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About Pinckz

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  1. Oh, great, another cocksure spacer who liked to man-splain things that I've already figured out for myself. Still, his eagerness was... refreshing? It expressed a want for wholesale murder which was unnerving, but productive. He wasted no time in pushing his way to the side door and cutting any and all in his path. As stated, Scorpion had no attachments to anyone on board, but she'd lie if she said she was completely void of guilt. As the squid-faced, crimson-skinned, braggart swam through a sea of death with his beam sword of doom, Scorpion looked onward, debating whether or not she needed to intervene at all. The fiends that comprised the former upper crust of the galaxy were continuing to scramble for as much cover as they could. Their numbers remained relatively unchanged while the hired mercenaries, the opportunists, and the conscripted fools - who were promised fortunes to protect wealthy louts - were the ones that got caught up in the crossfire and beam sword dance that Karys was performing. There might be a better way to deal with this, but I'd need a... Bingo! Scorpion stood on the other side of one of the corridors leading out of the ballroom, leaning against the cold durasteel wall. Directly across from her was a small ventilation shaft. The Zeltron sauntered over to it and waved her hand in front of the metal grill, waiting for a second as a slight hum indicated the vent coming to life. She felt a pull at the skin of her hand as the surrounding air was pulled through the grating. She heard an identical sound - if only slightly deeper - echo throughout the nearby ballroom and felt a small chill as air from the ballroom spread out into the hall. Scorpion removed one of her new slugthrowers and thumbed back the hammer. She nestled the device firmly in her right hand as she slowly removed her long coat with the other arm. Smells ran wild from her exposed skin as she revealed more and more of her arms and neck. With a shimmy, her black long coat fell to the ground and the aromas surrounding her body began to intensify, siphoning through the open air vent. Hey, Arm-y can you boost my pheromones? Ms. Scorpion, ‘Arm-y’ is not this unit’s designation. This unit’s designation is… Yeah yeah yeah. This unit can shut it. Can you or can you not boost my pheromone production? Affirmative. Please and thank you. Immediately, a significant wave of tingles spread over Scorpion’s left arm and throughout her body. Her head exploded in a symphony of sensation as wave upon wave of pheromones poured out of her. Her feet felt like jelly and the ship began to spin around. She managed to stabilize herself with her metal hand against the wall on her left side, but the world continued to spin. I… uh… Scorpion’s skin flushed, a deep mahogany color rose to her cheeks and her lids began to droop. The tight grip she had on her slugthrower loosened slightly, but a significant act of willpower kept her hand still even when stronger feelings urged her hands to roam. Thoughts that seemed so obvious before, were now buried in clouds. Her focus was scattered. It needed to wade through leagues of pudding to even come close to where it was before; delicious, succulent, pudding. The Zeltron stumbled forward, her gun still clasped in the burning hot skin of her right palm. She bent forward, almost toppling over, to grab her long coat before continuing across the thoroughfare in the wake of the bright red blade that Karys wielded. People all across the ballroom - some more than others - became distracted. Sounds of anguish and pain became fevered and urgent. The temperature rose a few degrees and the rich people who previously scurried to the dark corners of the ballroom to prevent fallout from one of the oldest known base instincts were slipping out of the dark to relish in a very different base instinct. Strangers who were gripped with anger and fear were committing armistice to dance in throngs of lavish hedonism. The fringe of negativity that previously clung to Scorpion’s mind was eradicated and replaced with a light fluffy feeling. She needed to touch everything. She needed to taste everything. If she wanted, she could sit down right now and start to… No! No! NO! Scorpion’s hands squirmed mid-movement for a few very long seconds as she stubbornly prevented indulgence of any kind. A group of young men wormed their way into her peripheral vision with only one thing on their mind. Her mind surged with the added aroma of new arrivals, but she fought tooth and nail, biting clean through her tongue to prevent herself from giving in. Does Ms. Scorpion realize she just bit through her tongue? Ju...Ju... Just shut up right no...now…. This unit senses cognitive difficulties and intense levels of dissonance in Ms. Scorpion’s limbic system and brain stem. Administering counter-measures… Just as quickly as it came, Scorpion’s fluffy world met the painful force of something akin to twenty cold showers in a row. A vice shut swiftly on every positive feeling she had and the immediate withdrawals were enough to send her toppling to the ground, swallowing a dollop of copper down her groaning throat as she clattered to the polished veneer at her feet. The young men, not aware enough to pick up on the fact that their quarry was now face-planted on the floor, kept wandering forward, tripping over Scorpion and slamming to the wood. Their bodies clashed together in a big mess of writhing limbs. And, instead of attempting to get up, they simply tried to make the best of their difficult situation. With searing head pains and aches that would make a priest jealous, Scorpion wrestled herself out of the bodies and stood up. Her left arm felt like it was sliced clean through. Her tongue felt like it was on fire. And her pleasant feelings turned to fury very quickly. Ms. Scorpion seems upset, should this uni- THIS UNIT SHOULD STOP WHILE ITS AHEAD BEFORE THIS UNIT FINDS ITSELF TORN OFF AND FLUNG ACROSS THE ROOM! Affirmative. Scorpion's golden eyes burned with liquid hate-fire. She avoided a few others as they tried to grab at her and hauled her wobbly legs to the side door, waiting for Karys to finish doing whatever it is he wanted to do. The kitchens weren’t that far away. Hopefully, there was booze. She needed booze…
