Red Shield: A Mercenary Tale

[Nohbdi]

RED SHIELD
(Cue Fanfare)

CHAPTER ONE:
FRESH MEAT

It has been 135 years since the end of the Mandalorian Wars, 131 years since the Jedi Civil War and 126 years since the destruction of Malachor V signaled the end of the Sith Wars. Yet, even with the scars of the galaxy-spanning conflicts still painfully fresh in so many minds, there are always those who seek to obtain their desires through violence, regardless of the goals and heedless of the price. By the same token, wherever there is war, there are those ready to profit from it.

Far out in the Colonies Zone of the galaxy, one such group – a rough and often volatile mercenary organization, registered semi-legally as the Red Shield Security Company – has just received its latest batch of fresh new recruits, gathered from all over the galaxy. Soldiers and diplomats, scientists and thugs, they all share one basic trait above all others – the willingness to fight for a price. Trained and sorted and processed by the Company, the recruits have all received their assignments to one of many vessels owned by the Company, there to make their fortune and find whatever adventure may come their way.

Meanwhile, hidden from the eyes of those who claim to see all, dark plans are being set in motion, and an ancient entity, so long asleep, is beginning to find its dreams growing troubled...


~~~~~**********~~~~~

Onboard the RSM Chimera, unofficially the third flagship of the Red Shield Mercenaries, a transport vessel docked inside its designated hangar bay. Far from an unusual sight, this was in fact this particular vessel's seventh trip between the planet below and the ship above. What made this particular trip unique was the transport's cargo, for unlike the previous six trips, this time the load was alive.

(At least, thought the pilot, as far as these shinies can be considered alive.)

As the shuttle touched down, crewmen rushed forward in sync to secure it to the deck as per standard procedure, before the pilot was given permission to open the hatches and let some freshly-recycled air in.

"All right, recruits," the pilot's voice boomed over the shuttle's internal speakers, "Welcome aboard the Chimera, congrats on making it this far, now get the zrak off my transport unless you want to spend another three lovely hours in transit back down."

Moving quickly, the recruits closest to the door grabbed their gear and filed out into the hangar bay, where a particularly gruff-looking Rhodian began barking orders for them to form up in ranks, glaring evilly at anyone who didn't move fast enough for her tastes.


(OOC Board is here. (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=8491394#post8491394))

[Admiral Squish]

As the rest of the new load gets up, there is a soft whirr as a Gonk droid that had sat silently in the corner extends its legs and shuffles its way down the gangplank to stand in line wordlessly. It seems a little strange, mainly in that it has infinitely more hatches all over it's frame than most.

[RandomLunatic]

Lirios grabbed his gear and piled out of the shuttle, ignoring the fire burning in his legs protesting the weight after the enforced inactivity of the ride. He formed up, coming to parade rest, while taking in everything about the hangar he could.

[Calenestel]

With a slight sigh the Zeltron girl opens her eyes as they touch down inside the hangar. She had JUST found a comfortable position to sit in so that she could get some shuteye. Shouldering the backpack she'd been issued she is still quick about it and among the first of the transport and to line up.

[Obrysii]

It seemed rather unusual to find a being such as Junthros here, among all the places in the Galaxy he ought to have been - but the creature stood to a side, his large bulbous eyes closed, waiting for the orders to come in.

Orders. Orders from an organization he actively and directly joined by his own will - this was something important for him to note. Willfulness. That was a word to describe the being.

A word to describe most Hutts. Junthros shifted, eyes raising in their cat-like green tone, looking across in several hues - ultraviolent, visible spectrum both claiming life in his eyes.

Most of the people here, he thought, are fools who know nothing of command or of power.

He shifted forward, his bulk considerable in spite of his skin's tauntness, his musculature visible beneath a thick layer of skin (and fat).

What good is a man who does not serve for his will alone? he thought to himself, for money cannot buy everything.

He shifted, and looked at several of his companions - living proof of his commitment. He spoke, slow and in a rich bass tone, but in Basic, "Come, let us get off this thing - I much prefer a stronger vessel than a mere transport."

[chaoswolfling]

Chythar yawns from the inactivity, following the other recruits off the transport and keeping an eye on Viassira. The burning in his own shoulders from his practice with the training remote he manages to successfully ignore, intent on following the recruits and orders he's given for the time being.

[Nohbdi]

The remainder of the shuttle's load, consisting of a total of forty new recruits, one 'advisor' and another load of cargo, is quickly unloaded from the shuttle and either sorted, tallied, stacked and carted off by the ship's storage crew or falls into line as ordered. All in all, the entire operation is conducted with the minimal amount of confusion and chaos as is possible with these sorts of operations.

