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Sithspawn
Summary

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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Timeline year: 305 ARE
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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.
---
According to Confederation sources the Jedi Order has joined the conflict on the side of the terrorist organisation calling itself the Alliance of Free Planets, declaring war on the Confederation of Dolomar. The Confederation openly condemned this move by the former peacekeeping group, one representative going so far as accusing them of indoctrination of the youth and fearmongering.
---
The galactic superstar Mystiq Venus had her recent album 'Tangerine Kisses' go platinum. In celebration of this tremendous success Venus is planning on launching a tour through the Core, Inner, and Mid Rims to thank her fans for their dedication. A percentage of the proceeds will be given to The Norman and Valzeek Charity for Wartime Orphans.

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Attention new members! Due to a very persistent set of spammers insistent on selling us kitchens, all new members from now on cannot start new threads. If you're not a spambot, just shoot Wes Loran a PM and you'll be given access to posting new threads.

Thank you for your patience! -Indy (16.08.2014)

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 Up Up And Away, Doc and Dune, and any other Renegades
Rhys Aundrey
Posted: Jan 19 2010, 07:40 PM
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Unregistered









Flight Lead? Rhys? Shy, quiet Rhys was to be the Flight Lead of Renegade Two Flight? Sure, he was an amazing pilot, and a brilliant aerial tactician, but he was so damn quiet. How did the Grand Admiral think that he would be capable of commanding a group of fighter pilots. Pilots were, stereotypically, cocky and headstrong. While stereotypes didn't speak for everybody, they tended to be true a majority of the time. Rhys would have to be... well... not himself in order to fill the position into which he was thrust. It also put a tremendous amount of pressure on him when his flight went on a mission. He was responsible for the lives of his pilots, as well as for the success of the mission. It was a job he didn't think many 27 year-olds were ready for, but apparently somebody, somewhere saw something in him that they liked. In any case, he really did not have a choice in the matter, and he was just going to have to do the best job that he could.

Rhys shouldered his pack and, staring down at a small, hand-drawn map, began to make his way towards the compound labeled "Military Quarters." Luckily, Rhys' pack didn't have a whole lot in it. He didn't carry much in the way of weaponry, just a simple slugthrower pistol and a datadagger. He much preferred hand-to-hand combat to firefights. He knew he would end up in his fair share of gunfights, though, and he had to admit, that prospect didn't really appeal to him. Oh well, that was what he had his pistol for. His nice, acid-filled-bullet-using, slugthrower. It had been given to him by his father before he left for the Academy. If it hadn't been a gift, he probably would have carried around nothing more than the standard class Confederation pistol.

As he neared the military quarters, he began to feel a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He was nervous to meet the men and women he would be commanding for as long as they (or he) managed to stay alive. They would be his family for the next who knew how many years. It was childish, but he hoped they liked him. He didn't want to be hated by his Flight. He wanted them to all be able to trust each other, otherwise they wouldn't be a very effective group.

After a few more minutes of walking, Rhys found what was apparently the Renegade quarters. He took a moment to adjust his uniform to make sure he looked neat (he was rather obsessive compulsive when it came to neatness) before he opened the door and entered. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding upon seeing the room empty. There was a large lounge-type area in the front of the room, a kitchen area to the left, and a hallway in the back that presumably led to bedrooms. It was like Renegade's own little frat house.

Rhys dropped his pack by the door, not sure which bedroom he would be staying in. He supposed he would have to wait for one of the other Renegades to either come in from outside, or to come out from their bedrooms. For the moment, he strolled over to a rather comfy-looking couch in the lounge area and sat down. He leaned back and closed his eyes, taking his first real moment to rest since he returned to Dolomar from his last mission. After only a year in the Starfighter Corps, Rhys already knew to take every second of relaxation he could possibly find.
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Maelibi Viago Dune
Posted: Jan 22 2010, 07:12 PM
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Rancor
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 282
Member No.: 703
Joined: 7-January 10



By some astronomical chance, the Renegades had lost an entire flight of pilots. Or were they wash outs? Dune didn't know, it was all rumors and canteen blather. What she did know was that she'd found her way onto the best squadron in the Starfighter Corps and she'd would've spent the night before drinking the night away with her buddies, if she knew where her buddies were.

Her best buddy, Rhys, was missing in action and Dune didn't get to crow her achievements over a good pint of Reactor Core with him. Instead, she’d spent her night settling herself into the house the night before and, while she’d met Paol Ciat (something else she wanted to tell Rhys about), she was understandably pissed off.

Thus, it was with appropriate ire that Dune stomped out into the common room to see who’d come in. Of course, she was there to greet them. Of course. Nobody would’ve guessed from the wretched scowl and hostile demeanor, though. She didn’t see Rhys right away, but when she did, her scowl deepened and she pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“You bastard! What’re you doing here?”

The furrowed brow and apparant rage were set in place to disguise the intense surprise Dune was feeling at seeing her friend sitting on that couch. She stood there, with her arm outstretched for a good thirty seconds before the fact that Rhys was sitting on the couch in front of her really hit her.

“Holy shavit, are you in the Renegades too?” She sputtered, her eyes widening. Slowly, her scowl started to turn into a wild grin and she dropped her arm and ran to jump on her friend in excitement. “Why the frak didn’t you tell me?” She demanded shrilly as she enveloped him in a bear hug. “You stupid frakker! I was totally gonna just hold this over you head all last night, you have no frakking idea!”


