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Thread: Rude Awakenings

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    Closed Thread Rude Awakenings

    When it came to the elite list of: Worst Things in the Universe according to Emelie Shadowstar, the items that appeared were surprisingly short in number, probably considered trivial by most, and was topped by one singular thing: Boredom. Naturally this mental list avoided any and all references to torture and other harm, that sort of thing had its own special little place in her mind that was often ignored if not rejected as outright mythology. Closely following Boredom was a relatively new component to the dreaded list, and often was found hand-in-hand with the list-topper. That special little thing was something Emelie was lovingly beginning to refer to: When This Damn Business Spoils My Fun and Ruins a Perfectly Good Plan For Doing Something Illegal That I'd Actually Enjoy and Ends Up Putting My Plans "On Hold".

    The current "On-Hold" was her rather complex idea of a perfectly good casino job that would have left her amused for months after she and Xavier had pulled it off. The culprit for putting it in that status was... some sort of problem that came up that Emelie couldn't be bothered to find out the details of since Xavier had decided he needed to personally step in and deal with anyway.

    So no good no-gooding to be done, and Xavier away on business, left a rather put out Emelie alone to her own devices. Thankfully there was always the smaller, less grand, always-in-action deviancy that was her side of the business. But even that had it's problems...

    "What do you mean, 'stolen'?"

    Emelie had managed to drain the last bit of her current favorite drink as Durnik, her barkeep and general go-to-man on Coruscant, had relayed the unfortunate business of a rather large shipment of ryll had gone missing. It had arrived on planet just fine, but once there it vanished and a small number of her employees had been left either dead or close to it in the process. The ryll she could deal with, the small amount of Carsunum that was arriving with it however... well that was just hard to come by and Emelie wasn't about to let someone simply walk off with it.

    She had employees now, people who were supposed to handle this sort of thing and could be deployed to the planet so she could sit back and crack open a bottle of wine and wait for results. As much as knowing she could do that sort of thing however, actually letting it happen was another matter entirely. All things considered, when it came to her operation on Coruscant, it was her first enterprise, it was where it had started, it was... personal. Which really meant only one thing.

    "Look, I'll handle this. Just get the loft in order and I'll be at the bar as soon as I can. I'm bringing someone with me who will need his own space."

    The amused look from her aged barkeep wasn't wasted on her and the expression was met with her own juvenile response of rolling her eyes and briefly sticking her tongue out at the man.

    The call was continued just long enough for Durnik to wish Emelie a safe trip, her to avoid the question about if anyone else was to be expected aside from her and the mystery man, and the typical exchange of pleasantries between two people who had known each other for far too long.

    Emelie decided it was best to avoid making herself another drink and have it in hand when she arrived at the door of the room where her most curious employee was housed. That didn't necessarily mean she chose to change into something a bit more modest though, and the overly casual short striped sundress failed miserably in the realm of portraying her as any sort of professional. Not that Emelie really cared.

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    The sound of a buzzer snatched Peregrine out of a dozing nap. Emelie Shadowstar had been accommodating enough to install the doorbell-of-sorts when he had taken up residence at Silenus headquarters and had, generously, even given the room its own key-pad lock, which she insisted only he had the pass-code for. As he looked across the room at the heap of plastoid-alloy armour, he was once again grateful for Emelie's discretion. Never the less, his pulse quickened a little at the fact that there was now – instead of a full suit of armour and a helmet – only a door between himself and someone who could feasibly walk in at any moment and find themselves face to face with a highly notorious fugitive.

    “Just a minute.”

    Sure enough, a minute or so later, the door opened and Peregrine stood face to face with his boss. She looked like she'd just walked off a post-card sent from a wistful weekend on the Gold Beaches of Corellia and he couldn't have felt more over-dressed if he'd tried. With annoying regularity, his nose began to itch. Frakkin' helmet.

    “Hello, boss. Something up?”

