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Sithspawn
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Sithspawn is an intermediate to advanced play-by-post role-playing forum. Set in the immensely rich Star Wars universe, the game takes place some years after 3,000 Before Battle of Yavin. For more information on the Timeline, History and events on Sithspawn please browse the links under Navigation.

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Reports coming from Coruscant show a marked increase in crime statistics, specifically vigilante justice. The Judges are cracking down on the vigilante groups but have so far been unsuccessful.
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 Idiot's Array, Pilot's Lounge [Attn: Renegade Squadron]
Constance Bravil
Posted: Sep 25 2009, 06:09 AM
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Zakkeg
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 438
Member No.: 443
Joined: 13-August 08



A wise sentient once said the definition of insanity was repeating the same series of actions and expecting different results. In that context, playing yet another round of sabacc with her Morellian XO was the height of madness. As much as he didn't care for his fellow Renegades making repetitive cracks regarding his advanced (by human standards) years, age and treachery did give him a decided edge over youth and enthusiasm when it came to gambling. Algy might not win every hand--the law of averages made it unlikely--but no doubt he'd carry the majority of the pot by the end of the night.

That said, Constance didn't go to the bother of arranging squadron sabacc night out of a desire for profit. Losing at something as trivial as a card game didn't irk her competitive spirit anyways. Not that she didn't consider the evening's events important all the same. You see, what made these hours spent sitting at the gaming table matter to her was the people she did it with. Besides, her higher rank equated to higher pay, so you could view tonight as an exercise in equal distribution.

Commander Bravil sorted and shuffled through the sabacc deck with idle motions while waiting for her fellow pilots to arrive. The cards were hers, an elegantly engineered set she'd won off Morrison back in her barracks days at the Flight Academy. The memory brought a smirk to Conner's lips. In her own defense, she hadn't been the one who'd insisted on using the Nar Shaddaa rules variant of the game. Hells, I saved the man's dignity by taking his deck in lieu of his removing his briefs, thereby exposing the extent of his physical inadequacies to public view.

Setting the stack of thin electronic panels off to one side, the brunette took a long pull from the bottle of Gizer pale blue she'd brought with her to the table. All the Renegades were off the clock at present, so imbibing (legal) intoxicating substances wouldn't violate regs. That said, Constance intended to play it tame tonight. For one thing, her ability to bluff tended to decrease in inverse proportion to her increasing level of intoxication. For another, she'd learned her lesson about overindulging for the next several standard years. The blurry memories of that night in her apartment whinging at Algy still made her ashamed at her weakness.

Not that she expected tonight to go down a similar serious path. No, sabacc night was about having fun--sometimes at another's expense, sure, but you couldn't expect Hadrian to go soft on you all of a sudden. This little get-together held even more promise to be interesting than usual, being that it was the first time the veterans of the squadron would have the chance to socialize with their newest member. Hopefully the night would go smoother than Urbane's inaugural introduction at the Arctic Airways. As Lightfight wasn't the type of guy to drunkenly grope a member of the opposite sex in public, the Wing Commander felt they'd be safe enough on that front.

Privately Conner couldn't help but wonder how Paol would take the night's festivities. No doubt his previous squadronmates had behaved in a more... orderly fashion than Renegades tended to be when they cut loose. Nothing to do but toss him into the shark pool and see if he can swim. Coddling wouldn't do him any favors. No one got special treatment on her team. Indeed, she'd gone to extreme lengths as of late to make sure of it.


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Shaine Gonnin
Posted: Oct 6 2009, 06:39 AM
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Mynock
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Group: Inactive
Posts: 58
Member No.: 454
Joined: 29-August 08



Now, Shaine wasn't a card shark by any stretch of the phrase. She'd never participated in any competitions, never took much interest in sabacc, pazaak, or the like. She wasn't a gambler, wasn't a heavy drinker by habit, hardly enjoyed socializing with the squadron itself, let alone strangers. That being said, this didn't mean she didn't have the potential to be a fantastic player of the game. In a rational sense, it was all about numbers. Add this number and this number, calculate the odds of retaining the hand through the next randomization, figure the possibility of losing the sabacc pot with one lousy choice.

And if there was one thing Gonnin was particularly satisfactory at, it was numbers. Computing lengthy algebraic and geometric matrices in one's head was generally a must for the slicer trade; no one had ever heard of a computer analyst who wasn't also a math whiz. She'd considered taking a pull or two from a bottle at the tapcaf before heading down to the pilot's lounge, but thought better of it. Tonight, Shaine had a strong urge to kick Hadrian's pale ass at this game, if only to prove to him that he wasn't as top dog as he had previously thought. To do this, she needed a clear mind, free of the fuzzy notions provided by alcoholic beverages.

However, if she found herself too deeply entrenched on the losing side, she had every intention of getting smashed beyond comparison. A small leather satchel at her side held two very costly bottles of Corellian Reserve and a pouch full of credit chips and coins, as well as a spare change of clothes and a toiletry kit. Always be prepared.

Pressing her hand to the warmed entrance panel, Shaine waited as a blue light scanned her from palm to fingertip, then back again. This was less for the sake of the lounge's occupants than it was for the general passers-by; complaints of raucous and rambunctious pilots snatching a idle technician as he passes and hanging him from the ceiling by his underoos were a dime a dozen. The heavy hatch slid horizontally into its jamb, releasing a swift breeze of damp and musky air, laced with more than just a little of that alcoholic tinge.

Shaine spotted her commanding officer setting things up across the room, backlit by a row of fluorescents, and made herself comfortable at a seat on the opposite side of the table. Slipping her satchel off her shoulder, she smiled and perked, "What's the news, boss lady?", all the while scanning the table and surveying the setup.


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user posted image


Name: Shaine Gonnin
Nicknames: "Urbane", Renegade Four
Gender: Female
Age: 37
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Kuat
Ship:
-Gonnin Sixty Seconds, XS stock light freighter (Modifications: Ax-108 "Ground Buzzer"(x2), Ion cannon (x2), Caltrop-5 chaff gun, ST2 concussion missile rack, ST2 concussion missile (x4))
-Slave circuit
-Second-degree droid AI
-74-Z Speeder Bike
-Holonet transceiver

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Flight Lieutenant (Renegade Squadron)

Inventory:
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Algy Trellian
Posted: Oct 6 2009, 10:09 AM
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Shyrack
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 172
Member No.: 90
Joined: 8-January 08



Sabacc was one of the many manners of entertainment throughout the galaxy, but it was by far the most popular, particularly among military men and even law enforcement. This was why Algernon was so intimately familiar with the game. His unit in the Enforcers had arranged weekly sabacc nights, if work permitted; he’d gone from being a rookie to being fairly good at the game in a matter of months, but against so many others on an equal skill level the winning streaks had been far more stable than they tended to be for him now. Even back in his days serving the Republic he’d had a bit more of a challenge, he’d still been young compared to now and he hadn’t had a game of sabacc in a while, but now it was a common happenstance. He felt no loss as to that, because he tended to share his winnings when he could, not in the monetary form of course, but in the form of the alcoholic beverages he purchased with his winnings. He called it his booze fund, it was quite successful.