--------------------
Basic Information
Personnel File
Nicknames: Dune, "Bombshell"
Gender: Female
Age: 25
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Coruscant
Ship: Flies like a Brick
Bank Account: M. V. Dune's Account

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Flight Officer, Renegade Squadron
InventoryWeapons
  • Two vibroblade daggers
  • Frag Grenade (x20)
  • Flash Bang (x10)
  • Sonic Grenade (x10)
  • Multi-Detonator
  • Thermal Detonator (1x)
  • Demolition satchel
  • ACP Array Gun
Armor
  • Armored Flight Suit
    • Life Support System
    • Mark V Flexible Underlay

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Lucifer Vice
Posted: Jan 22 2010, 10:53 PM
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Shyrack
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 194
Member No.: 680
Joined: 17-October 09



It had been a very long two weeks, full of excitement and adventure. Of course neither of those were really things Lucifer looked for nor enjoyed. He was reserved and calculating, appreciating things he could predict, things that followed set courses. Of course that wasn't a hard and fast rule. Some unpredictability was necessary to avoid entropy, but still. He'd always been a far greater fan of mathematics and science than literature and art, though the latter two had their places. It had been quite the hellish experience all in all. But it seemed his baptism by fire was complete and the doors of the Renegade barracks lay open before him.

Both figuratively and literally. Vice cocked his head to one side curiously as he gazed at the open door leading to the Renegade quarters. He'd known the way there since before graduation, having looked it up along with everything else he could access about the Squadron, which admittedly wasn't much beyond their names, ranks, and portraits, along with the overarching reputation they held. Now he also understood what position in the squadron he was to fill and that several others had actually recently become vacant and then occupied as well.

As he approached the yawning portal, examining what he could see of the interior, a familiar voice hit his eardrums like the horrid keening for his own good fortune. No... Kriffing hell, no. Her?! Maelibi Viago Dune was one of the newest Renegades? Apparently it was easier to get in that he'd thought. Still beyond the point where he could have actually seen her and whatever poor sod she addressed, and thus still invisible to them, Vice took a moment to let his frustration show plainly on his face as he silently swore up a storm. How the kriff had she managed this? What Group Captain had she sold her filthy little patchwork body to in order to get enough pressure placed on Bravil to let her in?

Such ponderings were quickly abandoned however, the doctor realizing he really didn't want to picture such atrocities. He was glad at least that he'd realized this foul taint to his otherwise fantastic day before he'd entered the room. Her own reaction at seeing him would likely have been equally volatile and much more publicly so, and he would not have himself put in such stark comparison to her. As it was he was able to compose himself before actually entering, glancing about the sort of foyer he stood in before his eyes fell on the two other young pilots. Feigning a friendly demeanor, he approached as he spoke up, addressing the other male. “You must be one of the other most recent additions to the Renegade roster. Charming place they've provided for us, no? And look, they even thought to hire us courtesans to help celebrate. How courteous. You may have this one all to yourself; I'll wait to see if they have any that appear a bit less disease-ridden.” Yes, that would do.


--------------------
user posted image
Name: Lucifer Vice
Nicknames: Doc, Renegade 7
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Height: 5'10" Weight: 160 lbs
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Dolomar
Ship: Invisus
Faction: Confederation
Rank: Flight Cadet (Renegade Squadron)
Class: Doctor/Pilot
Account: L. M. Vice

Inventory:
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Rhys Aundrey
Posted: Jan 22 2010, 11:38 PM
Quote Post


Unregistered









Perhaps nobody was home at the moment? It was just as well. He had had a hectic past few days. Within an hour of returning from flying a mission deep into Alliance Space, he had been called to a conference of sorts, in front of some of the higher-ups in the Confederacy. He was exhausted and a bit disheveled at the time. He hadn't even had time to change into his uniform. He sat in front of some of the most powerful men and women in the Confederacy, looking like a mess in his flight suit. He had never felt so out-of-place in his life. And when he was informed that he was being placed in charge of one of the Renegade Flights, he had almost fallen out of his seat. He didn't know what had been going through their heads, but they were quite adamant about him taking over the recently-abandoned Flight Two Lead.

He heard a door open as he reflected on everything that had happened over the last few days. He opened his eyes to see who it was, and he was about to stand up to greet the person when he saw who it was. Maelibi Dune. Also known as his best friend from the Academy. Hell, she was probably his closest friend in the entire galaxy, as painfully cliched as that sounded. He was utterly flabbergasted at seeing her there, of all places. And her greeting was vintage Dune.

“You bastard! What’re you doing here?”

Rhys merely cocked an eyebrow and put on an amused expression in response. He knew his presence there would take a few moments actually register in Dune's head. When it did, he could be sure that her reaction would be quite over-the-top. And he was right. He watched as the expression of rage and irritation was replaced by joy and surprise.

“Holy shavit, are you in the Renegades too?”

He laughed for the first time in what seemed like ages. There was no laughing on a mission, sadly. Especially one in which, at any point, your ship could be hit by a laser cannon and explode. He attempted to get up to greet her, but she beat him to the punch, charging him and jumping on top of him. This was a position he could have gotten used to...

“You stupid frakker! I was totally gonna just hold this over you head all last night, you have no frakking idea!”

"Well it looks like this is one less thing you can make fun of me for," Rhys joked. "But how in the hell did you get into Renegade, Libi? Don't you have to be a good pilot?" She was honestly the only person he had ever met with whom he felt comfortable enough to joke. Her obvious surprise at his assignment to Renegade Squadron was punctuated by a stream of swear words. She always did have a sailor's mouth.

Before long, Rhys heard another person enter the room. He peeked out around Dune's embrace to see a man standing in the doorway, seemingly forcing a friendly expression onto his face. Rhys managed to pry himself free of his friend to properly greet the other pilot. He stood and approached the man, extending his hand.

"Rhys Aundrey, Flight Two Lead," he said cordially. He glanced sideways at Dune to see what her reaction to his rank would be. "I'm guessing that you two've already met?"

He couldn't help but smirk at the man's insult. He knew Dune could, and would, take care of herself, though. She was a big girl. She could hold her own in a battle of wits.
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Maelibi Viago Dune
Posted: Jan 23 2010, 02:13 PM
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Rancor
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 282
Member No.: 703
Joined: 7-January 10



"Don't you have to be a good pilot?"

Dune let her mouth drop open in mock affront and then let Rhys go to punch his arm.

