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Thread: Gotta Get Away

  1. #1

    Complete Gotta Get Away


    CENTARES

    * * *




    Stepping off the transport, Tamera Beck wasted little time making her way inside to the terminal proper. The flight she'd caught was one of those lesser-known carriers that parked out on the tarmac, leaving the passengers to trek over hot durracrete and through a solid metal door in order to actually be a part of the 'normal' starport crowd.

    Her carry-on slung over one shoulder, Tamera found herself a slave to delicious habit, and cradled her mostly empty bag of spicy, delightful Cizerack chips. Only, they were really more rolled up crisps liberally dusted with neon deliciousness. She'd heard rumors that the things - Anoaki's - ate up the lining of your stomach, but more than likely that was just the ravings of a few lunatic repulsor-moms that hated the notion of their precious Janek's and Arika's eating food that wasn't human in origin. Coming from Nar Shadaa and finding decent employment on Jovan Station kind of opened a person's eyes to things that were actually tasty.

    Or at the very least, shameful delights.

    Stepping through the doorway while crunching down on another chip-tube, Tamera gave a quick look around before starting off in the direction of baggage claim.

    Coming to Centares hadn't been her first choice, but some things were just unavoidable; especially when relatives insisted. And so she'd capitulated, getting the time off and booking her flight. Didn't mean she had to be happy about it.

    Starting off down the long corridor, Tamera continued to busy herself with concentrating on her snack.

    Centares. Why Centares? It wasn't like anyone really came here, and the only thing she could remember about this dumb planet was that she had kin here. Far-flung kin that were salt-of the earth. People of the land. The common clay of the galaxy.

    In other words?

    Morons.
    Last edited by Tamera Beck; Feb 2nd, 2021 at 02:16:30 AM.

  2. #2
    What kind of fucking spaceline doesn't serve alcohol? It was bad enough that there were no business class seats left, which meant being wedged into economy in head to toe full body combat armor. People kept complaining, too. What a bunch of assholes. Yeah, I didn't want this either, you fucknuts. Fuck Ghost Spacelines. I'll never fly with them again. And I shouldn't, because after this job I'll have enough credits to get my ship out of impound and fly my goddamn self around instead of relying on these money sucking, joy leaching douche bags.

    The lack of alcohol was really starting to hurt. Damn, he needed a drink and fast. Not any of this overpriced spaceport garbage. Nah. He'd find something in the streets outside. Maybe a six-pack of Tatooine Best. The cheap stuff will do in a pinch. But damn if numerous bars and duty shops in the spaceport were not tempting him. The headache had grown so big it felt like it was going to vibrate his helmet right off his head. It was amazing people couldn't hear his skull throbbing in his tin can helmet. Ugh. Just need to fight his way through is labyrinth with his wheely-case and get to the freedom beyond.

    As he walked along he noticed a brunette ahead of him. Part of his brain was trying to deduce, based solely in the information gathered from this angle, if the woman was attractive enough to merit the effort; but his brain was hurting an awful lot and the telemetry was simply not working out. Things looked good enough from here, but she could have a shite face. Hard to tell. Better get closer. Power walking closed the gap, and as he came up alongside he noticed that she had a familiar looking bag in her hand. This was the point where he usually pulled a tried and tested one-liner from his little black book of openers he stole from videos on the holonet, but his mind was coming up empty.

    "Anoaki's? Have you tried the Sunset Barbecue? It's sold exclusively in the cluster, but some retailers take outside orders." His voice came out heavily recycled by the helmet's comm suite, arriving monotone and droll.

    What the fuck, Abaddon? That was not a sweet pick up line. That was... small talk. You're losing your edge, my dude. Yeah, let her say something first so she doesn't think your rude, and then really lay into there. She kind of older. Maybe neg her glasses or something.

  3. #3
    She gave the old-fashioned door leading to baggage claim a decent enough hip check.

    "Mister."

    Apparently he had no idea he was talking to Lady Munch-A-Lot, Supreme Snack Queen of the Cosmos.

    "I've tried the Sunset BBQ's, the Spicy Pepper, the Garlic and Thalassian Lime, every different cheese flavor they've put out from Calan Cheddar to that weird flavor they did with the Fey'Dann cheese with the holes in it."

    Her lips were a weird half-purse that went along with the rest of her incredulous expression. That he was wearing a mask didn't exactly phase her; he was probably horribly disfigured by some chemical accident or a tragic accident involving a repulsorlift disc fitter in some backworlds speeder shop. Maybe even an autochef had gotten a hold of him. Who knew? Most folks that flew the discount seats didn't have room to judge or make fun of their shipmates. They only had to deal with one another for a time before parting ways (hopefully forever).