  2. The ‘Galactic Scout’ - Sunshine’s right-hand - was determined to take point on this particular escapade. And although it was her usual M.O, Scorpion didn’t see a reason to protest. Yes, she didn’t like authority figures. Yes, the idea of a man telling her what to do was like feeling hyper grit sandpaper rubbing up against her temples. But not only was she still sailing on something akin to triple strength Prozac right now, but she also didn’t see any practical reason to be an ass when his instructions seemed perfectly valid. Her only objection, aside from the obvious chaos mounting around them, was that they were sending her off with squid-face, an admitted Dark force user. If Scorpion had any doubts as to how expendable the assorted misfits thought she was, they vanished when she was assigned Mr. tentacle-beard as an escort. Why couldn’t I go with the cute, blind girl? That way, if I die, at least I’ll have pleasant company. Scorpion shrugged to no one in particular and figured she’d start heading out. No use sitting around when everything is going to shit already. With a silent nod toward Karys, the Zeltron made her way out of the de-powered doors and headed vaguely to where she remembered the kitchens being. She figured calling the red-skinned man ‘Mr. squiddy’ would incur some type of retaliation, so Scorpion kept all nicknaming internal and all of her quips were decidedly mental instead of verbal. Her eyes adjusted to the dim aura of visibility surrounding her impromptu flashlight which shot out from her metal left arm. A subtle sensation of numbness clung to the ends of her nerves at the base of her left arm, sending mild thoughts of panic to her brain which were immediately intercepted by the persistent feel-good hormones that suffused her consciousness. But, even deadened to negativity as she was, the overwhelming panic flooding through the halls was infectious. It clung to the fringe of her positivity and lingered like a stale fart; an ornery feeling that just wouldn’t go away. This unit detects multiple life signs nearby in varying measures of distress And? Simply a report, Ms. Scorpion. An action of that nature is not something this unit can perform. The art of diagnosing multiple lifeforms was part of this unit’s basic programming. This unit lacks the specifics for every race and genotype. And although this unit is primarily linked to your neuro-network, this unit possesses a limited scanning capability, using your own mental, aural, and ocular abilities to gauge and evaluate potential distress in those around you. Nifty… This unit senses that you have little interest in this unit’s history. Is there something else this unit can do for you? Can ‘this unit’ be quiet for a little bit? Or… failing that, can you help me find the kitchen I’m looking for. Just as Scorpion was nearing the middle of mentally sparring with her new mechanical nag-a-tron, she stumbled upon a couple curious discoveries. First off, she was nowhere near the kitchens. Second off, although she had inadvertently led herself and presumably Karys to the row of docking bays for the luxury liner’s escape pods, there were no escape pods to be found. Instead, there were a number of bodies stacked upon the floor in poses that indicated they were attempting to seize a pod to escape. But with no pods before or after the power outage, which was indicated by the lack of any residual evidence of launch, their attempts were meaningless. Poor sods. Gunshots rang off in the distance and Scorpion instinctively grabbed for the handle of her slugthrower, slightly missing the larger handle and bonking her knuckles on the hard metal that lay beneath the synth-leather. It was a little rough, but she made no exclamation. And, after determining that the gunshots were a lot farther away, she let go of her gun and resumed sauntering down the corridor. Whoever designed this plan seems a bit stupid if you ask me. Don’t they know that with the power gone the thrusters and hyperspace engines can’t function? Not to mention life support is also going to be failing. I hope there are backup generators somewhere on this rustbucket or we’ll all be feeling it here soon. And by it, I mean a large dose of no breathable anything and death that will soon follow. Just fatalistic thoughts to keep the time I guess… Which is kind of ironic given that everything feels like soft cotton clouds. Memory retrieved, downloading and processing memory images for proper projecting… … Wha? Scorpion rounded a grisly corner at the end of a long corridor and delicately stepped over a large rotting alien carcass when her temples seared with an unfamiliar sensation. The sides of her head burned with red-hot intensity and were followed with a sharp blow to her head. She couldn’t see anything but pictures of the ship and the corridors that led to the kitchen where the cargo was held. When she could finally see forward again, spots clouded her eyes for a few seconds and she had to lean against the wall for support. What the heck was that?! Ms. Scorpion requested that this unit guide her to the kitchen. This unit accessed the part of Ms. Scorpion’s brain that held the memory of the kitchen and projected it to her for better assistance. Yeah! I asked you to help! Not sear the image into my brain you overgrown piece of… grumble grumble grumble… Scorpion’s irritated inner monologue was cut short when a small warzone stood between her and her objective. Creatively steering Karys and herself back to a relevant path, Scorpion managed to find a large decorative ballroom where there were a number of expensive table settings smashed to the ground and forgotten. Tables were being upturned to use as impromptu cover and wealthy socialites had turned from etiquette bound stooges to desperate crazies with something to prove. Then there was the cowardly elite that hid in the corners of the room, trying to motivate people with bribes of money to stop them from shooting. Fat lotta good that did when they could just kill you and take your money. “Welp, Karys,” Scorpion said, actually talking to the Sith for the first time in about thirty minutes, “looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us. If my guess is right, and I give myself about eighty-five percent on that, the kitchen we want is on the other side of this ballroom, linked through a side door for easy access. We can either book it across the way or fight our way through. Whichever is fine for me. I honestly don’t care about anyone on this ship, except maybe the people we left behind, so I’ll let you pick.”
  3. Punchdrunk on feel-good hormones, Scorpion struggled to her feet. She wore a goofy smile across her bright red face and everything seemed a little bit squishier. She tried to sharpen her perspective and harden the fluffy feelings bouncing around her head, but the hormones that pushed her into her current mental state were not easily dismissed. She moved the light, as indicated, to the comatose individual sprawled on the deck plating and took note of the comments of the others around her. When her ‘friends’ finished deliberating, Scorpion cleared her throat and tried to think a little before opening her mouth; not because she was afraid of being crass, but because a lot of her rambling thoughts were not going to be useful right now. “I know this might seem self-explanatory, considering our new ominous accommodations, but before my involuntary hit of triple strength neo-Prozac, I felt a surge of chaotic emotions welling all around us. And since we’re on a boat with a whole slew of stuck up, spoiled, and very rich yuppies, it’s likely that they’re not going to take this new development lying down. If we’re going to protect anything, we might need to move quickly to grab hold of this situation.” Scorpion couldn’t keep the grin from her face, but her tone was neutral. She had nothing to lose by coloring her speech one way or another. It was clear they were in a bind. Any actual vacation was pretty much shot at this point. But if Scorpion had a chance at credits and a chance to shoot some rich yuppies in the face, that could go a long way to making up for ruining her leisure time. “I don’t really have a plan. I just thought we should know the whole situation before charging onward.” Scorpion finished, awkwardly smiling through what should have been a very gravitas-laden testimony.