"I am a frakking good pilot. Better than you-"

She stopped mid-sentence as he looked beyond her and she twisted to follow his gaze. There stood in the door a Lucifer Vice, one of, if not the, grumpiest, sourest person Dune had ever met in her life. There were so many reasons she could list not to rise up to his insults, but Dune just couldn't resist.

She opened her mouth to do just that when Rhys dropped his name and title. She was getting tired of being shocked out of her mind. It had happened too many times in the last twenty-some hours. Yet, Dune let her mouth drop open and she stared at the back of Rhys' head until glanced at her to see her reaction. Okay, so her best friend disappears and comes back a higher rank. What the frak? She drew her eyebrows together.

Dune wasn't about to admit it, but she was rather jealous. No, she wasn't rather jealous, she was feeling bright green with envy. Rhys had only been in the Academy for a year and he was already Flight Leader? What had he done that was so special? She made her face relax and grinned before raising an eyebrow at him. She didn't want to ruin it for him. That'd just make her more of a bitch.

"I'm guessing that you two've already met?"

"Yeah, at a friend's party." She said, the distaste clear on her face by the way her upper lip curled. She looked at Lucifer and nodded her head dismissively at the door. "You're late. They want a stripper down in 5C. That's just up the street."

She didn't even favor Lucifer with another look before she pushed herself off the couch and turned to Rhys, her jaunty grin firmly in place. "So, Flight Leader? Who'd you pay to get that job?"


--------------------
Basic Information
Personnel File
Nicknames: Dune, "Bombshell"
Gender: Female
Age: 25
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Coruscant
Ship: Flies like a Brick
Bank Account: M. V. Dune's Account

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Flight Officer, Renegade Squadron
InventoryWeapons
  • Two vibroblade daggers
  • Frag Grenade (x20)
  • Flash Bang (x10)
  • Sonic Grenade (x10)
  • Multi-Detonator
  • Thermal Detonator (1x)
  • Demolition satchel
  • ACP Array Gun
Armor
  • Armored Flight Suit
    • Life Support System
    • Mark V Flexible Underlay

PMEmail Poster
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Constance Bravil
Posted: Jan 27 2010, 10:37 PM
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Zakkeg
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 438
Member No.: 443
Joined: 13-August 08



One of the advantages to holding the rank of Wing Commander was the right to reside off-base. Barracks living was tolerable, but far from ideal for someone as private as Constance. In such close quarters, you didn't need to be nosy to know what everyone else was getting up to. Or who, depending on how much of an exhibitionist your bunkmate is. She'd never enjoyed having an official curfew either--though the Corps was a lot more lax about that than the ground-pounders.

The one downside about living amongst the civvies was that she had to commute to visit the junior members of Renegade Squadron. Not that she often had reason for such a visit; she figured her people deserved their fair share of time away from their commanding officer. No matter how friendly or casual she kept relations between herself and her subordinates, Conner wasn't about to force her presence into anyone's personal life. Not to mention staying absent sometimes gave her plausible deniability when certain members of the squadron ran afoul of the regs yet again.

Today deviated from the norm, however. Three new recruits were moving into the squadron's assigned quarters, only one of which Conner had actually met yet. The records of the other two had spoken for themselves, and she'd needed to snatch them up before getting their transfers done could turn into another debacle like the one she'd had to deal with regarding Vice. Still, she'd never felt comfortable flying with anyone she hadn't gotten to interact with on a personal level. They had the skills to be Renegades, but it remained to be seen whether they had the fortitude to survive in the squadron.

As usual, Commander Bravil looked the very model of a proper Confederate officer as she traversed the gray halls of the base. Every crease of her black uniform was sharp as a blade, not a hair out of place from her coiled braid. She went through a lot of effort to maintain her clean-cut image around those who didn't know her well. All the better to enhance her reputation--which she mostly cared about because it served as a useful tool for getting stuff done. Her good standing also served as an effective bulwark against inquiries and disciplinary actions directed at her people. When she told another officer she intended to see to their 'punishment' herself, they tended to believe her and let the issue go. More fools they.

“You must be one of the other most recent additions to the Renegade roster. Charming place they've provided for us, no?"

Conner slowed her pace as she approached the open door of her destination. The sound of multiple voices drifted out into the hallway. There were three in total, one of which the spy recognized, right down to the nasty edge concealed beneath a pretense of civility. Seems the party's started without me. Lingering a few feet away from the entrance, Constance engaged in a bit of discrete eavesdropping. No point in not taking advantage of this opportunity to get to know her new people better, right?

"...And look, they even thought to hire us courtesans to help celebrate. How courteous. You may have this one all to yourself; I'll wait to see if they have any that appear a bit less disease-ridden.”

"Rhys Aundrey, Flight Two Lead. I'm guessing that you two've already met?"

"Yeah, at a friend's party. You're late. They want a stripper down in 5C. That's just up the street."

Sounds like the good doctor is already making friends, she remarked to herself, amusement causing the corners of her mouth to twitch. Tempering her sense of humor was the fact that the two squabbling FNGs had been assigned together as wingmen. While Constance didn't give a flying frack as to whether everyone in the squadron liked eachother--as Urbane and Frag's many spats attested to--she'd take a very dim view of the pair letting their personal opinions get in the way of doing their jobs. She'd have to be on watch for the possibility.

"So, Flight Leader? Who'd you pay to get that job?"

Finding that statement as good a cue as any, Conner elected to enter the room at this point. She felt it best to head off any further argument off at the pass, at least for now. They could snipe at eachother on their own time. "You'll find I'm not all that amenable to bribes, Dune." Commander Bravil stopped again a few strides past the threshold, hands clapsed behind her back. "At least not monetary ones. Buying me the occasional drink wouldn't hurt." Her pale features remained composed, but a certain spark in her gray eyes would clue in the observant that Conner was kidding.