    "I mean, that's like asking if I like Alderaan by Ronto."

    Snorting, Tamera rolled her eyes while twisting on her heel to move on into the baggage claim area and its' carousels that stretched on into oblivion.

    I miss the skies over Alderaan...

    That one line set her to humming the familiar tune, and now it was stuck in her head for the rest of the day.

    Not a bad thing!

  4. #4
    Abaddon was caught off guard. Typically his conversations with the female species went one of two ways immediately with no deviation. They either were totally into his intoxicating masculinity, or more often they were frigid bitches that immediately left. Hurtful insults optional from both parties as they parted. Where the prey should be dragging him to a secluded place for debauchery she instead had spoken back in kind to start a, what do you call it... a conversation? Not just that, but she was very matter of factly in her reply; a much stronger return that he would have expected from such a mousy looking woman. What does he say now? He had nothing planned. His little black book of ice breakers was lost behind the fog in his head. His physical black book was still in his luggage.

    "Um, well, I like Dorrdongos. They don't make 'em anymore but they were really good."

    Shit, getting too close to home there Abby. Don't reference a chip that hasn't been on the market in ten years. What are you even doing right now? Stop winging it and get back to the official programming. Compliment something. Maybe that fat booty, or neg her glasses. Anything. Your sinking!

    "W-What about Sodas? Zzantos? Ssurrii? Codacona Cherry and Vanilla Flavored Explosion? Ponsii Crystal? Green Sturge?"

    Oh fuck you, Abaddon. Cizerack soft drinks? Are you for real? I give up. You're on your own from here.

  5. #5
    This boy was speaking her language, and as the two shambled onward to the carousel that belonged to their carrier, she gave a half-shrug.

    "Those are ok. I'm more of a Thranta Orange gal, myself."

    Her eyes shifted away then, to look at the holoscreens to check on the status of their baggage. Apparently they were being offloaded, so it would be a few more minutes yet. A long sigh, and she turned back to her apparent 'baggage buddy'.

    "So. Then."

    They both slowed as they approached the United Galaxy Lines Flight 39571 luggage carousel.

    "A guy wears a bunch of armor and stuff, he's gonna get a little uncomfortable here, seeing as how it's the summer months in this area, you know. You ever thought of something a little more like... beach shirts and shorts?"

    She gave him a secondary once-over. He could keep the helmet.

  6. #6
    "I have climate control in here."

    He gave his chest plate a hard double tap with his fist.

    "Nice and cool. 'sides, I'm really a beach shirt and shorts kind of guy. More the sweatpants and tanktop sort."

    The luggage was delayed. Typical when you fly budget. Hopefully they didn't lose his luggage this time. It'd be a bit difficult to do his job without the receipt to pick up his blaster. Speaking of which, he should probably check to make sure that had made it ahead of him. Pulling out his comm unit he started poking and prodding at the touch screen, a mite difficult with gloves on.

    "If I was here on holiday I might go casual, but when your traveling for business it helps to look the part. First impressions and all that. Are, uh, you here on vacation Miss...?"

  7. #7
    Her eyes seemed to roll directly to the back of her skull at the question posed, and Tamera couldn't help the expression of a put-upon, wayward family member forced to interact with her kin.

    "Vacation, sadly."

    She let out a sigh then, using the exasperated breath to blow aside an unruly lock of mouse-brown hair that'd decided to fall in her face.

    Shifting her carry-on, she held out a hand in an offered shake.

    "Beck. Well, Tamera Beck, but you can just call me Beck. Everyone else does."

    Even my own mother.

    "... and besides tall, dark, and armored, you are... ?"
    Last edited by Tamera Beck; Sep 13th, 2018 at 01:24:50 AM.

  8. #8
    "Abaddon. Just Abaddon. It's a mononym like... Rappertunie."

    Really, dude? That Max Rebo Band phase was like ten years ago. I thought you left? I tried, but the chain is so short all I could do was peak out an ear. The view is shit.

    Switching his comm from his dominant hand he took hers between hardened plastoid composite fingers and gingerly shook it, all the while looking down at the exchange like the spectacle it was. When had he ever shaken hands with anyone? It never happened back home, and he sure as hell didn't do it now. Shaking hands wasn't cool. Cold disinterest was more his formula; just like the heroes in holodramas. Blow 'em off, pretend you don't care. Make them beg. This... was way too personal. It only lasted as long as it had to and then he let go like a monk releasing a burning coal.

