Companion Cresh: A Star Wars Story MUSH Wiki

Orum's End Cantina -- Orum's Bastion

        A pair of weapon scanners flank the door leading into the cantina, but from the blaster scoring and lack of activity whenever someone passes between them, the scanners do not appear to be functioning. Once the main conference room of a ship called 'The Craven,' the long narrow hall is dominated by a serving bar manned by both sentients and serving droids alike. Several grungy booths line the walls, their seatbacks tall enough to offer some modicum of privacy to those seeking to do business or quaff drinks in the dim light alone. Shells on the floor crunch under foot from time to time, though it is impossible to tell if the shells are the discarded remains of legumes or the casings from archaic small arms fire. One would need to stoop to find out, which is not advised.



        With slender limbs and a narrow waist, Trina has the silhouette of a human female. At a glance, however, she could easily be mistaken for a droid. Both her arms and legs have been completely replaced, the incomplete outer surfaces of each appendage made up of a mixture of brushed aluminum and mirrored chrome. Wires and servos are exposed in places, either as an aesthetic choice or due to lack of funds to complete the work. More chrome covers the crown of her head and down the back of her neck, a sharp contrast to the tan flesh still visible over her cheeks and clavicle. One eye looks upon the world with a blue, human iris, the other takes in the light through an optical lens and sophisticated technology.

        From her choice of attire, Trina shows no desire to blend in with the unmodified humans of Regency society. A gray tank-top reveals more than it hides, exposing where her synthetic shoulders meld with the remaining flesh of her upper body. All along her bare midriff, lines of metal contour with shape of her abs, a crude map of where bio-mechanical equipment has invaded her torso beneath her ribs. Simple black shorts function for the purposes of modesty, another wardrobe statement to show where her fully cybernetic legs blend with the remaining human anatomy. No shoes cover her feet, nor gloves cover her hands.


         Kalden Vale is a Human male standing just slightly over 1.8 meters in height. He appears to be in his late 20s or early 30s. His build is light although apparently no stranger to the outdoors and physical activity. Strength is not lacking even if deceptively packaged on his frame. Brown hair feathers across the head yet it is trimmed along the sides and back to prevent it from becoming wild. One would hope that the hair has been fashioned this way and is not simply the result from spending too much time in the field and not taking enough showers. Hawkish light hazel eyes peer out into the world behind well defined ridgelines of a gaunt face. Few details escape their notice. Kalden's nose is on the thinner side, a sign that his ancestors hail from a warmer climate. Full, dark brown, bordering and black facial hair looks to have been unshaven for about a week.

         Kalden appears to be a scout or tracker by trade. He wears a suit of light scout armor that offers little in the way of protection but quite a bit in utility. The base of the armor is a thin, dark tan hide with camouflage patterns dyed into hide. Extremely thin plates line the torso, back, shoulders and major portions of the leg and arms. They are painted in the same camouflage patterns and have plenty of scrapes from use. The plates are only thick enough to protect from random cuts and the bites of small animals or perhaps even an angry Ewok with a club. Protection has been fully traded for mobility and stealth. What the armor lacks in protection it makes up for in utility. Survival gear lines the armor. Everything from grappling hooks to fire sticks line the various pockets and attachment points of the armor. The only visable weapons are a vibrosword sheathed on the back and an rim world manufactured pistol in a hip holster.


This young, human woman carries a skin tone that is somewhere between dark and fair, framed by black hair and brown eyes upon an angular face with full lips. She has an average height for her age, and her slender frame has just enough shape to be on the light side of curvy. Her thick hair is braided and pulled back into a ponytail, revealing some sort of cybernetic enhancement affixed to her head. The sleek, black metal covers part of her ears and wraps around the back of her head, starting at the temples and disappearing behind her hair. The skin around this technology has the appearance of scar tissue, suggesting that it is a permanent implant that cannot be removed.

Woven fabric in earth tones is draped over her upper body, the darker weave breathable and fitting much like that of a tank top. Beneath is a lighter fabric that drapes down her arms, covering part of her hands. Black metal piping winds down her fingers, appearing to be some sort of cybernetic implant lining what would be her bone structure, complete with tiny servos where the knuckles would be. The fingers themselves are encased in a material that fits like a second skin; the same material is worn up to her neck, suggesting it may be a bodysuit of some type, closely matching her natural skin tone. A leather belt is clinched around a slender waist, matching the necklace worn around her neck. The necklace is adorned with three artistic baubles of mysterious origin. Her legs are covered by trousers of a similar color to her woven, tunic-style top, fitting just loose enough to hide the cybernetic supports worn on her legs. Brown leather boots are worn up to her calves, and a single earring dangles from the left side of the cybernetic halo upon her head.


        Bright, light, golden blonde tresses are what first strikes whenever this human woman catches the eye. They part near the center framing her lovely and expressive features, with a smile that is broad and quick, and flow down to her elbows. She's of average height for her species with an athletic frame and a healthy build. Her nose is narrow, straight and pert, fitting nicely between her large eyes and full lips. Her brows are slightly darker and expertly styled. Long dark lashes frame aquamarine eyes that shine with confidence and intelligence. High cheekbones and a well-balanced chin and forehead lend perfection to her stunning appearance.

        She wears a lightweight white tunic with light grey pants that go to mid-calf. Over this she wears a crisp black tabard cinched at the waist by a black leather obi and matching utility belt. A clean black blaster is strapped to her left hip in a black leather holster. She wears short black leather boots that leave her legs bare for a few inches before her pants hem begins. She may also wear a light grey cloak over her outfit and black leather gloves.


Ezzadri bears fairly common place Nahrahm features. He stands roughly 1.9 metres tall, with a fairly average physique, weighing roughly twelve stone. His complexion is fair with olive coloured eyes. Like most of his race his wavy russet hair is fairly long though not abnormally so, he also has a thin beard and mustache.