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Lucifer Vice
Posted: Jan 28 2010, 03:14 AM
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Shyrack
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 194
Member No.: 680
Joined: 17-October 09



Cold green eyes studied the outstretched hand of the other man. Had he met Rhys Aundrey, Flight Two Lead in a private setting or even a more public one, he'd have taken the hand and given it a relatively amiable shake. As it stood, with the petty vermin lurking just behind his apparent CO and seeming to have a friendly relationship with the man, Vice was less inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt and not assume him to be completely incompetent. The bag he held slung over his shoulder in his left hand and the smaller sack hanging from his right handed grip gave him ample excuse to merely give a slight nod and ignore the offered handshake without his rudeness being too blatant. Along with the nod he granted his name, “Lucifer Vice.

"I'm guessing that you two've already met?"

"Yeah, at a friend's party."

Mm, tragically,” he interjected before she could follow up with her retort to his taunting. It was a weak reply in his opinion. He didn't see what about himself indicated that he could be a stripper, other than the uniform, which was a bit of a poor costume choice in a barracks. Ah well, he hadn't expected much better from the girl. Indeed the fact that any words had been formed at all was quite the triumph for her he didn't doubt. As her attention redirected to the lighter haired pilot however, Vice glanced back to the door.

He had no desire to stand there and verbally trounce the little vagabond again and while the concession that he didn't really know anything about this Aundrey character was made (privately), he was a military man, a Confederate, and a human. Not one of these things lent him any faith in the doctor's eyes and if his only option to currently look any deeper than that involved standing about in her presence, he would pass. Though he was tempted to leave them with a promise to return when “the legitimate Renegades were present,” he decided against it. Without a word, he turned away to make his exit, when Constance Bravil walked through the open doorway.

You'll find I'm not all that amenable to bribes, Dune. At least not monetary ones. Buying me the occasional drink wouldn't hurt."

Ah, his true Commanding Officer. A tiny smile lit the inside of Lucifer's skull, but did not pass through his face to his lips. His eyes however brightened a touch. Her sense of humor seemed ever present so long as she was neither sitting in a cockpit or destroying the incompetent. It could be a subtle thing however and did not break her commanding veneer. Familiar with it, Vice caught the telltale twinkle. Again he nodded his head. “Miss Bravil. Welcome to my suite. I apologize for the unwashed vagrant or two who seem to have wandered in.” It may have been a bad move, tentatively including Aundrey in his mockery of Dune. The man had seemed to favor the tramp however and to Lucifer that was enough.


--------------------
user posted image
Name: Lucifer Vice
Nicknames: Doc, Renegade 7
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Height: 5'10" Weight: 160 lbs
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Dolomar
Ship: Invisus
Faction: Confederation
Rank: Flight Cadet (Renegade Squadron)
Class: Doctor/Pilot
Account: L. M. Vice

Inventory:
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Paol Ciat
Posted: Jan 31 2010, 10:17 AM
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Mynock
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 52
Member No.: 670
Joined: 18-August 09



The newest set of newbies were moving in, and Paol knew it. How did he know it? He could hear them. Normally things were quiet enough in the Renegade barracks, to the point where one could at least catch a good nap on the downtime, but Lightfight was currently being denied that luxury. He could hear the girl he’d met the day before, Dune’s, voice very well. It carried. He found he preferred her when he was talking to her, less when her voice was carrying through walls.

He decided to stay hidden in his bunk and just hope none of them came his way. Three distinct voices, two men talking to Dune. He couldn’t hear many exact words beyond a handful of explicatives and what he got was mostly tone, but there were flickers between friendly and annoyed. All the more reason to stay out of this. Frowning, he pulled a holonovel out from under his pillow and proceeded to indulge in an effort to ignore the new voices.

It didn’t work. He couldn’t concentrate. After only a few moments, he sighed, putting down the novel impatiently. Sitting up, he gave the closed door that was keeping the newbies from him a dry stare. He was alone in here, and he could keep it that way, but...

Oh, was that the Wing Commander’s voice? He brightened a little at the recognition. Well, if she was here to greet the three newest Renegades, maybe this would be a tolerable occasion after all. At the very least, she would keep them in line. Maybe she’d user her amazing leadership skills and do what he had the social decency to not do--tell them all to shut the kriff up for a little while.

Doubtful, but one could hope. Not that his luck ran so clean.

Finding his feet, he pulled on the jacket of his uniform, determined to look like he’d not been attempting to nap when they’d shown up so inconveniently. Straightened up as much as he could manage without hitting the ‘fresher, he took his steady, limping gait out of of the closed door and into the common room.

Like he’d expected, three newbies and Constance were present. He didn’t quite understand the mood which appeared to be a mix of camaraderie and disdain. He didn’t say a word to any of them, merely nodded to Constance as he caught her eye. He was here. That was about as good as any of them could expect at this point. He wasn’t in the mood to do favors by playing it friendly. And he wasn't actually genuinely interested in whatever thread of conversation he'd interrupted with his quiet entrance.


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

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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Algy Trellian
Posted: Feb 2 2010, 08:36 PM
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Shyrack
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 172
Member No.: 90
Joined: 8-January 08



It was perhaps lucky that Algernon had been enjoying off-duty time the past few days; he wasn't certain how the now fairly faded bruise to his face would've been received if it'd been fresh. That, along with the slightly swollen and bruised state of his hands, ensured that he wouldn't have gotten much done, but it wasn't a viable excuse to miss duty if he'd had any. At the moment the formerly ugly purple bruise that had formed over his right cheekbone had faded into a queasy yellow, not gone, but not as horrid as it had been before. He'd been lucky that the force behind it hadn't been at its peak; Morrison had gotten a few pints in him before he'd decided that Algernon enjoying a drink was a personal offence.

Okay, so maybe he'd goaded the man a bit, but Morrison started it.

