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Ghent Navarro was a worried man.
Nothing of it showed on his face; as a matter of long habit, he never wore his emotions on his sleeve, even--perhaps especially--when dealing with his employers. Only those few who knew him well might be able to guess that something wasn't right. It was true that he was unsmiling as he contemplated the mission briefing on the large wall screen before him; but then, he very rarely smiled, and certainly not when serious business was at hand.
All the same, he was worried.
It could have been worse, of course. The Syndicate could have had someone else take the lead on this mission. Luckily, even though his earlier efforts hadn't exactly been an unparelled success, he still had more inside knowledge of the situation than any of the other operatives. It made little sense to select anyone else.
And he'd taken what steps he could. Given free reign to choose those who'd be working under him, he'd fired off the requets mostly to the relatively new operatives--the ones who wouldn't feel the need to go around his authority. If more veteran members happened to hear of the mission, he'd just have to come up with... something.
Nothing for it now to wait, anyway. The older man darkened the screen temporarily, wheeled his chair over to a large conference table in the middle of the room--about which seven or eight other chairs were already waiting--steepled his fingers, and waited.
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. "
Dar'jad followed the white haired and skinned man a sizable distance back as he tried to decide whether the man was an albino, an Arkanian, or something else entirely. He watched as the man entered a door to what Dar'jad knew was a conference room, and he himself entered just as the other had finished introducing himself.
"Subtlety" not being his strongest suit, Dar'jad walked into the room with a swagger that was only equaled by the bravado in his voice. "Well have no fear, my good sapient beings, for the one and only Dar'jad has come. I was told there might be a job to do here, and I can only take so much shuttling the "Old Man"...dalorian around before I need a bit of a break. Now, what sort of fun are we plotting?"
He moved to the table and just about jumped into a chair as he kicked his feet up on it and smirked, obviously quite satisfied his entrance had the intended effect of catching the two others completely by surprise. Whether it actually did or not was a point he had no time to judge, nor the care to.
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.
As always, Cinia Keyis
Not thirty seconds later, Cinia strode through the corridor to the conference room, completely ignoring somebody's request that alcohol was not allowed in the area. She was wearing a tight fitting shirt that showed off her curves and chest, and a pair of pants that would make most other sentients question the method she utilized in putting them on. Taking another drink from her bottle of Corellian Whiskey, she walked into the room as Neys was just sitting down. After a quick survey of the room, she noted that everyone present was male, and immediately walked up behind Dar'jad.
She leaned over, letting some her long blonde hair sprawl down his shoulder, and then setting her bottle on the table, used both of her hands to gently squeeze the base of his neck. She spoke loud enough to hear in a sultry voice.
"Hey there, stud. Fifty credits says you turn around and say, 'Wow!'
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.
Dar'jad took a moment to size up the others in the room for only a brief moment before he noticed the hair on his shoulder of someone who was definitely *not* in the room when he made his entrance. He grinned to himself at her words, and rolled his head to be able to see her better and still allow himself to keep his relaxed posture. There was a playful--yet flirtatious--tone to his voice "Then I guess it's a good thing I never take a bet I expect to lose."
He grinned a little wider as she came fully into view, "And I see this one I definitely would have lost."
He winked at the woman, then turned his gaze back to the older man for a moment. Dar'jad had the feeling that this was the man in charge, and he scanned his memory for who he might be, and what this might be about. He hadn't exactly been *invited* to the briefing, but he'd gotten a coded message that morning saying there was a job right up his alley coming down the pipes. And as far as Dar'jad was concerned, the vision of loveliness that had paid him a little attention made the mission worth his time.
Looking to each person in the room for a second--first to the white-haired man sitting at the table, then spending a couple of second longer gazing at the pretty blonde woman--his eyes finally settled again on the older man. "So, are we expecting anyone else?"
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."
"And how do you know that the Director of Security wasn't the one who thought the two of us ought to tag along on this whatever it is? I'm pretty sure he only likes like five people, and two of them are currently in this room."
She grabbed her bottle and laid down longways on the table. Somewhere in the galaxy, people took this kind of stuff seriously, and things got done with subtlety and finesse. But not in this particular conference room, at this particular time.
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 Gibbs Chaser
The unfamiliar man wandered into the hallway. His appearance could of best been described as ragged. A thick stubble coated his jawline linking up with the head of unkempt dark brown hair above. Two brown eyes were located either side of a slightly crooked nose, and fulsome lips sat beneath. He wore a thin white shirt and a grey jumpsuit, which clung to his waist by means of a threadbare black work-belt. All of which was of course covered with various oil stains, each in different stages of fading.
Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Had he come to the right place? It seemed an unlikely team, then again this was his first real job for the syndicate. He had yet to figure out how things worked around here. A slight grin crossed his lips as he paused in the doorway and scanned the room. As usual his eyes were immediately drawn to blonde, this syndicate wasn't all bad. Several other men sat around the table, he guessed that the ageing man at the head of the table was the boss. He nodded a greetings and circled around the table before taking a seat.
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?"
Ghent hid a smirk as people starting lying around on tables. A disregard for rules played to his advantage. Maybe he could salvage this after all. He cleared his throat slightly and stood up.
"Seems we're missing one who was here earlier. Once I find him we'll start the briefing... this mission is too critical to be held up for long."
At the door, he paused. "Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone."
With that, he went in search of the Arkanian.
( 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.
Aerin walked down the hallway, recognizing the trim figure with the fuchsia hair walking in front of him. Turning around the corner of the door he was met by an odd scene. Pausing in the doorway he pushes back one side of his knee-length dark sand brown hooded duster, and slides his hand into his trouser pockets. His finely tailored dark tan pants tapered down so as to tuck into the top of his sturdy, slim, synth-leather boots.
After taking a moment to assess the situation he moves inside the room, taking up a behind and slightly offset from Allura, leaning against a side table he crosses his arms over his chest, after picking a piece of lint off of his blue mandarin collared shirt. Deciding prudence was the best option Aerin remains quiet waiting for the talking to begin, a friendly smile on his face.
Hit 'em hard. Hit 'em quick. Leave no trace. When in doubt bring it down.
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."
(as Neys Tindler)
The mission leader had poked his head into the break room door, motioned for Neys to follow, and then returned to the briefing room. Neys lifted his legs down from the breakroom table where he'd had them propped up, stretched his arms to get the circulation back in, and followed the older man down the hall.
On re-entering the briefing room, he observed that there were two more sentients present. He didn't take in more than their silhouettes however, because his attention was riveted to the screen an the face of the man on it, and the words of the team leader. These things were relevant, after all.
As the blond human female was still sprawled on the table, Neys grabbed one of the rolling chairs by the top of its back, pulled it away from the table and sat down casually, still focused on the mission briefing.
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?
H_Fab wrote:"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?
Aerin smirked silently, from his position off to the side, at her first remarks. Then, looked expectantly towards the man, who was obviously in charge, waiting for a response to her question. He'd wondered the same.
Hit 'em hard. Hit 'em quick. Leave no trace. When in doubt bring it down.
"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.
Allura brought her left leg over the right crossing them in a prim and proper fashion. Normally she detested sitting in such a manner around people whom without a doubt had their share of blasters handy, but it didn’t seem like she was in such a threatening environment not to show some decorum. Her arms crossed as well, but this involuntary mannerism was more in response to closing herself off in the reflection to the other female’s childish remark. Allura wasn’t without her own immature prejudices and for the best she kept such thoughts to herself. Why yes, I’m sure for a few credits your very nice. Hospitable even she pondered, heavy on the sarcasm. For several years she was apart of a smuggling gang comprised of only females, their very charter, besides make credits fast, was to rid the perception that women in this galaxy were just pretty objects. It was clear that she’d be working with this woman, so there was no point getting into a debate about this. She’d have to take her word for it, that maybe she just caught her at a bad time? Allura was normally excellent at hiding her body language and facial responses, but in this case those were her only tools of having a voice without preventing further delay on the mission at hand. She regained her attention in Ghent’s direction, expecting more possibly?
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.
(as Neys, who suddenly has a background)
Neys had not missed the body language of the magenta-haired human female in response to the blond woman's defensive posturing. They reminded him of his mother and his sister, respectively. When these visual clues had popped up at home, Neys had always found an excuse to leave before the screaming and hair-pulling commenced. That wouldn't work here. He'd already left the briefing room once, and if he left again he might miss something important. Instead he squirmed just a little, as though trying to find a more comfortable position in this very comfortable conference chair padded with Corellian leather. He followed this up by staring at the face on the screen as if it were the most visual stimulation he'd had in his entire life.
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.
Aerin finally speaks up leaning forward a little bit, his arms still folded across his chest, "I'm just going to take a poke at it and guess that they need their legs knocked out from underneath them.... I'd also guess that they don't want it done too brutally... something unique... something more subtle." As he finishes talking he leans back again, against the wall.
Hit 'em hard. Hit 'em quick. Leave no trace. When in doubt bring it down.