Making New Friends (Part 2)

Gundark Industrial -- MOS EISLEY -- Tatooine

This storefront has all the usual ammenities of a Mos Eisley business. The interior is painted sandstone and adobe, and its slightly submerged location helps keep it cooler, without much need for artificial cooling. The shop is fairly spartan with a basic counter, some data catalogues showing items that are in stock and prices, as well as some locked storage cabinets. A prominent logo for Gundark Industrial is on display on one wall. A curtained exit divides the storefront from the backroom. A set of stairs will return you to the street level.

 You may INSPECT the room for more details.

-=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=-

=> R2 Astromech Droid 

=> Protocol Droid 

-=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=-

=> Tritus

=> Storage Vault

Obvious exits:

ack Room leads to Back Room - Gundark Industrial - Mos Eisley.

ut leads to Industrial Area -- MOS EISLEY -- Tatooine.

Having led the way straight from Club Utinni to Gundark Industrial, the black-clad man makes his way unerringly down the steps and into the weapon's establishment. "We have a variety of weapons available, from holdout blasters, to hand blasters, to blaster rifles, and beyond." he explains slowly, pausing at the display case and turning about to fix his dark gaze upon Jaspar, watching him carefully. "However, you strike me as someone without much in the way of collateral..." he adds, voice darkening a trace. Hands drop to his sides, his left resting upon the hilt of that beautifully crafted rapier at his hip. "So tell me, Mister Andromidas. What can you offer me?"

"My ship and I are always on the lookout for a job. Something to put food on the table, if you will. Need a hauler, I'm your guy." Jaspar replies, with just a bit of swagger. "I fly both kinds of cargo, so my ship's appropriately modified. You'd need a pretty good setup to tell I was hauling thermal grenades, and not just Nerf sausages and fifty-year-old spirits." Jaspar rolls his shoulders in a shrug of sorts.

The man considers Jaspar for some moments as he speaks. A hand slips behind the counter, and soon emerges with a blaster in hand, pointed towards the man. "So, you are a smuggler." he says matter-of-factly, features unreadable as he watches for the other's reaction. "Tell me, Mister Andromidas. What makes you think I have -anything- to do with the criminal underworld?" Sure, he's set up on Tatooine, and commands the respect of many of the lowlifes on the planet, but it is an honest - if somewhat unnecessary - question.

"I'm not saying you do. I'm saying, if you're in the market for a hauler who doesn't have issues hauling various kinds of cargo, I'd like to be your go-to." Jaspar responds, his expression matching Tritus'. He doesn't reach for a weapon -- he has none, after all, the acquisition of one being his original mission.

Watching Jaspar, the man intakes a slow breath, turning the blaster deftly about within his metallic hand and holding it out towards the other. "First off, if you want to work for me, you work only for me. If you want to take side jobs, fine. But I get a cut." Leaving little time for Jaspar to argue the fact, he is swift to continue onwards. "Secondly, you will never second guess yourself again. You make an observation, and unless you are told otherwise or proven wrong, you do not change your mind."

Jaspar is visibly relieved, though he puts up a good show of indifferent acknowledgment. "I understand." He reaches out and takes up the weapon, examining it and manipulating it like a jeweler eyeballing an exquisite diamond, albeit a diamond capable of killing. "Is there anything I should know that would better allow me to complete the tasks I am given?" He inquires. "Any more advice?" Honest question!

"Yes." the black-clad man states simply. "Don't ask too many questions." It is a simple answer, but one well worth hearing for those not accustomed to the business. "So, I take it we have an accord?" he inquires slowly, watching the other examine the pistol. "I am called Tritus Vaticus." he says, finally introducing himself. No hand is offered. No smile. It is as though all he feels is needed is a name, and little more. Finally, however, his voice breaks forth anew. "Tell me about your ship, Mister Andromidas."