In fact, the largest amount of confusion from the unloading process occurs when one of the cargo handlers, noticing the Gonk droid walking itself off the shuttle, apparently confuses it for part of the shipment and moves to intercept it, mumbling aloud, "'Ey now, didn't know we was getting another tin can in this shipment; musta been a late addition to the orders. A'right, you, let's get you to storage," he adds, stepping in front of the droid and waving his arms to guide it in another direction.

.....

Meanwhile, the 'advisor' notes his student's glance in his direction, although he politely abstains from returning it. Moving with the graceful fluidity of his reptilian-like species, the Tarasin uncrosses his legs and rises from his seat, smoothing his robes and grabbing his small travel bag before turning to follow his student. He doesn't say a word, but those familliar with his species would probably have little trouble interpreting the bluish-green tint of his skin at this moment.

.....

The Rhodian doesn't allow the recruits much time to form up, and begins barking at them even before the last recruit manages to fall in line. Her voice carries the odd, almost trembling tenor of her species, but is nonetheless strong and clear as she growls out in lightly accented Basic, "Well well well, recruits - listen up, and listen good, because Lt. Laske doesn't repeat herself to a bunch of shinies! This here is the Chimera, best and proudest ship of our fine Company no matter what anyone else says, and we intend to keep it that way. I'm Lt. Laske, for any of you 'slow' ones who didn't catch it earlier, and until you lot prove yourselves capable of walking and talking on your own, you'll be directly under my command, you got that?"

Without waiting for a response, she turns to point to one of several large doors in the hangar bay, her tone and expression softening a little (if still remaining rather stern). "Now listen up! First stop is the armory so we can drop off that bantha the boys downstairs feel fit to stuff into your packs, then we'll hit the barracks and get you all assigned a rack for the night. Chow's in about two hours, which should give you all plenty of time to sort everything out. Any questions, recruits?"

[Calenestel]

Seeing how some of the cargo handlers mistakes Zero for part of the materiel Lielin smiles ever so slightly but doesn't move to help any one of them. Zero can probably take care of her... hi... itself. And the handlers will need to learn that there's a modded gonk running around sometime.
She has some time to look around when the rest of the contingent disembarks, not much but she's not as confused about the situation when lt. Laske speaks up. The pinkskinned woman wipes off her smile and "listens up" well enough that when the lieutenant finishes her introduction she has little to ask at the moment.

[chaoswolfling]

Chythar shakes his head, replying with a "No questions, Sir." His eyes remain fixed on the lieutenant, not feeling the need to stuff his non-existent pack with anything. The boy's stomach growls a bit, the mention of food starting to make him realize how hungry he is and the mention of a rack for the night starting to make him realize how much time he has spent training.

I really shouldn't press myself so hard...but I can't help wonder whether I am doing everything to Master Viassira's expectations.

[Obrysii]

The Hutt, all of it - being likely similar in weight to the rest of the new recruits combined - slithered forward at his own slow pace; there was little need for exceptional speed, and if the new employers could not tolerate it they would learn to tolerate it through his abilities.

He said nothing - simply examining the room with eyes that had seen centuries, with eyes that were likely older than any other on the ship. At two hundred and seventy eight, he was at least twice as old as any human would reach, and yet he fully expected another seven centuries of life for himself.

And he'd make that happen. And he'd do it his own way.

"Only one question," he said - not using the honorific 'sir' or any other - perhaps due to the fact he seemed somewhat unaccustomed to the Basic tongue, "What accommodations might a being of my size expect?"

[RandomLunatic]

Who do I have to bribe to get bunked with the Zeltron chick? Lirios wondered on one of the back ranks, grinning at Lielin. Beyond, that he remain quiet, with no questions for now.

[Calenestel]

In the corner of her eye she can see Lirios leer at her. She does not react with either shyness or anger. Instead, when the lieutenant turns her attention elsewhere she turns her head ever so slightly and gives the cheeky boy an equally cheeky wink.

[Admiral Squish]

The Gonk droid paused, shuffled a bit to regard the man, and then, in quite clear common, responded. "Cans? I didn't see any cans when I was with the other recruits... Well, I have to line up now, but good luck finding them!" He replied, cheerily, before shuffling his way around the man to the lineup of other recruits and taking his place among them as though nothing was out of ordinary in the least.

[Nohbdi]

The cargo handler, to his credit, only startles a little at being so directly addressed, then laughs it off. "Ah, ain't that a sight, then! Droids enlisting in the Company. What'll they think up next..." Chuckling to himself, the handler turns back to his work.

