Ignition

The atmosphere on the space station is one of tense anticipation. The announcement of the rollout of the new, modified Corellian Corvette has attracted quite a bit of buzz in the past few weeks, and technicians at CEC have been working around the clock to make sure that business continues on schedule, despite the recent major attacks on the orbital shipyard. It had been announced that today would be the first public viewing of the much-anticipated ship, and so the public hangar is abuzz with beings from all over the sector, as well as beyond, who have come to look at the latest technological tour de force of the famed corporation.

There are other ships on display, but the most important one sits gleaming in the middle of the hangar. The lines of the ship have clearly been redrawn by some genius of design, for though it's easily recognizable as a Corvette, there has never been one as sleek as this. Beside the purely aesthetic modifications, there are two extra turbolasers, rendered almost invisible by their placement on the sides and top.

The mind from which this marvel has sprung (or, at least, the mouth from which the order to the mind that made it has sprung) stands off to the side, conversing with a Givin in a CEC jumpsuit. The Givin holds out a datapad, and Smitherbodkins looks down at it intently, scrolling the screen with a stylus.

Alac didn't crash the ship in landing, he didn't kill anyone exiting it, and nothing has been set ablaze by his cigarro smoking. Even by the highly flamable Starship fuel stations, upon which he's leaning even, because he's a rebel and lives dangerously. Smoke curls up from the outside corner of his mouth, rolling in beneath the brim of his hat. One arm lays across the surface of a fueling station (as earlier mentioned), the other dangles down with his thumb stuck in behind the empty gun holster on his right leg.

Indignantly, he's looking around to see if there's refreshments being served.. even holding a hand out to stop someone in a jumpsuit covered in working smudges, "Hey, no booze? Wha' kinna party is this?"

"I don't care. I want two." Wynn Ryder, Holovid Star is already on the station and making sure that he's got one of the best standing seats in the house so that he can actually get an amazingly perfect view of the new 'Vette. He's clearly already decided that he's going to own one of these and now he's trying to talk his accountant into making this happen. Which is why he has his flipcom up to his ear. He always does. He's a comlink kind of guy. Or teenage girl. It's hard to tell sometimes.

His tinted specs are a shimmering yellow at this point, which just makes him look all the more amazing. Why? Because he's rocking a stylish ensemble that is some twisted swirl of orange and yellow, which makes him look like three suns fighting for their lives across his entire body. And he makes it look good. That's about the same time that he notices Alac and offers him one of those Holowood waves. Y'know the one where he'll be 'right with you' or something like that. He's on an 'important business com'. Whatever.

"Look. I want two. Make it happen. Or I find someone who can." He's about to hang up the com, but then... "What do you mean we have a budget? I'm Wynn Ryder. I don't budget. I buy it." Oy. This could take a while.

There's nothing like a Trandoshan for cutting a swathe through a crowd. And when you see two Trandoshans, when they are twin albinos, when they are armoured though unarmed, it's entirely likely that the swathe they are cutting is for the benefit of one of the Varvani ladies from Sayo Station.

Thus does Mara Shinomiya, trusted advisor to Beatrix Vara, a lady who does all manner of important things to which her title Chamberlain of the Right gives only the vaguest clue, arrive expeditiously by the side of Lord Geophreigh Smitherbodkins. It is only polite, after all, to greet one's host before one rolls up to the bar; and the chamberlain's attitude is one of the most exquisite formal politeness.

"Lord Smitherbodkins, my congratulations. Thank you for inviting me to join you on this auspicious day." She offers him her bare white hand, rather than her gloved black hand.

Smitherbodkins continues to scroll the screen, frowning thoughtfully. "Are you sure this is correct?" he inquires of the Givin next to him, still perusing the screen. The Givin nods and replies in a gravelly voice, "Yeah, we've checked 'em a dozen times. No way they're inaccurate." This response seems to be acceptable, and the gentleman hands the pad back to his tech, "Very well. See that it's done, then." The Givin nods and begins to walk away, jsut as the Chamberlain of the Right and her entourage make their presence known to him.

An easy smile settles onto his face, and he takes the offered hand, bringing it to his lips and brushing the back with a kiss. "Madam chamberlain. I'm so pleased you could attend. What do you think?"