The outfit Ezzadri wears looks to be well tailored though not necessarily made for him. The buttoned Tarelle sei-weave shirt is long in the sleeves with a high collar, it consists verticle stripes of two shades of blue. Over it is a rich viscose brocade vest of brown demicot silk. Over that comes a vermillion Trevella cloth long coat and matching pants.


        A human woman of regal bearing, Neve's age is difficult to ascertain, but a best guess would be in her late thirties. Her dark hair is worn in curls pinned to the crown of her head, framing her oval face in ringlets. Her dark brown eyes are large and framed by arching eyebrows and long lashes, while the curve of her mouth is more austere and the lift of her sharp chin typically haughty.

        Neve is clad in a flowing white gown tied high at the waist with a black satin sash. Her pale arms are bare except for the cap sleeves of her gown and the black gloves that reach her elbows. A white silk cloak lined in black satin is worn about her shoulders, pinned at the throat by an intricate silver clasp set with a shining black gemstone.


        Eight-legged creature, the size of a small Nexu. Its long eel-like neck and head is set with reflective eyes and a wide mouth of needle like teeth. Its Thorax and abdomen are covered in a fine thick black fur. Around its thorax is worn a traders harness covered in pockets and openings for its palps. Running from the top of its head along its neck to the back of its thorax is a segmented gold colored crinet, the bottom edges decorated with fine hanging netting.



Vance Lightbearer

        Dark haired and shifty eyed, Vance is a human male with a thin physique. He's wearing dark worker's clothing, worn thin at the knees and elbows. Clean, but well used. He has a kind of frenetic energy about him, like he could break into a dance or a run at any time.

Taferi Ravace

        Like many of the Nahrahm, Taferi is tall, svelte, and very attractive, with his flowing black hair and hypnotic brown eyes. Taferi is dressed in like a business man or merchant, in a silk shirt and pressed trousers. There is an air of sophistication about Taferi. If he's faking being part of the upper-crust, he's a good actor.


        The exact make and model of this droid is difficult to place, as it has been significantly modified since walking off the factory room floor. Comprised of a mix of bronze and silver outer plating, the droid looks like it could be either a protocol or security droid. Humanoid in shape, it stands taller than most human men. Dented, blaster scored, and fitted with odd bits of technology all over its body, DLM-1 looks old. It looks like it is probably armed.


        This male Sullustan is a little taller and bulkier than most of its race. Mumb-Mim is wearing a battered old Regency Militant breastplate with the coloring and insignia scraped off in a crude fashion. Blood stains around the neck do more than suggest that this basic armor was not originally issued Mumb-Mim. Mumb-Mim is armed with a length of durasteel pipe fashioned into a heavy club. The Sullustan looks calm most of the time, his small black eyes ever watchful over the inhabitants of the Cantina.

Jehn Nasene

        Standing just under 2 meters tall, with biceps thicker than a grown man's leg, Jehn Nasene is an imposing human female wearing the colors of station security. The sleeves of her jumpsuit have been cut off to reveal a series of tattoos on her upper arms like tick marks. Whatever she's counting with ink on her flesh is unclear. Her medium length blonde hair is pulled back in a rigid pony tail. She has a small blaster strapped to her hip, but she doesn't look like she needs it should it come to a fight.


The station's cantina. If Orum's Bastion could be described as a hive of villainy and scum, the cantina served as the all important center where honey dripped and the inhabitants grew sticky and fat. On any normal day, the cantina hosted a wide variety of individuals looking to keep their head down and their identities covered. On this special day, a day that could shape the political landscape of the Galaxy for decades to come, the air is particularly thick with people trying desperately to Mind Their Own Business.

From the bartenders to the doormen, the crew of the cantina do their best to keep the establishment running like a well lubricated piston. The bouncer called Jehn stands near the inoperable weapon scanners by the door. She's one of the few that can afford to keep her head up, making sharp eyed contact with any in the cantina that look her way. There's something in the air today, and she can feel it. She just can't put her finger on what it is.

Then there's the customers. A young man with dark hair, Vance, sits at the bar, his leg tapping the floor beneath his stool with nervous energy. A droid, DLM-1, stands not too far from the bar, turning this way and that, its oculars glowing with a dim yellow light. A Nahrahm, Taferi Ravace, holds down a table near the center of the room, a drink in front of him hardly touched. From the look of disgust twisting his mouth, perhaps he's had all he's going to have of the blue-green liquid.

With as wide and varied as the crowd is, Trina hopes not to stand out. There were droids and humanoids populating the cantina, breathing life into it as credits are exchanged, some above the table, some underneath. She occupies a booth not far from the door, herself feeling like something somewhere between a droid and a human. She, too, has a glass of some concoction from the bar, but she doesn't seem to want to touch it. Her human eye seems fixed on the door, watching for... something.

It was a terrible, terrible shame for Siika Gast to have left Valentine's World, but a client of hers on planet had given her name to some trader parked on Orom's Bastion with a faulty nav droid. It was a good job, with a big, big paycheck. So, begrudgingly, she'd packed up her things and made way for the space station, because money means more fuel, more parts, and fewer meals made of starship rations.

Upon arrival, it hadn't taken long for the young, budding scientist and freelance droid tech to learn that something was amiss on this space station. It wasn't just the general state of upkeep (or lack thereof), nor the haphazard construction and extremely questionable inhabitants. No, it was something else. Something she did not want to talk about or have anything to do with. She's here for work. That is all.

Entering the cantina, where she's supposed to meet her client, the young woman can't help but scowl. She looks briefly at the bouncer, but no more than a few paces in, her boots crunch something on the ground. She stops, looks down, and her nose seems to curl. "Ew." Looking up, she produces one of the many stim-sticks she bought at Valentine's World (akin to smoking a shot of espresso) and lights it up, trying very hard not to think about what she's walking on.