Under no illusion that he'd manage to avoid Conner until the bruise cleared, he'd resigned himself to his fate and decided to merely directly go to the Renegade's barracks and see what was on the agenda today, if it was anything beyond 'say hello to the new guys.' Had this been fifty years prior, Algy would've felt an overwhelming feeling of sadness as the he listed off those lost in the fight in his head. As it was, his heart still twisted painfully at the knowledge that more life was passing before his eyes and he continued to live, watching life pass before his eyes, but the potency of it was lesser than before. It no longer sent his depressing self to the nearest cantina, the nearest bottle of Corellian whiskey and oblivion for the rest of the day.

And people found it curious that he'd built up such an impressive resistance to alcohol. His liver might as well be made of steel the way he'd kept seeking out the bottle for empty comfort.

Adjusting the cap on his head and rubbing his forehead, Algy mentally steeled himself for meeting the fresh faced new flight. Knocking all the bad habits the academy had given them would be a few weeks worth of work, but Algy would not tolerate sloppy pilot work. Sloppy pilots were dead pilots and he liked it when pilots remained alive. Turning into the doorway, he was met with a bit of a crowd, but he ignored everyone else in favour of focusing on Conner as he continued sauntering. He shot directly into the heart of the matter before any questions could be posed.

"Look, if you get a comm. call from Morrison complaining, he started it," Algy's words were said as he was still in motion, but walking sideways as he kept his head turned to Conner as he expertly navigated his path to the cupboard with beverages without even looking where he was going. Turning his head back to where he was going, he opened up the cupboard and pulled out an unlabeled bottle, the contents of it highly debatable. He poured himself a glass and screwed the cap back on, before exchanging the bottle for his glass and leaning on the cupboard, facing Conner and the others. "If he says anything about dumpsters, it's a lie." As Algy spoke, his free hand had come up, his index finger underlining his words.

Taking a swig from his glass, he let his eyes go over those collected in the room, a peculiar bunch, if first impressions said anything. "'Ello," he greeted simply, pulling off a small two fingered salute.


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

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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Rhys Aundrey
Posted: Feb 7 2010, 02:45 AM
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Unregistered









Rhys listened to the back-and-forth between Libi and the rather grumpy man. He cocked an eyebrow as he realized that he was going to have to deal with their bickering as long as he was their flight lead. Wonderful. As if leading a team of pilots into near-suicide missions wasn't hard enough already. And he wasn't the kind of person to tell them both to shut the hell up if he needed to. He was beginning to think more and more that he was not the right person for this job. Oh well, he would have to do the best with what he was given.

"You'll find I'm not all that amenable to bribes, Dune. At least not monetary ones. Buying me the occasional drink wouldn't hurt."

Rhys turned to find Constance Bravil standing in the doorway. He quickly saluted her, his basic training instincts kicking in. Her comment was quite confusing, to be honest. That is, until Rhys saw a slight twinkle in her eye. Was it mirth? She was joking? Rhys did not have much experience with jovial commanding officers. He was slightly taken aback to be honest.

"Miss Bravil. Welcome to my suite. I apologize for the unwashed vagrant or two who seem to have wandered in."

Did Rhys hear him right? Did this man really just insult his flight lead? Rhys was not one for confrontation, and he was not a true leader, but since he was thrust into this leadership position, he was going to have the respect of his subordinates. This man was included in that category. He knew he had Dune's respect, whether she outwardly showed it or not, but he would not be insulted by his flight.

Rhys turned Lucifer Vice, his face expressionless save for his eyes. He wouldn't be surprised if nobody but Dune noticed the anger in his eyes, for she was the only one that really knew him, and she was the only one who would be expecting what was about to come. Rhys walked right up to Lucifer and stood toe-to-toe with him.

"I don't know what kind of history you have with Dune," Rhys began, his voice cold and even."And I truly do not care. But as long as I am your commanding officer, you will show me and the rest of your flight respect. Is that clear?"

Nobody knew him, nobody knew that he was timid (save Dune), so he figured he may as well make a lasting first impression. He stared directly into Lucifer's eyes for a long enough time that most people would be made extremely uncomfortable. He wondered how strong this man's resolve was. Rhys knew that he could have easily disabled, or even killed, this man with two or three short, quick movements, and that was enough to keep his own resolve strong.

Rhys didn't move from his position inches away from the man until he heard another enter from somewhere behind him. Deciding that this man was not worth any more of his time, Rhys turned to see who had entered. The man was quiet. Rhys liked him already. Normally, he would have been hiding in a corner somewhere during a gathering of this many people, but seeing as he was pretty much the center of attention, he didn't have a choice.

Before long, another man entered the Renegade quarters, saying something to Conner about what seemed to be an altercation he was involved in. The newcomer made straight for the alcohol cabinet and poured himself a drink. Renegade squadron was certainly an interesting bunch of people. Rhys would have liked to speak with Commander Bravil in private for a while, just to get a grasp on who she really was. He also would have liked to spend some time with Dune to catch up a little bit. But he could see that both of these desires would have to wait.
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Maelibi Viago Dune
Posted: Feb 7 2010, 03:34 AM
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Rancor
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 282
Member No.: 703
Joined: 7-January 10



At the sound of Constance's voice, Dune whirled and then saluted. Embarrassment welling up in her chest, she was about to apologize until she actually listened to what Conner was saying and saw the look in her eyes. With how sharply cut the woman was dressed, joking around was the last thing Dune had expected. She was the first to drop her salute and grin. Her hands were already going to fix up her disheveled uniform and make sure her dark hair was pulled back tight.

"Commander. Drinks it is, then." Dune was pleased to know Conner already knew her name, but any good feelings were swept away by Lucifer's greeting. Dune's grin devolved into wide-eyed dismay, her mouth dropping open, as she looked between Lucifer and Conner. She didn't have time to say much, to insert her own crude opinion of Lucifer, before Rhys surprised her by sweeping past her to step up to confront him. She watched her normally timid friend, jaw set, eyes hard, assert his authority over the dastardly doctor and let her mouth form an 'o' shape. Never, in all her years of knowing him, had Dune seen him assert himself like that. It was interesting, but Dune knew from personal experience, all in vain.