  4. Scorpion sat, continuing to impotently fume even as Ficcabin scurried across the metal floor, attempting to leave. She managed to tune out the rest of the Alabaster woman’s rant as she went on and on about how their questions were inane and not worth her time-blah blah blah. But the clatter of weapons spilling across the steel floor brought the Smuggler’s attention back to reality. With the deceptive grace of a housecat, Scorpion lept from her seat, flipping in the air over two rows of empty chairs, and scrambled to the upturned cart. She had to rein in a brief spout of nausea as the liquid in her stomach violently lurched to and fro with her acrobatic maneuver but managed to recover relatively quickly. She’d had a lot to drink in the past few hours. But Zeltrons had two livers and a hyperfast metabolism, so it was incredibly difficult for any drunkenness - no matter how hard-earned it was - to take. Her eyes combed the bouquet of violence before her. She swore she saw a disruptor and a few EMP charges lying about. But she wasn’t looking for those. She was looking for… Aha! Nestled in the crux of the cart and the floor, were a pair of long barreled handheld slugthrowers. They were primed and polished, new steel and new leather, screaming of an extremely talented craftsman. Even when Scorpion picked them up she could tell they were quality. There was just one problem. They weren’t hers. Blue-bell and Daisy had a number of nicks and dings. Blue-bell even had a chunk missing in the barrel that made the balance a little off when Scorpion fired. These were brand new. It was almost like they’d never been fired. The balance was implacable and completely alien. Still, they’d do in a pinch and it wasn’t like Scorpion was being handed any other options for weaponry. I mean, she was, but pistols were her forte and she wasn’t going to seriously strap herself with a literal arsenal just to feel secure. She slipped her new guns into her empty underarm holsters, realizing at the last minute they were a little too big, and wincing slightly at the cold metal sensation against her crimson skin. Following her new acquisitions, Scorpion started to make her way back to the class when she found a familiar canister-looking device staring at her from the steel floor. She quickly scanned the room to get a good idea of prying eyes. And, when she was sure the coast was clear, she lifted the small cylindrical sheath, pushed her long glove up her left arm and placed the device where her dart launcher had been. No surprise, it was a little snug. And trying to get her hand through it proved a bit more difficult than she initially intended. But once the device was in place, it clicked and hummed with a pleasant warmth. It was at that moment that Scorpion realized her mistake. The gunmetal colored canister gripped the skin of her arm and tore into it, growing in size until the metal casing went from the tips of her fingers to where her arm met her shoulder. The ‘top’ of the device sat right underneath the sleeve of her short-sleeved kevlar shirt but completely tore through her black long glove, leaving nothing behind. When it finished, the humming intensified and Scorpion yelped in phantom pain. Because, when she actually focused on it, there was no pain. When she tried to move her left hand again, she felt an odd cool detachment from the metal limb that stared back at her. ((approved by Ben)) DNA lock confirmed... ... Race:: Zeltron:: Early to middle-age Aggregating Holonet Dossier Information... ... ... A screen on the bracer opened up and displayed her face as well as a comprehensive bio and rap sheet. NEW USER:: Sara Corion a.k.a Scorpion:: Scorpion blanched at the mention of her real name and covered the audio port of the device in an attempt to muffle the sound. “Ummm… Hi?” She felt a bit messed up talking to the device. But it felt… right… somehow? “Hello,” a cool feminine voice answered. It sounded like a gentle nurse droid taking care of a newborn. That notion carried an uncomfortable idea at how this match-up might continue but the Zeltron ignored that realization and continued into the unknown. “Uhh… What are you? What do you do?” She couldn’t tell whether the voice was audible to everyone or just herself, but talking to the device appeared to be working. “What would you like me to do?” “Umm…” Scorpion was just about to say something when the lights went out and fear tore through the entire ship. Euphoria, anger, passion, happiness, disillusionment, cynicism, and every emotion in between were all replaced with fear. The sudden virulent mood swing pounded into Scorpion’s head with searing motes of pain that pulled at the fabric of her skull, threatening to send her sprawling to the floor. And, had it not been for the fact that she was already kneeling, she would surely have met the durasteel deck-plating with a merciless plop. Negative emotional stimuli detected. Zeltron physiology threatened... Administering counter-measures:: The current value of lumens is inadequate for proper visibility... Administering counter-measures:: Wha-? Scorpion barely got out before being blinded by a bright flash of light that shone from the center of her palm. Simultaneously, while she wrestled with the army of white dots dancing in her eyes, delicate electrical signals worked up and down Scorpion’s neurological systems. Dopamine, Serotonin, Oxytocin, and Endorphine transmitters were accelerated, flooding her body with feel-good hormones and actively fighting against the powerful negativity that attacked her empathic mind with lethal voracity. It was all a bit overwhelming. Scorpion almost fainted. She almost screamed. But, when the ‘smoke’ cleared, she plopped her butt on the floor with a dopey grin. She held her gauntleted left hand out, letting the beam of her flashlight illuminate Ficcabin and Qi’Nali. “Well, Mr. Ficcabin… we improvise,” commented Scorpion as her dopey grin sharpened into a full mischevious smirk.
