Galaxy's Edge Space Bar

[Shenmue654]

<Kess...you can't. You can't sell us out to the Empire. You just can't.> He could tell there would be tears in her eyes if she was in control of her own body. Thankfully, he was, and over the years he'd mastered the kind of precision he'd needed to handle someone so full of rage, excitement, and fear. <...we might never get to go back to how things were, if we did it. We could get...trapped. Isn't that why you left? Why we left? Why we never joined the rebels, neither? What the hell are you doin' to us?>

"Four conditions," Keshin says, holding up his hand and his fingers in the order that he lists them. "One: No one else uses my host, except with my explicit permission. I have gone through a great deal of trouble to keep things as they are, up to and including killing my fair share of people. Two: Connected to Condition One, if I am to feed at all onboard any craft you control, it will be entirely alone, and my host remains armed. We operate more or less in tandem with one another. Three: I will witness or be present internally for any procedure or action you perform on my host, and I will assent to any procedure or it will not happen. Four: The only progress I have made with respect to the disease course is preventing it from getting any worse, in the form of medication with metabolic and anti-carcinogenic effects. I have also acquired and utilized epigenetic primers of the sort possessed by Yeerks who wish to prevent adverse gene expression in their preferred hosts. Whatever you pay me, it must cover these."

Keshin raises an eyebrow. "And if you think I won't find a way out if you renege on any aspect of the deal, I think you vastly underestimate me. Let alone my host."

<...what the hell makes you think I'd help you if you got us into this mess?> Joanne's tone was bitter.

<I am not trying to hurt us!> Keshin's voice was insistent and strong. <I am trying to end our worries right here and now. And I don't just mean the disease. Don't be soft on this. Do you actually want to live hand to mouth, misery to misery, into eternity until the day we expire? I told you from the moment we made our accord that we would never be dependent on anyone else's kindness or generosity. These are things we cannot trust. And I am holding to that deal. Money talks. But power speaks before the Senate.>

<If there is one thing I ****in' know, Kess, it's never to trust a politician. Or a cop. Or a fed. They will always stab you in the back the first chance they get. And if you have somethin' they want? They'll dig their knife up your stomach until they can see out the other side. Owin' the Andalite somethin' for 'im 'bein' nice, maybe helpin' us to live? Wouldn' be so bad.>

[Myitt]

Jorek listens patiently as the exhausted bounty hunter lists his terms.

"I think that each of those conditions are exceedingly attainable," he says, waiting with arms crossed while Keshin consults with his host. "Tell me more about the medication you need, and I will see to the cost."

And he waits. Finally he sighs and says, "Pardon the interruption, but is there some issue here?"

[guitarhero01234]

Cletus looks down at his empty glass and shakes his caprine head. “Could’a sworn I was just talkin’ to someone,” he mumbles as he pours himself another glass of whiskey. Indeed, the glass that Truth Seeker had been drinking out of had vanished, or at least, that’s how it seems.

Cletus glances at his half-burned cigar and realizes that the burning cherry at the end had already extinguished itself. Putting aside his confusion, he lights the cigar again and takes a deep drag on it, letting out a soft cough nearly as soon as the certainly-not-tobacco smoke hits his lungs. Maybe drinkin’ and smokin’ wasn’t the best idea, he thinks to himself. Shrugging under his massive coat, Cletus quickly downs his drink and reaches for the bottle to pour another.

[Aluminator (Kit)]

Salem nods and gladly leaves the Hope Drive, along with his levitation rod, floating in the center of the lounge. As he stumbles towards the flight deck, the overwhelming sensation of the drive abates.

After a few slow breaths, he's able to push the tension aside, and finally process what Ossanlin's just said to him. "Um..." he begins stupidly. An Andalite morph? It hits him now-- he's looking at heading back to the Andalites. Temporarily, and only aboard a dome ship, but it'll still be a slice of Andalite society. Suddenly, his mouth has gone dry.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah... yeah, I have an Andalite morph."

Some part of his brain registers what he would normally perceive as a veiled threat... or warning? in Ossanlin's words, but he ignores it, and takes a few seconds to gather his wits. This isn't like him.

Finally, he manages a weak smirk. "Terfin cypher. Probably a good idea. I wish I could offer similar assurances for the information you've entrusted me with, but it seems you've got that covered, too." He laughs weakly. "Let me let Al know what's up, then we can... we can go."

