Dag, Yo.

[Li Ho Fook]

The contrast between Imperial, Alliance, and independent space stations was so vast, that it could not be summed up even within the pages of a paperback novel. But for one pilot, Li Ho Fook, one difference stood out among all others. On a good, independent station, there were bays in which you could work on your own ship. When it came to Imperial or Alliance stations, however, there were rules, unions, code, and insurance regulations so tight that to even reset your tripometer once docked seemed to require at least a dozen forms filled out and filed in triplicate. Such anal attention to detail was not in Fook's favor as the Wah piloted his small ship into a landing bay, ion gas venting visibly from one blown engine. Escaping a security detail had been necessary on his way to Jovan Station, but it had come at the cost of one of his twin engines, which would now incur an astronomical, yet necessary union repair bill.

The ship, tiny by comparison to most, landed with a controlled shudder, and the Wah winced as he could hear his left engine grinding as it wound down. Left to his own devices, and a bit of a scrapyard, he could have it back up and running within six or seven hours. But it wouldn't be left to his devices, it'd be up to Alliance union shop labor, and their extortionate parts prices. Furry head leaking back into the well-worn headrest on his seat, Fook closed his beady little black eyes and vented a sigh. With luck, the amount he was going to bring in on his bounty would pay for the repairs, and still leave him with a bit of pocket money. When he opened his eyes again, he could see hazmat droids approaching, ready apply an emergency seal on his cracked and leaking engine.

"Dag, yo," he grunted another sigh. "Dag."

Black-furred paws slipped from the ship's flight yoke, and Fook hauled himself out of the pilot's seat. From the passenger seat was pulled his gunbelt, which was buckled around his waist, framing up the square torso common to his race. Covered from head to toe - and tail - in fur, the Wah were a highly unusual race to be seen off of their home world, and to many they appeared to be little more than slightly oversized, upright red pandas. The words "cute" and "adorable" had been used to describe Fook more times than he could count, and each time he attempted to make himself look more surly by adding more leather and menace to his costume, not realizing it just made him look like an adorable tough-guy stuffed animal. Leather vambraces sheathed his thick forearms, while matching stirrup boots were tugged over his broad footpaws, leaving his the balls of his feet and toes, and his heels exposed. Behind him half-swished, half-dragged a massive, fluffy tail ringed in deep, rusty red, and pale orange, tipped with a dark, blackish-brown. All told, his tail seemed nearly as large as the rest of his body, but such was the case with all of his race.

A pair of blasters were dropped into his holsters, with a matching pair of cylindrical energy magazines clipped to the front of his belt, and another pair of silver cylinders clipped to the back, framing his tail-base. A loaded chit-card was worked into a hidden pocket, and then he took up a stun collar and stun rod.

"Yo, dawg, we're here," he shouted while banging on a durasteel door with small vents in it. "This is gonna hurt, yo."

No further warning was given before Fook jammed the tip of his stun rod against the durasteel panel. Agonizing screaming could be heard from the other side, followed by a thump. Only then did he pull the rod away, and punch in the keycode to release the panel. It slid back to reveal a Trandoshan doubled over in a smallish compartment with his arms firmly fastened in binders behind his back. Wasting no time, Fook clamped the stun collar around his neck, and attached a lead. "Dawg, get yo ass up, time to go make me that paper," the Wah chuckled, then began to yank his captive out of his cell.

Back hatch of his ship folding down, Fook proudly stepped out, his captive in tow, and only then was the Wah's diminutive size wholly apparent. His captive stood easily at seven feet in height, a muzzle strapped over his face, while his Wah captor scarcely reached four-foot-two. Rattling off repair orders to the waiting droids, Fook then tugged on the Trandoshan's leash. It was time to turn in a bounty at the security office.

Fifteen minutes later, and numerous applications of stun collar and stun rod, Li Ho Fook exited the security office alone, his chit card far heavier than it had been, before. Sure, there were admonishments of his rough treatment of his bounty, but in the end all was settled, and Fook departed to get himself a well-deserved drink, before having to worry about a place to stay for the night. Surely no union shop would allow a man to sleep in the comfort of his own ship's bed while they were working on it, after all. Bastards. Mostly bare footpaws padding down the corridors of Jovan Station's hospitality district, Fook found himself having to push through crowds of giants, as usual, and then fend off a hug from some precocious little girl who thought he was something called a "teddy bear."