    Like a guardian angel the terminal consoles all beeped to inform them their bags were coming. Likewise the comm in his hand vibrated, drawing his attention back to where he had gotten horribly off track. Instead of checking on his package he had started browsing local eats. A four and a half star rating burning brightly on the screen. A few foggy cogs started to turn, and a plan was starting to form. Well, more of an outline. A crude sketch maybe? Like 20% of a plan.

    "All this talk of snack foods and I'm starving. There's a steakhouse just outside the station. Highly rated on Zelp. Wanna grab a bite?"

  9. #9
    The beeping lasted for only a few instances before shifting more into a droning, buzzing sound. A light posted above their designated carousel began to flash, and the repulsor treads shuddered to life as though a giant sandsnake was the deliverer of their checked bags. A portal in the center opened up, and out tumbled the first wave of luggage.

    Mindful to keep her eyes peeled for her raggedy old My Little Dewback hardcase (from the old classic series, not the newly released run), it didn't take a Jedi to see that the mention of getting food had gotten her interest.

    "A steakhouse, eh?"

    She hadn't had a good rare steak in ages, not to mention...

    "... is it one of those steakhouses that also sells those huge deep-fried Ithorian onions? Cause those things are amazing."

    Another wave of baggage popped up and out, the last of the bunch being her faded bit of Saturday morning nostalgia. Sidling closer to the carousel so that she could scoop it up when it came around, she stole a quick look back to Abaddon.

    "It's not super expensive, is it?"

  10. #10
    "Uhh... The menu mentions deep fried onions, but doesn't say if it's rings or Ithorian style or anything. Their net site is kind of janky and outdated. It looks like a message board from my childhood."

    Scrolling through the menu was difficult enough with just it's poor layout and slow refresh rate, but it become even more cumbersome with gloves in the way. Everytime he looked away to check for his bag and looked back he had scrolled all the way to the top or bottom again. Eventually he had to put the comm away so he could grab his bag; which was big, black, and built like a tank. No design, no identification. He knew it was his because it was the only one that could bludgeon a child to death with ease. A shoulder strap was extended from an auxiliary compartment and the entire load was thrown over a shoulder.

    Gotta look strong for the ladies. Especially if your aiming to crush that cave. Youknowwhatimean?

    "Um... It's rated at three creds, so yeah. It's probably on the pricier side..."

    Stupid. Stupid. STUPID! How could you overlook that? You can't blow your entire loan on steak. You need that money for thermal clips and more blasters. And lets me real for a moment, your going to need to pay off a backdoor surgeon to fix you up after this job goes down like all the others and you end up full of holes, missing a digit, or blind. You did all three last month. You remember, that Swoop Gang? Your entire payout went to medical and supplies, again. We need to start a saving account. Shut up, you're not my mom!

    "There's a Noodle Bar down the street if credits are a problem. I'm surprised they even have one on this world. They're pretty good, if you haven't been. If not, I guess... I wouldn't mind... paying for your meal. It's no big deal. Pssh. It's been a pretty good year for me if you catch my drift."

    Cold detachment achieved. Nice one, bro.

  11. #11
    The thought of going to a noodle house was as enticing as a steak and Supernova Onion, and Tamera reached out, hand grabbing her luggage to pull it free. With a mighty heave she stepped back, her prize in tow, and letting it fall tot he tiled floor with a thud, her thumb pushed in the handle latch-release so that the telescoping pull bar slid up.

    "Back on Nar Shadaa, I used to go to a Rodian noodle joint, had the best Dho ever."

    She could already see the steaming bowl of noodles being set in front of her, and an empty jhegwood steamer plate that had once held a family-sized portion of pan-stickers being cleared away.

    "A big bowl of noodles sounds great," her carry-on was hitched higher onto her shoulder as she bumped her way past Abaddon and his bag that she bet could be used to squash an unsuspecting Squib. Or a Chadra-Fan. Or a child. Anything small, really.

    "Lead that way!"

  12. #12
    "Nar Shaddaa?"

    With the heavy bag on a rapidly weakening shoulder, Abaddon lead the way out the baggage claim to the sidewalk outside. Like with any spaceport, the outside was a buzz of activity. People flagging cabs, families exchanging disgusting tearful goodbyes, and all sorts of other craziness that was best to ignore or risk your sanity by peering too closely at the chaos. He was half tempted to hail a cab, even though the Noodle Bar was not far, but his armor was bulky and heavy, as was his bag. He didn't want to look like a pussy in front of the pretty lady, so he kept walking and assumed a stance that did not betray his already sore shoulder.