"Ew, ew, ew." The words come out quietly under her breath, every time her boots squish or crunch on something. The cybernetically enhanced woman ends up occupying a stool next to the nervous Vance, and she eyeballs his bouncing foot momentarily before hunching over herself, trying to make her sleeves cover up the metal rods lining her fingers. From here, her brown eyes scan the crowd, looking for her client while trying very hard not to make eye contact with anyone else. Her level of anxiety may not show in the way Vance is bouncing his foot, but it does show in the way her eyeballs flick here and there, sometimes doubling back upon a person when she thinks she recognizes a face.

Sitting at the far end of the bar, the cleanliness of the young blonde human woman sticks out with her white cloak and black and white attire. She's tucked up her voluminous hair under a jaunty cap but it doesn't stop her from glowing compared to many of the patrons here about. She sips from a glass of white wine but winces at the harshness of the house selection. Eyes the color of blue seaglass subtly scan the room while with her mind she reaches out searching for tension, fear, and apprehension.

Delphine Aurelia, Enclave Acolyte, sets about her duty of the day identifying the being that should make its presence known at some point in the near future. Her contract doesn't tell her who the data is for and it is of no concern to the young woman as she makes notes on a datapad between sips. Her feet are tucked up on a stool to keep her boots mostly clean. In particular, either by instinct or just a hunch, she takes a moment to focus on the Nahrahm with his distinctive coloring and features, so far from home and out of place in Delphine's opinion.

Kalden arrives at the appointed time, which is, well after Trina. This place, whatever it was called, would never be allowed to exist on High Centre. Even the insects which scurry out of the walls to feed upon food droppings are cleaner than the majority of sentients who infest this cantina. The scout was not happy to be here, however, duty as it often does, demanded he crawl through the muck. The bouncer's glare at the door is paid little mind by the agent as he makes his way past. Weaving his way through drunken patrons the bar is finally reached where he orders a drink. "Cheapest ale you got", he grumbles to the droid. Ordering something fancy from high center would only garner suspicion so instead Kalden orders swine piss to be used as a prop.

Credits are exchanged and the drink sniffed. "Swine piss might be an upgrade," he mutters to himself. Hawkish eyes scan the Cantina, falling to rest upon Trina. The scout makes his way towards the woman, snatching a half consumed beverage from a passed out Rodian. One suction cupped finger remains latched onto the mug, which finally releases with a *plop* when enough pulling force is applied. The Rodian's arm falls to the side and begins the slow process of unbalancing his weight until he falls out of the crate he was sitting on. Arriving at Trina's table, Kalden speaks warmly, "Shame that such a lovely woman is drinking alone. Buy for a drink? I have swine piss and.." A quick glance at the swiped mug and shrug of the shoulders, "Rodian swamp grass... Is that in season?" Without waiting for a response, the Agent takes a seat and passes the swamp grass over. Best to go with what you know, even if it's piss.

Civilization or so Ezzadri thought to himself. It lacked the elegance of most anywhere else in the Cresh but it had people which made it a damn site better than then where he had been. Granted he couldn't quite say he had been lonely when studying the Fornish Hoplocusts, but one hardly has many serious conversations with them. No this would make a good change of pace.

As he entered the weapons scanners get an amused eye. Whether they worked or not was ultimately immaterial, like any sane sentient he was armed, but not with anything the scanner would think to look for it worked. And in his experience a cantina that banned blasters was never a safe spot, the people you most wanted to disarm always seemed to have something regardless of restrictions. He looks for familiar faces, but hardly expects to find any.

There's another female Human who does not quite fit in with the rest of the Cantina's clientele, also dressed in white with black touches as is the style back on her homeworld. She has a length of white silk covering her hair and part of her face, so that her identity is not immediately discernible, and there is an all but untouched drink sitting before her where she sits at a booth alone in the back of the cantina. It's dark here; the dim bulb that is supposed to be illuminating her table has burned out long ago, but that suits her just fine. When a server droid comes by in an effort to take her order, the woman shakes her head dismissively and waves her hand, more interested in peering out and inspecting each of the other patrons in the cantina in turn.

There are rare sights in the galaxy of such beauty that one must stand in awe, swept over by the shimmering wonder that is an entire galaxy full of wonder. What enters the cantina is no such wonder. But rather a muddle horror on eight legs, the custom made crinet on Naz's long neck jangles ever so slightly as the Ne'ogih takes in cantina before it. The images of those patronizing the cantina are reflected in silvered orbs that are its eyes and it opens its mouth to sample the room and people within. Leg flow forward and palps tap chairs lightly as it passes deeper into the room.

The nervous young man, Vance, gulps audibly when Siika takes a seat near him, and his leg stops bouncing beneath his stool. He casts side-eye glances her way. One of his hands comes up towards his face, perhaps to run through his feathery-wind-blown hair, but he stops short and spreads his fingers on top of the crusty bar surface. "Hello," he says. "Are you the-... you're not quite what I expected."

At the same time, the protocol/security droid DLM-1 turns its oculars towards Delphine. It makes a number of clucking/clicking noises, then takes a hesitant step in the direction of the Enclave Acolyte. If the droid has a voicebox, it hasn't used it yet.

"Alright, Gordan," Jehn the bouncer says. She leaves her post by the door to move over to the passed out Rodian. She bends down and scoops up the alien creature under one arm, lifting him easily. "You've had enough. I think it's time I show you how to use the door."

Meanwhile, an impressively sized Sullustan wearing battered, former Regency armor, steps into the cantina. He gives Jehn a look, chortles, then shuffles deeper into the establishment, the myriad shells and crunchy bits making his passage none too quiet.