There is, in fact, a bar, that's been placed subtly out of the way, toward the side of the display of the Corvette, so as not to block anyone's view of the ship. It would hardly be a function of Smitherbodkins' if it did not. He catches the eye of the 'tender, holding up two fingers and gesturing first to his guest, than to himself. A few moments later, they're each brought a glass of rich, amber liquid. Smitherbodkins takes a sip from his as he waits for her response.

Alac looks back to the sound of onesided conversation and up nods to Wynn. His hand jumps in a little salute/wave, but he doesn't stay in the same place, not once he's spotted the bar at any rate. Cigarro clutched between two fingers, he points in the direction for his allstar buddies ediface and heads that way for some much needed liquid feel good. "Somethin' expensive... unless this ain't an open bar.. in which case, somethin' strong an' cheap." Pulling himself up onto a stool to turn a little and look back at the towering corvette on display with a thoughtful turn of his muddy brown eyes cast behind a smokey screen.

The chamberlain raises her glass; to breathe in the fragrance of the liquor, rather than to sip it. Her black eyes meet Lord Smitherbodkins's with a hint of mischief in their depths -- not wondering if he, too, is thinking of the last time she accepted a drink at one of his parties, but, in fact, *knowing* he is.

Then she quirks a brow at the ship which is the cynosure of all eyes. "Sexy little thing, isn't it?" she remarks. "But I doubt I'll persuade Her Highness to buy one. You know how uninterested she is in anything beyond her own walls."

Wynn Ryder is getting more and more frustrated with his accountant and thus the slamming of the flipcom closed. "No. Something expensive. And strong. And something that you're not serving to anyone else." Somehow, the great Wynn Ryder has gotten to the bar in record time and is behind Alac to make sure that his old friend is drinking the right stuff. "We don't want any of that watered down stuff you're serving the rest of these beings." He's all about making sure his friends get the best of all worlds. "And I want something to match the rest of me." There's a quick moment when he steps back so the 'tender can admire the flaming sun outfit that he's wearing.

"Indeed I do," Smitherbodkins replies, one hand tugging down the cuff at his right wrist as he meets her gaze, "so I shall limit my gifts to those of a more sentimental nature." His eyes shift back to the Corvette, regarding it with a very paternal air, and lets out a sigh of contentment. Suddenly, his attention is caught by the voice that is, no doubt, soon to be one of most recognizable in the galaxy. He turns, his eyes searching for the source, until they fall on Wynn and, by proximity, Alac. He pauses, wavering over some decision, before he glances once more to his lovely companion, raising an eyebrow, "Madam chamberlain, may I introduce you to some acquaintances? I believe you may find them...interesting." He begins to make his protracted way over toward the bar, and once he's in earshot, he says, "Mr. Ryder, Mr. Y'All. What a pleasant surprise. How does my new toy strike you?"

The elegantly-suited Varvani lady is content to accompany her host into the vicinity of these fellow guests he feels are worth drawing to her attention. They are both shorter than she, and both... so *picturesque*. Hmm. "Mara Shinomiya," she says, by way of introducing herself, as she looks from one to the other, offering her hand to the one closest to her. "Mr... Ryder, is it?" From their faces, she gathers that she has guessed correctly. "And what is it you do?"

Alac glances once more to his old friend and then down into a slightly tilted glass when the tender lays out the good stuff, "I ain't payin' for this.." He warns the man behind the bar, which is a good time for them to be summoned, really. Since he's very serious about his intentions not to foot the bill on this likely excessively expensive alcohol that he's going to drink as if it were swill anyways. The flavor of it doesn't matter, it could literally be fruit watered by the tears of Matunda children, in the last remaining pot of soil from Alderaan, and he's still going to hammer it back like horse water and slam the glass down as he slips down off the stool. Cigarro in his teeth, he walks with a certain kind of swagger.. even eyeing the trandoshans in a way that probably wouldn't be healthy if it werent for the sheer audicity of doing it in the first place. "Nice ship." Said polite, sorta, to Bod as he flicks his fingers up to the on display corvette, "Nice dress." More polite, sorta, to Mara.

He doesn't know what color her eyes are. Just so we're all clear on /where/ his eyes are. At least for a moment, then he loses interest and glances up above him at the extra battery of guns attached to the front of the vessel on display. Likely day dreaming about shooting someone with them. Soon as they make those things into personal weapons, he's getting three.

Wynn Ryder is focused on holding up his glass of swirling foaming liquid to himself to make sure that it is a perfect match... and it is. Apparently, the 'tenders at this place are very good at what they do. And after a sip, it becomes quite obvious that Wynn is enjoying the fruitopian taste of the drink that will probably make him drunk so fast that he doesn't even know he's drunk until after the hangover.