  5. Scorpion’s smile sweetened a little at the blind girl’s blush when it brought a delicate rose color to her fair-skinned face. It reminded Scorpion of something simpler. And, for a moment, the smuggler reveled in the simplicity. It didn’t last though. The Zeltron felt something severely upsetting starting to ooze around the finely crafted façade that surrounded them. It wasn’t easy to grasp, but she instinctively reached for Blue-bell in her left underarm holster only to find it achingly vacant. The bottles of vodka and rum sat, forgotten, at the base of her chair and her bespoke knee-high leather boots were no longer coating the back of the chair in front of her with dirt and whatever else that caked the heel. She opened her senses to the rest of the room, sobering every second she wasn’t actively imbibing more alcohol - Kriff! But the only obvious sounds, aside from the Givin’s nervous self-musings, were a couple of holo-idol stars in the back who were profiling the lot of them, thinking that it was some sort of game. It seemed entertaining at first. Their portrayals seemed potentially accurate, if outlandish. It could be a passable drinking game. But their summary of Scorpion’s patronage sent an icy lance directly between her honey-amber eyes. A memory throbbed dully under the surface of Sara’s hard-earned joviality and burned every thought that proceeded it with painful recollection. It was a distraction. The Zeltron did what she could to squelch her rising fury as it mixed with the building disquiet of the the situation. Not content to idly stew however, Scorpion grit her teeth and was attempting to swivel around in her chair to look at the rest of the room when she was stopped by an alabaster-skinned hand. A single snow white finger spun a small line along the outside of Scorpion’s shoulder blade, abruptly ending her sensory inquisition. An arctic chill crawled needles from the base of Scorpion’s spine to the crux of her neck as the cold woman’s finger traced along her crimson skin, instantly removing every trace of inebriation that remained; the last dregs of lovely numbness desperately clinging to a fleeting hope of leisure. The woman’s voice, cloying and vacant, brought the hairs on the back of the smuggler’s neck straight up. And, despite her best efforts, the Zeltron was now intimately aware of everything around her, slamming her sinuses back into a painful vice of riotous exultation. But she didn’t feel safe abandoning herself anymore. The bottles of half-finished spirits remained on the floor. The ship seemed to close in on her with every passing moment. And although part of her agreed with the anxious Givin that sat nearby, Scorpion fought nerves with steel and anger, not indecision or insecurity. One could argue it was insecurity of a different kind, but Scorpion didn’t care. So much for dying with a drink in each hand, huh? The woman continued, disciplining Scorpion and the others for their actions on what was supposed to be a vacation. The mysterious female officer’s demeanor was authoritative and parental which only added to Scorpion’s mild disdain for her. If it wasn’t for the offer of potential credits, Scorpion would’ve attempted to tune her out completely. But money always held the smuggler’s interest. The presentation was brief and - to be honest - unsurprising. The Zeltron wasn’t so cocky as to assume she saw everything coming. But no one gives out a cruise this bougie for free without some sort of catch. Even simple deals came with hitches. Likely this deal had a few fail-safes and loopholes that no one in their ramshackle group knew because everyone was unsuspectedly forced into this arrangement with no foreknowledge whatsoever. How convenient ... for them. Always read the fine print… Always. Giving slight consideration to Qi’Nali’s surprisingly mild concern, Scorpion stood to her full height and pointed her right index finger at the picture-perfect couple in the back of the group. “First of all,” Scorpion started, staring daggers at the idyllic young adults, feeling like she was going to burst if she didn’t say something, “my parents were refugees and they died on Nar Shaddaa when I was five years old.” Dismissive bunch of… grumble grumble… “Second of all,” Scorpion continued, turning her pointer on the mysterious woman that held the group’s rapt attention, “while I agree with Sunshine and the Soldier Jedi over here in their skepticism and your offer of refunding us when none of us paid to be here, I’m not doing anything this kriffing risky without - at the very least - my slugthrowers. We know nothing about this planet and I’m not going anywhere I don’t know without some kind of protection. And if you say, ‘well the others will protect you’ let’s just say I have trust issues and leave it at that.” Scorpion swallowed hard. She could feel the Givin’s nerves crawling around her mind, the couple’s skepticism lingering in the back of her head, Qi’Nali’s curiosity languidly drifting in and out of her ears and every other emotion in the room pad the remaining space in her skull like she was wearing an over-large leather helmet that uncomfortably pinched at places that shouldn’t be pinched. “And you can disapprove of me all day long. You’re not my keeper. I can fly any of the pods out of here if I felt so inclined. If you’re complaining about Mr. Sleeps-with-his-own-Cutlery, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you hired a conspiracy nut that looks like he was ravaged by an asteroid mulcher” Scorpion finished, staring furiously at the woman before sitting quietly at Qi’Nali’s side, seething. Every idle emotion she felt swimming in the room was heightened and turned into more fuel for her emotional fire. She turned a somber gaze to Qi’Nali, somehow apologetic, but said nothing in response to the kind woman’s inquiry. Something painful sat in the liquid honey of her eyes.
  6. The spice of Serenno rum licked the lining of Scorpion's esophagus with fire. The pleasant sensation of liquid clarity fringed with inebriation finally started to settle over Scorpion, the spiking headache in her temples beginning to feel like nothing more than whispered taps against the inner lining of her skull. She cooed slightly to herself as she adjusted her feet one over the other on the back of the chair in front of her and took another small hit from the Bespin Vodka. The taste wasn't as fresh or sweet as the rum, but it cleansed her palate a bit, which made the rum all the sweeter. The Skeleton man - Ficc... Ficcy? ... Ficcyule? ... Ficcabin... Right, Ficcabin! - was preceded by the sound of his metal leg clattering against the floor. Had his entrance been quiet, Scorpion would likely have missed it. But, considering the loud pronouncement, she easily eyed him as he entered the pool. She made no move to stop or interact with him a second time. His mind was skittish at best. His surface emotions moved so quickly and were so tumultuous that Scorpion thought it best to leave him be. Especially when just a look from Scorpion's yellow eyes gave his emotions a chaotic lapse. No. Scorpion stayed seated. She could have bought a swimsuit and gone swimming. She had a few credits. But that meant taking her clothes off and leaving her remaining valuables open for others to steal -- not to mention, it would also mean she'd expose everyone to just how smelly she was underneath her outfit. Scorpion knew she was uncouth. She didn't really care about etiquette or anything attributed to high society but she didn't want to blatantly make everyone uncomfortable. Scorpion was just about to nod off before the start of the presentation, when the blind woman from before, who stood a scant two inches shorter than her, came over to stand by her, freshly changed into her cute swimsuit. Scorpion looked at her with slight respect, considering the note the Zeltron left on and smiled sweetly as she eyed the woman with particular interest drawn to her multicolor hair. The Zeltron tapped the seat of the chair next to her with the butt of the bottle in her left hand and widened her smile, a soft glow amid her amber eyes. "Straight up vodka does burn horribly, but it clears the taste of the other alcohols I drink, which helps enhance the flavor. That, and it takes strong stuff to even get me close to drunk. As far as the company, you are more than welcome to join me. I assume the others will be doing so in a bit anyway." Scorpion cleared her throat and let the pleasant inebriation continue to numb her pain. She paused for a second, staring at a small design on the label of her rum bottle, but went back to drinking before continuing to talk to Qi'Nali. "As for my story..." A loud belch erupted from Scorpion's mouth, burning the roof of her mouth and causing her to cough for a few seconds before she could continue. Her already crimson face turned a few shades darker, but she decided not to comment and let the matter go. "An old contact of mine, a Nautolan named Zeelo Mer, contacted me a few galactic standard weeks ago about a new job - I'm a Smuggler by trade. Most of my jobs are legit runs between Galactic Alliance worlds, Imperial Remnant worlds, and Jedi worlds, but I fly for anyone who offers to pay me. Anyway, the job offer sounded solid, the only problem is that Zeelo'd been dead for the better part of a year." Scorpion felt another belch threatening to pop, but suppressed it as much as she could before moving forward. "Zeelo owed the Hutts and the Exchange a ton of creds and failed to pay them back which, as you may have guessed, led to his untimely demise. And that made his call all the more suspicious. After a few hours of lengthy consideration, I called back, asking Zeelo how he'd managed to elude both the Exchange and that crazy Hutt. And I didn't get an answer for a whole week. I was a little sketchy about the whole thing. But he did eventually message me back. My danger sensors were blaring on full when he did. But since I started it, I wanted to see the whole thing through, figuring if I was going to die at least I had no regrets. But the only message I got was an ad for this cruise liner and the offer of free tickets if I attended this stupid sales seminar. I looked across the Holonet for info on this ship, but nothing could give me an answer as to where this came from or why I was invited. But that's that. I'm here and I'm doing my best to enjoy it." Scorpion's story ended with another swig of alcohol. Her smile swelled anew as her amber eyes glittered in the ambient light. "That was probably more than you needed. But I tend to open up a bit when I'm tipsy, or when I'm talking to cute girls."