"Thank you," Trina says as Kalden puts the drink in front of her. Great. Now she has TWO glasses of vial liquid. She wraps both glasses with her metallic hands. "I don't think I can do this. This isn't... this is not how I usually operate."

The Nahrahm not far off, Taferi, chances another sip from his glass. It's a small sip, but he winces. To anyone watching him, it's clear that the motion is just a cover so that he can look around at the other occupants of the cantina without being overt. Like the girl at the darkened table, he is dressed too well for the place, and doesn't fit in.

As her eyes flick about, they come to rest briefly upon that of Delphine Aurelia. Siika nearly sits up straighter, the hunch corrected by a warmth that comes from knowing that she isn't truly alone. Not really! She's about to lift her hand and wave toward the woman, when a voice in her ear brings her pause.

"Huh?" She turns toward Vance, and her expression becomes immediately stalwart and suspicious. "Am I the what?" she asks him, frowning. Whatever confusion is at play here, something seems to have just rubbed the young woman in an absolutely foul manner. She turns on her bar stool and crosses her arms, frowning. "Listen, if you're trying to make a pass at me, it's failing about as well as a faulty motivator on an astromech. Next time, try to start by not insulting a girl's looks, okay?" She smiles sweetly at the fellow, before shaking her head. "Whatever you're looking for, I'm not it. Unless you happen to work for Vinjon, because that smelly son of a bitch is supposed to be here, and clearly, he's not."

Spinning back around, she hunches over the bar again, smoking her stim-stick and releasing a glittery black cloud of smoke into the air. She eyeballs Delphine again, but her attention seems more captured by the droid than anything else. If there are other familiar faces here, she hasn't caught them, not quite yet; sadly, her attention seems to shift around like a spice runner trying to lightspeed skip for the first time.

Moving her sleeve, Siika reveals a small computer panel built into the sleek, black exoskeletal metal bone that lines her forearm. She taps a few places, and a holo comes up, revealing the grizzled face of the trader named Vinjon. Her supposed client, who isn't here, and is probably standing her up. "Dank ferrik," she curses, and closes the holo with a grumble. "I swear to the Maker," she mutters to herself, "if I flew all this way just to get a spanner shoved up my arse, I'm not gonna be happy."

Nazshassi creeps along at a casual pace and looks the tables over, its head dipping almost table level before rising up to peer across the floor at other tables. Finally arriving at the bar, it tilts it thorax up slightly to address the bar. "Something...bitter please." it pauses for a moment. "Besmith if you have it." the arachnoidish alien fishes a few chits out of its vest and plinks then down on the bar and then turns its head to observe goings ons.

Delphine turns her attention from the Nahrahm and his obvious prop of a bad drink - are there any good drinks in this place she wonders? She looks down the line at the patrons seated on stools or sidled up to the service center, glancing over the nervous young man now joined by one of the cybernetically enhanced women in the bar. Was this a fetish around Orum's Bastion? A pause and then she realizes she knows this particular creature from her recent visit to Valentine's World - the droid tech Siika. A smile plays on her lips for a moment but then she knits a concerned brow. Please don't be my target... But before she can make eye contact with Siika, the other woman engages her built in comp and Delphine takes in a deep breath. With her mind open to the populace inside the bar, the Acolyte also feels the swirling motions of both sentients and mechanicals as they move about the place. After a slow blink she turns and focuses on the protocol droid as it makes its approach. She gives a small nod incase it's seeking permission to approach her at her end of the counter.

There was a certain tension in the air. The smell was not unlike what proceed a swarm of hoplocusts during mating season. Perhaps it was just the vomit that Ezzadri deftly avoided trudging through. Perhaps this reminded him too much of Forn VI after all. Did someone just mention a spanner getting shoved up their arse, it really was sounding more and more like hoplocust mating season.

Finding an empty spot at the bar he sits down and simply asks, "Elysian Ale if you have it." He casually glances around to the bar as he waits for the drink to be furnished. He doubted the had the drink but it never hurt to ask, he certainly wasn't going to be asking for warm piss, I mean maybe that he made end up getting stuck with but it was best to at least shoot for something better.

"You've mentioned that more than once now", Kalden says in a Neutral tone. He was not sure if she had been burned by a partner in the past or was afraid of failing someone else. Kalden's eyes have picked up the signs of shady dealings in the establishment, his ears nothing but a wall of whispers and laughter. The agent pretends to drink of swine piss, daring not to let the liquid make contact with his lips. "The message details were sparse. Do you know what we are looking for here?" A few things catch his eyes. The Sullustan in particular. The sight of it wearing Regency armor is enough the make the man's blood boil. Kalden does not act on it though, not yet. "The armored beast that walked in just now.... Is out of place in this setting. Give me a reason to bump into him if you wouldn't mind?" The agent smirks towards Trina, half anticipating that she would refuse to do something so bold. "Best way to blend in is to stand out."

"A pass?" Vance nearly falls off his seat, but uses the bar to catch himself. "It's not like that! I just thought you were... Oh never mind." He turns away from Siika, his cheeks warm. His leg begins to bounce beneath his stool again.

The digitized voice of DLM-1 is brought to bear, directed at Delphine. "My analysis suggests a seventy-eight percent probability that you are the individual my master is seeking." There is no emotion coloring the droids words, and no further elaboration as to who his master is or what they are seeking.

Jehn the bouncer takes the drunk Rodian out the only door leading in and out of the establishment. It seems for the moment, anything could happen in the cantina, the establishment's regular guardian indisposed with taking out the trash.

A droid bartender approaches the insectoid patron. Rather than reach for one of the many bottles behind the bar, it picks up a glass, turns over one of its "wrists," and a valve opens. It's like the droid is bleeding into the glass, the liquid reddish brown and thick. It slides the glass towards Nazshassi with a programmed nod of its upper most appendage.