"Smoothskins is whack," he muttered under his breath. As he trudged away from the unwanted embrace, he checked his pockets and belt to make sure nothing had been stolen, and only once he was satisfied that all was in order, the Wah turned his attention to some hole-in-the wall dive bar. Perfect.

Inside, the air was cooler, lights dimmer, and smashball highlights were playing on the holovisions. Grasping the seat of a barstool firmly, Fook hauled himself up onto it, then reached down to pull the pneumatic height adjustment lever to bring himself up to proper bar seat height. "Yo, drink-dawg, hook a playa up with a beer, yo. Pint." As he spoke, he pulled out his normal, commercial chit card, and his ID, slapping both on the bar because he simply knew he was going to get carded. Anything whose height only hit 4'2" always got carded, it was the way of the galaxy, it seemed.

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

At 4'2", Fook might as well havve been in another sector; he was literally beneath Gradoona's notice. Seated on two chairs pulled together, the Herglic engineer's tiny eyes were fixated on one of the screens above - one of the few with a live smashball game still in progress. A motley assortment of other Alliance gear-turners were likewise seated at the largest table in the middle of the room. The humans - a brawny man with a buzz cut named Cairn and a wiry guy with a high and tight named Broyl were likewise glued to the screen as another play began to form up around a holographic scrimmage line. To the side sat Anauri Rabeak, who seemed more interested in his drink than in the action. Gradoona pawed a hefty handful of prawns from a bucket and tossed them wholesale into her beaked mouth, followed shortly by the other hand tilting half a pitcher of beer in to wash them down.

"Ookay you guys, pipe down now, here we goo..."

The Corellia Dreadnaughts were eleven point favorites going into the match against the Belsavis Kretch, but the Kretch enjoyed homefield advantage. The cold climate on Belsavis was having a chilling effect on the high octane offense the Dreadnaughts normally deployed. Passing was a wash, and even open receivers were having trouble coming down with the smashball in the driving snow. The Kretch secondary weren't impressive interceptors, but they played a stingy utility zone defense that forced Corellia into running the ball. The Dreadnaughts could certainly run, but the Kretch were reading well on the ends and corners, and denying the visiting team many chances for a breakaway on a burst sweep. That led to a mainstay of conventional war between the tackles. Corellia's crack corps of blockers versus a perennially stingy Belsavis run defense. It was the kind of game that would bore casually-interested passers-by, but for true fans of the game, this is where it was won, in short meters.

It didn't matter that both teams were Imperial clubs. Fandom didn't draw the same lines as politics. Gradoona had been born and raised on Belsavis smashball. Her parents were fans, and she was a fan by birthright. Maybe it was because it was a cold planet like Giju. Maybe it was because Belsavis fielded one of the smallest, least-funded smashball clubs in the majors, but had done so for centuries and had a storied history of championships. Belsavis Green and Yellow were as wholesome and good as penguin pie.

Cairn and Broyl were Corellia fans. Cairn for more or less the same lifer reasons as Gradoona. His quarters were full of a half dozen bloodstripe penants, and he had an autographed smashball from Kir Hyden from Galactic Bowl 854 - naturally ensconced in lucite on a carbonite pedestal. Gradoona hated the Corellian club, but it was such an ancient hatred that she never really knew exactly why. Like Belsavis, they won - and won a lot. They had four more historical Galactic Bowl rings than Belsavis, though Gradoona was quick to point out that Corellia's budget was among the most bloated in the galaxy, and they seemed to play the game by being able to just throw money at the best talent and see what stuck to the end zone. They'd adopted the new-fangled Sullust Hyper Strike offense a decade ago, and used it to go on an intolerable run of six championships in that time. So while the Herglic loathed Corellia - she respected them, and their lifer fans like Cairn. Broyle, on the other hand, was the worst kind of fan. He'd bandwagoned onto their success without having a real team five years before. Now he claimed Corellia, and he thought he could be just as smug.

"Broyl I swear to the sixth moon if ya doon't get outta my face I'm goonna claaber ya with this here beer pitcher!"