Then Rhys looked beyond Lucifer and Dune turned to follow his gaze. Paol Ciat had appeared from his room and Dune felt a spike of excitement. She wanted to say. "See? I met Paol Ciat last night, and you didn't!", but didn't get a chance when a third person entered the lounge, proclaiming something about 'it being not his fault' and going to the drink cabinet.

For one, she liked the man who just walked in. He had his priorities straight. She returned his salute with a nod. For two, she so wanted to frantically point Paol Ciat out to Rhys and whisper about how she got to train with the legend the night before. For third, she wanted to punch Lucifer. With so many conflicting emotions and wants, Dune felt overwhelmed. To cover this up, she let herself be distracted by the availability of beverages, meandering over to cupboards to take her own glass and pour her own drink. After taking a sip of the suspicious substance (It was alcohol, thankfully.) she cleared her throat and with the hand holding the drink, gestured at Rhys and Lucifer.

"We're gonna have such fun as wingbuddies." The thought of it made her want to chug the bottle but she refrained. Instead, she just picked it up. "I think I'll be needing this." She nodded at Algy. "Thanks."


--------------------
Basic Information
Personnel File
Nicknames: Dune, "Bombshell"
Gender: Female
Age: 25
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Coruscant
Ship: Flies like a Brick
Bank Account: M. V. Dune's Account

Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: Flight Officer, Renegade Squadron
InventoryWeapons
  • Two vibroblade daggers
  • Frag Grenade (x20)
  • Flash Bang (x10)
  • Sonic Grenade (x10)
  • Multi-Detonator
  • Thermal Detonator (1x)
  • Demolition satchel
  • ACP Array Gun
Armor
  • Armored Flight Suit
    • Life Support System
    • Mark V Flexible Underlay

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Constance Bravil
Posted: Feb 14 2010, 02:57 AM
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Zakkeg
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 438
Member No.: 443
Joined: 13-August 08



Upon recognizing just who it was who'd entered the barracks, two of the three new recruits snapped off smart salutes. Commander Bravil acknowledged the show of respect with a nod. "As you were." Much as she looked forward to razzing the new kids, she wasn't here to put the fear of the void into them in regards to their commanding officer. This was pretty much a casual meet and greet so far as she was concerned. The sooner they learned the sort of person she was, the easier their working relationship would flow.

“Miss Bravil. Welcome to my suite. I apologize for the unwashed vagrant or two who seem to have wandered in.”

The good doctor didn't salute, of course. She'd come to understand a bit the strict boundaries he'd developed in regards to his behavior on duty versus off. Guess it is going to be 'Miss Bravil' his whole tour after all. "Morning, Vice. Making friends as usual, I see," Conner commented in full deadpan mode, though the slight twitch at the right corner of her mouth gave her amusement away. The sharp-tongued man's version of 'personal charm' was definitely something of an acquired taste. Lucky for him that Constance held a soft spot in her heart for misanthropes.

"Commander. Drinks it is, then."

The veteran pilot smiled back at Dune, glad the rookie had picked up on the not-so-serious vibe beneath her polished exterior. Renegade One might dress like a model in a Confederation recruitment holo, but there was far more to Conner than appearances alone could tell you. She made a public show of walking the straight and narrow so she could better shelter her people from official censure. Beneath the prim and proper guise lay as much a maverick as the rest of the squadron.

"I don't know what kind of history you have with Dune. And I truly do not care. But as long as I am your commanding officer, you will show me and the rest of your flight respect. Is that clear?"

Dark brows rose above stormcloud eyes in a controlled display of interest. She hadn't anticipated Aundrey getting up in Vice's face about his behavior. Conner knew from the Flight Officer's record that his assignment as Two Flight Lead was his first real command. Putting a raw junior officer in the hot seat was always a risk; you couldn't know how someone would play the ball they'd been handed before you gave it over. In Aundrey's case, she guessed he'd decided to run with it as far and fast as he could--at least for now.

Clasping her hands behind her back, Constance watched the confrontation play out without inserting a word in edgewise. No hint escaped in her body language as to which side she favored in the spat. These kids would have to learn to live and work together, one way or another. Sure, she could get them to behave temporarily by playing mommy figure, but that would just be slapping a bandage over the problem. Conner wanted to give the FNGs the opportunity to sort out their own shavit before she started rapping knuckles and putting them in the corner.

Her attention was diverted from the two young bucks posturing for dominance by the sound of a bedroom door sliding open. Another smile formed on her face when Constance caught sight of the man who strode through the archway. "Hey Lightfight." Paol might be new to the squadron, but he wasn't new to her. Her ease and familiarity with the older man's presence dismissed much of the guise of formality she'd adopted for the fresh faces. "Hope we didn't interrupt your beauty sleep," she gently teased the former commando.

"Look, if you get a comm. call from Morrison complaining, he started it,"

Count on Algernon to make a suitable--and entertaining--entrance. Her grin went lopsided at his words, even as keen gray eyes fixed with concern on the fading facial bruising. "So that's why he's been pinging me for the past two days. Not that I've been answering; I have better things to do with my time than talk to him. Like organize my sock drawer." The whinings of a man who still hadn't gotten over the fact she'd refused to sleep with him back at the Academy didn't rate as worthy of attention in Conner's book.

"If he says anything about dumpsters, it's a lie."

"Whatever you say," the Wing Commander obliged, more than happy to accept Algy's official version of events. Plausible deniability was a wonderful concept. Crossing the room to stand by her wingman, Constance reached out and adjusted the angle of the Lieutenant's head with a gentle press of her fingers, getting a closer look at his healing injury. Various unkind thoughts about Morrison and his unmitigated gall in hurting one of her people darkened her gaze for a moment.