  7. “Well, it all started…” Scorpion was about to continue before two very loud and pervasive interruptions clamored through what would’ve been a fantastic story. The eccentric - to say the least - bartender, was the closest and most immediate counter to their discussion. The snap of his knife was foreboding, but his gruesome visage was clearly a more poignant conversational topic than any cutlery he happened to be toting. The droid’s voice, though soothing, was prattling on with whatever. Both of them were thoroughly annoying and not worth her time. Scorpion leaned back further in her seat, abandoning her drinks on surfaces nearby, somewhat purposefully spilling some Corellian Red on the expensive carpet beneath her, and using her hands to pantomime the intercom and the bartender’s voices. One hand flapped as the bartender’s warning echoed nearby and the other mimicked the practiced calm of the droid’s voice as it crackled over recently renovated loudspeakers that hummed with the barest notes of restrained audial feedback. When both were finished, Scorpion turned her head to eye the bartender with a focus that belied her drunk facade. After a moment of silence lingered awkwardly over the group, Scorpion kicked the floor with her right foot, sending her sailing over the back of her chair. She flipped as the headrest of her plush chair grazed her back and landed on her feet with only minimal swaying; though the spin sent her head reeling into another round of delirious pain. Biting back the first acerbic retort that hung on her tongue and swallowing her added pain, she turned and cocked a lopsided smile of her own at the alcohol slinger who seemed to have some kind of sea-parasite obsession. “Alright Mr. sleeps-with-his-own-cutlery, I’ll take your oddly worded statement under advisement. Is there another bartender we can talk with? Or do we need to listen to someone who looks like he’s been smacked in the face with a durasteel shovel?” Scorpion’s smile took on a sharp edge, but that was all she said on the matter. Before the bartender could respond though, another gentleman approached her from her left, sipping gingerly on what smelled like a flamboyantly fruity beverage. That was when Scorpion, who’d - until now - been avoiding the other passengers on the cruise liner, started to notice an alarming number of familiar faces milling about. “Are you-” the man began with a throaty high-pitched voice that no mortal ear was meant to hear, “Yes! You’re that Zeltron lady that sold me the faulty solar processors. My entire facility exploded due to your callous disregard for business acumen!” Scorpion groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. “For the last time Benny, I didn’t sell you anything. I move the stuff. I don’t sell it.” The squirrely man visibly reddened with barely repressed rage, which looked absolutely comical on his impossibly boyish face. “Well, then your sponsor was utterly irresponsib-” “Hold that thought one sec Benny,” Scorpion interrupted, skirting past Benny, running her hand down the edge of her Correlian Red bottle and dabbing at her face. The irked man ambled after her with the coordination of a lightweight who clearly had way too much to drink. “Now see here!” He said, though his words were as muffled and clumsy as his gait. Scorpion walked quickly away from the flailing man until she discovered a security official. Then, pausing to tear a single hair from her nose, she mustered up a tear or two and sidled up to the guard, batting her eyelashes. “Sir, that man has taken advantage of me. I demand him to be removed from my sight!” The security officer was a picture of incredulity. He looked at Scorpion’s rough appearance and the plastered socialite that she pointed toward, grunting with disbelief. But, inexplicably, his expression changed. His demeanor grew a little more hostile and his eyes narrowed at the approaching socialite as if slowly realizing the monster that lay beneath those bombastically brutal garments. “You monster! You’ll be held in the brig for as long as we can keep you. Sorry, miss, for the trouble.” He nodded to Scorpion and walked past her with a purpose in his steely grey eyes. “B-bb-but I, I-I didn’t do anything!?” Benny yelped as he was lifted from his feet and carried across the reception area. “Yeah, likely story.” Replied the officer as he continued onward. Scorpion smiled and slipped into the mass of people milling place to place, ignoring the multitude of other former customers roused by her obvious squabble. Looks like I’m going to that lecture after all… _______________________ The Lido deck was quiet when compared with the rest of the ship. Most of the patrons had been cleared out to make room for the presentation and an area had been marked off for the attending patrons to sit. It wasn’t heavily enforced as Scorpion found a couple sitting off to the side, but she showed up like she was supposed to -- or as the mysterious message from a long-dead contact told her to -- so she might as well pretend like she was playing by the rules. As much as she wanted to anyway. Hankering for more alcohol as the conceited emotional turmoil of greedy socialites kept invading her mind, Scorpion zeroed in on the bar and raided it for two new bottles. One bottle was ‘Bespin Sky’ vodka, and the other was a delicious Serenno spiced rum. Then, having thoroughly ignored the spastic serving droid that insisted on removing the bottles from her possession, she scrambled to one of the open chairs and leaned back in it. She placed her well-tailored but thoroughly soiled boots on the backrest of the chair in front of her and took another burning swig of alcohol to continue running from the demons in her mind.
  8. “C’mon, sit.” Scorpion said to the Givin, gesturing with her right hand and sloshing more Corellian red on the floor before taking a large swig of the Onderonian whiskey she still held in her left hand. “I don’t know you, no. But I saw what that ‘lady’ did and I thought you could use some conversation.” The word ‘lady’ was stressed with a sour note like the smuggler was trying to swallow a rancid cherry. Just as Sara was going to introduce herself, another approached them and asked to join what appeared to be a growing group of misfits. “Nothing wrong with adding more people here. But you’re going to have to rethink the word kind--for me, at least. The word interesting though, I’ve got that in spades. Name’s Scorpion.” For a moment, Sara tried to put her arm out to shake with the blind woman or the skeleton man but immediately realized that not only was the woman blind and likely wouldn’t see her hand, but her hand was filled with booze. “Whoops… sorry; habit, I guess.” The vague sensation of inebriation began to numb her insistent headache. The emotional wastoids that raged all around her could no longer afflict her mind with their persistent first world problems. 'My room wasn’t sparkly enough!’ ‘My trust fund wasn’t large enough to buy the biggest diamond in the core!’ ‘They didn’t have the capers I asked for in the buffet!’ ‘There weren’t enough pillows on my bed!’ *gasp!* Frankly, Scorpion hadn’t even seen her room. If it had a bed and a bath she’d be more than impressed. “So, what brings you two to the Sorcerer’s Light?” Scorpion asked, taking another big swig of whiskey, sobbing internally that the bottle ran out just as she was starting to get tipsy.