Jaspar tucks the weapon away. "Yes," he states, nodding. "We have an accord." He pauses. "Tritus Vaticus... Not a name I'll soon forget." He's now quite relaxed. "My ship is a Ghtroc model, class two. Nothing exceptional or flashy, but it has served me quite well, and it allows me to maintain the appearance of a simple hauler, easily forgotten."

Nodding, Tritus considers Jaspar further. "And should you be captured while hauling goods for me... what would you do then?" he inquires slowly of the man, drawing out every word as he speaks, watching with more than curiousity the reactions of the man. Stepping towards a nearby chair, the black-clad man slowly lowers himself upon it, the soft creak of protest heard as his weight settles. And still, he watches.

"I'm just a simple hauler. I don't ask questions. I just move things from A to B. I move things, I get paid, good things all around." Jaspar replies, affecting the tone of someone being interrogated pausing briefly before returning to his normal speaking voice. "Were I to experience a prolonged delay in my shipping route, I would do all in my power to correct the problem."

It would seem that Tritus is not entirely pleased with this response, but he nods nonetheless. "Very well." he states simply. "Find me at Club Utinni in a few days. I shall provide you with a location to travel to to begin our business transactions." A glance is afforded the doorway, before the man draws forth a glass and a bottle from beneath the counter - a fine scotch. Pausing a moment, he regards Jaspar a moment longer. "Is there anything else I should know about you? Crew, perhaps?"

Vane comes down the stairs from outside.

"I shall meet you there in a few days, then. I look forward to conducting business with you, Mr. Vaticus." Jaspar pauses. "...I am in the process of gathering a proper crew for my ship. I do have an engineer I trust to work on my ship.. she's quite good. My ship looks almost brand new.. that reminds me, I may have to run it through an asteroid belt a few times, to get it worn again, so as not to draw too much attention." Jaspar replies, with a light smile.

"A mechanic, you say?" inquires Tritus, curiousity seemingly piqued by the slight upward inflection within the second word. Drawing the cork from the bottle, the glass is poured, then the bottle is resealed and tucked back away from where he had gathered it. "I am also in need of a mechanic." he states simply. "Business has been... not so kind of late." he intones, his words slow and drawn out. "But I expect to be on the upswing very shortly, Mr Andromidas."

Jaspar nods. "I hope to play a part in that upswing." He allows himself a smile. "If I have anything to say about it, and everything works out, it will be quite the upswing." He says, figuring best-case-scenario.

"Four and twenty years she waited, patient for her wedding day. But word came to her from the navy, her love pressed and sent away...Folleri-de-dom, de-daerai diddero. Folleri-de-dom, domme, daerai dae..." a coarse voice sounds as the scuff of boots on stone descend the stairs - it can't be described as singing, precisely. That would require pitch, but the simply jaunty melody is easily kept. "Spacer's clothing she put on and went aboard a man-o-war..."

Vane's swaggering gait rounding the door-frame and the 'music' abruptly stops. The six foot Rattataki's stance widening and arms swinging upward and outward in exhuberant salutation." her accent is distinctive, but difficult to place. Her vowels roll and consonants hard and short. "Andromidaaas! I /can't/ believe you came all this way to see me!"

"Only time will tell." states Tritus, before the sound of... some sort of death-knell comes from the doorway. Hand of steel slips down into his lap, and dark orbs swing towards the door, watching the descending being as she makes her way into the shop. A single eyebrow quirks ever so slightly as eyes turn upon Jaspar. "Friend of yours..?" he inquires, his words yet low and drawn out as Tritus once again turns his attention fully upon the newcomer.

"When it rains, it pours." Jaspar pauses, turning and offering a nod to the latecomer, before turning his attention back to Tritus. "Shiari Vane. On-again-off-again thorn in my side, and an invaluable asset." Jaspar replies, with a bit of a playful tone and a smirk. "I was just talking to a new friend, dear. What brings you here? Doing some shopping?" He chuckles, addressing Vane.