  3. #3
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    As much as Emelie had offered the man his privacy, it never stopped her from secretly plotting some way to get the man intoxicated enough that she'd actually be able to get him to remove the helmet some day. The trick would be getting the alcohol into his system... while he had the armor on. There just had to be some way to do it. Sadly, Emelie had to remind herself, now was not the time.

    "Unfortunately... yes."

    There was no point in attempting to sugarcoat anything. After all, you didn't exactly keep a heavily armored individual around for the purpose of opening stubborn bottles.

    "Let me explain."

    As the whirlwind of her less than on the up-and-up dealings that had lead to the situation hit her she paused for a moment, her eyes moving to the side as she let the thoughts run in her mind. One of the benefits of having Peregrine on her staff was their mutual respect for each others secrets. She didn't go about asking about his past and he never asked for details regarding any assignment aside from anything that could obviously make his job difficult. For some reason she honestly believed he never once questioned exactly what was in a shipment that he had been asked to protect that the rest of the Silenus employees had no knowledge of, even if it needed to be moved at some obscene hour. Emelie had to admit to herself that she did attempt to keep that sort of thing to a minimum though... but now there was this.

    "No, there's too much. Let me sum up: One of my recent shipments to a vendor on Coruscant has gone astray. I've got enough reason to believe that its intended final recipients got it in their minds to cut out the middle man and help themselves. Unfortunately that also means they've cut me out of my credits... and cut down a few men as well."

    It all sounded strange leaving her as she stood in the middle of the hallway. The words she couldn't fix, the whole awkwardness of standing about could be... and was by taking a few steps back and allowing herself to lean against the opposite wall. Her arms loosely crossed over her chest and some part of her knew she probably looked more like a grumpy adolescent than anything else at that moment.

    "It's a bit too sensitive to leave to the usuals. I don't want a giant explosion to rip through the Coruscant underworld just because someone decided to shift me on a bill, been there - done that. I would have just taken Xi and the two of us would have handled this privately but he's otherwise occupied."

    Her shoulders shrugged in the slightest and one of her hands raised just long enough to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

    "So, it'll be just you and me on this one. We'll be heading to a bar I own in the Uscru Entertainment District, I'll get more intel there... hopefully we'll find out if my suspicions are correct. And then more than likely we'll be getting down into the under-city so equip yourself as necessary for that."

    A soft sigh left her, more of a huff of frustration than anything else.

    "I have no idea how deep down we'll be going. I've been there a few times but there's some seriously weird go-se down there. Hopefully we won't get involved with that but... well, you get the idea, I guess."

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    He took a moment to process everything she'd said. There was more to the story than Emelie was letting on, of course, but he made a point of operating a don't ask, don't tell policy when it came to shipments, especially the kind that were liable to be hijacked. Silenus didn't make their profits on blue milk runs, and as long as they weren't trafficking in slaves, his conscience was clean. There was no stopping the smuggling and trade of weaponry and narcotics – the black market greased the wheels of the Rebellion as much as it did the criminal underworld.

    “Coruscant.”

    His chest rose and fell, visibly, with a breath. The last time he'd visited the Imperial City, a giant explosion was exactly what had happened – but there was some mercy in knowing that they would be traversing the depths of the under-city, avoiding the bright lights above. In spite of its prominence in the galaxy, Peregrine had visited Coruscant only a handful of times throughout his life and each time he had witnessed a new, and often disturbing, side to life on the Imperial capitol. No two days were the same, and certainly could never be called boring.

    With a glance down at himself, his face scrunched up in thought. The destination that his train of thought was travelling to wasn't exactly comforting. As much as he begrudged what he had to say next, he knew it was true.

    “This armour's.. not exactly subtle. Not likely to blend well in the under-city, or pass by Imperial checkpoints too easily, either. Do you want me in civvies?”