And yet another bartender, human-shaped if not actually human, addresses Ezzadri. "Fresh out of Elysian. But we just picked up a crate of Sweet Ale from Valentine's World. Not as heavy as Elysian. Care to try it?"

Taferi, the Nahrahm, sniffs at his seat. He reaches into one of his pockets, too fast for some of the patrons liking, and draws out a delicate communicator. He begins tapping on the device with one manicured finger.

"I always stand out," Trina says to Kalden, her voice low and bitter. "Maybe the Sullustan. There's too many targets. Pick the wrong one and..."

The Sullustan turns about in the center of the room, then starts back the way he'd come.

It's at that point that something unexpected happens.

Whether by accident or by choice, the Sullustan Mumb-Mim, steps on the foot of Taferi. The Nahrahm lets out a howl of pain and anger, and Mumb-Mim stumbles back and away, arms pinwheeling. The heavy Sullustan crashes onto Neve's table, breaking it into splinters.

All at once, blasters come out. Someone behind the bar shouts, "No blasters!" but is their warning too late?

"What is your order?"

"Nothing with alcohol," Siika is quick to tell the bartending droid. "Water? No. Wait. Heavens no. The water here is probably filled with-"

"Our water adheres to-"

"Juice. Any kind of juice, from a bottle, without alcohol in it." Siika smiles at the droid, as if she feels bad for being rude to him. "No alcohol," she reiterates. If anyone here witnessed what happens to her when she imbibes, well, her apprehension of booze would be understandable.

Siika's eyes cast back toward Vance for a moment, and she seems apologetic. "Look, I'm sorry. Okay?" Her words seem heartfelt, at that. A bit more quietly she tells him, "This place gives me the creeps. Clearly, its giving you the creeps too. I..."

What did we say about distractions? Siika's eyes immediately turn toward the droid bartender as it 'bleeds' into the insectoid patron's glass, and her eyes widen in amazement. "Whoa!" she nearly exclaims, before catching herself and keeping herself from actually shouting. "That is so wizard!" She turns her attention back upon Vance, mouth open as if to speak again. She's yet to be served her drink, but, well, it looks like that's not gonna happen.

As soon as the angry noises start, Siika dives off her bar stool and goes scrambling along the filthy ground, headed in the direction of Delphine and her droid counterpart.

It's entirely possible she's choking back bile.

At the droid's assessment, Delphine's fair features flash with amusement, masking the wariness such a statement causes her. The Acolyte smiles, turning on her bar stool to face DLM-1, her posture open though she crosses one leg daintily over the other. "Seventy-eight percent? That's a large margin for error," she cautions the robot. Tension rises in the room and then the howl from the Nahrahm sends the room into a flurry. Delphine is on her feet with a crunching sound under her black boots. Both hands go to her hips to withdraw two slender rods from their loops on her belt. She holds her stance as the Sullustan smashes the back booth table near her then sees Siika scrambling in her direction. With only a split second to react, Delphine reaches down and with more strength than a woman of her size should possess she lifts the other woman up by the back of her halo ring and puts Siika behind her, holding a defensive posture. "Hey girl...fancy meeting you here!" she quips.

Nazshassi turns ever so slightly at the sudden eruption of noise, the head tilts to one side than the other and his palp cradles the drink protectively. "Ah...home sweet home." it exclaims and settles in to watch the floor show, it would wager. But at the moment the sides are not clear an neither are the fighters.

"I suppose the taste of home would be welcome, I have been away for some time." Ezzadri states in regards to the ale question. Elysian Ale was probably too strong for such a tense atmosphere anyway. A small smile is flashed towards the Ne'ogih farther down the bar or rather flashed at the drink pouring. A being drinking what effectively seemed like Droid blood did have a certain exotic quality he couldn't help but take some intellect interest in.

A pending fight made the thought of drinks slightly less intriguing. Taking a sip of his own drink with his left hand, his right hand moves to something metallic under his cloak. But his posture remains reasonable relaxed, it was after all not clear who would be shooting at who.

"That nervous man there at the bar just spoke of a contact" Kalden says to Trina. He had been fortunate enough to catch the words which had been spoken louder than intended from his nervous excitement. "The protocol droid... looking for a contact for its master..." The gears were grinding in the agent's head. Was the nervous man or the woman the contact? While possibilities are weighed, the bar upends itself when a single clumsy Sullustan tumbles into a table. The agent takes a fraction of a second, trying to read the intentions of every person in that time. It is an impossible task which leaves him shooting from the hip.

"Snag the droid, I'll grab the man" Kalden shoots out of his chair, crossing the Cantina as quickly as he can. Just as Mumb-Mim is about to push himself off the ground a combat boot plants in his chest, shoving him back down. The agent springs off of the chest armor, sliding across a table which sends drinks food flying across the floors. Pistol readied in a defensive position, Kalden grabs Vance by the shirt, "It's an ambush, we need to move out now."

With a shriek as her table is smashed to smithereens, Neve hauls herself to the back of the booth and out of the way of the Sullustan who's practically landed in her lap. She scowls as the nasty-smelling drink she'd been avoiding is now spilled across her pristine white gown, and she tries to move out of the way of being touched by the creature, and shoots a wilting glare at the heavy alien now prone in the middle of the broken table on the floor. The next thing she knows, Kalden is using the Sullustan's gut as a springboard, and she shrieks again. As the scout manhandles the young boy, she starts to pick her way very carefully out of the ruined booth. Despite her stained gown and the affront to her dignity, she smiles as it seems Kalden has determined his target and made his move, and backs away from the scene, pulling the silken scarf back over her face once more.

Everything was happening at once. The droid, DLM-1, doesn't have time to acknowledge the calculus involved or the statistical error. For example, while Delphine was ranked at seventy-eight percent, the Ne'ogih stood at a paltry seven percent. DLM-1 would love to go over those numbers, but there simply isn't time. Too much is happening, and his metal body simply isn't fast enough. Curses.