    "What's a... soft? thing like you doing on a planet like Nar Shaddaa? That place is crazy. I've had a lot of really close calls there."

  13. #13
    She gave a dismissive expression as they cleared the wide entrance doorway and started off down the pedi-walk. She almost snorted. Almost.

    "Soft?"

    Her free hand came up then to land a bizarre passing knuckle-brush to his upper arm. It was deflected easily by the hardened armor.

    "Oof, armor," she let her fingers splay out then, giving her hand a shake.

    "I used to work at a speeder shop," she gave her knuckles a last once-over... no damage. "... wasn't glorious, but hey it payed the bills, and we stayed outta trouble mostly."

    Weaving through a crowd of rowdy-ish, knee-high Squibs, Tamera sent a crossways look to Abaddon.

    "Sounds to me like you found all the wrong places to be while you were there."

  14. #14
    Abaddon would be lying if he he said his first thought after being jokingly punched was NOT to check to make sure his armor wasn't scuffed. Something in the back of his head quickly reminded him that it wasn't important right now and if it was scuffed in any way he had plenty of polish in the bag to cover a little blemish, or a big scrape, or a few blaster holes, and he had the sonic brush for carbon build up; and don't forget the first aid kit and trauma kit. Come to think of it, most of his luggage was composed of materials to put himself and his armor back together.

    "A speeder shop? No way. I wouldn't peg you for the mechanical type. That's so cool."

    He had to look her over again in a whole new light, which was great because there was plenty good to look at. Mechanics were not really his type; although just about any woman was at one point or another. His type was usually bar floozies and hot junkies, because they were easily impressed, already compromised, and not likely to try to call you the next day. It was just as much a cycle for them as it was for him. That wasn't to say he had anything against mechanics; just a nagging thought that they could probably do better than the likes of him.

    No. That's quitter talk. Abaddon is the very best, the best that ever was!

    "Hunting bounties doesn't exactly take you through the scenic areas, you know? It's usually slums or broke ass apartments, abandoned warehouses and that sort of thing. Last time I was there I got tagged in the stomach..."

    Looking down he had to decipher the numerous cuts, scores, and pits in his armor to find the correct one. Eventually his finger located the smooth texture of an epoxy patch where a blaster-wrought hole had been patched over to maintain the integrity of the suit.

    "...Guy got real lucky. Armor took most of it. Didn't even go out the back. Not exactly a fun vacation."

    Fuck yeah, girls love scars.

  15. #15
    So he was a bounty hunter!

    As if the armor and constant helmet-wearing weren't an indicator...

    "Bounty hunting seems like such a dangerous job," she rolled her neck, eliciting a series of cracks, "... but I suppose a guy has to make a living somehow."

    Her My Little Dewback luggage gave a my-little-bounce as they passed over a crack in the durracrete, kicking up to one wheel, then the other before she was able to stabilize it.

    "About the only crazy thing I've ever done is the Turbolaser Run back home with an old friend. Had my souped up Sansin that we used."

    It wasn't too often that guys said that what she did was cool.

  16. #16
    He was in a hurry. Which only meant that his luggage was in the last group offloaded from the transport. His flight had been a few minutes after hers, but Reginald Buckley knew he would get his target. Her and that moppy-haired man of hers wouldn't escape the law, he was determined. So much so, that he'd left Nar Shaddaa and headed out into the space-lanes to bring her back for her scofflaw activities back home.

    He bounced on the balls of his feet, watching as she disappeared out the doors with some armor-wearing gent. Didn't much matter. He looked back to the carousel in time to spot his bag before it was trundled on past him, and reaching forward through two others, thick fingers closed around the worn handle to wrench it up and off the repulsor belt.

    Ain't no one could escape the long arm of the Nar Shaddaa law.

  17. #17
    Abaddon had a practiced spiel about how cool being a bounty hunter is, and how dangerous it is, which makes him ever so daring and cool, but all that melted away to mush as a raging question came barreling through to the front;

    "Turbolaser run?"

    His imagination went running in seven different directions at once, each pursuing a different concept of what something called a Turbolaser Run could be. All of them were either too crazy and injury prone to be right, and the others were far too cool to be real. This was something he needed to get to the bottom of immediately, and with the Noodle Bar coming into view at the end of the block he was running out of time before food ordering caused the subject to change. You know, organically.