.....

The Rhodian's trumpet-like ears flick at the question, and she turns to look directly at the speaker, sizing him up briefly before answering. "You must be...Junthros, yes? I heard we were getting some unusual recruits in this load. Three, in fact," she adds, her eyes giving the approaching gonk-droid a studious look. For some reason, Lt. Laske seems to completely avoid the eyes of the two Jedi near the back of the group, instead turning to face the direction she'd earlier indicated and giving the hand-signal for the formation to break and follow. "Due to your size and physical makeup, recruit, you've been assigned one of the larger bunks, closer to deck-level. As far as other 'accomodations', well, that's one of the reasons several of you recruits got assigned here."

Her voice, while not exactly softening and quite strongly remaining that of a seasoned drill instructor, takes on a slight hint of quoting something as she continues, "Being the second-largest capital ship in the Company's fleet, the Chimera has had, and still has, a very large and very diverse crew, and over the years has been repeatedly refitted to accomodate as many different species and races as possible, both among the crew and among any potential civilian entities onboard."

.....

As the other recruits are firmly herded along behind the Lieutenant, another figure in an officer's uniform steps up in front of the two Jedi, politely motioning for them to wait behind. Giving the crowd a moment to disperse, the albino-like Tiss'shar nods respectfully to the pair, first to Viassira, then to Chythar. "Am extending greetings to honored Jedi," he says in broken Basic, his voice the low and rasping hiss common to his kind. "Am called by name of See-Yai-En; am Lieutenant Commander, am assigned for arranging of assistance and comfort for Jedi Master for duration of stay."

.....

As the 'tour' goes on, the Rhodian drones on in an increasingly monotone voice, which some might suspect is intended to dull the senses of those listening while still somehow forcing the knowledge to root somewhere in the recruit's brains - and in fact, this is exactly the case. Somewhere in the droning miasma, the recruits are relieved of their excess gear, assigned racks, issued pillows and bedsheets, and for the most part only manage to snap out of the daze in time to notice themselves in line in Medical for the mandatory check-up.

"Well, then," Lt. Laske says with a faint smirk at those still coming to, "That ends your tour, Recruits. The Docs will take good care of you now, and when they're done, we'll see about getting some food into you. Now be nice, kiddies, and better think warm thoughts," she adds with a cryptic chuckle before heading back the way everyone came.

[chaoswolfling]

Chythar nods, remaining quiet. Remember, Chythar. You're a mercenary now. Training happens in your off time.

[Calenestel]

Lt. Laske's droning voice actually makes her zone out worse and worse the longer the tour drags on and once or twice the redskinned smuggler-turned-mercenary must hide a yawn behind a clenched fist as she follows along. She starts daydreaming about Telos and the Old Days.
When she finally, and quite suddenly, is yanked back to the real world she finds herself at the sickbay, making the contrast exceptionally jarring. Stiffling a third yawn she looks quizzicaly at the rodian officer. She is decidedly NOT comforted by those parting words.

[Obrysii]

The Hutt, possessed of a long life, felt no need to rush - the fact his species moved at such a slow pace was evidence of this philosophy.

An old Hutt saying came to his mind. Batahuwha thkalar whota balimaotha - it does no good to strike without knowledge - it did not do to lack patience. In this way, he felt, he was somewhat like the Jedi. They always seemed to go on and on about the future at the expense of now.

Paying for the future with a down payment of today - that's what it was all about.

Blinking, finding himself in the medical wing, he let out a good laugh. "You should find me in perfect health, and in little need of a check-up."

[Admiral Squish]

The gonk follows along, shuffling extra-fast to keep up with the umanoids as they walked along. He kept his sensors turned, digitally mapping the corridors they walked through in his mind. If this was to be his home, it would be wise to learn it well. As they arrived at sickbay, one of the many hatches on his body opened and a three-fingered hand emerged, extending... and extending... and extending, until it was above the rest of the recruit's heads, waving back and forth to catch the officer's attention. "Excuse me, Ma'am, I don't beleive these facilities will have the tools needed to give me a proper check-up. Is their a maintenance bay I should report to?" He asked, still sounding quite chipper as the arm retracted back into his chassis, only to be completely concealed by a panel door once more.

[RandomLunatic]

Lirios abruptly comes to his senses, looks around somewhat comically to get his bearings, and discovering he is still stuck standing in line, retreats into stupor.

