none of them knew she couldn’t shoot it very well.

Just as she was about to sit down, Pidge spotted a familiar face. Despite their last deal having been rather chaotic, Baymon looked happy to see her. He acknowledged her and complained about the traffic amiably. Relieved, she cracked a smile. It was unusual to see customers after they had bought her product, but it cheered her up to see Baymon again. His sense of humor was refreshing, especially in this room of strangers.

She listened carefully to Zentripoli’s speech, and then to that of a Duros who advised they split up. Pidge nodded in agreement. Truthfully, she couldn’t care less what sector she was assigned to, she was just thrilled to be a part of the project.

 

[Orys]

Orys had remained silent through most of the talking though he was still actively participating by offering brief nods of approval as everyone spoke. He didn't recognize a single face in the room which made things a little awkward for him but he did his best to maintain eye contact with everyone as they spoke.

"I'll volunteer myself for the lower market districts operation. I'm familiar with the area and it's surroundings although i'll warn you in advance, subtlety isn't my strong suit".​

 

[Baymon Bluevynson]

Music OOC [Recurring]

Spoiler

​

More and more persons entered the room as Baymon sat there sipping on coffee, and of all the curious creatures of the cosmos came a Tiss’shar. The reptilian individual was oddly pleasing to look at, like art that came to life, but the most boisterous entrance had come from none other than the Hutt, and not the fake one but the real one. As the music came and the singing joined and the lights leapt around the room, Baymon blinked once then twice then thrice to make sure that he was still experiencing reality. The smile that became his lips bared teeth and a chuckle that transformed into a cry of delight. His dainty cup might have shattered from his grip right then and there so he set it on the table, sat back and watched and listened. My! Of all the surprises, this is certainly the most surprising! The lights, the beats, the voice. Those lyrics. “The world at my feet.” Fascinating!

When all was sung and done, Baymon's hands went toward each other at lightspeed as he clapped with all the applause of a parade. “Magnificent! What a sparkling performance! Reminds me of a particular band of Hutts I watched perform live on none other than Nal Hutta. Or was it Nar Shaddaa? The Flying Snails, I believe they were called. Boy was their drummer a repeating blaster of a player! Gobbled a gorg after each session! Ahhh, I’ll never forget it…”

Baymon shook his head and stared off into the distance, remembering those amusing moments as much as he would remember the moment that had just occurred. Maybe I’ll hire this Fabulous Garus to perform for me one day. Returning to his coffee, his thoughts were interrupted by the not-quite-a-Hutt’s Huttese, though Baymon spoke the language only enough to get by, even if sometimes that meant only ordering drinks at a hookah den. Jee widd doo bu whiskeee chidded, isn’t it? Dismissing that thought on his own accord, Zentripoli’s amplified voice came to as he began serving everyone the bread and butter of this not so little meeting.

After the little guy’s speech, next was the opportunity for everyone else to cast their own voices, and boy did they do so. Chet spoke of dread and examples and making dreadful examples of their enemies, and Jorhan the Hutt spoke a little more in depth about who those enemies apparently were. The man didn’t have much tact in presenting his piece. Mmm, the self-entitled sort, perhaps. I wonder where he would be sitting if this table were more rectangular than round? Then it was the Duros’ turn to speak, Scudd, and Baymon looked into his orange eyes as much to listen as to look.

As the levels in attitude took a bit of a dip, this really was beginning to feel like a board room, and it could be criminal entitites or corporate executives who sat at such a table with either being able to resort to bickering and quarreling. It was inevitable. Scudd, though, did seem to pose a pretty good point. Speculating on who exactly was responsible for these shared shortcomings meant little and less—they had to actually and actively find out who it was and go from there. Apart from the cool coin trick, Baymon liked this man’s tact a tad more than a certain contemporary’s.

While Scudd offered to take either the Uscru or the Works, the bearded Orys put himself forward toward the Markets. That both individuals were quick to advance to positions showed that they had little reservations for this plan or putting an end to the people who required this meeting in the first place. Baymon, in turn, wouldn’t hesitate, particularly since he had sided with Zentripoli’s get-together and the Crymorah themselves before he even entered the building.

“We would all do well to remember that, excluding our companions made up of flesh or metal, there are ten of us at this table, but there are five of us outside this room.” Setting his cup in its saucer, Baymon took his hat off and placed it beside his coffee, looking at everyone and no one as his tone became more factual than firm. “Five Syndicates—not one or ten or more or less. This is not just a Crymorah problem—this is a Syndicates problem. When each one of us leaves this room and steps outside this building, we had better be unanimous in our resolve to resolve this problem, no matter our underlying self-interests, or else we may as well stick to sebacc and call it a day.”

He hoped to take a brief moment studying this countenance and that one, namely on account of driving home the message to Jorhan and Scudd and anyone else that the greatest debate was not between themselves but between their umbrella organization and those who found themselves to be foolish or fearless enough to attack it. In a meeting, it was all too easy to forget the meat and potatoes and focus on the knives and forks.

“Zen speaks of investigating these crafty culprits to find out the kinds of characters we are dealing with. Jorhan points at police and corporations. Well, I think the reality of the situation is that we are dealing with a combination of years of stagnation that is now being exploited by an outside organization.” He shrugged. “Forgive the -tion’s... It may very well be that legal and corporate forces have a hand in the poisoning of our pie, but likely they are tools, not hands. The hands that we are looking for are a little more hidden, and we’ll need to get our own hands dirty to find them.”