"Don't know. You haven't given me one yet." Wynn remarks ever so smoothly to Smithers, before he turns his attention to a female that is clearly about to become the center of his attention. It is, after all, part of his nature to be more inclined to focus on the fairer sex than his own. Duh. "Please, I insist that all exquisite beauties refer to me as Wynn. I've never really been one for formality. Just ask Smithers." Just another testing of the waters to make sure this nickname isn't going to get him hauled off and thrown out of Starlight Studios or something.

For the record, Wynn's eyes were in the same place Alac's were. He's just better at acting like he's not looking there. Booyah.

The two completely different, yet both somehow quintessentially Corellian, responses elicit a chuckle from Smitherbodkins, and he looks between the two, then back to Mara, spreading his hands helplessly. "Mr. Ryder," he says, looking back toward the young star, "you can only fly one at a time, after all." The nickname doesn't phase him; he merely navigates around Mara to draw next to Alac. He's seen where the man's interest now lies. "Those will cripple a star destroyer, my friend," he says, motioning with his drink to the newly mounted turbolasers, "if the gunner has any aim at all." And perhaps even if he doesn't.

Still unclear as to who or what this yellow-orange man is when he's at home, or anywhere else for that matter, Mara takes brief refuge in her glass, thanking the ancestors she prays to that she's not drinking what *he* is. And also that she has a pair of Trandoshan bodyguards looking interestedly over her shoulders, ready to suppress any overly masculine responses to her presence, should such arise.

"How kind, Mr. Ryder," she says firmly. Then, catching her host's eye once more, she mouths: 'Smithers'?

Alac's temporary affirmation of Mara's cup size aside, he's turned his full attention to the elements of death attached to the front of this monster of a Corellian craftmanship. "Can they be mount't on a smaller ship?" He asks after a moment, pushing the brim of his hat up with two fingers so the smoke that's collected there can roll out over the edge and disappear off into the air around them. Cheap cigarro stink adding to the smell of caked dirt that must be his chosen scent for this fine event. Eyes turned to the Trandoshan's once more, brushing a finger beneath his nose, and snorting quietly as he finger waves towards his glass for a refill.

Wynn is not the best witht he knowledge of ships and turbolasers and what they can do, so he's kind of out of his element with that talk. But that's okay. He's not really too worried about it, really. He's more inclined to keep his attention on the female, but keeping his distance because of those bodyguards of doom. "Well. I actually never planned on flying the 'Vette, Smitherbod Crane." Oh the nicknames just keep going and going. And within the next moment, the glass of outfit matching deliciousness is empty. "i just need 'em to keep up appearances. I mean, I'm Wynn Ryder. I can't possibly not have one of these." Pause. "Or two."

The glance from Mara is not missed, and neither is the silent word; however, if anything, Smitherbodkins' smile widens, accompanied by an equally helpless shrug. When one has hold of a talent like Wynn, one has to do whatever it takes to keep him happy. At least until the Next Big Thing comes along. "We'll discuss it. But first, I want you in the driver's seat of our new luxury speeder line. I believe that might be more to your taste, anyway."

He turns back to the ship, taking another sip from his drink, brow furrowing as he examines the turbolasers. "Not on the YT," he finally replies, "but perhaps on something else." Hies eyes flick to Alac, though it's difficult to see him now that he's enveloped in the curtain of foul-smelling smoke, "I know how your aim is on the ground, Mr. Y'All. How is it in the air?"

The Varvani lady's nostrils flare slightly in protest against Alac Y'All's many assaults upon their porcelain perfection. She chooses this moment to notice, officially, a slight acquaintance of hers whose presence in the hangar bay she has been, unofficially, aware of for some minutes now. A light hand descends upon Smitherbodkins's arm. "Do excuse me," she murmurs, "I see someone I simply must greet." She nods to the others. "Gentlemen."

She wanders away, trailing her Trandoshans; and the next time she's sighted through the crowd, she is in deep conversation with a ravishingly lovely Sarian girl who has fast been making an intergalactic name for herself as a singer -- and whose dark red Sar Spots are revealed in all their splendour by a daringly low-cut white gown. What a picture they make together. What a picture, especially, when they depart together, Mara Shinomiya's arm about the young singer's waist.

