as alt Neys Tindler.  Last seen at Petes, post 281

Ghent was not waiting long before a younger man  appeared at the door.  He looked like he might be a human albino;  white skin,  white hair that was closely cropped, and  pale blue eyes. He had a serious look on his face.

"Excuse me," he said. "I was told to come here for a mission briefing.  My name's Neys Tindler.  I hope I'm in the right place. "

(as Neys)

Neys stepped aside quickly to avoid being plowed into by the man who brushed past him.  The human seemed to know where he was,  and his words confirmed that a mission briefing was to take place here.  If Neys was supposed to be in a different room, he assumed someone would tell him.  That decided,  he walked over to the conference table,  pulled out a chair and sat down.  He then got out his datapad and prepared to take notes.

Ghent nodded towards the pale man.

"No, you're supposed to be here. Just waiting on a few--"

He was cut off by Dar'jad's very obvious entrance. With no one looking in his direction, he allowed himself to close his eyes briefly. The pilot was the precise opposite of the kind of person Ghent had wanted to be along on this mission. There was no doubt that he did his job well--the Syndicate wouldn't keep him around if he didn't--but he knew too much and was too likely to report back if Ghent did... what he was planning to do.

Well... as long as he's the only one, I think I can deal with that.

Before Ghent could address Dar'jad, yet another person arrived on the scene. Sensing a pattern, the older man leaned back in his chair and resolved to merely wait.

Ghent took a moment to reply, not actually looking at Dar'jad. He was deep in thought.

"A few more, if they all show," he said eventually, lifting his gaze to the man. "And, of course... one has to account for those such as yourself whose interest is sufficently... piqued."

He nodded towards him, in recognition.

"It will be good to have one of your reputation along, however... I'm a little worried what our Director of Security might say if he finds out I've taken your services. I'm sure I don't have to tell you he's not crossed lightly."

as Neys

The Arkanian had been ignoring the proceedings as best he could,  waiting for somebody to bring this meeting to order and get on with the briefing.  It wasn't that he disapproved of flirtation,  but other peoples drama didn't interest him and it was irritating when it got in the way of his job.  When the rambunctious blond female lay down on the table,  he decided it was time to excuse himself.

"I'll be back," he said, nodding politely to the older man, who seemed to have his hands full.  He left the room and went down the hall until he found a break room with a beverage dispenser.  Sitting down,  he once again brought out his datapad and began reviewing the notes from his last mission.  With any luck,  the chaos in the conference room would be handled soon and they could get on with the business at hand.

as D'J

Dar'jad smirked at the older man. "You just worry about the mission, and leave the Old Man to me, hmm?"

He didn't bother to take his boots down from the table when the lady laid down on it, but instead just watched her; his eyebrow raised in interest. "So you're Cinia, then...now I understand why Verad didn't want me to meet you. I'll have to talk to him about that--keeping something as lovely as yourself hidden from me."

After the exchange, he couldn't help but grin a bit, almost cockily, as he watched the Arkanian leave the room only to be replaced by a rather gruff looking man. "You look like you woke up on the wrong side of a boma, friend, no offense. You here for a purpose, or did you just get lost?"

( continues from The Jewel. )

Allura assumed that perhaps Dar’jad was getting revenge for her rejection to join him for drinks. She wasn’t surprised to see him in the conference room when she came pushing through the doors. Clearly she was late, having to return to the Jewel to change into something that could be wearable on a mission. A privilege the courteous Mandalorian could have afforded her when they met on the lift. Shiny deep fuchsia hair was still bound tight into a casual cluster of loose varying tendrils. She wore a slinky striped chersilk off-the-shoulder top layered over a tighter black halter, while a pair of black spandex pants banded at the waist matched in pitch with thigh length leather boots. In spite of her relatively primitive origin, this Dathomiri had a taste for the more dark and daring contemporary looks of the Coreillian fashion crowd.

It seemed as if she’d walked in on some gentleman’s gathering, complete with a hooker lying on a table. If this was a co-worker than this was a company with lesser standards than she’d been used to. Of course Dar’jad was spewing lines to the unchaste-looking female upon her entrance. In the end, she had nothing to say. She was here to do a job, not get invested in these people’s personal lives let alone their hormonal appetites. Taking a seat, she hoped someone was assigned to wash the furniture.

Having notified the Arkanian that he was ready to get down to business--and assuming the pale man would follow--Ghent strode back to the conference room. He quickly noted the room's new occupants, nodding very briefly at both of them; he was pleased that the balance was tipping towards those he'd intended to invite here.

The older man cleared his throat, casting narrowed eyes towards the table.

"Right... well, I think we've delayed quite long enough. Anyone else who comes along can pick up what they've missed."

Ghent personally detested briefings, and whenever he'd been coerced into giving one he'd tried his utmost to make the experience as painless as possible. The situation now wasn't so easy, of course, but the instinct remained. The entire presentation had been carefully organized beforehand. The push of a button caused the first 'slide'--a photograph--to appear on the large screen in the wall.

"This," he said with slow emphasis, "is Kazan Fyaar. And he's the focus of your mission."