As it was, he wore his heavy coat for warmth as he made his way towards the military base where the Renegades were stationed. Being mostly off duty, Algy spent his time outside of that disaster waiting to happen. He was better off not spending time around the stuffed shirts and brass that could potentially get him into trouble. He figured he owed it to Conner to stay out of trouble as much as he could, but sometimes it tended to be unavoidable. He was already a large liability for Conner and he didn’t wish to turn into a larger one, it almost seemed like most officers were gunning for him. Maybe it was the fact that he was smarter than all of them put together. Confederates were well disciplined, but their intelligence often didn’t go very far.

Making his way to the pilots lounge, he entered and raised a brief hand in greeting to his CO and the other pilot, Shaine, but made a line towards the bar in the lounge, knowing he’d asked the on-duty bartender, a friend of his, to keep an eye on the stuff he’d wanted to involve in the sabacc game. It was less about playing for him and more about drinking, in all honesty. Giving the man a few credits, he plucked out the bottle of prime Corellian whiskey along with enough glasses for all involved and then proceeded to track down the table where his CO was sitting.

Pulling off his coat and settling down into his usual chair at his CO’s right hand side, a habit he’d developed with all his wingmates, he shot her a simple grin, conveying his joy at another game being played. While he had what many would call an unfair advantage, he enjoyed the game as much as any other person, losing and winning was of no matter for him; the act of playing was enough. He placed the bottle on the table and the glasses next to it, turning his head towards Shaine as he did so, inclining his head in greeting as his grin tapered down in enthusiasm and settled for a sly smile.


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Name: Algernon Hebblethwaite Trellian [BANK]
Nicknames: Algy, Hebble
Gender: Male
Age: 117
Species: Morellian
Birthplanet: Morellia
Ship: Navarone; MC18 light freighter

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Wing Commander
Squadron: Renegade Squadron
Callsign: Trigger
Class: Pilot/Soldier/Mechanic/Scholar

Inventory:
  • Morellian .48 Enforcer
  • BlasTech light repeating blaster
  • Controller FP (extendable)
  • Dur-24 wrist laser
  • Vibroknife
  • TD2.3 Electrobinoculars
  • Baragwin Stealth Unit
  • R3 unit 'Ginger'
  • PAC20
  • Toolbelt
  • Grappling spike launcher
  • Standard Issue Confederate Armor
  • Medpac
  • Rope (10m)
  • Ruusan Bat, Biggles

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Paol Ciat
Posted: Oct 6 2009, 11:12 PM
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Mynock
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 52
Member No.: 670
Joined: 18-August 09



Paol wasn’t much fond of gambling, drinking, or socializing in much any amount, but he’d long since learned to deal with it anyways. While Edge Squadron hadn’t been the most energetic bunch even by Confederate standards, they had been known to at least commiserate with one another. There wasn’t a whole ton to be doing on base that was considered ‘social’ and so Lightfight had seen his fair share of sabaac games, and lost far more than his fair share as well.

At least when he’d still been Wing Commander, losing had at least been good in the fact that it raised morale amongst his men. Nothing seemed to be more entertaining than besting one’s superior in a setting where you couldn’t be reprimanded for it. But today’s scene was going to be an entirely different one. He was going to lose, and he was going to lose to peers. He didn’t begrudge them that, but it was to be noted that it wasn’t going to win anyone anything worthwhile except for his paycheck. Crushing the newbie--for by no means was he to be called ‘rookie’--wasn’t going to make anyone feel particularly superior.

Now, the fatalistic view of how this sabaac game was going to go wasn’t unwarranted. The game rode on a fair bit of luck, and luck was something Paol Ciat had always been lacking. This lack of luck had guided him through life, forcing him to take up a sense of sheer will to make it through those things that would have otherwise defeated him. His childhood had been awash in small incident, easily overlooked by themselves, but when viewed together and in hindsight were clearly instances of poor fortune, ever guiding his life in a way he never would have directed it of his own free will.

And his course in the military had had its share of those instances as well. The two major ones had landed him squarely where he was now--in Renegade Squadron. After all, he would have never joined the Starfighter Corps were it not for that ill-fated day where he’d been stumbled upon by the enemy, injured, and then left stranded from proper medical care for days. Had that bit of bad luck not befallen him, he would have still been in the ranks of the ground forces, off on some other world keeping the peace.

The other being the event of weeks prior. The death of Grand Admiral Stone, due to his apparent negligence, still rode heavily on his conscience. While he didn’t believe in excuses, he was quite certain it was his ill-fated fortune that had followed him on that day. He had done everything in his power to ensure that the Grand Admiral had made it to the planet safely, and yet failure had crushed those efforts.

Some might have said it was from a lack of discipline or skill that this apparent misfortune rose. He knew better, however, He would have never been chosen to lead a wing of the Confederate’s best if he were some lazy, unskilled pilot. He had the right moxy, but...

Well, at least Constance seemed to understand. She would have never asked Lightfight to join the Renegades if she had thought him incapable of doing a job well done. He had the highest respect for her, and the fact that she continued to see potential in him made him confident that what had happened all those weeks ago was not truly his, nor any of his former squadron mates’ fault.

Still, that didn’t save him from losing an unlucky hand of sabaac.

He entered the pilot’s lounge with a slight air of wariness. He didn’t know anyone from the Squadron overly well short of Constance. Many of them were too young to have been in Flight Academy with them, and those he did know, he only really knew of by name and the reputation they’d gathered as members of the elite Renegade Squadron. Constance spoke well of all of them, and that was enough.

But all good words and high praises aside, he didn’t know these people, and he’d always been absolutely terrible at the ‘getting to know you’ phase of life. He preferred the familiar, and responded poorly to oblique shows of ‘hey, let’s be friends!’ from strangers.

At least Constance was already present--that made things significantly easier. He approached the chosen table where she was sitting with her XO, Algernon, and one of the women in the squadron, whose name Paol couldn’t quite pull up from his memory at the moment. He nodded to his newest superior, feeling at least capable of being somewhat warm towards her, even in front of others. “Constance,” he stated in greeting, still not used to referring to her in any capacity of rank, thanks to their years of being on ‘the same page’ as it were.

Casting a glance over the other two, not really sure what to say, he sat down next to the currently nameless woman.

Awkward. He only hoped this would improve considerably within a matter of minutes, or this was going to be a long evening off.