"Better." Alac says simply in response to the question of his aim, scoring eyes across those heavy mounted weapons with an almost giddy sort of glimmer in his dark eyes. The nub of a cigarro is pulled out from his teeth and stabbed down into a small ash tin and comes back with the newly poured liqour to swallow it smoothly with a backwards cant of his head. "You put me inna pit with somethin' like'at?" Motioning up at Corvette, "I couldn't fly it for shite, but I'll bust a hole in wha'ever /you/ wanna fly it through."

It is almost as if Wynn Ryder has forgotten that there are females preset when the talk of a luxury speeder is brought up. He doesn't even want to drink anymore. It would appear that someone has said the magic word and that has him sliding over to his old friend and one of his bosses with the quickness. "I'm sorry. Did you say luxury speeder?" And already, he's looking around as if he's going to spot it hidden between some crates or underneath a tarp or something. He's clearly getting excited at just the thought of this thing existing. "Please tell me you're not just playing with my emotions. My emotions cannot handle this kind of thing."

"Excellent." Possibilities click through the gentleman's mind faster than holoslides from your boring friend's trip to the desert on Tattooine. "Your brother is the pilot, yes?" Of course, he knows that he is, but his tone is just vague enough to be convincing. He begins to say something else, but just then, the light touch on his arm causes him to turn, and he inclines his head to her, watching her as the makes her way through the crowd. His eyes widen as he sees her companion, and his gaze lingers, perhaps a bit longer than is strictly warranted, or polite.

He manages to tear his eyes away once more when Wynn speaks, and his smile returns, though perhaps a bit dimmer than before. "Yes, my boy," he says, finishing off the glass and passing it to a tech who happens past at that moment. The tech rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath about executives and the location of their heads. "we're in development right now. I believe they're calling it the Vanquish."

Alac has one final refill and nods to the tender, touching two fingers to the brim of his hat as he steps back over two Wynn and Bod, "I needa find the head." He tells them both, still casting vague eyes up towards the blaster pits, sliding a dirty thumb nail dow his stubbled jaw. "If I'm not back in a couple hours, I found a cheap twi'lek to take back to tha' General." Grinning slightly, one hand slaps Wynn on the back of his left arm, "Boss, buddy."

"Development? That sounds... like it's going to be forever before I get one. I don't like forever. Forever is a long time. And what am I supposed to ride around in until then? Hmmmm?" Even Wynn Ryder is talking more than he normally does, likely having something to do with the deliciousness that he has most recently consumed. And now he's making sure to toss Alac a nod, before his attention is focused back on the Bod. "I mean, really, we can't have The Wynn Ryder catching shuttles down on Corellia, now can we?' Might as well try to schmooze a temporary solution out of the CEC Master hwhile he's at it, right?

The departing Alac gets a nod from Smitherbodkins, as well, before he turns back to his young friend. "I wouldn't worry too much about the timeframe, Mr. Ryder," he says with an absent wave of his hand, dismissing the man's concerns. "Mr. Dain can no doubt figure something out for you in the interim. And besides, the next Chance Charmichael holovid is set for release next Kelona, is it not? It shall give you something to look forward to until then." He tilts his head, a sardonic smile on his lips, waiting for Wynn's reaction."

"You obviously know nothing about spoiled brats, Smithers. Looking forward to stuff is like arm wrestling a rancor. Torture!" Wynn is not going to overdo it, though, and thus the shrug that happens is enough to keep him relaxing as though there is nothing else to relax about. "Yeah, maybe the Bossman can hook me up with something. I could maybe settle for a speeder bike maybe. Hm." But even Wynn isn't sounding too happy about the lack of having this thing called a Vanquish. It just sounds hot. "You do realize I'll be bugging you about this on a regular basis right?"

The gentleman claps Wynn companionably on the shoulder, chuckling as though he's precisely aware of how difficult it is to have the speeder dangled in front of him like that. In fact, maybe that's why he did it. Who knows with weird rich guys. "I shall count on that, Mr. Ryder," he responds, settling a rather more calculating gaze on the actor, "otherwise, how shall I ever get to meet with you, considering all your legions of adoring fans?" He reaches into his coat, passing a datachip to Wynn. "Here, something to whet your appetite." On it, when he should happen to look at it, is the design of the speeder, including all its rather...colorful...features.