    "What is that even? It sounds awesome."

  18. #18
    Her grin went from ear to ear as she awkwardly shook her head to hopefully fling a misbehaving lock of hair out of her face.

    "It's a race, without a designated track. You get to each waypoint the quickest you can, by any route you can."

    Her gait sidestepped a little, so that she could toss the empty snack bag she still held into a refuse bin.

    "There's a few obstacles that everyone has to go through though, like The Drop... "

    Another skip to the side that brought her danger-close to Abaddon as she got out of the way of a particularly grumpy looking Ithorian, and she was back on track once more.

    "... nothing but a vertical dive through the compacter cliffs."

    Up ahead, she could see a placard jutting out from a storefront, Ruusan Noodle House, it showed in angular aurebesh. There was a low fence of what looked to be a large, shaped vine that'd been frozen in carbonite then polished to a silver sheen, and directly behind it a stuccoed facade that gave way to a small outdoor seating area that surrounded about five tables. The door inside was in the same polished, carbonite-covered vine motif, with glass panes, and Tamera paused her telling to slow her pace.

    "Oh man!"

    The earthy aromas coming from inside were heavenly; no doubt they were pumped outside through hidden vents to entice passers-by. And it worked amazingly on her; the scents alone practically lifted her up on her toes and dragged her closer.

    "I sure hope they have pan-stickers and fryrolls."

  19. #19
    "That sounds intense."

    The talk of racing took him on a ride down memory lane to his first and only attempt at street racing. The streets back home were not a great setup for racing to begin with, with the whole new city built on top of the old city style going on. The only areas with long stretches of straight roads was the affluent sectors, and that was precisely why his racing career only lasted about five minutes before the authorities put a stop to it. That kind of shenanigan carried a strict sentence but mother got him out of it, like she always did. It would not be his last act of rebellion.

    This close to the spaceport the foot traffic was still heavy, and Beck had to squeeze past a typically brain dead Ithorian; which brought her up close. There was a lot of things he wanted to do with that space lessened, oh baby yes, but he settled for making a show of shifting the weight of his bag on his shoulder and sticking out his elbow to bump against her arm. Start small, he told himself. The Rajah of Romance always says that intimate touch is the bait in the cage that will trap your prey.

    "I mean, they better. It's not much of a noodle bar without pot stickers."

    The place was nice enough looking, as in they actually put in an attempt to look shiny and welcoming. The same could not be said about most of the other businesses on this road. Even the blaster store on the corner had a look that insisted that all they had to sell was scattershots and tetanus. Hardly the sort of merchandise a bounty hunter living on the cutting edge desired. He finally tore his eyes away from it as they neared the Noodle shop, and instead brought his eyes around to look up at the menu as they stepped inside. The inside of the shop was on the smaller side and cramped with diners already.

    The menu was extensive, and intimidating. To make things worse, everything looked good. The line was short and moving fast. He'd already pulled a cred chit out of a slot on his utility belt. A good Bounty Hunter is always prepared. Except, he really hadn't decided when he reached the front of the line. That was fine. He always had an option to fall back on.

    "Get me whatever is your spiciest dish."

  20. #20
    The wispy-thin, white-haired Arkanian woman at the ordering counter didn't look especially impressed, and her lower jaw made a show of sliding off-kilter from the rest of her head, her white gaze unblinking as she stared at this masked creeper who basically said to surprise him with at least a quarter of the menu. The spiciest? Did he even know where he was?

    "Gonna have to be more specific, Mister Mystery."

    Tamera took that as her cue, and while in the process of pulling her wallet out, she nudged in front of Abby. She hoped he'd let her call him Abby. She'd have to bring it up casually, like Oh, yeah I saw that whole Holoflix series in one night, Abby...

    "Uh yeah, he'll have the Ruusan Spicy Mynock Gizzards and Wingtips with the hot chili oil dressing, and I'll have the Ruusan Style Crispy Fried Ronto Cheeks with a side of pan-stickers and four fryrolls."

    She made sure to half-turn back so that she could offer a reassurance while their order was being rung up.

    "Don't worry, I'll share the pan-stickers and we'll each get two fryrolls."

    "You two want any drinks?"

    "Just a big water for me," she knew how this worked. Nothing went with noodles like a big glass of water. Again she half-turned, sending a questioning look to Abaddon so he could order his own drink.

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