Instead of speaking, DLM-1... activates. Its oculars flash from yellow to red, and it brings its arms up. It's obvious now that many of the modifications made to this droid were simply to stack it with various sizes of blasters. DLM-1 takes a step towards Delphine and Siika, locking into a defensive stance. As blaster bolts begin to fly, it responds with weapons fire of its own.

Vance didn't have time to get within the protective cover of the droid. One moment, he's failing at talking to an attractive cybernetic girl, the next he's on the ground, crawling amongst peanut shells and gun casings, trying to find safety. The next moment after that, he's hauled up, his shirt ripping and coming untucked in the hands of Kalden. "Wh-what?" Vance cries, his voices two octaves too high. He clings to Kalden's hands to keep himself vertical should the rest of his shirt give way.

The bouncer Jehn rushes back into the bar, blaster in hand. There's vomit on her jumpsuit and part of her right arm, but she pays it no mind. The barrel of her weapon moves this way and that as she tries to figure out what's going on and who she has to shoot in order to diffuse the situation. Her weapon lingers a little longer on the Sullustan than the others in the cantina, though she doesn't pull the trigger.

The Sullustan tries to get to his feet. The weight of Kalden slowed him, but it didn't put him down. Mumb-Mim reaches for something to take his weight and pull him up. His large, grubby hands come in contact with Neve.

The bartenders react differently. The human one trying to offer the drink to Ezzadri yells, "Holy Stars, get down!" The droid, on the other hand, leans forward and says to Nazshassi, "There is more where that came from. The Ne'ogih are always welcome in this establishment."

Then there's Trina.

This was all a bit more than she bargained for. Yet Kalden's command moves her to action. All at once, it's like she's back in the arena and her task is clear. Her target is the droid. Another ranged versus melee match, just like the one that -- Trina cuts off that thought before it can still her.

Moving as quickly and smoothly as she can, Trina approaches the activated droid, both glasses still in hand. As the oculars turn towards the cyborg hacker, Trina tosses one of the glasses wild to her left. The droid's blaster tracks the drink and fires, and the Rodian's drink explodes in the air, weak fire and steam spraying across the people nearby. Another step, and the other drink is throw, this time towards the droid's "face." The drink splashes onto the red oculars, and Trina dives towards DLM-1's chassis, her hands seeking a data port.

"Siika!" Trina shouts. "I could use your hand with this!"

"Moon gas!" exclaims Siika as she's hauled to safety. The slang may not make sense to anyone who isn't from her homeworld, but there's a universal tone to the way slang is used. Clearly surprised, but not at all upset, Siika reaches up to adjust her hair around the halo and eyeballs Delphine coyly. "Whatever is going on here, I swear I am not involved!!"

It isn't until she's at the angle behind Delphine that she recognizes one other face in the cantina, that of Trina. The two share a kindred nature in the sense that they are a mixture of organic and cybernetic, and the sight of Trina draws a not so quiet gasp to Siika's face. "What in the eternal blazes," she utters, but the sight of that droid's eyes turning from yellow to red can only mean one thing.

For a second, Siika is frozen in place. Her memory flashes toward a far too recent memory, one that terrified the sheltered girl and is seared across the darkest spots of her mind. For most of these battle hardened folks, it would be laughable, but to her, it is all too real.

It's Trina's words that drag her out of the maelstrom, like someone jerking upon a tether. She catches the efforts at distracting DLM-1, and by some miracle, her fight instinct outweighs the urge to flee.

Scrambling past Delphine, she skids on Maker-knows-what and comes to rest beside Trina, whipping her sleeve up and revealing the computer interface on her arm. "Here," she says, angling her wrist to show a similar data port on the computer. "Plug me in, hurry!"

Delphine, having secured Siika out of one danger finds herself now in a position behind the droid gone to full alert. "Blast!" she mutters as the real firefight begins. With a snap of her wrists the small rods she holds telescope into longer rods and then crackle with electricity. With deft moves all she really has time to do right now is deflect as many stray blaster bolts away from not only herself but as many other patrons as possible. She catches Kalden's movements across her field of vision and watches him grab up Siika's former bar mate but is too engaged to either assist or interfere, not knowing for certain which action her employer would prefer since she'd not yet discerned who The Envoy is.

"Get down?" Ezzadri asks almost incredulously as he takes another sip of his ale. "Have you seen the floor of the place barkeep? I worked very hard to get the smell of hoplocusts out of my clothes. I much prefer my chances seated." It is the antics of the cyber lasses more than anything that seem get the Nahramh's attention. It was not quite what he studying at a Xenozoologist but really was any of those that far off. The acolyte's active involvement in the growing maelstrom takes him by surprise, or at least the manner of it does. This place would seem to be worth further study.

The flurry of activity may shape up to be the perfect cover to get this man out without having to shoot his way out. Words are spoken rapidly and as persuasively as Kalden can muster in such a short time frame, "Listen closely if you want to survive." Even as he speaks, the blaster is holstered and hands are searching Vance for weapons, tracking devices, etc. which might become a problem later once the shock of a shoot out wears out. "The Regency is here to take you alive. It would be better to die my friend." It was always better to tell the truth to a mark, even if the truth was intentionally misleading. The agent's hands eventually find a large comlink in the pockets of Vance. "Long range comlink - This is how they tracked you," the words sound strained as the device is removed and shoved into a utility pocket.

Delphine had not really caught the attention of Kalden until the shock rods came out. The way she was able to use them to deflect blaster bolts... a curse is muttered. Kalden starts to pull at Vance now, trying to get him towards the exit. "We need to get out of here and into a shuttle before they notice you." While pulling, Kalden looks towards Trina and a friend helping to disarm the droid. He had to trust that she could get herself out with the asset. Something he would have been confident of if not for Delphine.