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Name: Paol Ciat
Nicknames: Lightfight, Renegade Three
Gender: Male
Age: 41
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Dolomar
Ship: Ascension, TL-1800 Freighter

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Flight Officer

Inventory:
  • R6-H5 astromech droid, WatchOurSix
  • DH-17 Carbine
  • E11s Sniper Rifle
  • Vibroknife
  • PAC20 Visual Wrist Com
  • Armored Flight Suit
  • Blast Vest
  • Spider silk clothing

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Hadrian Locke
Posted: Oct 7 2009, 02:14 AM
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Hadrian Locke, garbed in the brown jacket he donned when torn away from his flight suit, walked into the Pilot’s Lounge with dishevelled flaxen hair and what seemed to be a bit of soot on the side of his face. He felt strangely naked armed with only one of the three explosive sets he usually took on his rare outings of social nature, but the misanthrope consoled himself with the fact that he’d once more introduced a Confederate officer to the way of disproportionately fierce retribution. Really, the man should have known better than to think he could take Hadrian’s landing pad because he was a Commodore – bad manners, that. The Coruscanti had most heartily disapproved of having to land his ship on the other side of the city and shared that sentiment with man.

Questioning of whether or not said Commodore had Gamorrean genetics in his ancestry and/or the heartfelt gift of black eyes might have been involved, but Hadrian was of the belief that in the Confederation they were a necessary part of the communication process. He’d then come upon the realization that he also disapproved of the continued existence of said Commodore’s ship and proceeded to share that opinion with the rest of the galaxy through the intermediary of a few demolition charges. Upon questioning by the authorities he’d explained that this vicious and sudden attack was clearly the work of an underground Alliance cell and that, of course, the three grenades strapped under his clothes were there for a purely decorative purpose, and they weren’t really insinuating he would do such a thing, were they?

Apparently fingering military-grade explosives while making his case added to his credibility, for they’d seemed rather eager to agree.

Of course, as soon as Stony heard of this and replaced their missing spines with a few scathing reprimands he’d would probably get a mild suspension, but the Renegades weren’t supposed to see action for a week or two anyways so he really didn’t mind that much. After all, he wasn’t one to look a gift Wookie in the mouth – and Void knew being literally ordered to be an antisocial asshole for a week fell inside that category. His thoughts were betrayed by a toothy grin as he picked a piece of what seemed to be carbonized metal from his cheek and greeted the bartender almost cordially. Hadrian made a habit of toning down his harsher leanings when talking to bartenders – never to antagonize the man who controlled what ended up in your drinks was one of the few rules he lived by. Picking up the Coruscanti blush wine he usually started these little soirées with and dropping a few credits in exchange, the tall pilot scanned the lounge for the Renegade’s table, finding that most of them were already seated, including the newbie.
Ah, the new guy.

Hadrian had already ‘met’ Paol Ciat during that unfortunate night at the Airways – unfortunate in the sense that he hadn’t had the presence of mind to slit that little rat Sorn’s throat and mutilate the body with whatever was under his hand. The living sewage-rejection had gotten himself killed since before Hadrian could ‘accidentally initiate a set of proximity mines’ around him, just went to show how contrary he was. Still, the man had been mostly quiet and the closest thing to a leash that could be put around the Zero’s neck without ensuring a shootout: anyone who could survive Villa for that long was worth something in his eyes. The green-eyed soldier nodded a greeting at Constance and Algernon and flashed a vicious half-smile at Shaine before seating himself across the table with his wine – Paol was ignored for the moment.

“Evening, everyone,” he spoke in his usual gruff tones.

There was a moment of silence where he felt everyone’s eyes taking in his messy appearance and the blackened side of his face. Hadrian let it stretch for an instant before clearing his throat.

“I had a minor disagreement with Commodore Welly-something – I might or might not get unpaid leave for a week or so when he crawls out from the wreckage that is now his ship and tells on me,” he informed them merrily.
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Constance Bravil
Posted: Oct 20 2009, 08:50 AM
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Zakkeg
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 438
Member No.: 443
Joined: 13-August 08



"What's the news, boss lady?"

Conner felt grateful to whatever power had turned Urbane's long term frown upside down. The slicer pilot was surprisingly pleasant to be around when she wasn't glowering over something--or someone, usually Hadrian. In the many months since Shaine had become a Renegade, she'd also learned to loosen up in social situations. Commander Bravil still didn't get why the Kuati had tried so damn hard to be something she wasn't at first, but her CO was glad she'd started being herself instead.

"You mean other than the fact we're likely about to get cleaned out by my wingman again?" Constance quipped in return, gray eyes sparking with amusement as she took another swallow of her ale. "Not all that much. We're still on standby as of today." Setting the bottle aside, the Corellian took the sabacc deck in hand again. "Which I don't mind for a change, considering how my leave got cut short. Remind me to never take my vacation near a task force patrol area again."

Movement near the doorway caught Conner's eye. Her smile widened as she returned her XO's wave. "Speak of the devil himself." That Algy's first priority was to collect his choice of favored libations for the evening was of no surprise to her. She'd known the Morellian too long to expect anything else. His choice of booze was also entirely predictable. Constance didn't know when the former Enforcer had acquired a taste for Corellian alcohol, but she certainly couldn't fault his taste.

As Trigger took his customary place to her right, Conner quirked a brow at the number of glasses he'd carried over. "Looks like someone's in a generous mood tonight." Picking up the container of whiskey, she turned it over so as to examine the label. A low and appreciative whistle escaped her when she deciphered the metallic inscription. "Very generous." Lest she find herself too tempted to covet the bottle's contents, the spy forced herself to set it aside with a deceptively casual gesture.

Fate chose to be kind and distract Constance away from the lovely beverage by having Paol arrive just then. For any observer not long trained in the art of sussing out the slightest hints of emotion out of the reserved Dolomarian, Lightfight's face was about as expressive as marble. She could read the tiny clues in his body language which gave away the uneasiness he felt. The former commando was not so much anti-social as he was non-social; friendly get-togethers weren't his strongest suit. That said, he needed to make the acquaintance of his new comrades before they found themselves under fire together, and Conner knew he accepted that.

“Constance.”

The brunette returned the nod with equanimity. His lack of blatant ass-kissing towards a superior officer--something that was almost regulation in much of the Confederation military--didn't phase Constance in the slightest. She'd never been the formal sort off duty, and as far as she was concerned the new Renegade Three should still be her equal in rank. "Evening, Paol. Glad to see you still remembered the way here," she teased him gently, making reference to his habit of keeping to himself off the clock.

Turning her perceptive stare back on Shaine, Conner gestured towards the lean man who'd chosen to occupy the chair besides her. "Meet your new wingman, Urbane. This is Flight Officer Paol Ciat." Stars, but it feels strange to call him that. Stranger still to think of anyone else flying under Merc's designation... Gray eyes unfocused for an instant, then the Wing Commander dismissed the bleak turn her thoughts had taken. There was no point in focusing on the past. "And a better shot with a sniper rifle I've never seen. Lightfight, this is Flight Officer Shaine Gonnin. She's the squadron's computer specialist. You already know Algy here from back at the Flight Academy, of course..."

“Evening, everyone.”