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    The obvious point had honestly been a complete loss to her. Of course, she was rather used to the idea of cavorting around, having Peregrine's appearance be nothing more than a body-guard. The armor fit in that scenario, but the one she had just concocted up was going to have to be handled with a bit more care. He had a point and Emelie wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

    "You think you'd be more comfortable that way?"

    Not that his actual physical comfort was of any real concern. Body language meant the world in some situations and if he felt like the armor was going to be a hindrance then...

    "Go with what you honestly feel best."

    A small smirk slowly formed on her lips as she regarded him.

    "Since I'm the last woman alive who will ever tell a man to remain in some sort of stuffy outfit."

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    “You're the boss.”

    The smirk was mutual, even if it went unseen at that moment. Comfortable wasn't a word he'd ever likely associate with Coruscant again, not until every last trace of the Empire had been scrubbed from the surface, but what he felt was best – what his professional experience told him was going to work – was an outfit that didn't scream bounty hunter.

    “I'll pull together something a little more.. discreet. When are we leaving?”

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    She had to contain the impish impulse to be horrendously amused she would finally get to see exactly what Peregrine looked like under the armor. And I didn't even need to get him drunk! After all, there was some rather serious business to attend to.

    "I figure about three hours should be enough to collect our belongings. I'd rather not waste a lot of time on this. Trails go cold quick enough in that area and it's already been longer than I would have liked."

    Emelie pushed herself from the wall slowly.

    "We'll head out from hangar 13b. I haven't quite decided what ship we'll be taking, but I'm sure I'll find something suitable."

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    “Three hours... not a problem.”

    When it came to mission prep time, three hours was practically luxurious. It was also just enough time that, after having gathered what he thought he'd need and walked himself through how he was going to approach the situation at hand, Peregrine had enough time to worry. The benefit of operating on the fly was that there was very little time for anxiety or second-guessing, but as he stared at his own reflection - worn, shaggy and generally looking like a rumpled, older version of himself - he wondered at the wisdom of what he was getting himself into.

    A dummy shipment of fine clothing, that was used as a cover or decoy cargo by Silenus operatives from time to time, had yielded an outfit that was discreet – at least by Coruscanti standards. A dark tunic embroidered with pale gold thread, layered over a golden shirt, gave him the look of a businessman who was just insecure enough about his earnings that he needed to flaunt what little wealth he had in the cloth he wore. In the confines of his cramped quarters, it was flamboyant – but on the streets of Coruscant, it would blend in seamlessly, transforming him into one of thousands of petty traders out to make it big in the biggest city the galaxy had to offer.

    From the neck upwards – that was the real problem. Even with his dark hair brushing his collar, and a beard bristling on his chin and cheeks, he had an awfully familiar face, and one that Emelie's seemingly limitless charms might not be able to draw attention away from. Maybe, deep down, he wanted to be noticed, to be recognised.

    Waiting in the cold of the hangar, with arms crossed over his chest and his back to the entrance, he peered up at the ship that he and Emelie Shadowstar would soon be taking to Coruscant. No turning back now.

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    The time between when she arrived, and when she expected Peregrine had been somewhat nerve-wracking. Thankfully there was more than just one reason for it, otherwise Emelie would have felt just silly. But to deny the fact that she was quite looking forward to the arrival of her employee would almost be a denial of self. Of course, there was that secret hope that the man would be horribly disfigured or something, just to avoid any comments from Durnik and odd questions about Xavier's whereabouts.

    With the approaching footsteps, she didn't bother to attempt to be busy, or look busy, or anything else.

    And then there was the man himself. Standing in her hangar.

    All sorts of strangeness happened in that moment, realizations, rationalizations, the simple fact that he was recognizable if just barely...

    Yet all that came out of her mouth was...

    "That outfit is atrocious."

    A pause.

    "Even for a dead man."

    Another pause as her lips curled into a smile.

    "I like it! We are so going to have to take the yacht."