For emphasis, Gradoona cocked back her beer arm, head swiveling toward the smaller human with closed-mouth seriousness.

"You're too slow to hit me, Doona! Just like your defense!"

"Cool your thrusters, mynock brain and watch the game, ookay."

The scrimmage was set after a resumption of play, and Gradoona had no time for trading insults. It was fourth try and 6 meters. The Herglic drained the last of her pitcher as she watched the Corellian array take shape. Three audibles. The speed back stunted toward the line then tightened up in a lateral pace. They ran an unbalanced right set, and for all appearances, they looked poised to stack bodies in an attrition run for the corner. Similarly, Belsavis adjusted with a defensive audible, drifting their midbackers over two slots. Excited, Gradoona tapped Anauri on the shoulder.

"Heyo chief, checkit. See that shoort side midback? He's settin' up for a read blitz. Betcha they try somethin' funny here an bring a revolver dash."

[Anauri Rabeak]

"Oh?" Anauri replied. His pink eyes took another scan over the holovision, but he simply could not see what his lead day-shift technician was on about. To Chief engineer Anauri Rabeak, smashball was just another sport which ranked well below cricket, bowling, or habatta on his list of interest. Still, the game seemed to serve a purpose in bringing the more experienced staff of the engineering day shift together - even if team rivalry still divided them - so smashball did at least serve a decent purpose for the brown-furred Nehantite.

His beer had been nursed slowly throughout the game, in the hopes that an emergency call would come in, and he'd have to take it because he was the only day-shifter sober enough to work, but as he neared the bottom of his second glass, Anauri came to the realization that his typical nightmare would not be his saving grace, that evening. Eyes still on the game, his thoughts wandered back to a certain black-furred Kroskovan female, and he sighed, wondering how he ever let her slip through his fingers.

[Li Ho Fook]

The establishment was a small one, its decorations mostly consisting of sports team banners, or illuminated signs for various beers or liquors, provided by the companies themselves. Aside from the boisterous crowd of smashball fans, there seemed to be no other personality in the little dive, which suited Li Ho Fook perfectly well. It meant there was less to distract, and so there would be less chance his drink order would be screwed up.

But, as fate would have it, incompetence seemed to find a way. Instead of the pint which he had ordered, an eight ounce glass of beer was set before the Wah, and the Wah appeared none too pleased about it. Black eyes narrowed beneath inappropriately cute little white eyebrows, and Fook glared at his barkeep. "I said a pint. This is a half-pint," he growled, flews curling up to reveal brilliant white teeth, and a pair of adorable little fangs.

The bartender appeared indifferent. "Thought it'd be easier for you to hold. Half-pint for a half-pint. Finish it, I'll top it up again. Still getting a whole pint, just in two goes," the man behind the counter said with a shrug.

Anger, rage, and pure indignance boiled beneath Fook's skin, but as he picked up the glass, he had to at least admit the barkeep had a point - it was easier to hold, and only required one paw instead of two. Turning his attention back to the game, he took a drink, one large ear rotating to catch in on the table's conversation, and the big, massive, beautiful Herglic's comment. Their movement scarcely noticeable, Fook's eyes scanned over the play. Smashball was the art of war, and could only be read by a true master. Fortunately, after many years of holovision games while growing up, Fook considered himself master-level, indeed.

"Naw, dawg," the Wah stated, loud enough for the Herglic to hear. "Too obvious, yo. Makin' it look like that so them defense find themselves chasin' shadows. Gonna be a shovel pass to a buttonhook, left side."

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

Whoever the color commentary was at the bar, they were at least in agreement on one thing. The Dreadnoughts were likely going to bring the ball to the weak side left. The holographic scrimmage line faded, and the snap unleashed chaos. The Corellian line moved right, but didn't chase after the midbacks or pursue deep. The strong guard broke formation and cut back, shoring up the weak side's feigned lack of numbers a he ran directly into the blitzing midback, picking up the read blitz. Gradoona saw it all unfold as the little furred alien had noted. A revolver dash was a relatively quick misdirection, but even that would be too slow to shake off a read blitz. The Corellians had picked it up. The leadback never even glanced left, letting his eyes follow the strong-side dummy flanker - dumping the ball almost as an afterthought to a juking speedback. An ephemeral gap appeared just as the blitz was kicked aside, an before the end or the tackle could seal it, the Corellian speedback squirted through for seven meters and a fresh marker.