"Point. You do have a point. Adoring fans are definitely right up my alley. I mean, it's not like they don't come from all over the galaxy just to get a chance to shake my hand. I'm definitely the hottest commodity out there right now. Clark Galaxy, who?" The talking just continues with the nonstopness of a Silver Streak, as Wynn checks out the datachip without fail and is immediately drawn to the specs. "I mean, seriously, what's with that old guy, huh? I mean, come on, I'm -- what." Pause. Attention from himself on the speeder design. "What. What. What. What. WHAT!" If one were to look, there really is a tear in his eye. It is too damn beautiful for him to even know what to do with. "... I. How. You." Pause. "WHAT!?!"

The reaction is expected, but that doesn't make it any less sweet. Smitherbodkins savors every minute, watching the young man with a twinkle in his eyes. After all, there is nothing he enjoys more than finding the perfect gift for any of his friends. "I am glad you approve," he says, shifting his weight slightly to his right leg, though his expression doesn't change. "We shall have to set a date for the first commercial shoot. I shall talk with Dain and see when he can spare you for a moment. And we should make a time to chat, as well," he continues, sobering, some other thought lurking behind those half-hidden eyes. "I have a proposition for you that I believe you may find most interesting." Strangely enough, he doesn't elaborate.

"We're chatting now, aren't we? I mean, we can't talk about whatever it is right now while I hold in my hand the single most greatest invention to ever be called a speeder? I mean, really, how are you even going to make this thing? I look at all this and it just screams impossible. But then I remember that you're like a trillionaire and it all comes flooding back to me." Finally, the datachip and everything is shoved back into his pocket where it cannot be leaked to the public. "... I get the only one, right? I mean, we can't be selling this thing to everybody. I'm thinking, at the most, fifty of 'em. Limited edition. We can triple the price that way."

The gentleman doesn't respond right away, his lips pressing together he glances back and forth among the beings that still hover around the new Corvette. Beings of various allegiances. Finally, he turns back to Wynn, and says, absently, "The view from my office is spectacular. Would you care to accompany me?" He catches the eye of one of the executive staff, and makes a vague gesture to his thigh, then waves toward the exit of the public hangar. This is clearly some sort of prearranged sign, for the other man nods, moving toward the knot of beings around the ship and beginning to answer their questions. Smitherbodkins turns back to Wynn and motions for him to follow, then starts to walk toward the corridor. His limp is quite pronounced. Almost overly exaggerated.

"Wynn Ryder enters the great cavern of CEC, following the illustrious leader deep into the bowels of greatness and adventure." Wynn smirks as he makes these comments, making sure to follow close to Smithers, this entire time. He's got no reason to be narrating at this moment, other than the fact that he is clearly excited and perhaps a bit tipsy. It is all about the tipsy actor at this moment. Which is why he's plastered a lopsided grin on his face.

As soon as the pair get out of the turbolift, Smitherbodkins' limp becomes much less conspicuous, Yes, he's obviously still injured, but he's certainly able to move better than he had been doing throughout the evening. When they reach the confines of his office, he shuts the door behind them, flicking a switch next to it. The switch does not turn on any other lights. In fact, it's not immediately clear what, exactly, it -does- do. He turns to Wynn, dropping all affectations that he had adopted for the trip from the hangar to their present location. "Let me cut to the chase, Mr. Ryder. I have done my research on you, and what I propose may not make you as many credits as your holofilms, but I think you'll appreciate it, all the same."

"... Whoa. What just happened? Am I on Candid Holocam?" Wynn raises an eyebrow and continues to look as stupidly drunk as he's been pretending. In fact, he just tries to make sure he continues to look like the classic actor of holovid fame that there is not really anything special about him. Just a holovid playboy! Nothing more! "What kind of research are we talking about here, because that Spacebucks contract is well worth it! Best caf in the galaxy!" Smile!

"I am not interested in Spacebucks," Smitherbodkins says, curling his lip at the mere thought of ever drinking caf from that horrific conglomerate. Everyone knows that they used inferior beans imported from the lowest quality planets. "I asked you this once before," he continues, fixing his gaze on Wynn intently, "but I believe that, perhaps, you did not quite give me a complete answer. I assure you, you may speak freely here. So tell me. What is your opinion on the Corellia situation?"

Wynn decides that he can maybe drop the guise, at least for now. He's not even sure if this is a trap or not, but as far as he can tell, this guy really wants to talk to him in a more serious manner and he can do this. Which is why his demeanor switches up and he seems to 'sober up' just as fast. "Corellia's my home planet. And I ain't too keen on no nerfin' Imperials having they claws in my home." And there's that Corellian streak that's infamous in so many Corellians. "And now that I got my boys back, we're plannin' on doin' somethin' 'bout it."