He reaches inside his cloak, and from an internal pocket produces something that somewhat resembles a handheld microphone. He speaks into it, "Hey, Al, Oss and I're headed up to his dome ship for a bit. We shouldn't be long."

There's a pause before Al's voice says from the device, "Just be careful."

Salem swallows- Al's tone sounded concerned, and less-than-happy about the situation. He stuffs the device back in his cloak and looks at Ossanlin. "Let's do this thing."


Al nods at Morgan. "Badass sword-horse is right, man. It can take a while to wind down out of 'working all the time until you die' mode, but it's worth staying off long enough to relax once in a while. As a full-time party machine, I consider myself an expert on the subject. Sometimes, you just need a vacation."

He turns towards the guy with the cigar and calls, "Oy! You! Come join us! Drinking's more fun in..." he frowns and looks back at the pair before him, making a show of squinting at Morgan and Julian and counting on his fingers. "...Quartets!" He turns back to the Myths and drops his voice. "Y'all don't mind, right? He looks like he could use the company."

He settles back into his chair and takes a swig of his tankard of motor oil. As he wipes away the oil-moustache above his ****-eating grin, he says to Morgan, "So what's the deal with this space station?"

[Gaz]

"Hear that, Morgan?" Julian said. "Listen to sword-horse. Andromeda wouldn't want you to do this to yourself, and you know it."

Morgan didn't say anything, but Julian could tell he was mulling things over. When Al hollered at someone else to come over, and asked if they minded Morgan shook his head. "I don't mind at all. More the merrier."

After taking a sip of his drink, Morgan said, "Well, the Space Station Athena is meant to be a hub for different planets to have a more or less neutral place to meet or do commerce with other planets. I was head of security there, which was interesting because there were a couple of times I had to stop someone from rushing a diplomatic meeting."

[Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)]

Ossanlin dials up a medium burn and the Mirage lifts from the ground, sliding gracefully up into the sky of the small planetoid.  He sends out a quick communication letting the Tyrennian know he'd be returning for a short bit.  According to the monitors, the current configuration of Z-Space would let them reach the Tyrennian in about thirty standard minutes.

As they clear the Space Bar's gravity well, Ossanlin dials up the Z-Drive and the stars stretch into blank whiteness.  <We have thirty minutes until we reach the Tyrennian.  So...>  He turns his main eyes to regard Salem.  <I hope you remember enough to...what would Myitt say...to "bull****" your way through any encounters that may crop up.  It's not uncommon for me to round up strays at the Bar, my crew won't be surprised, but they may ask about who you are and how you ended up where you were simply as a genial gesture.  You should choose a name and think up a simple, believable backstory.  I'm sure you can manage that.>

He leaves the Mirage under the nav-com's control and descends back into the lounge, staring at the strange device simply levitating there.  <This looks very nearly like some sort of liquid technology.  Very rare...nearly all technology aside from bio-tech is based outside of any liquid phases.>  He keeps a stalk-eye on Salem as he walks around the Hope Drive, examining it.  <I don't suppose you have any idea of how it even works, do you?>

[guitarhero01234]

The corners of Cletus’s mouth turn up as he hears somebody call over to him. He shifts his glance to the Bartender and politely asks for three more glasses before stuffing his bottle of whiskey into the interior of his coat. Taking the glases that the Bartender provided, he shuffles over to the table.

“Was startin’ to think no one wanted me around,” Cleatus jokes as his hooves clack rhythmically on the floor. He sets the glasses on the table and settles into a chair that’s maybe a little too small for his giant stature, pulling the bottle from out of his coat and pouring a glass for everyone. “Hope I wasn’t interruptin’ anythin’ too important,” he says with a chuckle. Taking a quick glance at the other patrons, he takes a thoughtul puff on his cigar. “So,” he grunts from behind a small cloud of smoke, “what can I do ya’ for?”

[Aluminator (Kit)]

Al keeps an eye on Morgan when Julian mentions Andromeda, even as he takes a swig of his drink. He doesn't, however, say anything.

He sits forward in his seat, clearly interested, when Morgan speaks of his time aboard the Space Station Athena. "Whoa," he says. "Head of security. Way to go, man. That sounds... well, nerve-wracking. I couldn't pull that stuff off." He grins at Julian. "So when someone charges a diplomatic meeting, do you just... like... tackle them to the ground? What's the station like? What about the cuisine?" He turns to Julian, "Is that where you've been? They have a pretty decent sports scene there? What's the gambling like on your tournaments usually?"