"Ahhhh....shit!"

The expletive sounded in duality with a blast of frustration from the Herglic's blowhole as she slapped the tabletop with a thick hand. Fortunately a waitron arrived just in time with another pitcher for her, and Gradoona threw back the contents in a single pull, shaking her head in frustration.

"Stupid gimmick! Well hoope they doon't think they can run that Neimoidian trickeration at our fellas again, boy howdy! Just shoows they're desperate to get the meters."

"Meters are meters, Doona. The Kretch can't keep stackin' the box on us, we'll make 'em pay for it."

"Aaah bloow it outcher bloowhoole, Broyl!"

The droids were re-aligning the meter sticks for the next series, and Gradoona cast a look to the bar at the other attentive fan.

"Hey, you really knoow how to read 'em. Wanna pull up a seat over here?"

[Li Ho Fook]

Pleased with his own performance, the Wah smiled as he watched the action replay, taking a drink from his half-pint glass. The offer to join the party was unexpected, causing Fook to take another look at its current members. Workmates, he could tell immediately. No group of friends would include what was clearly their disinterested boss, after all.

"Why not," he nodded. Placing his beer back on the bar, the Wah dropped himself off the edge of his barstool, then grabbed his glass on his way over to the table. Anauri nudged his own seat over, allowing the newcomer room. The Wah pulled a taller chair over into the gap, and clambered quickly up onto it. "Dreadnaughts vs. the Kretch. Classic matchup, homies. Ain't nothin' on the Mandalore Night Rangers, though," he stated, voice brimming with cockiness about one of the most perpetually hated teams in the league. "But, dag, at least there's a game on. Thought I was gonna be mad bored while my ship gets the mend, yo." Glancing around the table, the Wah then leaned back in his seat and took anther drink. "Yo, you dawgs got any paper on the game? Can a playa get in on that action?"

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

~haauuuu~ Gradoona's blowhole sounded dismissively at the small alien's choice in teams.

"The Night Rangers?! Pshyeah, maaaybe two decades agoo when Aldavi had aall his maarbles!"

The lich-like owner of the Night Rangers, Aldav the Hutt, was well over a millennium old, and by all accounting of things at least a century out of touch. He'd been the owner and general manager of the club for the past 600 years, bringing the team from piddling irrelevance to a dirty-playing powerhouse within the first ten years at the helm. In his advanced years, however, he'd made bizarre decisions - including but not limited to micro-managing his draft scouting and prioritizing picks by players with the fastest 50 meter sprints. He'd hired a string of offensive coordinators who collectively had a resume that could best be described as failing upwards, and his latest fiasco (minus the usual cases of players getting arrested for everything from domestic violence to drug smuggling) involved a blue chip Nautolan leadback who had put on nearly twice his weight and skipped training camp for a spice binge. The Night Rangers of today were a joke of their old Blitz Watch days. They'd developed a reputation for being a blue chip graveyard, with Aldav taking his first round pick and utterly wasting their talent, only to have them retire early or have another team poach them in a trade for a pittance.

In a way, Gradoona could almost feel sympathy for anyone who still stuck with the Black and Silver Mandos. It made the new guy a way better fan than Broyl, at least.

At the mention of betting, Gradoona changed gears, placing a thick hand flat on the table.

"Straight ticket bet. Noo spread. My pop toold me to never put yourself in a spaat to bet against your oown team, soo that little penguin race is foor everyone else's team. Got three hundred credits in the paat between me and these two lunks here." She jerked a thumb at the humans, then gestured to Anauri "...aaand one abstain."

The Herglic leaned forward a little, propping her bulk on her elbows as her little eyes took on a conspiratorial twinkle.

"Soo what's it goonna be? Good odds on the dreads, yaknoo, 'coourse ya cooould play the underdaag foor even winnings."