  9. “Uhh… my kriffing head.” Sara rubbed the matted lump of a mohawk on her scalp and groaned. The throngs of eager boarders battered her wearied skull with flurries of wild emotion, adding to an already pounding headache. It felt somewhere between a rough lovetap with an icepick and someone actively bashing her upper sinuses with a metal crowbar. It was almost enough to turn her around. But she kept following a very simple mantra: free food, free drinks, free booze, free booze, free booze. When it came time for her to reach the head of the line, moments before what appeared to be a walking skeleton headed up to the ship, she gave the men at the security checkpoint her best stink eye. Their expressions soured. The bearded man, Tomly, who was checking the skeleton’s bags, returned her stink eye and held up a hand, indicating she should relinquish her arms and empty her pockets. Sara shrugged. The security officer’s hands tightened around the stocks of their blaster rifles and their expressions doubled in intensity. “Now, please.” “Fine…” Sara remarked with exasperation. She slid out of her long coat and withdrew her long-barreled slugthrowers. She handed them to Tomly with a wry grin, stock first, assuring that she didn’t accidentally earn ‘special’ treatment. When she finished, the guards closed in carefully, taking care to apply rebreathers before coming into proximity of the pained Zeltron. Smart. They emptied her cargo pouches of everything except her cooking spices and credit chit; the former being the only point of contention due to its resemblance to a popular street drug. They left her hydrospanner hanging on her hip considering that it was a tool and not a weapon. Though, as Sara and Tomly both knew, anything could be a weapon if you were creative enough. When they were done emptying the more obvious cavities, Tomly and his associate began patting Sara down, doing their best to be as professional as possible. “Miss, please remove the knives hidden in your boots and detach the wrist launcher.” Tomly’s voice said through the warbly distortion of his mechanical breathing apparatus. With a passive-aggressive bow, Sara dipped to her calves and removed both of the knives hidden in the folds of her bootstraps. Then, rising back to her full height with a snap of her wild mohawk, she folded back the long glove on her left arm and hit the release button of her wrist launcher, letting it fall into Tomly’s outstretched hand. Her cooperation earned her nothing special. Though she did notice that both officers weren’t touching their weapons anymore. “That it?” Sara asked with a tone of mild incredulity. “Not quite,” Tomly responded with a crisp officious note to his already abrasive voice. “We need your name or some other kind of identification before we let you pass.” Sara blanched a little. She left her ident card on the Luridae. Kriff… The Zeltron moved her crimson palm to her pounding forehead and grimaced. “Great.” Her shoulders slumped a little and she was about to turn around and leave the guards with her belongings when Tomly’s brusque toned grunt brought her back to the front. “You can just give us a name and we can see if you’re on the list. And, if you aren’t, make sure to get your things before you leave.” It seemed her acerbic introduction hadn’t worn down the walls of Tomly’s professional courtesy. His partner, however, looked slightly aghast. “Scorpion,” Sara said, actively trying not to look at either security guard. “But…” Sara started, closing the distance between her and Tomly, exciting his partner into nearly drawing his firearm. “If you don’t have that, you might want to check, Sara Corion, registered to the Luridae in dock 14,” Sara said in a voice so small that only Tomly could hear. It was a queer gesture considering her brazen impression. But her body language and tone didn’t suggest timidity. The distance and expression on her face were both deliberate. Both of them said: don’t tell another soul or you’ll regret it. Tomly acknowledged the silent threat and scanned through a long list of names. “Aha, here it is.” Tomly indicated to his partner who begrudgingly moved aside to permit her entrance. Sara nodded silently to the men and replaced her black long coat before gracefully clopping up the durasteel ramp, her steel toes ringing against the hard metal surface. The Sorcerer’s Light stared down at her with ill regard for her dirtied ensemble. The opulent relic was something of a comical note to Sara’s skepticism and an ironic continuation of what she still considered a terrible idea. First, using an old contact’s number, she got bombarded with messages from an unknown entity. Second, when she tried to get back to the contact, all she got was the name of a cruise liner and its time of departure. Scanning the Holonet for information gleaned some surface details and history about the ship. She spent hours debating with herself about it before sucking it up and setting out. Seeing this ship though, she still wasn’t sure. Judging by the classification, she guessed the retrofits were extensive; being that this rustbucket was top of the line twenty-some-odd years ago. The fact it was still holding together was impressive. But she didn’t know how long that would last. Couple that with the fact that this bloated whale was rented out by people who had more money than anyone out of the top-grossing officials on Coruscant, and you had a glorious frosting for the I-shouldn’t-be-here cake. But, if she was indeed walking to her doom, she would die with a drink in hand and a smile on her face. Which is all anyone really needs isn’t it? A scrawny attendant met her halfway up the ramp. Seeing that he couldn’t prevent her egress, he followed dutifully behind her and thoughtfully pressed her to ask for any assistance if she needed it. He tried looking for and asking for any bags, but after trying to dismiss him several times, Sara’s only response was that she carried what she had on her. When it became clear that the scrawny piece of druk wouldn’t leave her alone, Sara stared him down with fire in her golden eyes. “Bar. Now.” The attendant sputtered resistance, holding her key to her and suggesting that she settle down first. Sara took her key but continued staring daggers at the man. “Bar. Now.” ________________________ A little while later, feeling the familiar tingle of alcohol as it ran down her throat, Sara sat smiling near the reception area. She held a bottle of Onderonian whiskey in one hand and a bottle of Corellian Red in the other. Her natural healing abilities and resilient tolerance made it difficult for her to get drunk, but she relished in the utter peace of inebriation when she could get it. People in or near the reception area and the bar generally avoided her because she stood out like a sore thumb. Her clothes stunk of ship grease, pheromones, alcohol, and stir-fry. Her mohawk was slicked with a myriad of oils and her forehead had a slight sheen of sweat. Her comments to passersby were a little rude at times, but she generally kept to herself as much as she could. She didn’t really do vacations. But she did do free booze. Out of the corner of her eye, Sara spotted the skeleton man from before and watched as he got dismissed by a sour looking lady with a rod up her butt and her nose a few degrees higher than one-eighty. Sara’s cheeks reddened slightly at the behavior. And instead of marching up to the woman to give her a piece of her mind - though it seemed like a very good idea in her head - she waved at the Skeleton man (Ficcabin), sloshing a little Corellian Red into her mohawk in an attempt to get his attention. And, if that wasn’t enough, she said, “Hey mister Skelly,” loud enough that people on the other side of the reception area could hear her. “Come over here. I won’t bite.”