"So how'd you make him lose his temper this time around?" Conner knew her best friend too well to think anything else had occurred. It wasn't that she doubted his (relative) innocence in the matter. Sure, Morrison probably did start the fight; he was an arrogant prick who couldn't stand being proved wrong, and he liked to take his discontent out on sentients of lesser rank. But no way Algernon hadn't shared some choice words with the bastard before fists started swinging. "Please tell me he got the worst of it."


--------------------
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Lucifer Vice
Posted: Feb 15 2010, 06:31 AM
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Shyrack
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 194
Member No.: 680
Joined: 17-October 09



Grateful for the few words Constance granted the other two new Renegades, it led Lucifer to glance over his shoulder at them, having turned to face the commander. The formal salutes they'd given at her entrance amused the regimented man who would almost certainly have done the same were he on duty. He was not howsoever, and neither were they, yet they still seemed to grow slightly uptight at her presence, which told him neither knew her very well. He liked this.

"Morning, Vice. Making friends as usual, I see.

From all he could tell the commander didn't really share his general disdain for sentient life, yet the subtle smirk reinforced his budding belief that she seemed to enjoy the trait in him. Odd, but he wasn't going to complain. Especially since she was evidently not taking the opportunity to recount stories of the last morning she'd greeted him. He gave a simple nod in response. This was generally about how it went. True, he disliked Maelibi Dune more actively than he did most people, but he very rarely put any sort of effort into ingratiating himself with people. He wasn't looking to make friends. Indeed that he sort of had with the commander was a bit of a happy accident. He almost let a small smile take his features as he regarded her, but then someone moved right in front of him.

"I don't know what kind of history you have with Dune. And I truly do not care. But as long as I am your commanding officer, you will show me and the rest of your flight respect. Is that clear?"

Small doses of authority sure had a habit of giving people funny notions about how they ought to be treated. Lucifer showed no discomfort at the slightly taller man's proximity, showed little reaction at all in fact. He was accustomed to military men being larger than him, and though the contrast in this instance was marginal he still held little doubt that the flight officer was a more capable fighter. Unless it involved a starfighter the other man would likely defeat him soundly in any martial contest, but that hardly earned him any further respect. He'd held some small amount for him based on nothing more than being accepted into Renegade Squadron, but Rhys had just forfeited that. Really, the notion of trying to intimidate the doctor with a looming physical presence was laughable. It was doubtful he'd resort to blows in the presence of their CO, and even if he did it'd mean nothing more than the fool proclaiming himself to be little more than a witless barbarian.

You needn't fear Mr. Aundrey. I assure you, you have every ounce as much respect as was deserved by my last flight lead.” His voice was as it had ever been, even and curtly civil. He still made no move to distance himself from the older man, merely flicking his eyes briefly past him to Constance to subtly convey the private joke. Only she would know the sort of man the former Lieutenant Misha was. Regardless of how much personal respect the flight officer elicited from Vice, it would change nothing in how he behaved in the cockpit; he would however simply have to get used to hearing little beyond mocking derision from the doctor while off duty.

"Hey Lightfight. Hope we didn't interrupt your beauty sleep."

The shift in her attention and expression had Lucifer looking over his shoulder to note the newly arrived veteran. The man was recognized from the profiles he'd looked up on current Renegades as soon as he'd graduated. Paol Ciat; “Lightfight,” evidently. It had been said the man was responsible for Grand Admiral Stone's death. Bravil's reaction to him and the fact that he had joined her squadron following such accusations indicated she didn't agree. For Lucifer's part he didn't know if it was true or not or particularly care. The Grand Admiral was nothing to him and if Constance trusted him then he wasn't likely to pose too much of a personal threat. A nod of greeting went from the doctor to the veteran.

Another of those he mentally referred to as “legitimate Renegades” strolled casually in then, paying no heed to anyone save the commander and discussing something or someone Lucifer didn't understand. Examining the Morellian as he cavalierly poured himself a drink. Algernon Hebblethwaite Trellian. This was the oldest and by far most experienced member of the squad, yet from all the young man could tell from this meeting, he spent his free time brawling and drinking. The doctor kept his face relatively blank as he tried to come to some comprehension of the man, gazing passively and nodding once more in response to the casual salute and greeting. The lieutenant as well seemed to have an excellent rapport with the commander, but all in all Vice had little idea what to think of the man.

Shrugging away the attempt, he glanced back to Constance. Very little interest in standing about chatting dwelt within the doctor, and he still carried his bags. Interjecting at the first convenient pause, he inquired as to what he should do with them. “Miss Bravil, are we assigned rooms and bunks or shall I attempt to find the least odoriferous one myself?


--------------------
user posted image
Name: Lucifer Vice
Nicknames: Doc, Renegade 7
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Height: 5'10" Weight: 160 lbs
Species: Human
Birthplanet: Dolomar
Ship: Invisus
Faction: Confederation
Rank: Flight Cadet (Renegade Squadron)
Class: Doctor/Pilot
Account: L. M. Vice

Inventory:
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Paol Ciat
Posted: Feb 23 2010, 12:13 AM
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Mynock
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 52
Member No.: 670
Joined: 18-August 09



"Hey Lightfight. Hope we didn't interrupt your beauty sleep."

“Hey Constance,” Lightfight returned in kind, always happy enough to return the simple social niceties with this woman he did like to consider a friend. “Not like I needed it anyways,” he quipped dryly in response to her gentle tease. His own way of saying he’d been trying to nap but really couldn’t protest the intrusion for any good reason. Ultimately, it was probably better he be here with the group, instead of having to fight through introduction solo later on.

He didn’t enter unnoticed, but he did go mostly without reaction. Dune saw him and brightened, but didn’t seem to know what to do with his appearance, so he let that slide. She was probably a little overwhelmed--moreso than he. The fair-haired fellow noticed him as well, not giving him much mind beyond the passing glance. This was also accepted easily by the veteran. It wasn’t unlike his own reaction to others, and he could handle that. The last, the darker haired one with the interesting scar across his face saw fit to give Paol a nod of acknowledgment, and Paol saw fit to return in kind.