Fyaar, it seemed, either didn't photograph well, or was naturally ugly--a pockmarked face, set in a surly expression and thick facial hair of an unfortunate muddish color. There was a certain ruthlessness in his expression, and the size of his arms hinted at considerable physical strength.

"Last known location... Coruscant. The bad part of the city. He seems to have some infamy in the 'wrong' circles, so in theory this shouldn't be too hard for you all..."

He let his gaze wander delicately over the woman on the table.

"... in theory."

Cinia had remained silent after her and Dar'jad's previous exchange with the older man, surveying the people that had come in. Other than Dar'jad, the men didn't seem all that interesting, attractive perhaps, but not all that interesting. However, she did take special notice of the fuchsia haired woman, but didn't say anything until the picture of Fyaar appeared. She waited until Ghent finished his opening before saying anything.

"All the judgemental looks haven't gone unnoticed. You know, in theory, I'm actually a very nice person once you get to know me. Especially you, gorgeous." She winked at Allura. "Anyhow, I'm pretty sure I've played cards with this guy before, especially if he was in the bad part of Coruscant. Why do we care?

"You look like you woke up on the wrong side of a boma, friend, no offense. You here for a purpose, or did you just get lost?"

Gibbs remained silent. Things definitely weren't how he pictured it. He had assumed things would have been run much like the Hutts. A job description, a threat and a kick on your way. He probably would have preferred it that way, he had grown accustomed to it. Reaching into his jump suit he acquired a small metallic flask. Pulling free the cap he took a quick swig before returning it to the pocket. "I'm here cus a transponder decided to se-" he finally responded to the man. However his sentence was cut short as several more people, presumably more members of the syndicate, entered the room.

He turned to look at the picture of Kazan Fyaar as it filled the adjacent screen. Definitely a face he would of remembered had they met before. He thought to question what made him so important, but the blonde girl beat him to it. Slouching back in his chair his eyes returned to the man in charge.

Dar'jad all but forgot his comment to Gibbs as Allura came into the room. He had hoped to see her again--in his eyes they still had a dinner to finish, after all. He just hadn't expected to see her here. There was still something about her he found fascinating. Maybe it was her looks, sure, but it was much more her attitude. She seemed the type who could take care of herself, and he respected that. In fact, he preferred it.

Of course, he knew Cinia could take care of herself, too. Verad had told Dar'jad how she had saved his butt on more than one occasion. He couldn't help but be interested in her, too. He was always of the mind that looks were nice and all, but they were useless if you didn't have the drive to survive behind them. The drive he had, and he thought that Allura and Cinia seemed to have, too. There was an old Mandalorian saying that came to him as he thought about those gathered: "Train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger." He'd never given it much thought before, but he thought he was beginning to understand. Allura and Cinia were going to be anything but pushovers.

Dar'jad looked around the room, better judging the strengths and weaknesses of each. He saw one familiar face in Aerin, but that was just from a profile Verad had sent him. Verad would often do that, as Dar'Jad was much better at judging people than the older Mandalorian could ever hope to be--that's why they made a good team. He didn't recognize the other faces, but that wasn't too surprising as Verad had been off on that damn fool mission with the other newer recruit. What was her name? Mari? She looks like she can take care of herself, too. He thought as a smile began to form.

Try as he might, though, his thoughts kept returning to that dinner with Allura. Of all the missions in all the galaxies, she walked into this one. The smile slowly grew into a smirk at that thought. He'd have to remember that line; it was good enough to be in a vid. Remembering where he was--and that he could only get lost to his thoughts for so long--he lowered his legs from the table and sat forward as the image of Fyaar appeared, going from playful to business in not even a second.

"Well, at least we don't have to worry about him hiding in any beauty contests." He grinned at his own supposed wit, then waited for the response to the million-credit question asked by Cinia.

Ghent had expected the question. It was a habit of his--stop talking at a point that would invite curiousity and questions. It was a good way to gauge who was paying attention.

"Yes, why should we? There are a lot of people in the bad part of Coruscant, after all..."

He flipped the slides. The next one showed a bird's-eye view of the "factory" he'd been held prisoner in not too long ago.

"The Syndicate, as I'm sure you're all capable of realizing, is not the only kid on the block. It might be one of the biggest and the oldest, but that doesn't mean upstarts don't come along and try to prove they're smarter and stronger. Our line of work is a competetive one, true, but most of us try to play fair."

As he spoke, he cycled through a few inside shots of the "factory" that he'd taken himself.

"But not everyone does. One operation in particular has been deliberately undercutting the Syndicate's business, and they play dirty--ratting us out to law enforcement, intimidating our contacts, sabatoging shipments... you name it, they've tried it. They're pretty smart, too--it was only recently that we discovered that these weren't isolated incidents, but the work of some sort of shadowy organization. We might not have at all if they hadn't gotten cocky--it was only when the attacks grew more frequent that we were able to trace them."

Ghent waved vaugely at the screen, which was cycling back through all the pictures it had already shown.

"My mission was to find out about them by infiltrating this 'factory', which, I quickly discovered, doubled as a base of operations. These people are quite well-funded."

He took another calcuated pause, seeing if anyone in the room would piece it together without his assistance.