  10. Hey, Ben! Long time no see. You thinking of coming back too?
  11. First, before I proceed with my mini-rant, I want to specify that this is my opinion and thus is very subjective. I don't like what she's doing to Star Wars. But, in the same vein of the all-female Ghostbusters, the M Night Shamalalalala ding-dong version of the Last Airbender, the Horror movie re-makes and pretty much every excuse Hollywood uses to rehash nostalgic movies for a quick buck, I don't think she's 'killing' anything. She's killing Star Wars about as much as Lucas did when he made the prequel series. The Original Series will always be there. The books and comics that came before the canon purge will always be there; it's not like they did a book burning to summon evil spirits in order to chase all our good feelings about Star Wars away. A lot of us will always remember the Original Series and the Original canon. And, in the case of our RP, we will continue to celebrate the original canon. I hope that this new spin on the series inspires new viewers to look back at the glory of the Original Series. And I hope that it inspires new fans to build from the somewhat lackluster Star Wars films being produced (with Rogue One and Solo (kind of) as two decent exceptions), and to explore the genre a bit more. -- My 2 cents.
  12. Pinckz


    The smuggler grumbled a little under his breath, grabbing a new cigar from his jacket pocket and lighting it up. He took each of their hands in turn and matched their grips. He looked both of them in the eye and kept eye contact with each of them for a good ten seconds. It was how he knew whether they were full of druk or not. Unfortunately, it looked like both of them was telling the force's honest truth. Which meant that Malin’s second delivery would be of questionable origin. He’d barely made it out of the Coruscant port before his smuggling enterprise took a criminal turn. He long suspected it was a matter of time. But he figured it would take months, not days. Some part of him wanted to ask. A niggling worrisome part in the back of his mind desperately wanted to know why the Black Sun was shipping out bad bacta and liquid explosives. But the part of him that hadn’t had a decent meal in a little over a week was louder. It’s okay Malin. As long as you don’t have to use the gorram stuff, you should be good. Malin took a long hard look at his ship. He swallowed away what little professional pride clung to the back of his mouth and sighed almost imperceptibly. “Yea, I’m interested. But first I’d like to lay down a couple conditions,” Malin replied. “First, I want a guarantee from you both that the Black Sun will not harm my crew or my ship even if they are not directly affiliated with the Black Sun. And, second, if jobs run low in the Outer Rim and you run out of smuggling requests, I want the freedom to run jobs with anyone that can pay. That is unless they put out jobs that directly oppose quests and jobs made by you and yours." Malin cracked his knuckles together and took a long hard drag from the cigar still in his mouth. Then a mischievous grin broke the stolid lines of his face. “If all that’s okay. I’d say we’re in business. Just point me to the first shipment and I’ll be on my way.”
  13. Pinckz


    The Besalisk grumbled a little when someone interrupted him in the middle of one of his stories. But Rufus’ face fell a few degrees when he noticed that the interruption was none other than a Black Sun viceroy and her escort. He bowed meekly and scuttled as gracefully as he could into the Farstriders Rest main thoroughfare. “The Black Sun is interested in MY exploits?” Malin chortled, eyeing the surveillance cameras located at every corner of the docking bay. “I’d be foolish not to admit I’m curious how they found my exploits when I’ve only had a few. But, we can get to that another time. Where are my manners?” Malin removed his wide-brimmed hat, placed it to his chest and took a deep bow. “Honor ma’am. I don’t think I ever met a Black Sun top gun such as yerself. I must admit, I didn’t take ye for a mercenary, or a crook. And if you are, yer the nicest looking criminal I’ve ever seen. Name’s Malin, Malin Wrynn. And I’m always looking for work. Oh! And between you and me, I’m grateful you interrupted Rufus when you did, he likes to ramble a lot about his past with the Starlight Corsairs. He thinks it makes him sound tough.” Malin fiddled with a cigar in his right hand. He settled his eyes on the viceroy and put his hat back on his ruffled black hair. “What particular job did ya have in mind?”