Her gown already ruined, Neve feels the grasping hand of the clumsy Sullustan yanking on the back of the skirt in an effort to haul himself up. Though she snarls, she has no more time to show her disgust as blaster bolts start firing, and the woman pivots, positioning herself behind the broad Sullustan's back to effectively use him as a shield to protect herself. She peers from around him, then, keeping low, she moves quickly from the darkened booth now lit up by blaster fire, to crouch behind the bar on the opposite side of the modified, deadly droid. The thing is not even intelligent enough to realize that Kalden is already making off with his Master. The agent must suspect the identity of the envoy. Glass shatters above her as a stray bolt impacts the bottles of liquor on display, and she screams as she's sprayed with a myriad of foul liquids and glass shards.

At first, young Vance Lightbearer looks ready to resist Kalden. With the sound of the weapons fire, and the light of the blasters flashing him in crimson light, it's all he can do not to bolt. But then Kalden's words hit home. The Regency. There for him! All at once, he becomes compliant and eager to go with the scout. "Thank you!" Vance shouts as he moves with Kalden towards the door.

In all of the commotion, it is unclear who all is participating in the blaster fire. Some participants become obvious when their corpse hits the dirty floor. This is the case with one Zabrak female at the back of the room, and another near-human male not far from what had once been Neve's table. The fight is an excuse to settle old grudges as well as cover for the search and acquisition of The Envoy, whoever that might be.

The bartender near Ezzadri, the one that had not so long ago been bragging about the fresh supply of some of Valentine's finest, reaches up from where he's hiding behind the bar to snag whatever credits are left behind next to the Nahrahm's drink. He is incapable of summoning the cool, dispassionate outlook the scientist displays. It's his home and his livelihood being riddled with blaster bolts, after all.

Perhaps it's an old grudge. Perhaps it's because the Sullustan appears to be grabbing an innocent (and probably rich) customer. Whatever the reason, Jehn moves into action. She tracks the movement of the Sullustan towards the bar, waiting for her shot. The Sullustan and his captive move out of position. Jehn shifts, using fallen tables as cover. A handful of meters. One more step. She fires. Mumb-Mim's armor covers his chest and back, and just as the previous owner discovered the hard way, does nothing to stop the red energy from burning a hole through the skull and frying the Sullustan's brain. Perhaps more blood stains on the collar will serve to warn the next owner of the armor to get a helmet.

Trina, relieved to have help taking on the droid, does as Siika directs. She draws a wire out of the distracted DLM-1's body and plugs it into the cybered girl's offered port.

The movement does not come without its own cost. Before either Trina or Siika can act on the connection to override the droid, DLM-1's optics lower to the ground near its feet. To Trina. One of its arms twitches in the cyborg's direction. A twitch. A click. The red blaster bolt lances out.

The last thing Trina thinks before consciousness leaves her... it was just like the mech fight. Melee versus ranged. Another hollow victory.

Siika is about to do something incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

When the connection is made, she quickly taps the computer pad four times, then reaches up to touch her cybernetic halo. What many do not know about this young woman is that her cybernetic enhancements are something of a necessity; something she needs to live. The cybernetic exoskeleton is connected to the halo, which is in fact a neural interface allowing her mind to control the cybernetics. Without them, for lack of a better term, she would be in perpetual paralysis.

As it is, the connection has just fused her own neural functions with that of the droid, and that is something that one should never, ever do. The young woman doubles over, her teeth borne as a horrible grimace comes to her face. Eyes clenched shut, her brain is flooded with algorithms, code and logic that does not make sense to the human brain. In her mind, it is like a searing slash of white plasma against the very core of her psyche, enough to cause the room to darken and her perception to devolve into chaos.

The blaster bolt is the one thing that saves her from insanity. It draws her eyes open, and she can see Trina's body dropping. "NO!" she screams, and reaches up to grasp her halo with both hands, growling and fighting against the confusion that racks her brain and her body. She looks up at the droid, tears streaming down her face, and screams at it with blind fury.


The command parses through the connection, triggering the droid's shut down procedure. The backlash causes Siika to double over, losing consciousness as the command feeds back into her own cybernetics, sending her to sleep.

If this droid thought Delphine was a contact for him, there was no way the machine was getting out of here without her once the live fire has died down. At least not without naming his master. "Droid! Who sent you?" she manages to huff out between deflective moves. She'd not taken enough notice of Siika's dark haired friend at the bar but now she sees another man grab him and try to move out. "Hey! What are you doing? Are you alright?" she demands of Siika as she jacks into the droid, seems to collapse, then regains herself again. As the blaster fire begins to wane, she sees Trina hit just before the droid deactivates. She crouches down to try and check on the woman. "Oh no..."

Ezzadri winces as the boies start to fall. As a scientist he did need to display a certain level of detachment. After all one can not study Fornish Hoplocusts and then get squeamish when they are whipped into a frenzy and start gnashing a pack of dirtchucks to bloody death. One can study or one can intervene, doing both is a challenge and this was not the sort of place that seem to produce a reliable display of good guys or bad guys. Far too easy to take the wrong side in a fight here and there would not be easy second chances. He could not afford to leave his clan to grieve for him on a whim. Finishing his drink he looked for the bartender, "I will say not bad."

Once Vance becomes compliant, the two are moving for the exit as fast as possible. Hunched to provide as small a target as possible, the pair are narrowly missed by a stray blaster bolt meant for another. The agent is sure to shield the asset with his own body, doing much to give the illusion that he was there to save him. The ruse was going to be harder to maintain once Vance has had some time to go over it all in his head. Every positive memory of Kalden's actions would assuage any feeling of doubt he might have when the time comes.