He laughs, cutting himself off before he can go on any more, and turns to the newcomer at the table. He holds out a hand to shake, "Name's Al. The minotaur is Morgan, and the horse-headed badass is Julian," he says, indicating the other two at the table in turn. "We're just hanging out, swapping stories. Care to join us?"


Salem nods. He's tense and, now, distracted trying to figure out what kind of 'stray' he can be. "May I?" he asks, indicating the nearest auxiliary interface console. Without waiting for an answer, he taps the console. Between the physical interface and his thought-spoken commands, it only takes him a moment to produce an internal force-field in the rough shape of a chair. After a moment's consideration, he shrugs and melts into it. He looks as exhausted as he feels.

"Backstory shouldn't be too hard," he says, letting his eyes slide closed. "Is the fourth fleet still deployed near the Eliarat Nebula?"

He opens his eyes briefly and glances at Ossanlin, but it's clear he has no desire to move closer to the Hope Drive. "It doesn't seem like it's tied to our... timeline, exactly. Or even to our dimensions. Or our reality. It's really interesting to look at, to take readings of, to speculate on..." He sighs. "I've got speculation and hypotheses on how it works, but unfortunately my attempts at... involved experimentation... tend to land me in another universe entirely." He says it matter-of-factly, with no hint of resentment or disappointment.

[Gaz]

"Depends on the situation," Morgan replied. "I've got a weapon I can use if needed, though I'd prefer not to discharge it in the station. In this case, when the culprit saw me charging at him panic kept him from trying anything. There have been a few occasions where someone tried to fight back."

Morgan pointed to a large scar on his arm. "This one's from a smuggler trying to move goods through the station. Managed to get a laser knife through customs. As far as cuisine goes, there's just about anything anyone could want. Most of the planets that do commerce within the station, or have delegates in residence, have a space with their local foods available. Can't say I've ever been anywhere quite like the Station. Thought I'd found my place traveling on my ship, but I think that Station is where I belong."

"It's good to hear you say that, Morgan," Julian commented. "You've been pretty uneasy for a while, and I agree that since you took that job you've been more relaxed than ever. And, as to your question. I've done a few small tournaments there, but those are few and far between. The whole process of getting my sword through customs and the security measures that gotta be in place for something like that on the station are crazy."

"You're telling me," Morgan interrupted. "I'm the one that has to oversee all that. Gives me a headache every damn time."

Julian gave Morgan a look. "I'll be sure to petition for more of them there."

Morgan only glared as he took a swig of his drink.

"Mostly I planet hop for competitions. Not sure what the odds are on competitors these days, been on a bit of a sabbatical. Training and such."

[guitarhero01234]

Grinning widely at Al, the goat-man gently shakes his hand. "Pleasure to meet ya'," he remarks, holding his drink up in a "cheers" gesture. "You can call me Cletus. And believe you me, you don't wanna know what that's short for." He takes a small sip of his drink, forgoing the large gulps that he'd been partaking in earlier. "Problem with this stuff is, it never lasts as long as you wish it does," he says to nobody in particular.

Cletus looks at Al behind slightly reddened but still intelligent eyes. "Al, you said?" Cletus leans forward and absentmindedly rubs at tuft of fur on his chin. "I'll be honest with you, mistah Al, you seem interestin' to me." His friendly grin slowly turns into a thoughtful stare, trying to get any sort of information that he can from behind Al's synthetic eyes. "Maybe it's just the drink talkin', or maybe it's just that yer drinkin' motor oil of all things, but I'm willin' to bet you got some stories worth sharin'." His mouth turns back upward into an inviting smile. "So, what's yer story?"

[Forlin]

He had not intended to arrive in this place.  Where in the galaxy was this place?  It seemed strange, and it invoked interest in the Andalite.

Jamilan kept his tailblade at the ready as he stepped from the fighter, glancing at the area around him, and at what ships were here, to try to gauge what he was dealing with.  He was more than cautious; he was alert and ready as he made his way towards the entrance.

((Sorry if that is short, hoping to get myself involved in this soon once I can figure out what's going on in it!))