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    Unable to resist a wry if somewhat rueful smile, Dasquian tugged at the lapels of his tunic as he looked himself over. He'd been everything from a pizza delivery boy to a shock-boxing promoter, dripping with gold chains and rings from head to toe, but rarely had he looked quite so unabashedly tasteless.

    “Would you believe me if I told you I'd worn worse?”

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    A fake over-dramatic sigh left her as her eyes moved upwards.

    "Oh deary, haven't we all?"

    The smallest of laughs left her as a hand moved its way to her hip and hazel eyes trained on the fugitive former leader of Rebel Intelligence. Admittedly the realization of exactly who was standing before her was a bit of a shock. Then came the tumult of issues that came with it all. Strangely enough the least worrying was the actual fact that he was there. All of her employees had bounties on their heads of some nature, Emelie was pretty sure she alone had some decent ones in certain sectors, but at least Belargic had the gift of being presumed dead by everyone. No one would exactly be looking for him.

    Well... maybe not everyone. Emelie knew better than that. Somewhere someone ridiculously high up in the Imperial ranks probably knew the man was alive. But the odds of running into that particular individual or individuals was slim to nothing. They were probably walled up in some super top secret location, not running around the underbelly of Coruscant.

    "Well, shall we, then? It's not exactly a short flight... which should give you plenty of time to come up with an alias as ridiculous as that getup."

    The smile she gave him was as reassuring as she could make it. There was no need to bring up his status, the allure of the credits and how turning him in could probably bring enough to cover the missing shipment a thousandfold. The galaxy was a curious place, after all... and Emelie knew well of the stories of someone turning in a bounty only to find themselves accused of housing the fugitive (which she'd actually be guilty of) and finding themselves sharing the fate of their supposed prey. Nope, as it stood, Emelie figured the arrangement worked out rather nicely. After all, some of the best partnerships in the verse were started with mutual need to keep secrets.

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    There were a hundred stories he could have told, about slap-dash costumes and names plucked out of thin-air, often inspired by nearby house-hold appliances, but Belargic simply shared her half-hearted smile. “Not to worry. I've made a career out of ridiculous aliases.”

    The boarded the yacht – an opulent change to the Doppleganger, the freighter which had seen more paint-jobs and ID-changes than he could remember. Dasquian waited just at the top of the boarding ramp, mindful that this wasn't his ship and that Emelie was still his superior in the context of the mission, even if they were masquerading as something else.

    “Is there a cover story I could use that would gel with you operations on Coruscant?”

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    "Oh some sort of associate of mine, I'm sure..."

    Her sarcasm was painfully obvious, softened only by a quick wink she shot in Dasquian's direction. As she lead the way to the cockpit of the Baudo-class yacht, Emelie once again reminded herself that she really needed to name the damn thing some day soon. It wasn't that she had left the yacht nameless for any tactical reason: though it would lend to being able to fake a whole lot of paperwork for various shipyards, it was more that she couldn't decide and anything she almost came close to accepting was something Xavier would probably scoff at.

    The pilot's seat was dropped down into, the action itself somehow graceful even in its informality.

    "Hmm... Well, I mean, it's not exactly like I can run around with any of my aliases to help things along. They all know me too well."

    She began keying in coordinates and flight patterns into the computer as she spoke, glancing over her shoulder at Dasquian for a moment.

    "Well, not all of them, I suppose. That'd just be ridiculous."

    The comment was followed by a small laugh as she connected enough dots in her mind to make it overly amusing.

    "It's hard to say what would be best for you, really. I used to actually have a few senators and ambassadors that were on my client list, and while you may look like you fit the bill, they were never the kind who would be willing to actually go with me after anything."

    Her attention returned to the console in front of her for a moment until she clasped her hands together and leaned back in the seat.

    "Unless... Oh how silly of me not to think of that. So silly how sometimes the obvious answer just completely hides in plain sight. It's probably best if you pose as one of the owner of one of the manufacturers whose merchandise I move. That'll cover all bases, any Imperial checkpoints we come to will get info that you're selling..."