[Nohbdi]

Lt. Laske utterly fails to delay her departure at the droid's question, but then again, that's what Privates are for. On the heels of that thought, a technician bearing just such a rank's patch on his sleeve approaches the Gonk. "Ah, hello there. You must be Zero-One-et cetera. Dr. Rana will be conducting your examination. Follow me, please." So saying, the low-ranking grunt turns and heads off down a different hall, passing through an auto-opening door labelled [CYBERNETICS BAY].

.....

Meanwhile, the rest of the new recruits are treated...reasonably well by the medical crew, as far as such examinations go. Given that most of the recruits received extensive exams repeatedly through Basic and the various transfers to this point, most of the exam is simply routine (although the stethoscopes are, to be fair, rather chilly). One or two recruits are given various antibiotics for an issue here or there, but on the whole little unusual happens.

.....

Viassira, being the stoic sort of individual he is, simply nods along with his padawan, remaining otherwise patiently silent.

See-Yai-En, seeing no issue otherwise, turns slightly and indicates a passage from the hangar bay. "Are to be following. Am to bring Jedi Master and apprentice to Captain for introduction and briefing, then to Officer Galley for first meal. Jedi Apprentice is to dine with Master for End-Day meal, then is reporting to Lt. Laske before Begin-Day meal. Am making schedule clear, yes?" Looking over his shoulder briefly to make sure he's understood, the Tiss'shar turns to head in the indicated direction.

[Admiral Squish]

The gonk shifts to regard the private. "Ah, thank you!" He replies, giving a cheerful chassis-nod before shuffling after him down the hall. He scans the words Cybernetics bay, saving that into the mental map as he walks into the room, his sensor scanning the room, jumping from person to person is search of rank devices for who to greet first.

[Obrysii]

"Is that all? I should like to find my quarters, please," the Hutt said simply, his voice deep - commanding, and yet, no moreso than a typical human. His form, though, was far from any humans - being nearly raw muscle and durability. His was a form that was strong, agile - an agility that belied his great bulk.

He was a young Hutt, and not yet a mass of blubber.

[chaoswolfling]

Chythar nods to See-Yai-En, replying "Crystal clear, sir." The padawan ponders this for several moments, forcing himself to keep his pulse and breathing stable. As he puts his shirt back on, his tension fades.

He runs a hand along his cheek, thinking to himself Last dinner with Master Viassira was filled with history and knowledge. This upcoming meal will be my last as a Jedi Apprentice before entering reality beyond the walls of the sheltered life at the Temple. It is definitely going to be entertaining.

[Calenestel]

On the whole little happens, except for Lielin. It has happened before.
She is, because of her species' reputation, deemed a "special liability to crew health" and, as if that isn't humiliating enough being heard by just about the whole group, taken aside for "extra tests". Those tests are, quite obviously, just a means by four from the medical personel (two of the male doctors, one of the male nurses and one of the female nurses as well) to get her out of her uniform and in a position where she can be poked and probed some extra.

Not that she minds THAT much about being ogled by them, two of the men and the woman are kind of cute for humans, or at all for that matter. In fact she does give the female nurse a bit of an extra treat by stretching her arms to the ceiling while the others backs are turned for a sec.
But she dislikes people abusing their stations like this. At least they could have taken her out first, bought her some drinks or a dinner.
As she, quite naturally, passes all their tests she is returned to the other recruits in due time. The female nurse accompanies her and tells her, loud enough to be heard by the rest, how well she did and is rewarded with a bright smile and a wink before Lielin returns to her place.
Calmly straightening her uniform she there waits for the quicker, but much more numerous exams to be done with.

[Obrysii]

The Hutt eyed the Zeltron as she returned; if he was different, like the more unusually lecturous of his kind, of which many crime lords were known, he would have sneered or wanted to voice his supposed concern for her.

But he wasn't like that. He saw humans no more attractive sexually than an human would find a cow or goat - and perhaps he felt they were, sometimes, equal to that of simple herd animals.

He shook his mind of such thoughts. Those lead us nowhere, he thought to himself. "I am glad to hear you passed - I should hope they did not extend their survey beyond their mandates," he said, "or I should say, I hope they did not abuse what power they are given."

[Calenestel]

The redskinned woman shrugs with her face somewhere between an uncomfortable grimace and a crooked smile. She didn't like the humiliation of being seen as a "health risk", but the attention itself wasn't much of a bother. She was honest enough to admit to enjoying it. It was the why and the how of it that bothered her. The look she gives the, relatively, lean hutt and the way she meets his catslit gaze makes it clear that she appreciates the concern. She relaxes slightly and there is an almost grateful hint in her voice as she answers his question: "They were no worse than any other human examination I've endured. It can be tiresome at times, but they seemed decent enough on the whole."