Finally. Of course, this is what Smitherbodkins had been waiting for, and he nods decisively, "I thought you might be." The change in accent is music to his ears, and brings a smile that's nothing like his usual genial expression. It's fierce, and under that strange, dark mask, it's almost ghastly. He begins to move toward his desk, and when he reaches it, he picks up some papers that are scattered there. Yes, not a datapad, papers. He scans them, frowning momentarily, before placing them back down again and turning once more to his guest. "Mr. Ryder, I will be honest with you. I have similar aims, and I believe you may be able to assist me. I have been funding these so-called freedom fighters, and I sympathize with their immediate goal, but my sympathies end there. The New Republic is just another chain. I want a sovereign Corellia."

"I don't know how sovereign it'll be, but I know what you want and I want the same thing. So do Alban and Alac." Wynn keeps the smirk on his face, even as he turns to lean back against the wall. His foot goes up to keep himself steady and he crosses his arms over his chest. "I was actually gonna' talk to you about somethin' we were plannin', so it looks like we're already on the same page. Which I'm guessin' is a pretty page that says we shoot Imperials in the face and snatch Corellia right out from underneath these freedom fighters noses?"

"You have quite a way with words, Mr. Ryder. I wonder if your talents aren't wasted on acting in holos. You ought to be writing them." When Wynn mentions the other two names, his eyebrows raise, and he says, "Those twins? Really." This was turning out better than he could have hoped. "We are, as you so eloquently put it, on the same page. The freedom fighters are gaining ground, which is all to the good. But we must play our cards carefully if we wish to be poised to strike at the New Republic, as well. You are an actor, it's true. But are you good enough to fake it if your life depended on it?"

"I'm a man of many talents, Mr. Smitherbodkins. Don't worry about me. I can handle myself." Well, he's finally said the man's name right. Which must mean that he's being serious. Which is very rare, considering that Wynn Ryder is never serious. "You get me in a leadership position of those freedom fighters and I'll make sure I lead them to a victory that's more in our interests, than theirs." He's already smirking as there's suddenly a Sabacc card between his fingers and he didn't even move from having his arms crossed. "Don't worry about the New Republic. I've still got a trump card or two to play in regards to them." Oh yeah! Sleight of Hand, baby!

"I believe you can, at that." Smitherbodkins reaches back for the papers he had been perusing, bringing them toward Wynn and handing them over. "These are the records of the recent Imperial movements, as well as the locations of their leaders on planet. When you have committed them to memory, destroy them. I have no doubt you will be able to do that." After all, he is a holoactor. They have to memorize, right? Hopefully Wynn isn't of the cue-card school. "I have arranged a meeting between you and the freedom fighters' commander. You must impress him. But I'm sure that you shall find it no challenge at all to do that. Once you have secured the position, then we shall proceed accordingly. Is that acceptable?"

"Almost."

Wynn takes the papers and peers at them for a moment, before he makes them disappear into his person somewhere. There's a reason he wears all this flashy stuff. Probably has something to do with the fact that there are all kinds of crazy stash pockets and hidden areas within these custom designed cloths of epic hotness. "We ain't talked credits yet." Ah yes. The Corellian blood is strong within this Ryder. But, he's also smiling, so this could be a joke. Maybe.

Smitherbodkins puts a hand to his chest, in a dramatically affronted gesture. It's a bit over the top, really; he has nothing like Wynn's subtlety. Luckily, he doesn't have to. "Why, Mr. Ryder. Are you saying that a freeing Corellia from the clutches of foreign powers isn't payment enough for a true patriot such as yourself? I'm shocked. Shocked." One hand slips into his pocket absently, as he continues, "But I see that you did not read over all the modifications of that speeder." Most significantly, the weapons section. It's not really Wynn's fault; that section was in the back, and he was a bit drunk. "That is only the beginning, my friend, if we pull this off."

"Smithers. I'm just nerfin' with you, man." And that's why Wynn Ryder is a good actor. After all, he's already turning to prepare to let himself out. He's got his assignment and it's pretty easy. Memorize. That's something he can do before he makes it back to the Studio. "I'll tell you like I told Alac." Wynn flicks one of his lucky Sabacc cards off in the direction of Bod's desk. "Corellia Forever." And yeah, this is where he makes his dramatic exit.