Of course Hadrian would arrive last. He always did, if he even showed up at all. Apparently the source of delay tonight was not from the Coruscanti dragging his feet, though. In fact, by the carbonized flecks of tritanium marring the line of his smooth-shaven jaw, it seemed Frag had already started his version of what constituted the evening's festivities. Do I even want to ask? Nah... better to let him tell me on his own initiative. He does so enjoy making his public (and singularly unrepentant) confessions.

“I had a minor disagreement with Commodore Welly-something – I might or might not get unpaid leave for a week or so when he crawls out from the wreckage that is now his ship and tells on me,”

Conner's sigh was deep, well-practiced, and long-suffering. The affection which lurked beneath the surface of her mild chagrin was blocked by force of will from venturing into improper territory. "One of these days Frag, I'm going to get you to understand the practical benefits of a solid alibi." She lifted an index finger in a stilling gesture before he had the chance to interject. "And no, 'the Rebels did it' doesn't count as one." Well, if Paol didn't have an idea of what he was dealing with in Hadrian before, he kriffing well does now. "Talking down Beruss from dragging you off to the polar stockades is going to take up my whole morning tomorrow, I bet. Damn. I was hoping I could sleep in for a change."

Lips twisting in a smirk as rueful as it was amused, Commander Bravil began the process of dealing out the thin metal placards as though nothing were amiss. And in truth, it wasn't; Lieutenant Locke getting arrested was downright commonplace, after all. "Alright everyone... the first game tonight is Five Card Cloud City Casino. Minimum bet is ten credits, maximum two cards on the table, and the Idiot's Array takes all."


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Shaine Gonnin
Posted: Oct 27 2009, 03:59 PM
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Mynock
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Group: Inactive
Posts: 58
Member No.: 454
Joined: 29-August 08



"Meet your new wingman, Urbane. This is Flight Officer Paol Ciat."

Shaine had heard of her new wingmate's public shaming in regards to the death of Grand Admiral Stone, but to be completely honest, she didn't really give a womprat's ass. His piloting skills had never previously come into question, and his integrity as a Confederation enlistee was second to none. If Stone had been stupid enough to allow her ship to stray into the firing solution, she had no business being in a leadership position. Paol was a Renegade now, and Renegades supported each other no matter who died as a result of their neglect.

"And a better shot with a sniper rifle I've never seen. Lightfight, this is Flight Officer Shaine Gonnin. She's the squadron's computer specialist. You already know Algy here from back at the Flight Academy, of course..."

Adopting her charming aristocrat smile, Shaine spoke softly with, “Nice to finally meet you, Lightfight. Don’t worry, I won’t let Constance and Algy gang up on you too horribly,” only fractionally joking.

Resting elbow in lap and chin in palm, Gonnin threw a conspiratorial wink Algy’s way before turning to take note of Hadrian’s arrival with a seething glance. The man was quite literally incapable of arriving on time, regardless of the benefits. Among the rookies, it was said that Frag didn’t sleep; he merely spent the night cycle plotting out the next series of wild solo expeditions with the intention of causing chaos and irritating his superiors.

I had a minor disagreement with Commodore Welly-something – I might or might not get unpaid leave for a week or so when he crawls out from the wreckage that is now his ship and tells on me.

One of these days, his childish antics would get himself thrown in the brig as more than just a cursory routine. And as much as Shaine would love to see that asshole behind bars, she knew Constance would be less than happy about the ordeal. Shit-for-brains or not, he was still one of the Confederation’s best pilots, or he would not have found himself among the Renegades.

"Alright everyone... the first game tonight is Five Card Cloud City Casino. Minimum bet is ten credits, maximum two cards on the table, and the Idiot's Array takes all."

With dexterous fingers, Urbane lifted her cards from the table and sorted them. The eleven of staves, Demise, the five of sabres, Endurance, and the Mistress of coins, giving her a value of positive ten. She threw a decacred chip to the middle of the table and smiled around the table, breaking the silence with, “Good luck, ladies and gents.”


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user posted image


Name: Shaine Gonnin
Nicknames: "Urbane", Renegade Four
Gender: Female
Age: 37
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Kuat
Ship:
-Gonnin Sixty Seconds, XS stock light freighter (Modifications: Ax-108 "Ground Buzzer"(x2), Ion cannon (x2), Caltrop-5 chaff gun, ST2 concussion missile rack, ST2 concussion missile (x4))
-Slave circuit
-Second-degree droid AI
-74-Z Speeder Bike
-Holonet transceiver

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Flight Lieutenant (Renegade Squadron)

Inventory:
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Algy Trellian
Posted: Nov 8 2009, 01:38 AM
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Shyrack
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 172
Member No.: 90
Joined: 8-January 08



"Looks like someone's in a generous mood tonight."

“You know full well I’m always up for sharing when I’m planning on taking your lunch money,” Algy quipped, allowing a slight quirk to his lips as he noted her reaction to the bottle he’d brought.

Algy noted when the new addition to their squadron arrived. It was easy to recognise Paol Ciat, Algy had an exceptional memory and could remember the man from his time as a flight instructor. Conner and Ciat, or ‘Lightfight’ as his callsign had developed into, had been in the same graduating class, which had given Algy the honour of teaching them both how to properly fly their machines without killing themselves. As the man approached, Algy picked up on his wariness, understanding the source of it. Algy had heard rumours about the events in the skies of Praesitlyn, but he paid them no heed personally. They were in a war against what the Confederation had labelled as a terrorist organisation; death by low handed means was to be expected. Xira Stone had brought her death upon herself, Paol Ciat was blameless, nevermind what the rumour mill or brass thought about it.

Acting in accordance to his new role as the welcoming committee in Thumper’s notable absence, Algy donned a smile that could only be described as brilliant and perhaps a little blinding. There was no false emotion behind the manoeuvre, however, as Algy was honestly pleased at Lightfight’s entrance into the Renegades. They had lost a good man when Thumper had taken his final jump, but he’d been replaced by an equally good man and perhaps an even better pilot. Having taught Lightfight himself for a time, Algy was confident that Lightfight could take anything thrown at him.

“Lightfight,” he greeted cheerfully, rising from his seat and grabbing the other man’s hand in a firm handshake in greeting. “You old dog, I thought the next time I’d see you, you’d be another name on the list of people who sacrificed themselves for the cause of the Confederation.” The last part of his statement suffered a change in tone, indicating to anyone who knew about his customary disdain for any of the glorifying the Confederation did that he didn’t think it was an honour to the dead. For anyone else, the subtle shift could go unnoticed.

He settled back down in his chair, grin still in place, as Conner introduces Lightfight to Urbane. Algy was mindful to contain any warnings he had for Lightfight for now, he’d explore those facets of Urbane’s personality when they’d all enjoyed a few fingers of his finest. His stance and attitude towards Lightfight would tell all of the Renegades that Paol Ciat was not to be considered a rookie; in fact, Paol Ciat was less of rookie than most on the team.