The pair make it through the door among other panicked patrons trying to flee. Kalden turns his head back in time to see the smoke from a fresh blaster burn wafting into the air. Trina had been shot and lay motionless on the ground. Despite his calculated nature there was a pain of guilt within his body. He had made the call to send her towards the droid and she did so without question. In the end he only spares a fraction of a second to pay his respects. She had died doing her job and his still was not complete. Half the package was his and it still needed to be secured. He would expect her to do the same if the tables were turned. "Let's go", the Agent orders, "We need to get you to the safehouse." Trina's fate was out of his hands.

Whatever had happened to cause Siika to scream like that is enough to make everyone in the cantina cover their ears. Neve is no exception. She hunkers down for a moment, blaster bolts still flying, until the cybernetic girl's command to stop finally takes hold and the attacking droid is shut down. Most of the smart patrons have already fled, but a few come peeking out from behind tables and chairs that had been shifted to serve as makeshift barriers, now splintered into pieces. As quiet settles over the room, moans rise among the smoke, and the woman picks her way over fallen bodies and shattered glass and droids. She notices the fallen Trina and Siika, both unconscious after risking themselves, but steps over them as she exits the cantina as if they were fallen trees in her way.

The number of patrons in the Orum's Bastion Cantina is much reduced, in more ways than one. With the deactivation of the droid and the murder of the Sullustan, the blaster fire petered off until there were only groans and old ship system alarms spoiling the air, which smelled of blood and ozone.

The farm boy Vance goes with Kalden of his own accord, his eyes wide and his heart pumping. He has no idea what fate is in store for him. The agent and the farm boy make it out of the Cantina alive, and for the moment, they can both be happy about it.

Another that makes it out alive during the confusing seconds of blaster fire is the Nahrahm named Taferi Ravace. His silk shirt gets a little bruised and he scuffs his shiny shoes, but through all of the confusion and pain and screaming, he makes it out of the cantina alive. Somewhere outside, he looks back towards the door. Kalden is not the only one to leave someone or something behind. Quietly, Taferi wonders where he's going to find another security droid as loyal as DLM-1.

Trina's body litters the floor along with the corpses, but she's not dead. Not yet, at least. Whether by luck or Siika's influence, the close proximity blaster bolt from DLM-1 didn't take her head off. That last twitch directed the weapon at the cyborg's left arm, and the pain and system shock overwhelmed Trina, knocking her out. Her arm is useless until it is repaired, but that is the one benefit even Trina can't deny about her condition: she is much easier to repair than she was before the... incident.

As Neva makes her way through the wreckage, she's joined by Jehn the bouncer. Jehn's blaster is holstered, but she's unable to so easily put away her real weapons: her impressive biceps and the air of intimidation she exudes just by existing. She looks around at those that remain in the cantina as if challenging them to try something else.

Stirring, Siika just barely manages to fumble a hand for her wrist, and unplugs the wire from her wrist computer. The swimming grogginess in her mind is suddenly gone, and she comes to with a wide-eyed gasp. Eyes wide, she looks around the now-quiet cantina with trembling lips, and spares a brief look toward Delphine, which draws her attention toward Trina.

"Blast it," she says hoarsely, and scrambles to a crouched position, worry etched in her face. She looks over the cybernetic woman for a moment, before finding a spot upon Trina's neck that bears exposed skin, just beneath her chin. Her fingers press there, searching for a pulse while chewing on her lower lip in a worrisome manner. After a moment of feeling around, Siika breathes a sigh of relief. "She's alive," she tells Delphine, gratitude in her voice. "I think... I think the blaster bolt probably fried her cyber-synapses. Which is not fun. Not fun at all."

Turning away from Trina, she eyes Delphine curiously, with an unspoken question in her face.

Delphine looks up at the motionless droid with a frustrated frown on her pretty features - though her cap has fallen off and her golden locks now cascade around her shoulders as she deactivates her shock batons. The weapons return to their innocuously smaller version of themselves and are hooked back to the Acolyte's belt. She touches Trina also, only to confirm visually to anyone who is watching what she can sense - that the mech fighter still lives and that her injuries are mostly inorganic. "She'll be okay," she says with relief in reply to Siika. She couldn't say the same for the Sullustan or a few other patrons. She looks up in time to watch Kalden drag flee with Vance and the Nahrahm formerly of the center table follow behind. "What about you?" she asks the droid tech, seeing that question in her eyes but giving no answer. Instead she asks the question of Siika herself. "Help me get her up and somewhere safer...then tell me what you're doing here." She looks at the inert droid and adds, "And tell me if you got a download from this thing. I need to know who sent it here."

The Nahrahm xenozoologist sighs as everyone interesting seemed to be leaving. Was he going to be stuck trying to chat up the bartender. Perhaps this place would not prove quite as beneficial to his studies as he hoped. Pulling out some coins he simply says, "I will take another." Ezzadri could plot his next move after a little more ale.

"I feel like I just put my brain through hyperspace," Siika admits, which might explain the confused expression in her eyes. She looks from Delphine to the prone Trina, then to the disabled droid, with proverbial gears spinning behind brown eyes.

"I... I think I did," she admits, then reaches for the wire once more. After turning off the connection between the data port and her brain, she plugs the droid back into her wrist computer and access it the old fashioned way (also known as THE SAFE WAY), and taps in commands to access its central computer functions.

The droid comes back to life, and without a word, turns and picks up the prone cyborg woman. She turns and looks at Delphine, with her wrist computer raised and the other hand near it, ready to type in commands. "I don't think there's a safe place on this blasted port," she grumbles. "Follow me. I'm gonna need some time to try and figure out what just got power blasted into my memory."

With her hand on the wrist computer, she sends commands to the droid, instructing it to carry Trina with her as she leads Delphine to... a safe place.