[Li Ho Fook]

With the price of repairs still an unknown, Fook debated the wisdom in betting money he might regret losing. There were no jobs forthcoming from his usual sources, the seedy underbelly of the galaxy seemed to wane so near the Alliance/Imperial border, other than smuggling. His ship having been originally built for a Squib, smuggling wasn't exactly the easiest moneymaking prospect for the Wah, and he still had to buy fuel.

Still, he wound up reaching into his shirt and withdrew a pair of polymer 50-credit notes, tossing them onto the pile. "C-note on the Kretch, yo," he stated. "Never underestimate the little guy."

[Anauri Rabeak]

Little? He's small enough to fit in my sock drawer. Anauri thought to himself, eyeing the newcomer.

"And, speaking of little, gotta ask, what are you? I know most furred species, but ain't never seen one like you," the older Nehantite asked.

[Li Ho Fook]

Fook's black eyes darted up to Anauri's pink ones, the smaller furball scowling. "Yo, I'm a Wah, dawg. Li Ho Fook, maybe you heard of me?"

When a blank look of confusion crossed Anauri's face, the Wah's scowl intensified. "I'm the illest, sickest bounty hunter and merc this side of Mandalore, yo," Fook sneered. "Y'all better recognize. I just brought in a Trandoshan wanted for quadruple homicide, and armed robbery."

He slowly sank back into his seat as his scowl melted into an expression of annoyance. "But right now I'm stuck, because I can't work on my own ship, in this station. Dag."

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

Fook's species didn't ring any bells for Gradoona, which was saying something. Herglics had a notorious bent toward wanderlust, and Gradoona had probably logged more travel time than anyone in this bar. As unlikely as finding an undiscovered species was, hearing of his exploits was even more implausible. Gradoona responded to his bragging with a skeptical ~fwahh~ from her blowhole, though her expression remained about as unreadable as always. There were probably more unlikely stories. She'd heard one about child star pilots destroying trade federation battleships. Probably yet another load of bull, but Li Ho Fook wouldn't be the first person in a bar to talk a big game. Not hardly. At any rate, he'd turned over a much more interesting ice floe of discussion.

"Ooh yah? Whatcha flyin' dere, fella?"

Beyond Fook, the Kretch had deployed a rocket blitz, exploiting a gap before a zone block could pick it. The Corellian leadback flushed in a footrace to the side boundary, checking down to a split receiver underneath who was swarmed for a three meter loss. Nothing sexy, just stingy D. Gradoona paused momentarily in religious observance to smack her thick hands together in applause before turning her beady eyes back to the Wah.

[Li Ho Fook]

The Wah allowed the play to distract him, nodding in approval of the play. Devious tactics were never a bad thing, and to hit your opponent on their own turf demanded respect.

"It started out life as a Squib micro-freighter, but, she's been hella pimped, yo.," Fook replied. "New hyperdrives, pair of dope-ass Corellian ion engines, replaced the tractor beam with a full weapons array, and added a second power core just for shields, yo. All that, on top of a fly paint job, and a sick interior, feel me?"

Leaning back in his seat, the small fuzzball's face warmed with a cocky smile, and he nodded. "She's fast as shit, but, dag, I pushed her to her limits. Blew out an ion engine's reaction chamber, which is mad whack."

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

A squib ship made sense, considering his size. Gradoona ran the possibilities in her head as she chugged another pitcher. Finishing with a belch, the Herglic up-ended the serving container and slapped it on the table upside down.

"Skadi JX oor Timbok?"

Those were the only two Squib freighters of the weight class that could handle the sort of power demands from the peripherals Fook described. The hyperdrive redundancy was key. Most Squib ships resigned to spatial inevitability and only had so many ways to shunt reactor feed to the engines.

The Dreadnaughts lined up for another play that stuffed before earning back one meter lost. As the scrum cleared, the waitron returned with another pitcher for the thirsty cephaloid.

[Li Ho Fook]

Fook's claws tinked lightly upon the surface of a nearly empty half-pint glass before he tilted the glass up and downed the remainder of its contents, moving on the the second half of his pint serving.

"Neither, dawg," he shook his head. "Those are mad huge, and not agile enough. The 36'th Chamber is a Roscoe CW, heavily modified. Ain't no sense rollin' deep if you ain't rollin' custom, you feel me?"