Any further conversation was stalled by the entrance of Frag, the sight of the man making Algy’s brow furrow and a slight eyebrow twitch as he contained his bemusement. He inclined his head at Frag’s greeting and as his state of disarray was explained, in that manner of understatement Frag enjoyed, he shook his head and let out a bark of a laugh. The news was not a surprise; both he and Frag had a tendency to get on the wrong side of the wrong people, though his manner of insubordination was less volatile than Frag’s.

“... Idiot's Array takes all."

As the cards were being dealt, Algy slid a glass to each of those around the table, filling each with a fair amount of alcohol and ignoring any and all protests if they were to come. “Tradition must be followed,” he stated, picking up his own glass and fixing every person around the table with a look that compelled them all to follow in his example.

“To years gone by and the people we’ve met,” he toasted, and then downed the contents of his drink in one go, before putting the glass down and collecting up his cards.


--------------------

Name: Algernon Hebblethwaite Trellian [BANK]
Nicknames: Algy, Hebble
Gender: Male
Age: 117
Species: Morellian
Birthplanet: Morellia
Ship: Navarone; MC18 light freighter

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Wing Commander
Squadron: Renegade Squadron
Callsign: Trigger
Class: Pilot/Soldier/Mechanic/Scholar

Inventory:
  • Morellian .48 Enforcer
  • BlasTech light repeating blaster
  • Controller FP (extendable)
  • Dur-24 wrist laser
  • Vibroknife
  • TD2.3 Electrobinoculars
  • Baragwin Stealth Unit
  • R3 unit 'Ginger'
  • PAC20
  • Toolbelt
  • Grappling spike launcher
  • Standard Issue Confederate Armor
  • Medpac
  • Rope (10m)
  • Ruusan Bat, Biggles

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Paol Ciat
Posted: Nov 8 2009, 09:14 AM
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Mynock
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 52
Member No.: 670
Joined: 18-August 09



"Evening, Paol. Glad to see you still remembered the way here.”

Lightfight appreciated the humour that Constance tended to provide. He knew full well that he wasn’t as social as most. He certainly hadn’t been down this way since his recent disgrace--but then again he couldn’t see a lot of people attempting to be social in times like those--and before that Edge had been on active duty for a while. For the decade or so he’d been a pilot for the Confederation, his use of the pilot’s lounge was certainly fractional in comparison to the average man’s.

There was some part of him that wished he didn’t know the way. It would have been at least a vague excuse to not show up to functions that would result in empty pockets. Ultimately though, he was here for Constance’s sake. She had requested it specifically, and he would oblige her, without complaint.

“Lightfight. You old dog, I thought the next time I’d see you, you’d be another name on the list of people who sacrificed themselves for the cause of the Confederation.”

There was something to be said for who Algernon was when in the fact that his grin put Paol at ease. While she wasn’t vastly familiar with his former trainer as Constance was, he knew the man well enough to know that grin was a good sign. He was in excellent company with Algernon around. The man was a good fellow and those he counted as friends should find themselves fortunate. Paol wasn’t sure Algernon would consider Lightfight a friend, per se, at least not yet, but the fact that he was enthusiastic enough to greet him the way he did did a lot to set a wary heart at ease.

“They’ll have to work harder to get rid of me,” he stated, brightening just enough for it to be perceptible. Despite his fated bad luck, Paol was a hard one to kill. That much was obvious by the fact that his otherwise bad fortune hadn’t ended with him in a ditch somewhere, or vaporized somewhere in the vast black.

”Lightfight, this is Flight Officer Shaine Gonnin. She's the squadron's computer specialist. You already know Algy here from back at the Flight Academy, of course...”

“Nice to finally meet you, Lightfight. Don’t worry, I won’t let Constance and Algy gang up on you too horribly.”

Ah, his wingmate. He might’ve guessed. He observed her lightly, noting that she didn’t have quite as much an outside reputation as some of the other Renegades. She seemed level enough, he greeting on the mark and friendly without being overbearing. “Appreciated,” he responded to her ‘assurance’ that she’d protect him from the two heads of the squadron.

He supposed out of all of those here, she was the one he ought to get to know the best. Wingmates were vital in the piloting game. If you didn’t have someone to watch your back (and you theirs) you ended up vaped faster--much faster. There was a reason pilots were put in pairs, and it wasn’t just because it made formations look pretty.

Still, getting to know her would be a task within itself. He still had an edge of apprehension and had never been the ideal candidate for starting a conversation. She seemed gregarious (enough) to get him through this introduction phase. He’d prefer it when they were running simulations though. He got to know people much better while they were all confined to their own cockpits and working as a team instead of friendly individuals. In his life, the best and lasting relationships were always forged under fire. After all, that was the only possible way he would have ever fallen into good graces of someone like Villa.

“I had a minor disagreement with Commodore Welly-something – I might or might not get unpaid leave for a week or so when he crawls out from the wreckage that is now his ship and tells on me.”

"One of these days Frag, I'm going to get you to understand the practical benefits of a solid alibi. And no, 'the Rebels did it' doesn't count as one."

Paol’s initial introduction to Hadrian some time back had been interesting to say the least. It had been clear then that the man had a mean streak and some serious teeth in that smile, but this only confirmed it. While the rumours ran wild about the Renegade that now joined them, rumours were always hard to confirm or deny without really knowing the person. This entrance and the other’s reaction to it--they all seemed to find it quite normal--set Hadrian’s reputation down in Lightfight’s mind.

It was said that one of the few ways to keep in Frag’s good graces was to be a Renegade. Perhaps there was some fortune to be had for Paol Ciat yet. Because frankly, this man had to be insane. Or something. There was no other explanation for the nonchalant way he talked about demolishing the a Commodore’s ship.

Best not to comment. The others didn’t seem to find it worth discussing and staring at the misanthrope wasn’t going to help his own reputation.

"Alright everyone... the first game tonight is Five Card Cloud City Casino. Minimum bet is ten credits, maximum two cards on the table, and the Idiot's Array takes all."
“Good luck, ladies and gents.”

Lightfight might have actually laughed a little at Urbane’s wishing everyone luck if anyone else would have understood the ‘joke.’ As it was he merely pursed his lips and watched as the cards were dealt, not even bothering to hold out hope that this game would be any different from the others that had come before in his infrequent gambling career.

“Tradition must be followed.”

And here came the alcohol. Of course, Paol had hoped to avoid it, but it seemed social norms were going to steer him away from his comfort zone. As always. Ah, well, there was little to be done about it but follow along. Were he in a bad mood he might have openly protested, but as it was he was feeling quite benevolent today and merely gave Algernon a look and picked up his own glass as the other so clearly indicated they all must.

He just hoped Algernon didn’t intend to keep up this trend for the rest of the event. These days situations involving intoxicants didn’t seem to go well for the Flight Officer.

“To years gone by and the people we’ve met.”