  14. Pinckz


    “Raider’s Tempest with a shipment of medicine, provisions, and materials, requesting permission to land,” Malin reported over the ship’s comm system. Amara, who was firmly planted in the co-pilot seat, looked back at the Smuggler with wide eyes hidden behind goggles and gasped. “Mal, I thought we were the ‘Bloated Torton.’ Do I need to remember a new ship name?” Amara’s nose crinkled a little as the skin under the nosepiece of her goggles started to itch. Malin, thinking quickly and disabling the audio transmission for a second, looked at Amara with a sense of smug satisfaction. “Nah, this baby has a rotating transponder system. It has a load of different identifications. We could register with anyone who wanted us as different names and go into any system if we wanted to. Obviously, we can’t do that right now because all of the transponders aren’t registered anywhere. However, it does mean that it’ll be easier to run away if we get caught doing something bad.” Malin rubbed at the scruff of hair that had grown on his chin during the flight, adding a subtle reminder to shave to the many things that clouded the space between his ears. “Now do me a favor and be still a moment, Amy. I need to make sure we're clear to land.” Amara scowled but quieted as she watched the ball of sand and dirt shift into view. Malin clicked the audio transmitter back on just as he got an answer from the Mos Eisley comm tower. “You are cleared to land, Raider’s Tempest. Please proceed to the Farstrider’s Rest space station.” A little unsure of himself, Malin paused. He took a moment to get some VFR before spotting the large space station sitting in the sand ball's orbit. “Please proceed to dock 5, freight and transit, thank you.” Malin nodded to the disembodied voice and maneuvered his large turtle-like vessel until it was nestled carefully into the designated docking bay. The docking clamps emerged shortly after and the ship came to a rest with several satisfying thunks. Malin, days of travel wearing down his face, looked to Amy and Celine with a pleasant smile. “Time to christen this new bird with its first job. Care to do the honors with me, Amy?” Malin asked, offering his hand. Amy started for a second but retracted her hand almost immediately. “N-no. I can’t go out there. They’ll find me.” Malin cocked his head to the side. “They?” As if in answer to his question, a knock sounded on the docking bay door, echoing through the ship and interrupting the awkward silence that had begun to set in. Amara flinched and jumped almost a foot into the air. Celine caught her and put her arms protectively around the young Togruta. The finely articulated arms of the droid moved with more grace than her clunky body would suggest. And while it wasn’t aggressive, Malin made a mental note of the droid’s capability. “Alright, Celine. Then can you please keep an eye on her and don’t let anyone in here while I’m gone unless you hear my voice give you a specific catch-phrase over the comms?” The droid nodded. Malin whispered a small phrase to her then ambled out of the docking bay door, arming himself and closing the door behind him as he left. Before he could get more than two steps onto the tarmac and just as the hissing of his closing ship’s door eked out, Malin was stopped by a colorful trio of thugs. The frontman, scraggly and slightly aloof, was a Devaronian. And while it wasn’t immediately obvious, he was apparently the mouth of this cadre of miscreants. He started to make his way toward Malin, his movements slow and calculated. But Malin’s stony gaze rattled him, causing him to stop in his tracks and look to the others that bookended him. “So, what you three doin outside my boat?” Malin asked, a small scowl playing on the edge of his lips. You could hear wool scraping across durasteel with how silent the next moments were. Malin almost thought they didn’t hear him when the Devaronian finally discovered his stones and spoke up. “We’re here to collect the girl.” “Girl? What girl? I may be a pretty man, but I ain’t pretty enough to fit that qualification, thank you.” Malin said, his mouth bending into a little smile. “And, if I were, no offense, I don’t think I’d be interested in you. You’re uh… not my type.” The Devaronian visibly paled and his two Houk friends laughed a little, despite their earlier stoicism. When his composure returned, a touch of deeper scarlet mingled with the lines of the Devaronian’s face. “My name is Devarus Kathek, and we are here to retrieve Mr. Quelos’ property. He is a very wealthy individual with stock on Thyferra and a fair shake of the Outer Rim. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind paying you for turning over his property. He might even… entertain… your seemingly odd preferences.” Devarus smiled a slimy smile at his own attempt at humor. But Malin wasn’t smiling this time. “No one is ‘property,’ least of all, a kid. Now, I don’t mind entertaining your strange thoughts. But if you think either of you is going to step on my ship or manipulate me into giving over a living breathing being, pain is going to be the least of your worries.” Malin’s fingers hovered over the steel of his slugthrowers. Each finger stretched in time and he breathed easy through the manufactured air provided by the Farstrider's life support and HVAC systems. The Houks eyed each other warily while the Devaronian scoffed. “You’re bluff-” The Devaronian attempted to say and then keeled over in pain. The Houks didn’t know what had happened, but they heard a noise and rushed at where Malin was standing. The shot had barely echoed when Malin sidestepped the right Houk, narrowly avoiding his advance, and lowered himself beneath the left’s center of balance, causing him to flip end-over-end and slam into the metal of the Bloated Torton’s hull. Malin held both of his slugthrowers in his clenched palms and stared daggers beneath the rim of his wide-brimmed hat. “I’m terrible at gambling. I never bluff.” Malin’s words were iron. He clipped each syllable as if the weight of every word was important. The Devaronian, a shocked expression printed across his face, stood up and gaped at the open hole that had been shot through his horns. “Next time, the shot will be lethal. Get your scrawny piece of kriffing druk out of this space station. NOW.” Malin fired a warning shot off the hangar walls and watched as the three thugs scurried out with their hands on their heads. “We’ll be back with more you kriffing junker. We’ll be back!!!” Devarus said as he ran and then disappeared down the nearest corridor. I don’t doubt it. Damn it, Malin, what have you gotten yourself into this time? When he looked down, he was grasping at the small locket around his neck. A little F shined in the bright light of the hangar. Docking officials, who were ‘conveniently’ misplaced during his altercation were now making their way over to his ship and ushering the transfer and stevedore of his cargo. He stayed just outside of the open door until the process was complete, monitoring his surroundings for a resurgence of Devarus or any of Mr. Quelos’ thugs. “Malin, as I live and breathe, what're you doing here?” The voice was familiar but Malin couldn’t quite place it. When he turned to face the newcomer, Malin was swept into a large sweaty hug. A big Besalisk face greeted him with a wide grin and its arms tugged tighter before letting the Smuggler down, letting the color return to his face. “Rufus, what’re you doin’ here? You working for Black Sun now?” Malin asked, still eyeing the docking bay for signs of trouble. “Yup. They made me a provisional docking official while they scramble to staff this beast. It’s a miracle they managed to turn this hunk of junk into something practical in the first place. I can’t say I was their best decision. But I definitely think they’re doing great things for this ball of sand.” Rufus’s smile was echoed by the number of chins that rested beneath his fat lips. “Good ol’ Rufus, ever the optimist. Think you could hook me up with someone with cargo to move?” Malin asked, looking over at one of the dock workers as they almost dropped a crate full of valuable medical supplies. “Well, first, here is your cut for the delivery you made. Black Sun wishes to show their appreciation for contributing to their efforts out here on the Outer Rim.” Rufus said. And although it wasn’t sarcastic, Malin read a bit of sarcasm in the words ‘Black Sun’ and ‘appreciation.’ “Now, I can’t promise you anything official. But I can put in a word to my boss and see if he can find you some work. Just hang tight here for a little bit, try not to cause any more trouble, and I’ll see what I can do. Alright?” “Aww Rufus, you know me, what could possibly go wrong?” Rufus’ jovial smile shifted into a knowing grimace. “I seriously wish you hadn’t’ve said that.”
  15. << The message's contact is heavily encrypted. The message is passed through open enough channels that most that know what to look for will find the information >> Looking for a discrete load to be transported? I’m your guy. Legitimate business, or under the table deals are both welcome. Please no: Livestock (Unless you bring your own crew to haul and care for em’) Passengers (Too many unknowns) Just forward the details through an encrypted channel to this number: 3344 - 73821 - 8675309 - 2214 - 000
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