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

~fffeeeee~ which was as close to an appreciative whistle as she had. Putting all that in a Skadi or a Timbok would've been a stretch, but in a Roscoe?

"I flipped a Roscoe aan Iridonia. These Jawas, boy howdy, they didn't knoow what they had aan their hands. Bought it for penguins, put a week into it and doonchaknoo that bird soold foor twenty big ones!"

Suddenly the beer and the game were forgotten, and Gradoona hunched over the table as if she were a huddled-up smashballer herself.

"Ookay, soo...yah, ya cooould handle the power plant, suure, buuut here's the thing yaknoo. You gaat trouble with resonance and harmonics. Most spanner monkeys, noo offense yaknoo, most don't sweat it. But ya doon't have the durasteel tonnage to shrug it. Plus, sooounds like you're livin' dangerously an all. Soo ya take a hit here, a hit there. You get discoordant harmonics and that adds up. Could even thump an ion reactor aan put her in a death spiral."

Gradoona pondered that with a whistle-click, drumming her meaty fingers on the table.

"Soo. Laang stoory shoort. Good news is I can praabably save ya a laat of heartache in the future if ya want me to go rootin' aroound in there."

[Li Ho Fook]

"I could save me a lot of heartache if I was allowed to work on my own ride, on this station," Fook huffed.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the offer, it was more a continued expression of annoyance for standard Alliance station rules about Union labor. Though, to be fair, it wasn't as bad on Jovan as it was on some stations. He recalled a time where he actually needed a Union handler to walk his bounty to the security office, because of some stupid rule or law which said he couldn't do it on his own. If Fook had caught the bounty on his own, odds were high he could have handled walking his capture down a secure hallway, unassisted...

Fluffy tail-tip flicking in annoyance at that memory, the Wah swigged down some more beer. He was unable to even remotely compete with Gradoona's ability to put alcohol away, but at possibly less than 1/8'th her overall size, that seemed unsurprising. "But, yeah, if you can get the Union to chill and get steppin', I'd be down for a hand fixing my whip."

Before any reply could be made, all eyes returned to the holovision screen. On a desperation play, the Dreadnoughts fell back for a passing play, their defensive line holding long enough for the quarterback to fire off a pass before he was taken to ground by defenders twice his size. The oblong ball sailed through the air, its target ready, when suddenly a Kretch player shot in out of nowhere, leaping to snatch the ball from the air, before landing squarely and taking off in the opposite direction. The crowd was on its feet, and even in the little bar, several patrons stood abruptly, shocked at the interception. Broyle streamed profanities as the Kretch defender barnstormed through every player in his way, spinning out of blocks and tackles, until at last he reached the end zone, where he spiked the ball in celebration.

Fook just smiled, then raised his paw for another pint to be delivered in its two halves. Yes, he wanted to get his ship up and running, but the game had just gotten interesting, and he supposed hanging out for another hour or so wouldn't hurt anything. Besides, he stood to win a hundred credits, if the Kretch could keep up such plays.

[Anauri Rabeak]

Anauri sat there, trying to enjoy a game he had no stake - or real interest - in, but he could not help but become distracted by the conversation about a heavily modified ship.

Clearing his throat, he looked down at the newcomer and spoke in a flat, gruff voice. "Son, we are the Union. Your ship sounds like something we used to cobble together in the Nehantite shipyards. Had plenty enough of that, myself. But, if Gradoona, here, really wants to get in on that mess, she's more than welcome to the headache. 36'th Chamber, huh? I'll halt the work crew so you two can have fun."

From his work jacket, the older Nehantite pulled a datapad, and busied himself entering override commands and security clearance, while the biggest play of the game went down.

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

"AW HELL YEAH!! WOOOO!!! GOOO KREEETCH!!"

Gradoona was on her feet, knocking back the two chairs used to sustain her weight as her blowhole ~HOOOM~ed almost like an air raid siren. In her glee, she snatched up Fook on one hand, fist-pumping the air with the other.

"THAT'S HOW WE DOO IT!! FREAKIN' AWESOME!!"