[Nohbdi]

Viassira nods lightly in agreement with his apprentice's words, then sketches a sort of half-bow to the Tiss'shar. "My apprentice and I would be honored to share the Captain's table." Not being one of those Jedi Masters who seems to feel the relative rank between them and their apprentices makes the latter the nerf of the pair, Viassira turns to his apprentice and casually gathers up his share of the luggage.

While thus closer to his apprentice and, presumably, out of the Tiss'shar's hearing, Viassira quietly advises his student. "Be on your guard, Chythar - these are certainly not your enemies in the broadest sense, but the life of a soldier is one of constant competition. Be diplomatic, but remember that those who live for violence respect strength above all else."

So saying, the Jedi Master turns to follow the pair's earstwhile guide towards what will be, presumably, his quarters for the duration of their stay.

..........

Surprisingly, Lielin might have actually gotten off fairly easy, as far as the medical department goes; one of the Vratix stationed onboard, while not interested in other species in 'that' way, has a documented fascination with the physiology of species unlike it's own that borders on creepy, and has twice resulted in disciplinary action. On the same note, Junthros is probably also fortunate to have had fairly normal examiners.

Thankfully, before said Medic is able to notice either of the two less-common species, the somewhat dull and tedius waiting around is broken up by the timely return of Lt. Laske, who again glares at the motley display of recruits within her view. "Well, recruits, I hope you all enjoyed your visit to the medical ward - now let's do us all a favor and try to keep yourselves from having to come back too soon, all right?"

This earns a few chuckles from some of the recruits, which she allows for a moment or two before glaring at the general crowd again. "All right, up and at 'em! Chow starts in twenty, and I don't intend to miss a meal for you sorry lot! Simkins and Dooreeg," she snaps at a human and a rhodian among the recruits, "You two stay here for the last of the check-ups, then rendezvous at Chow Hall #3, port-side entrance. If you get lost, there's maps on every bulkhead near any major intersection." Grinning nastilly, she adds in a completely innocent voice, "You two got highest marks in tracking and navigation, so I'll be expecting your group pretty quick."

That said, she turns her attention back to the main procession of recruits. "Well, what're you waiting for, another war? Get a move on!" And with that, Lt. Laske turns and marches her way out the medical bay's wide double-doors and on to the Chow Hall, the rest of the recruits falling in line behind her.

..........

Meanwhile, in the Cybernetics Lab...

The private apparently takes his job very seriously, as he leads the little gonk droid on towards the mysterious Dr. Rana, whomever - or whatever - said mysterious person might be.

Not that the trip is all that intensely rushed or anything, nor is it necessarily uninteresting - for here in the Cybernetics Lab, dozens of medical machines lie shining and ready for whatever - or whomever - they might next be called upon to operate, ranging from the relatively innocuous mechanical diagnostics scanners to the more intimidating limb-grafting stations, to a few whose purpose might hopefully remain unknown for some time. Fortunately, this being something of a 'down-time' what with the ship and crew not currently being in a war and all, none of the machines are currently in use. A few technicians work on one of the machines, tuning it up to spec, but generally remain more focused on their work than on the Gonk droid and its guide.

At the far end of the lab are several private examination rooms, followed by several more offices with name-plates on the doors. The unnamed private stops in front of one door in particular, then turns and smiles at his follower. "Well, here you go little one. I'll be waiting back at the main area when he's done with you." With that, he knocks on the door, then turns and walks back the way he came.

A few seconds later, the door unlocks with an audible *click* and swings open an inch or two. From within the well-lit room, a soft voice says simply, "Come in."

[chaoswolfling]

Chythar nods and picks up his share of the luggage, following his master.

This must be some of the 'interesting' lifestyle the other recruits were talking about. Diplomacy before all else. Never resort to aggression unless it is called for.

[Admiral Squish]

With an uncertain whirr, the claw-hatch opens up again, and pulls the door open enough for his boxy form to enter, peering in with his telescoping sensors. But nonetheless, he shuffled his way into the examination room, closing the door behind himself.

[Calenestel]

Lielin is one of the chucklers. Other than that she keeps away from drawing attention from the lewie and follows along quietly and nicely. Well... Now I'm a mercenary, then... Time for chow and then boredom, I guess. Then again, considering the alternatives a nice time of boredom could be nice right now. Smiling for herself, the zeltron shuffles of with the rest of the group.

[Obrysii]

The Hutt, mindful of his large size and blocking-power of hallways, waits for the others to leave before going himself - but not before asking, quietly, "What is the state of the medical facility here? What should occur if one is severely injured - can this place handle it?"