    She paused to look at his attire again.

    "... I want to say pathetically opulent house ware items for some reason. Tacky blue carpeting and gold curtain rods..."

    Emelie let another small laugh follow before continuing.

    "Something like that. Boring enough they won't care. The underground however will get the story that you're one of my main sources... maybe pyrep or jinsol... Nothing to really tag you as associated with the shipment. We can always say you're in town for some sort of illicit gambling scene. Force knows there's a ton of those. The real thing of it comes down to one simple little fact that most people tend to forget: The Empire isn't the only entity on Coruscant that has checkpoints. Maybe not so formal, but there's far worse things than some storm trooper asking you for your paperwork."

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    Dasquian slid into the co-pilot's seat, nodding to himself whilst Emelie let her thoughts meander through all possible avenues. As he settled into the chair, Belargic pushed the heavy cuffs of his robes up to his elbows. “I hadn't thought of that. I have to admit.. I could count the number of times I've visited Coruscant on both hands. It's a place that we – the Rebellion – tend to keep our distance from.. for obvious reasons.”

    Ironically, without a good false ID, a Stormtrooper asking Dasquian for his papers could be the worst eventuality. Officially, as far as he understood it, he was dead to the Empire – but that was a loaded phrase. You could say someone was 'dead to you' and all it meant was that you never wanted to see them, ever again.

    Leaning his head back, Dasquian couldn't help but chuckle to himself. “When I think how much I could have used a contact like you, back then...” The words trailed away and he sighed.

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    She offered him a sidelong glance and a devilish smirk.

    "Well, better late than never, right?"

    It was a loaded comment, far too mischievous to simply be referring to the two of them sitting there at that moment. Though it did strike Emelie that it may (or may not have) been a bit of fortune that Peregrine had never come up as an option to handle the shipments meant for the friends of Dasquian Belargic.

    It didn't take long for the yacht to leave the hangar, set its course and jump to light speed. All in all, the computers on board the thing made the process wonderfully efficient. It also meant that auto pilot was a wonderful viable option. As Emelie rose to her feet she let another one of those reassuring smiles fall upon Dasquian.

    "You know, you really don't have to worry. Once we get to the Bastel, Durnik will help us get some paperwork made up for you.. and I should be able to add to any arsenal of equipment you've managed to hide in that get-up. We'll be fine, just need to go take care of some trash, nothing too spectacular like taking down an entire criminal organization at the head... remind me to tell you about that one some day."

    A simple wink followed before she began to leave the cockpit, letting her voice trail after her.

    "I'm getting a drink, you want anything? The flight's long enough it'll be way out of your system by the time we land."

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    Dasquian frowned as he looked after Emelie, his analytical mind already trying to piece together exactly which criminal organisation she might have been responsible for the disappearance of. Before he could get too deep into thought, however, she presented Belargic with quite literally the opportunity of a life-time: a drink. Any drink he wanted, and he had no idea how to answer.

    It had been a running joke that whilst, in his capacity as an undercover agent, Dasquian had been regularly offered a whole plethora of exotic foods and beverages, every time so much as a mouthful got close to his lips something unexpected and explosive happened. In the many years they had worked together, there had only been a single occasion when Dasquian and Grace had sat down for a meal and a glass of wine together. He didn't know much if anything about wine, but it had tasted damn good.

    “Uh, sure. Whatever you're having.”

    Out of nowhere, he remembered the bottle of Hapan Port that Aurelias Kazaar had once given him as a tongue-in-cheek. Belargic scratched his head and wondered if it had been found and consumed by someone else, or was still gathering dust in the office he'd been using at the time.

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    Emelie made her way back to the cockpit, delicately balancing two glasses containing a bright azure liquid in them. After letting herself drop back down into the pilot's seat she handed one over to her associate.