That was as far as acknowledgments really got before Algernon showed up, as disruptive as he ever was.

"Look, if you get a comm. call from Morrison complaining, he started it."
"So that's why he's been pinging me for the past two days. Not that I've been answering; I have better things to do with my time than talk to him. Like organize my sock drawer."

Paol had actual interest in this conversation. He knew Morrison as well as either of his comrades did, and he liked him just as little. He’d given Constance hell in one form or another for a decade now, and in Lightfight’s book, that was just bad form. He could only really hope that someday Morrison’s attempts to get Algernon in trouble or rile up Constance would backfire. It was men like Morrison that made the Confederation look bad, really.

He followed Algernon into the kitchen area. He didn’t need anything from the cabinet himself, but it was better than standing awkwardly into the hallway entrance. Taking up a rather casual stance against the counter, he shook his head.

"I think I'll be needing this."

“Hello again, Dune,” Paol stated to the young woman as she came over to confiscate some of the alcohol for herself. He was glad to see she was settling in so well, taking all of this in stride. She had proven herself to him yesterday as a pilot, and he would be all the more content to see her prove herself as a friend to the squadron in general.

"So how'd you make him lose his temper this time around? Please tell me he got the worst of it."

“I think everyone who knows Morrison would like to hear that he got the worst of it,” Paol stated, watching as Constance inspected her wingman’s injury. “I have to say, Trigger, I’d be disappointed if I found out you’d let him goad and then one-up you.” Morrison was one of those unfortunate suckers who just couldn’t seem to die. While good men went and got spaced or vaped or shot in the back, idiots like the man they currently discussed just kept rolling with the punches.

And while he didn’t necessarily wish the man dead, he certainly would love to see the moron knocked off of his pedestal.

“Miss Bravil, are we assigned rooms and bunks or shall I attempt to find the least odoriferous one myself?”

For some reason the name ‘Miss Bravil’ struck Paol oddly, and he gave the medic a curious look. He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually heard the Commander called that before. Normally if her rank wasn’t slapped in front of her surname, people generally called her Constance or Conner or at least Connie. Formality was all fine and well, and Paol respected that, but normally Constance wouldn’t stand for it in downtime.

He could have answered the question for the man, but chose to let Constance handle it herself, as it had been directed at her and Paol didn’t make a point of speaking out of turn.


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

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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Algy Trellian
Posted: Feb 27 2010, 10:22 AM
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Shyrack
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Group: Confederation
Posts: 172
Member No.: 90
Joined: 8-January 08



Algy nodded a silent greeting to Lightfight as the man approached, giving the man a look before throwing the collected crowd of new faces an amused glance.

"I think I'll be needing this."

Algy's nimble fingers plucked the bottle from her hands before she could make away with it, used to defending his stash from marauding hands. He fixed her with an incredulous expression as he capped the bottle and slipped it back into the cupboard, clearly saying with no words that yeah, kid, you might need it, but so do I. He gestured towards her drink with his own, stance loose as he leaned on the cupboard. "Earn your keep." It was a statement, not a command; his tone carrying no actual hint that he'd enforce it, but then again, Algy was a rather amicable fellow even when he was threatening people, Dune could risk it if she wanted to.

"Whatever you say,"

A satisfied smirk graced his features as he turned his head to Conner, smiling eyes following her as she came towards him. He obliged when she began her fussing, letting her manipulate his head to her own will, paused in the position she'd put him in as she probed with her eyes at his bruises. It wasn't anything of consequence, it ached, but it'd go over soon, nothing much different from every other bruise of his gained in the line of duty. He could apply some bacta and it'd disappear within the day, but old dog as he was, he wasn't inclined to waste resources on something that healed so naturally as these bruises.

"So how'd you make him lose his temper this time around?"

Algy rolled his shoulders, his expression thoughtful as he righted his head and leaned back. She was right of course; he had egged Morrison on, but only after the man had approached Algy with his own brand of insults. Algy had more sense than to pick a fight where alcohol was involved, but when other party was picking the fight it was an indication that they were already so far gone as to not control their impulses properly, it meant that any fight would be brief at best and not to the advantage of the scrappy guy.

"I just pointed out the obvious," he said vaguely, giving Conner a sideways glance to see if he could perhaps get away with being vague. He shook his head minutely and gestured with his hand. "Apparently he doesn't like being called out on the fact that he can't fly a ship to save his life." He took a swig of his glass, swirling the remaining liquid gently.

"I might've made a crack about his abilities in bed. Now mind you," he squinted slightly as he looked up at the ceiling, hands and glass joining into his gesturing, "I haven't been there myself, but I hear the talk from the girls in the mess." He concluded with a firm nod, returning his gaze to Conner.

"Mediocre, at best." He completed the statement with a limp wristed gesture as he cocked his hip to the side slightly.

"Please tell me he got the worst of it."

He gestured at his face with his free hand. "These were the initial shots when the bastard decided to jump me without a warning, I dragged him outside and told him what for, mark my words." He hadn't been drunk, but he'd been tipsy enough to not care about the consequences if he took Morrison to the cleaners.

"... goad and then one-up you.”

"Even if he was sober he couldn't one-up me, Lightfight, m'dear," he claimed with a saucy wink at his fellow pilot.

"... to find the least odoriferous one myself?”

"Rooms? Got something coming to you if you think you'll have any shred of privacy, kid." Algy laughed lightly, bumping into Conner lightly with his shoulder, throwing her a glance. He turned to a more serious tone, denoting that he was dealing with business. "Bunks are through those two doors," he gestured to the doorway Paol had come through and the one opposing it. "Take whichever bunk that suits you that isn't already occupied, Doc." The bunk rooms themselves were fairly simple rooms, fitting six bunks in each, spartan in all sense of the word beyond the pilots' personal belongings.

((Manda and I whipped this up, hopefully it'll help people locate themselves in the room. Enjoy.))


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

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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