Whenever he receives the answer, he would turn and move on - towards the chowhall. Of all the things a Hutt living among Humans must do, it was to anticipate the time it took to reach places, and move on ahead ahead of time.

[Nohbdi]

The examining officer who took care of Junthros in the first place hears the question and, apparently having a short lull in his duties, decides to answer the Hutt's question. "Well, as long as you don't to something too extreme like getting your fool head blown off, this facility can handle nearly all non-critical and most critical issues you ground-pounders can bring us, even non-standards like yourself. Of course, truly extensive damage, such as, say, losing a limb, would probably require a trip to the Cybernetics division." With that, the officer notes the departing crowd of new recruits, and nods in their direction. "Don't fall too far behind, now - it's a big ship, and easy to get lost."

..........

Meanwhile, inside the Cybernetics Lab...

The room behind the door seems to be a combination of small office and workshop, with nearly half the room being taken up by a workbench and the other occupied with a small desk and computer system. Sitting at the desk is a rather worn-looking, somewhat older male human with black hair speckled with patches of gray, wearing a standard medical uniform and a pair of what look to be bronze welding goggles over his eyes.

Without looking up from the data-pad in front of him, Dr. Rana says simply, "I assume, given the lack of boot-like footfalls, that you must be Zero-One, as the recorders have so thoughtfully shortened your designation. As you no doubt surmised from the name on the door, I am Dr. Ventarus Rana, resident expert in the fields of cybernetics and machinery."

Tapping a few times on the display, Dr. Rana sets the pad down, then turns to look at the droid. He pauses a second or two...then smiles broadly. "...Fascinating. Simply amazing. A self-aware, self-motivated automaton who willingly decided to join our mercenary company. You, my little mechanical friend, are going to be most interesting to watch."

Shaking his head a little, Dr. Rana stands from the desk. "But forgive me, where are my manners. I wanted to meet you, not just to have a look at you, but also to make sure you were properly informed as to whom exactly will be making sure you continue functioning correctly, as well as to see if there is any particular need or requirement you might have regarding proper care."

..........

Given the somewhat confusing nature of a very large warship on one's first day, See-Yai-En still manages to keep his charges from getting lost by the simple and effective method of staying no further than two meters in front of them as the group transits the long and twisting corridors. After what feels like a good fifteen minutes of navigating the metallic maze, the Tiss'shar stops in front of a particular door, bare of any notable markings aside from an empty slot to mount a name plaque.

"Is room for use of Jedi during stay. Are placing baggage inside for unpackage following End-Day Meal. Will continue to office of Captain after unloading of baggage, yes?" Nodding slightly at the pair without waiting for an answer, the Tiss'shar touches a panel next to the door, which flips forward to reveal a standard numerical keypad. "Combination is for adjustment after dropping off of baggage; for current, is ten-twenty-fourteen. Am showing method for adjustment following End-Day Meal, yes?"

With the combination entered, the door unlocks and swings open, revealing a fairly plain, if rather large room similar to a small hotel suite, complete with a separate washroom and small closet.

[chaoswolfling]

Chythar sets his equipment near the couch and glances to his master. "I am going to hit the refresher unit before we head off to dinner. Given that this is a meal at the Captain's Table, I feel that the combat jumpsuit would be a bit excessive."

[Admiral Squish]

The droid gave one of those full-body nods. "Thank you sir, I certainly appreciate your time, and I'm looking forward to meeting the mechanic who will be working on me." He said. "I don't believe I have much in the way of special needs. I probably have fewer special needs than most, actually. If it would help you, I could produce a list of all my installed components, modifications and upgrades." He offered, hoping to be helpful.

[Obrysii]

The mess hall was easy enough to find - a helpful droid or personnel was more than happy to assist a lumbering mass of muscle and fat towards the food areas of the vessel, even if the aftereffect was a giggle or a harshly condescending answer. This did, to some extent, bother the young Hutt, but he tried to shrug it from his memory.

Stereotypes are a hard thing to overcome, he thought to himself. A brief thought of how hard it'd be if he'd been born Force Sensitive and trained as a Jedi; how hard it would be to be surrounded by people who distrusted you by your nature, instead of simply fearing you as most sentients did.

He shivered at the thought. And yet, somewhere within him, he wished he had the opportunity to make others open their eyes in realization as to his character - and how better than to fail to fall out of the light of the Force?

Muscles flexed, and the massive being pushed forward, aiming for the mess hall's food centers, looking to have a decent meal.