Indeed, Lightfight thought, finding the words to be wholly appropriate given the situation. And having at his own drink with far less enthusiasm than that of the squadron XO, he drank and then set down the glass to gather his cards and look at what he had. ...Nope, he didn’t think this was going to go well for him at all.


--------------------

Name: Paol Ciat
Nicknames: Lightfight, Renegade Three
Gender: Male
Age: 41
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Dolomar
Ship: Ascension, TL-1800 Freighter

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Flight Officer

Inventory:
  • R6-H5 astromech droid, WatchOurSix
  • DH-17 Carbine
  • E11s Sniper Rifle
  • Vibroknife
  • PAC20 Visual Wrist Com
  • Armored Flight Suit
  • Blast Vest
  • Spider silk clothing

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Constance Bravil
Posted: Dec 7 2009, 12:15 PM
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Zakkeg
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 438
Member No.: 443
Joined: 13-August 08



“You know full well I’m always up for sharing when I’m planning on taking your lunch money.”

"My ego appreciates your efforts to soften the blow," Conner jibed back, her grin dispelling any potential bite from her sarcasm. She caught the slight quirk of her wingman's lips and understood the meaning of the repressed expression. Her conscience thanked him for his silence. Algernon knew her better than anyone else, in either of the lives she'd lived. The spy hadn't been exaggerating that night some months back when she'd called him the best friend she'd ever had. Can't blame that part on the alcohol. Trying to imagine going through life without him made her brain shut down in protest. Good thing for my sanity that he's nigh invincible in the cockpit.

"You old dog, I thought the next time I’d see you, you’d be another name on the list of people who sacrificed themselves for the cause of the Confederation.”

“They’ll have to work harder to get rid of me.”

Thank the stars Trigger's taking point on bringing out the welcome wagon. Everyone in the squadron respected the Morellian, so they'd take their cue from his easy acceptance of the newcomer to their ranks. This would make Paol's integration into the Renegades all the smoother. Perhaps more importantly, Algernon had stepped into the role their fallen comrade used to play without ever having to be asked. Yet another one of the many personal 'saves' Conner owed him for.

Not even Lightfight's infamous reserve could long withstand Algy's gregarious nature. The Dolomarian didn't do anything so gauche as smile, but there was a perceptible thaw to his frozen exterior. Watching the two of them interact like this dredged up flashbacks to her first year in the Confederation. She supposed that wasn't all that surprising, considering it had been about that long since the three of them had killed time together. Like the old saying goes... sometimes the more things change, the more things stay the same.

“Nice to finally meet you, Lightfight. Don’t worry, I won’t let Constance and Algy gang up on you too horribly.”

“Appreciated.”

The spy couldn't help but smirk at Urbane's not-so-subtle allusion towards a potential conspiracy. "Hey, don't you go making it sound like we're in cahoots. He'll rob me blind at the table just as quick as he will you--and with far less remorse." Knowing more booze to be incoming, Constance went about the process of draining the last few swallows of her ale in short order. There were the usual customs to be observed, after all. She'd come to appreciate Algernon's efforts to 'force' Corellian alcohol on her, since it gave her a perfectly legitimate excuse to indulge in a taste of home.

“Good luck, ladies and gents.”

"We'll need it," the brunette muttered in a stage whisper, shooting a mock accusing glance at the man seated to her right. Truth be told, sabacc wasn't the real game Conner came here to play. Money didn't mean a thing to her. People did. The hours she'd spend trading banter with her fellow Renegades were far more precious to the undercover agent than any amount of credits. For all the lies she had to tell them day in and day out, tonight she could offer them some semblance of honesty. They deserved better, but that wasn't hers to give.

“To years gone by and the people we’ve met.”

Recollections of the person Angler had most recently met rose unbidden to surface of her mind. Pale skin creased between dark brows before she shoved those treacherous thoughts back into their assigned box. Best she focus on the here and now rather than the might-have-been. Far less risk to her mental health that way. "Here here." Tossing back her ration of fine Corellian whiskey in a single go, Conner closed her eyes and savored the intense burn. She welcomed the feeling as a reminder that she was still alive.

Returning her attentions to the game at hand, Constance caught up her cards and took in the metaphorical lay of the land. Calm grey eyes caught sight of the Moderation card. Like all traditional sabacc decks in the galaxy, the image emblazoned on the thin metal placard was that of a Jedi Knight. Ah irony, my old nemesis... we meet again. The rest of her hand rounded out to a net value of negative fifteen due to an abundance of face cards. After a few seconds of consideration, Commander Bravil returned Moderation and the Queen of Air and Darkness to rest on the table's surface, marking them as 'keepers' before the next round of betting and randomization.

"Let me give you all fair warning," Conner began in a half-serious tone as she tossed one decacred chit into the hand pot, then a second into the sabacc pot. "When I punch my ticket, you'd better not subject my remains to as pompous a funeral as the one they gave for Stone. By the stars, I will rise from the grave and hunt you down if you do." Giving into temptation, she poured herself another drink from Algernon's 'lunch money' supply. "I had to hold that damn salute for so kriffing long, my arm was one big muscle cramp for the rest of the day." Being the CO of such a storied squadron meant she'd been on the unfortunate list of required attendees at the propaganda circus.


--------------------
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Shaine Gonnin
Posted: Dec 21 2009, 10:33 PM
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Mynock
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Group: Inactive
Posts: 58
Member No.: 454
Joined: 29-August 08



"Hey, don't you go making it sound like we're in cahoots. He'll rob me blind at the table just as quick as he will you--and with far less remorse."

A corner of Shaine's lip twitched in a smile. That was probably true; Trigger held nothing back at the card table. In retrospect, going up against him in any sort of competition, friendly or otherwise, was not the smartest thing a person had ever done. The man had had a century to practice such trades, in comparison to Gonnin's twenty-some and Conner's ninety-some. She poured herself a glass of the whiskey being passed around, thinking it better to save her own bottles for those miserable, lonely nights that came around every once in a while.

Besides, Algy likely had better taste in hard liquor than herself. Make fun of him all you want, but the man knew his shit as far as booze was concerned.

To years gone by and the people we’ve met.

Urbane raised her glass along with the rest of the crew, but took merely a sip to prevent her eyes from bugging out of her head. Kriff, was that strong. She glanced back at her cards, waiting for the randomization. She probably couldn't get a worse hand than she currently had, so there was no point in throwing anything into the interference field. The cards phased and she was left with the two of Sabres, the Queen of Air and Darkness, the Commander of Coins, Balance, and the Ace of staves, bringing her total to sixteen. Getting there...

She anted up with another ten into the hand pot and ten into the sabacc pot, listening to Conner's next declaration, "Let me give you all fair warning [...] my arm was one big muscle cramp for the rest of the day."