    "Not for the faint of heart and oddly deceiving in taste, just the way I like it. Don't ask for the name, it doesn't have one and you'd probably just get odd looks at your average bar if you attempted to get someone to make it for you."

    After she had settled back in her seat, taken a sip of her own drink, and allowed her eyes to half-focus on the blurring stars in the view port she sighed.

    "Ok, so, I have to ask. What brought you to working for me rather than rejoining your Rebel friends?"

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    Belargic took a cautious sip from the glass and then, prompted by Emelie's question, took an even bigger gulp. It burned down his throat like liquid fire. Grimacing, he fought back a cough that he was sure would be accompanied by a puff of smoke.

    “All of my.. access has been cut off. Security codes, false idents, transmission frequencies. It's all standard procedure for when an agent goes toxic. Switches sides, I mean. A case of don't call us, we'll call you. The only old associates I could get a hold of either flat out refused to speak to me, or took offence and thought I was playing a sick, practical joke at the expense of dearly departed Dasquian.”

    There was a bitter taste in his mouth. Another sip didn't wash it away. Belargic shrugged.

    “I guess an undercover agent that half the galaxy can identify on sight isn't much use to anyone.”

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    "Well, it's a good thing I'm not just 'anyone', now isn't it?"

    The haughty air she presented the sentiment with was all for show and Emelie let it drop almost as quickly as it showed up, leaving only a lingering smile in its wake.

    The glass of blue alcohol was brought up to her lips again, and seeing that Dasquian was quickly in the process of finishing his drink, Emelie decided to follow suit. The glass was half drained before she let it rest in the palm of her hand again, gently cradling it with her fingers.

    "If you ever change your mind, Xavier and I might be able to arrange something..."

    She let the words carry themselves for a brief moment, letting all the hows and whys settle in an unspoken weight. The tone she'd said it with was strangely serious for the woman and for a moment she seemed almost distant to it all, another cheeky grin dissolved it all as she looked back to Dasquian.

    "Just try and give me like, two weeks notice at least, attempting to replace someone with your skill set would be hell. Not to mention having that someone be..."

    The smirk grew, almost wicked in nature.

    "...well, let's just say I think I lucked out. Not everyone gets to have a Hapan doing their dirty work."

  20. #20
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    “Not just any Hapan. Haven't you heard? I'm royalty! A pirate prince, if the rumours are to be believed.”

    As if to prove a point, Dasquian put on his best roguish smile, raised an artful eyebrow and lifted his glass in a toast to himself. Whether or not the claims were true, that the Belargic family had once been the heirs to the Hapes Consortium, was an issue that Dasquian had never looked into. At the earliest possible age, he'd left the Cluster in search of greener pastures and brighter stars. Although he'd heard news that old Queen Mother had been offed – having survived a good deal longer than most Hapan monarches did – Hapes was a place that Dasquian knew he could go back to, not without incurring the same kind of wrath and retribution that he'd face if he were to swagger stark-bollock naked into the Inquisitors Citadel with an Alliance Starbird painted on his chest and 'Kiss This, Valten' on his arse.

    “I know you've got connections with the Alliance,” he said, pulling his thoughts back to a semblance of sense. “I just.. don't know if they want any connection with me.”

    It had hurt, when they'd cut him loose. He'd known all along that once they had been captured, there would be no rescue part sanctioned. Infiltrating Coruscant was dangerous at the best of times, but they had learnt from the mistakes of the past that an extraction was never without it's price. A hint of sadness creeping into him, Dasquian recalled the day he had met Wyl Staedler. The boys own mother, as well as two agents of Alliance Intelligence, had died just to smuggle Wyl out of his own, family home.

    “But that's beside the point,” he brushed a hand through the air, waving away the metaphorical haze that was settling over his thoughts. He was getting sentimental and that wouldn't do. His eyes lifted back to Emelie's and he smiled again, though with less bravado. “We've got a job to. For now, everything else is second to that.” To the mission, he added, silently to himself.

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