[Nohbdi]

Given the sheer size of the Chimera and her crew, it was long ago deemed more feasible and practical for the ship's (multiple) mess halls to not only go automated, but to remain open for the full daily cycle, minus three half-hour breaks for maintenance and upkeep. Even so, the Main Galley - that is, the one closest to both the primary hangar bay and the forward half of the crew berthings - is still more often than not a rather crowded affair, filled to nearly three-quarters capacity with a writhing sea of uniformed bodies in all shapes, sizes and colors, all with one thing on the forefront of their minds:

Food.

Thus it comes as little surprise that, by the time the Hutt manages to navigate his way through the halls and passageways of the ship with the (dubious) aid of various passers-by, the main group of recruits has, by no small measure of skill, determination, luck and the liberal application of their guide's rank, managed to make their way finally to the front of the line. Spotting the Hutt (and a few of the stragglers from Medical) entering the galley, Lt. Laske impatiently waves them over, gesturing to the area near the back of the group.

Meanwhile, those to the front of the line are introduced to the wonders that are considered food aboard this fine mercenary vessel. Simple instructions for each vic- er, recipient are posted in front of literally dozens of food dispensers, indicating a card-reader ready for each user to swipe his, her or its ident-card. The first few brave souls in the front of the group each take a dispenser, swipe their cards and are rewarded with a sectioned metal tray willed with, well...

Each species in the galaxy is unique to a certain, sometimes extreme degree. What is nourishing to one is addictive to another, toxic to a third and completely useless to a fourth. With that in mind, the food-dispenser systems have been designed in such a way that, the moment the user swipes an ident-card through the reader, the system references the user’s medical records, citing any and all species requirements, allergies, known toxic reactions, sensitivities, addictive tendencies and personal nutrient needs, and prepares a meal containing literally everything the subject requires in a meal, with the exact amount of vitamins, minerals, proteins and other essential nutrients in a form which can reliably be considered easy to digest.

Unfortunately, this means that each meal essentially has the same appearance, texture, consistency and flavor of warm, wet cardboard. (Hence the reason the vending machines seem so popular.)

With the first set of hapless recruits served, Lt. Laske impatiently gestures for the next set to move up before pointing the first set to a clear set of tables to eat.

..........

Meanwhile, Viassira nods to his apprentice. "An excellent plan. When you are finished, play out my dress robes as well - we would do well to make a good first impression on your new boss, mmm?" Smiling gently, the Jedi Master glances towards their guide briefly to verify there being no issue with the plans before unpacking a few minor necessities for the moment.

See-Yai-En, in turn, nods agreeably at the two. "Are refreshing as feeling needed. Are having small but sufficient time for preparing for End-Day Meal. Are not delaying over long, but are having time, yes." With that, the Tiss'shar steps back a pace or two, letting himself out the doorway. "Am waiting here for guiding of Jedi when refreshing is complete. Are in requirement of anything, am informing, and am arranging for requirement to be brought. Are not requiring anything, am knocking on door to inform of time to leave to office of Captain." With that, the Tiss'shar politely closes the door, giving the two Jedi some privacy.

..........

Dr. Rana hmms briefly, then nods, still smiling. "Yes, that would be most useful; your record contains a fairly detailed list already, but it would be good to compare the two, to check for any errors in bookkeeping. However, that can wait until your first official maintenance check-up, as I believe your assigned recruit-officer would probably have something to say about me keeping you here too long. No, this is merely a chance for the two of us to be properly introduced, and to see that you are properly taken care of."

[Calenestel]

Looking at her plate, at what is supposed to pass for food in this place, the zeltron can't really suppress a shudder. If it taste as it looked she wasn't going to enjoy dinner time very much any longer. And she had a bad feeling about that. At the liutenant's gesturing she moves off and takes a place at the empty table. At first she only looks at the plate with disgust. But her grumbling stomach wouldn't allow her any whining and slowly she picks up the spoon and stuffs a mouthful of the blandlooking stuff in her mouth. Ah, sithspit.

[chaoswolfling]

The boy nods, unpacking his own robes and laying them out on the couch, his master's robes on the bed. The combat jumpsuit and pistol for the following morning are folded neatly on the table, and Chythar ducks into the refresher to clean up.

[Obrysii]

The beauty of the Hutt biology is its ruggedness - there was little that could harm them, in the long run. Possessed of a regenerative property (albeit agonizingly slow - needing a century or so to regenerate a lost limb) and a strong digestive tract, the forces on the Hutt homeworld must have been strange to produce such a being through the processes of evolution.

But it was clear that, whatever the case was, that Hutts felt they had a refined sense of taste - that they could detect the subtle nuance of any food.