Smirking, Gonnin threw another glance around the table and added, "I'm thinking the rest of the assemblage would agree with you. Hey," she said, taking another swig of her drink and cringing, "what happens when you mix a Gamorrean and a one-eyed Kowakian monkey-lizard?" She paused a second before providing the punchline. "Beats me, but maybe we shouldn't talk badly about Stone's replacement." Smiling down at her cards, she admired her budding sense of humor.


--------------------
user posted image


Name: Shaine Gonnin
Nicknames: "Urbane", Renegade Four
Gender: Female
Age: 37
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Kuat
Ship:
-Gonnin Sixty Seconds, XS stock light freighter (Modifications: Ax-108 "Ground Buzzer"(x2), Ion cannon (x2), Caltrop-5 chaff gun, ST2 concussion missile rack, ST2 concussion missile (x4))
-Slave circuit
-Second-degree droid AI
-74-Z Speeder Bike
-Holonet transceiver

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Flight Lieutenant (Renegade Squadron)

Inventory:
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Algy Trellian
Posted: Jan 2 2010, 07:47 PM
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Shyrack
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 172
Member No.: 90
Joined: 8-January 08



The Morellian met Lightfight’s look with one of his own. He could recognise a man who was aiming to avoid the drink for the day, but this was a compulsory ritual, Lightfight would have to endure. It was vague, but the meaning of his words was clear to himself. Most of those he’d met were dead, a century of living tended to force you to leave everyone behind. Algy believed it was healthy to acknowledge those who had taken the final jump before them. Remembering you were just as mortal, even more so in the cockpit of a fighter, kept your ego on a respectable level. Getting too cocky in the cockpit and not being able to back it up with actual skill was something that killed too many pilots.

“… and with far less remorse."

Throwing around a glance at those gathered around the table, he shrugged, completely unrepentant. Conner’s words were true, Algy did his hustling solo, he didn’t need help to rob someone of their credits, nor did he want to implicate anyone if his skills turned out to be too good for those around him. It was good the squadron knew he didn’t cheat, he was merely that good.

"We'll need it,"

Algy let out a snort, sending Conner a mock glare, as he refilled his glass and looked over his cards. A good hand, but perhaps not good enough to win. It always was a better game with a few losses stirred into the mix. He wasn’t feeling up to stealing all the winnings yet, he’d need to get some drinks in him first. The game continued, cards shifting, the amount of credits on the table increasing steadily.

“… hunt you down if you do."

Laughing, he banged his fist lightly on the table. “Damn, there goes my plan for using my winnings. I was gonna give you the most extravagant funeral, a grand fanfare as your ashes get shot into the eye of a black hole. It would’ve turned Stone green with envy.” He paused, considering. “Well, greener, I should say,” he added, pulling a face.

“I was going to make a statue out of solid ice,” he sighed sadly, throwing a card into the stasis field.

"Beats me, but maybe we shouldn't talk badly about Stone's replacement."

Chuckling, he shook his head at Shaine. “Maybe the rebels have a point when they call us fish.”


--------------------

Name: Algernon Hebblethwaite Trellian [BANK]
Nicknames: Algy, Hebble
Gender: Male
Age: 117
Species: Morellian
Birthplanet: Morellia
Ship: Navarone; MC18 light freighter

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Wing Commander
Squadron: Renegade Squadron
Callsign: Trigger
Class: Pilot/Soldier/Mechanic/Scholar

Inventory:
  • Morellian .48 Enforcer
  • BlasTech light repeating blaster
  • Controller FP (extendable)
  • Dur-24 wrist laser
  • Vibroknife
  • TD2.3 Electrobinoculars
  • Baragwin Stealth Unit
  • R3 unit 'Ginger'
  • PAC20
  • Toolbelt
  • Grappling spike launcher
  • Standard Issue Confederate Armor
  • Medpac
  • Rope (10m)
  • Ruusan Bat, Biggles

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Paol Ciat
Posted: Jan 31 2010, 11:00 AM
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Mynock
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 52
Member No.: 670
Joined: 18-August 09



"I had to hold that damn salute for so kriffing long, my arm was one big muscle cramp for the rest of the day."

As part of his disgrace, Paol hadn’t been in person at the funereal. There were some small graces in life, he supposed, he didn’t envy Constance having to be there whatsoever, for just the reason she currently complained about. Funerals for Brass were always trouble. It was a good thing they died so rarely, or Confederate funds and time would all be wasted on these awful fanfares.

Paol was with Constance. He’d rather go out quietly. Spectacularly, perhaps, but quietly, like a distantly exploding star.

He took another sip at his drink, not having planned on doing so, but finding it easier to think about the subject of Stone’s death with some levity when he did. It was casual conversation, making light of something that was otherwise not very light. It was the only thing to do without going insane on the matter.

“Damn, there goes my plan for using my winnings. I was gonna give you the most extravagant funeral, a grand fanfare as your ashes get shot into the eye of a black hole. It would’ve turned Stone green with envy. Well, greener, I should say.”

Lightfight grimaced at what Trigger was implying with his choice of color words. “Pleasant,” he muttered, meaning it was anything but. He threw a couple of semi-decent cards to the table to keep, making bets with credits he didn’t expect to pocket again. The game moved relatively fast with those present, no one taking it so seriously that they dwelt over their hands for extended periods of time. It was kind of nice, knowing he could lose and not have to wait forever to do it.

“I was going to make a statue out of solid ice.”

That got a soft huff of a laugh out of the former commando. He shook his head. “We should plan on making a whole squadron of Constances out of ice, and twelve Defenders to accompany them. Stars know we have enough ice around here.” Yeah, he could work for some snickers if he felt like it, when he felt like it. His delivery was nothing if not dry, though.

I'm thinking the rest of the assemblage would agree with you. Hey. what happens when you mix a Gamorrean and a one-eyed Kowakian monkey-lizard?... Beats me, but maybe we shouldn't talk badly about Stone's replacement."

Ah, yes, the Mon Calamari. Interesting choice, not one that Lightfight was familiar with enough yet to make a judgment call on. So far, so good, there hadn’t really been any hiccups in the switch between Stone and Britt. That said, Paol could agree with one thing--Mon Calamari weren’t particularly easy on the eyes, no matter their personality.

“Maybe the rebels have a point when they call us fish.”

“Not enough water on Dolomar for us to be fish,” Paol stated levelly, never really having understood that particular nickname that came through from the terrorists. Maybe some found it amusing, but he just found it bizarre. Of course, it’s not like the rebels were looking to make the ‘fish’ smile with that little nickname, so he supposed this was to be expected.

Keep the mood light. Focus on making a few friends, he reminded himself. Right now, it wasn’t about the war or anything. It was about sabacc. And poking fun at Brass.

“I suppose High Command figured a mascot couldn’t hurt,” he stated, abandoning another credit chit to fate. Yeah, he was pretty sure he could get along with this group. Not being Wing Commander actually put him more at ease than he would have though, leaving him room to be just a little ridiculous.