The replays showed the deed. Tau'ren, a utility outbacker who was normally just for zone interference and blitzing, somehow came up with the ball in a rare showing of soft hands. The Corellian leadback had telegraphed too much of himself with a collapsing pocket, and by the time the ball was out, Tau'ren had an easy three strides out of zone. It could have ruined the coverage, but he'd trusted his instincts and the net result was a Belsavis touchdown.

It took a few seconds for the euphoria to die down, but when it did, Gradoona realized that the Chief had been talking more to the point of Fook's ship-related grievances. Easing the Wah back to his seat, Gradoona nodded along, a telegraphed motion for a creature without a neck.

"Ooh suure, I doon't mind that. I loove hobby jaabs!"

[Li Ho Fook]

For one with typically good reaction speed, Fook did not see the massive hand coming, and before he could defend himself, he was pulled in close and lifted from his seat as if he weighed precisely nothing. Momentarily he was able to experience what it must be like to be over six feet tall, and while that was a pleasant notion, it did not stop his instinctual wriggling and a very loud, "Daaaaag!"

Tail lashing about on its own in an attempt to somehow regulate his balance, the Wah found himself reaching for one of the blasters on his belt, but reminded himself just in time that this was a friendly game, and that he was being held by a big, very big, woman. When at last he was deposited on his seat once more, Fook smoothed out his shirt and attempted to look like nothing had even happened.

And, for the rest of the game, not a lot more really did happen. Typical back and forth, gains and losses of meters on both sides, but in the end the Kretch pulled out the victory by a close margin, and Fook collected his winnings, rather tipsy from having downed nearly two pints of beer. A minor stagger in his step, he led the way back to the docking bays, of which there were many on Jovan, and at least more than half of them operational, thanks to the efforts of Anauri, Gradoona and many of the other techs.

"That's her back there, yo," Fook pointed a fuzzy, black fingertip. The indicated ship was, in fact, a Roscoe CW, at one point in its life, but only vaguely resembled one, anymore. Brilliant orange and neon green were the key elements in its paintwork, with black accents, and far too much chrome. The nose and underside bulged with weapons pods which were clearly aftermarket, but not nearly as much as the poor Squib micro-freighter's swollen backside. True to his word, it had been fitted with Corellian ion engines, and a pair of hyperdrives, but it seemed that Fook had gone out of his way to bolt on the biggest and most ridiculous ones he could find - accented by a useless spoiler atop each of the upper stabilizing thrusters. Even the landing gear was modified and overworked, with chrome and neon orange many places it shouldn't be, and that verdant green making yet another appearance. Overall, it appeared like the sort of thing that a spoiled Hutt child would fly, if they were shrunk to human child size.

"The 36'th Chamber," Fook announced. "She's seen me through hella shit, but always got me through. Well, mostly." The latter was an acceptance that his ship was not infallible as they drew close enough to see that a few of the cover panels over the left engine were blown out and scorched, and sadly all the blue smoke of power had already escaped.

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

Gradoona was in high spirits, and so after the smashball game she had no problem transitioning from one thing she loved into another thing. Aaand along the way, why not pick up a few dozen bear claws and krullers from the usual baked goods kiosk by the fishmonger? It was on the way to the spire access lift anyway. Plus, that was thinking fuel.

As Fook began the introductions to his loudly-painted pint ride, Gradoona tossed a few bear claws down the pipe more or less whole hog, before setting the boxes on top of a rolling tool cabinet.

"Geepers, she's a busy gal ain't she?"

The Herglic closed the distance, running her hand along the runabout-sized ship's contours. She paused, glanced at the obvious bit of damage on the outside, and went hypersonic with a barrage of whistles.

"Well, doon't havta tell ya the sad tale heere, yaknoo. An engine's oonly as goood as the coupler that's mounted aan the grid. That reaches temp threshoold aaand you flash the whooole kit and kaboodle."

Gradoona peered at the ship, and realized first off they were gonna have a few problems. For one, she couldn't fit inside. Well, maybe the cargo unit, but she certainly couldn't go poking around. Turning, the Herglic hollered over the bay to a droid charging station.

"Hey BeeZee! Howbouts ya moove your can! Mama needs a set of eyes!"

One of the astromechs powered up. An older model crimson and silver droid, it dropped its tripod down and began to roll across the floor.