Satisfied that his spiel served as the summary of his support for the scheme, Baymon sipped his coffee and recalled the particulars of the plan.

“Ten ‘inspectors’, if you will; four teams for four districts. That’s two teams of three and two teams of two. Though, call me a sucker for mathematical harmony, as we can even the odds by including a fifth team and venture forth in teams of two. What might warrant a smidgen of our attention is the Column Commons. Short of waltzing into a network’s headquarters to dazzle them with questions about the latest mergers and acquisitions, or murders and executions, the Commons has a host of information brokers, spies and slicers besides journalists. Information costs, and the buying and selling of it is something of my specialty.”

Baymon considered his options. They were many. “Ultimately, I can go the way of the wind. Any one district is as good for me as the other, including The Works. I’m very comfortable sitting with a cup of coffee in a fine establishment, but I’m just as comfortable sleeping in a cave with rebels, standing to dinner in some hole-in-the-wall noodle shop, or sauntering the iron plains of a smoggy Industrial District.” His eyes shifted toward Pidgelle Batana, speaking to the room while singling her out with his gaze. “I’ve been meaning to put my new datapad to use. Our operation seems like a splendid opportunity to do just that.”

 

[Armand T Crossac]

A few moments of awkward silence spread across the room as he waited for the Hutt to arrive. The little one whom seemed to be carried came to the rescue, both greeting him and starting to ask a question. Apparently, the rescue wasn't quite as needed as he had expected, seeing as Garus the Hutt was soon to arrive. His lovely voice and talented command of it was being bestowed upon them all - working for the man was a true honour. As soon as the performance was completed, several of the attendees burst into an applause. It brought a smile to the young scoundrel's face to see that it was so well appreciated and himself also clapped his hands with furious passion. Once over and a person of a species which was quite alien to him entered, the discussions began at earnest.

This planning stuff really wasn't Armand's strong suit. He was a little sad that he hadn't brought Pierre, his trusty protocol droid who was much better at these situations than he was. But then, it didn't seem like he was very needed as enough opinionated members were making their voices heard already. To Crossac it seemed quite unnecessary that the best and brightest be interrupted by someone like him to discuss simpler ideas. No, his function in this phase would just be to listen and see if he couldn't find any useful details for Garus.

Naturally, he couldn't find much to contribute with as the others had much better thought out discussions than he did. He raised an eyebrow at the suggestion of adapting the tasks after the number of people who were there to execute them. He had probably understood something wrong. What seemed off was the fact that, surely, there could be people who dropped out from their cooperation or those who would join after the meeting. Content to remain silent, Crossac held his tongue, perfectly content to let Garus the Hutt decide where to send him.

 

[Garus Wathanda]

It seemed that everything was running smoothly, so Garus saw no reason to not speak up. This was talk of business after all, and Garus well, he was the business Hutt. Everyone seemed to be talking about assets and attacks and all together a bunch of stuff that Garus found...well just a little bit boring. He understood it was bad for business, but what was also bad for business as being boring. They needed to be more lively, mix it up, live a little for feths sake. Thankfully, Garus was here to save the day.

"My gentle...peoples." He started off a tad awkward, as he wasn't one hundred precent sure about the genders of everyone involved, and he did not want to risk stepping on peoples toes this early on. "It seems what we need to do, is set a trap for these disrespectful ruffians, and put the axe to their gizzards." Garus proclaimed, throwing his arms open before slapping Armand on the arm. "My boy Armand here, is as trusty as a toothbrush, never fails." He began, following up with a totally valid point. "Let's get a hold of the boys that aren't like my Armand, the untrustworthy drek munching sort and give them bad Intel, tell them we are shifting up our assets. Then wham!" Garus pounded his fist onto the table, making a loud 'thump'. "We get rid of them, take a few hostage, shatter their puny little brains, find out who's doing what, and we clean house; Nal Hutta style. Simple, effective, and brutal." Garus dusted off his hands, like he had just solved all the issues in the galaxy with just a few words; and in his mind he did.

 

[Zentripoli]

It was a motley collection of Five Syndicate representatives, but this was not only a chance to reclaim what was taken, but also to grab more than they had. Zentripoli believed they had the personnel to make a clean, yet subtle sweep of those districts and establish Five Syndicate strongholds in each.

After listening to those gathered, Zentripoli looked around the table and chimed in, “Crymorah Syndicate is but a fragment of this endeavor. The totality of the Five Syndicates are represented here this day. Baymon wisely placed Column Commons in this list of districts to explore the depths of the Drellis Syndicate—we will divide up this tasking in short order. I have a few droids from Droid Gotra that will assist in this outing as well…”

Looking around again, the diminutive alien said with finality, “Pleased this arrangement could come to pass. Communication in our efforts during this phase will be essential. Subtlety is key. Be wary of force-users…they will not be pleased that Durr the Hutt outed them in such a public fashion.”

With that, Zentripoli floated away from the table signaling that his role in the facilitation had concluded. The gathered Five Syndicates members would divide up now and plan for the next phase of dismantling the Drellis Syndicate…

((OOC: Thanks guys! We now have meet each others characters and then once the planetary influence application is looked over, we can start in different groups. More in the OOC thread))