--------------------

Name: Paol Ciat
Nicknames: Lightfight, Renegade Three
Gender: Male
Age: 41
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Dolomar
Ship: Ascension, TL-1800 Freighter

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Flight Officer

Inventory:
  • R6-H5 astromech droid, WatchOurSix
  • DH-17 Carbine
  • E11s Sniper Rifle
  • Vibroknife
  • PAC20 Visual Wrist Com
  • Armored Flight Suit
  • Blast Vest
  • Spider silk clothing

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Constance Bravil
Posted: Feb 9 2010, 08:26 PM
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Zakkeg
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 438
Member No.: 443
Joined: 13-August 08



“Damn, there goes my plan for using my winnings. I was gonna give you the most extravagant funeral, a grand fanfare as your ashes get shot into the eye of a black hole."

Knowing better than to take Algernon seriously for a nanosecond, Conner made a show of rolling her eyes at him. She had no doubt her wingman would mark her passing when she took the final jump, but not like that. His methods of mourning involved a lot more alcohol than ceremony. As did hers, to be honest. Wakes were a long standing Corellian custom. No doubt her family had held one for her, given that her old identity was officially dead. She hoped it had been a frinking good party.

"It would’ve turned Stone green with envy. Well, greener, I should say.”

“Pleasant,”

Gray eyes cut to Lightfight in a quick glance. She knew the subject of the Grand Admiral's demise would remain a sensitive one for the former commando, but it's not like they could just ignore the pink bantha sitting in the middle of the room. That's why she'd chosen to bring it up as a playful aside. Now she had to make sure Paol took the conversation in the spirit it was offered. "You're telling me," Conner quipped, no trace of the concern she felt visible past the playful smirk her lips wore.

“I was going to make a statue out of solid ice.”

“We should plan on making a whole squadron of Constances out of ice, and twelve Defenders to accompany them. Stars know we have enough ice around here.”

Amusement glinted in her silver irises, even as she put on a mock rueful expression for the sake of the joke. "Then maybe I should plan on taking the rest of you with me when I go." Constance punctuated her pretend threat with another swallow of whiskey. "Prevent any of that sort of nonsense from happening." Even if she'd been doing a better job of hiding the urge to laugh as she spoke, there was no way anyone who knew her in the slightest would believe she meant those words. Conner believed it was her job to look out for her people's welfare, almost to a fault.

"Hey. what happens when you mix a Gamorrean and a one-eyed Kowakian monkey-lizard?... Beats me, but maybe we shouldn't talk badly about Stone's replacement."

The Wing Commander let out a genuine laugh at Shaine's sly commentary. The Kuati's sense of humor had come far since her initial introduction to the Renegades. "Nice one, Urbane." Conner was a big believer in positive reinforcement, even about the little things. Especially about the little things. The squadron who laughed together stayed together, far as she was concerned. Not to mention survived longer; being able to poke fun at the universe kept you from falling prone to fatalism.

“Maybe the rebels have a point when they call us fish.”

“Not enough water on Dolomar for us to be fish,”

"If we are, we're flash frozen." That had been one of the more difficult adjustments to make upon beginning her mission: removing the term 'fish' from her mental vocabulary. Angler thought it a kinder nickname than the Confederation deserved--and definitely nicer than most of the enemy's favorite words to describe the resistance. "Gotta love irony though. I'm sure there'll be plenty of snickers on the other side of the fence once they hear about Borinth's promotion."

Toggling the randomizer on her remaining cards, Constance waited for the new values to come up. The new total of her hand turned out to be twenty--pretty good for this stage of the round. Keeping her 'sabacc face' well in place, the pilot tossed another pair of credit chits into the two separate pots. "Still in, and I raise the bet to fifteen." No doubt Trigger would take the majority of the pot sooner or later tonight, but that was no reason for Conner not to give winning her best shot.

“I suppose High Command figured a mascot couldn’t hurt,”

Another snicker escaped the squadron's CO. "I'd like to think the brass doesn't base its promotions on marketing opportunities. Guess we'll have to wait and see if plushie toys of the new Grand Admiral show up on store shelves. Don't think they'd sell well though... too drippy." While the Corellian held no actual prejudices towards non-humans, the mental image of soggy stuffed Mon Calamari figurines was too hilarious not to share with the rest of the table.

"All kidding aside, I'm curious to see how the man will handle the war effort. We haven't had any significant shakeups in the top of the pyramid for a long while now. Fresh blood and all that." Conner gave the amber liquid in her glass a contemplative swirl. "Whatever course he ultimately sets, I hope it doesn't mean me being assigned somewhere without you guys again. Talasea and Alderaan were serious pains in my shapely rear end to deal with on my lonesome." The fact there'd been other starfighter pilots present on both those missions didn't matter. They hadn't been Renegades, simple as that.


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Shaine Gonnin
Posted: Mar 1 2010, 05:20 PM
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Mynock
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Posts: 58
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Joined: 29-August 08



"I suppose High Command figured a mascot couldn’t hurt.

She snorted a bit at this, glancing around the table. "Hell, why not just buy an akk dog or somethin' doesn't voice its opinion about everything under the sun?" Honestly, she'd prefer the destruction caused by a large predatory beast to the not-so-subtle bureaucracy necessitated by a new Admiral. At least the akk dog gave you the honor of looking you in the eyes before biting through your carotid artery. Fleet officers were not nearly as conscientious.

"Whatever course he ultimately sets, [...] to deal with on my lonesome."

Shaine smirked, looking down at her cards. She didn't agree with most of Constance's decisions, but as far as commanding officers went, it could be far worse. At least the woman had a sense of humor.

"Don't get soft on us now, boss. The new guys would be so disappointed without their hazing."

The cards randomized one last time for this round, leaving Urbane with Moderation, The Star, the Two of Coins, Five of Sabres, and Three of Coins. This gave her a value of negative twenty-one, a reasonably good hand. "I call," she said, patting her hand onto the tabletop and exposing her cards.

Taking a sip from her drink, she leaned back on her crate. "All joking aside, I figure fleet efficiency will drop drastically for the next few quarters until the squid-head gets his bearings. Stone was quite the bitch, but she kept this place in order. Let's just hope the rebels don't get wind of this too soon," Gonnin murmured, her eyes settling on Constance. "I hear they've got a mind to match Xira's over on their end. Doesn't bode well, if you ask me." She smirked. "Then again, I'm just a silly girl with a gun and a databreaker. What do I know about strategy?"


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Name: Shaine Gonnin
Nicknames: "Urbane", Renegade Four
Gender: Female
Age: 37
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Kuat
Ship:
-Gonnin Sixty Seconds, XS stock light freighter (Modifications: Ax-108 "Ground Buzzer"(x2), Ion cannon (x2), Caltrop-5 chaff gun, ST2 concussion missile rack, ST2 concussion missile (x4))
-Slave circuit
-Second-degree droid AI
-74-Z Speeder Bike
-Holonet transceiver

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Flight Lieutenant (Renegade Squadron)

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