And this stuff had none. "Are we certain this is the galley and not the waste treatment center?" he asked the others as he reached their sitting area - curling his tail with surprising dexterity, so as to not overly block the space around him.

[Note: the regenerative properties of hutts, and all of that added stuff, comes from the expanded universe books - not the stat blocks.]

[Calenestel]

"Not particularly sure, no." With a disgusted grimace the zeltron girl glares at her portion. The kindest one could say about it was that the portions were generous. Considering that nothing else was good about it made that a bit dubious as well, though. Zeltrons, while much less hardy than hutts, shared their love for good food. This was probably not even to be considered food at all. With a suffering sigh Lielin shakes her head and takes another spoonful, quickly washing it down with water.

[RandomLunatic]

"Yeah, I'm sure," Lirios said, gingerly prodding the... mush with his spoon. "The stuff that comes out of the waste treatment system at least looks like it was organic matter at some point."

[Obrysii]

Junthros ate it all the same, raising it to his wide maw and practically drinking it - before quivering. "Bleck! It seems we'll have to depend on our own for good food," he said. If there was one thing all Hutts, regardless of morality, agreed upon - it was good food!

[Nohbdi]

Most of the tables near the fresh new recruits are fully occupied, and with the tables themselves not being that far apart, it's hardly surprising that the conversation is overheard by some of the more experienced lot. One in particular - a roughly scarred and tattooed, grizzled old veteran by the looks of him - lets out a snorting sort of chuckle at the complaints, grinning as he half-turns to glance at the new batch.

"Heh! Nah, this ain't from the gray-pipes - not that most'd be able to tell the difference." Scanning the closest set, his eyes settle for a moment on the Zeltron with, admittedly, a rather expected expression, then take in the others...before locking with surprised interest on the Hutt. He outright stares for a second or two, then 'gently' taps the guy to his left, getting his attention as well.

Now, of course, there are two staring. And more shortly, as attention spreads.

"Shards'n'stones," the first mutters to his buddy, "Who's the nerf-brain put a Mr. Jones with the enlisted?"

The second, a bit quicker on the uptake, smacks his buddy a bit roughly on the arm and grunts back, "Nah, that ain't no Jones, lookit the uniform - that's a Freshie!" Turning his attention back towards the subject of their conversation, Grunt #2 adds in a more conversational manner, "So what's a fella like you doin' joinin' up with the Company, anyway? Ain't never seen one o' yer kind wasn't holding the cred-chit and contract form, if ya get my meanin'."

Meanwhile, while everyone else seems distracted by the Hutt, a small scrap of some paper-like object mysteriously makes itself appear on a certain Zeltron's tray, folded around what looks to be, for all the world, like a blue chewable tablet.

[Calenestel]

As the veterans make sure that all of the mess hall's attention is centered on Junthros Lielin continues to eat, if hesitantly, while watching the watchers. Trying to gauge who was the leaders, the thinkers, the fixers and so on. She was quite sure that a mercenary company was much like a smuggler crew, only bigger, and she needed to learn who did what among the grunts if she were to do more than survive, possibly even that much.
Still, that means that even she couldn't say who had put a note on her plate. Seriously, a note? What were they Mercenaries or kindergarten kids? With a wry smile she carefully opens the piece of paper, trying hard not to let anyone see it, to quickly check for messages to be read later before putting it in her pocket.

If the DM want me to here's two rolls:

[roll0] if the whole "who does what"-thing would warrant a check right now
and [roll1] for smuggling away her message(?)

Sooo... I'm thinking: No. Not at all. Let's just hope everyone is too busy with Junthros. :smallmad:

[Obrysii]

Junthros turned to see the stares, his large cat-slit eyes examining them. Vets – those who have witnessed a great deal of conflict. Those whose powers could be useful. He puffed himself out to his full size – a rather commanding appearance, if only his charisma were higher; he let a light laugh – and pushed his infamy into it.

He thought for a moment as to his speech – he was no speech-giver, no commander of men (yet), and his tongue was not the native of these beings. “Perhaps, in several centuries, I shall be as that – a contract-pusher, but you forget the scale of years. It is not entirely uncommon for a younger Hutt to strike out in the galaxy – find his place. Find his markets.”

It was, perhaps, good to use a reputation for one's advantage. “It is good to join a group as this, and build connections with those who know – those who have experience, such as yourselves.”

[chaoswolfling]

Chythar complies, taking the time for a quick military duration trip to the refresher. He exits it wearing a towel, setting about preparing Viassira's formalized robes and taking his own uniform from his pack. "May as well get into character, since after dinner I am one of them. The refresher's all yours, Master."