"I am everybody's friend!" Vane insists, pressing one hand to her chest with a flourishing sweep of the arm and a half-hearted bow that barely tilts her shoulders. Jaspar's introduction illicits a hurt expression shot in his direction. "Thorn in /your/ side?" her hands finding her hips and a hoarse chortling timbre to her words, slowly pacing into the shop with an inescapable sense that a predator is sizing up prey and directing her next address to Tritus. "He'd still be stranded on Nar Shaddaa if it wasn't for me! But yes, /Captain/ Shiari Vane, of the Hardlace." her voice lowering to a rumbling mumble. "At your service, I suppose..."

"Relax, Cap. It's a term of endearment." Jaspar fires off with a grin and a wink. "You'll always have a special place in my heart." He says, tapping his chest indicatively. "Right next to my ship."

"I am finding a fair bit of service today, it would appear." states Tritus, sizing up the woman, and her predatory gait. Glass is lifted, and a sip had of the amber liquid within. As he settles it back upon the desktop, the man considers Vane carefully. "Tell me, -Captain-..." he intones calmly. "Are you readily employed, or searching..?" It would seem Tritus is indeed on the lookout for staff today, and that Jaspar has begun a chain reaction where the black-clad man is concerned.

Vane's head snaps back and a sharp cackle from her throat. "I'm a /pirate/!" she billiously laughs. "I'm always interested in profit. But I have a lot of mouths to feed..." she expresses, turning to rest half her rear on the sales desk and leaning across it toward Tritus, two fingers rubbing against her thumb before his face in the intergalactic sign for 'money'. "If you have something that needs raiding, we can certainly talk. I'd even be prepared to leave your cargo alone...for a price."

"I would imagine allowing you to live would be a suitable price to pay for leaving my cargo be." states the man, seemingly nonplused by the woman looming over him. His right hand remains beneath his desk, and the man sips at his drink again slowly, placing the glass carefully down. There is a quiet calm about the man, and his dark orbs remain upon the self-professed pirate as he leans back in his seat. "Wouldn't you agree..? Friend?" he inquires, remarking upon her earlier comment regarding her relationship to everyone.

"Now now..." Vane chides in a low, rumbling growl. "That's /no/ way to get on in business." her coat hangs open, an array of armaments of well worn vintage but carefully maintained on display. "You do your work, and I do mine." she gestures skyward, or at least, ceiling ward. "Out there, its all fair. The price of doing business out here." pushing off from the desk, her own hand quite suddenly at her blaster, though it remains holstered. "If you don't want to deal with pirates, you've chosen a funny place to set up shop, friend."

"I never stated that I did not wish to deal with pirates." comes the man's calm reply. "In fact, some of my best associates are pirates. And so, too, could you be if you learn to curb that tongue, and not threaten my business." There is a slight shifting of his arm, hand yet in his lap. "And I set up shop because I was requested to by Draga the Hutt himself." Leaning forward a trace, Tritus continues. "You do know what a Hutt is, yes? And the consequences with messing with -their- business?" Draining the remaining liquid from his glass, the black-clad man finally says, "And trust me when I tell you, my business is his business."

The raucous laughter that follows the implicit threat shakes Vane's entire torso, the pirate's hand leaving her blaster and fishing about in her coat's breast pocket for a battered old flask. "Draga the Hutt, eh? I suppose you've not heard...but you'll find out, soon enough." she unfastens the cap and draws a sharp slug of the contents. "Here's a credit's worth of free advice. The outer rim is a /dangerous/ place, if you go about making more enemies for yourself..." she turns on her heel and runs a finger along a shelf, sprinkling off an accumulation of sand and dust as she swaggers toward the door. "...you won't make it far out here."

"I've been out here a very long time." states the man calmly, leaning back in his seat and reholstering his own weapon beneath the table. "And I do not need one such as you to point out how dangerous it can be. I have faced far greater than you, and come out alive." His words are not boastful in nature, they are spoken matter-of-factly, and Tritus just relaxes back in his seat, much the same as he had been through the entirety of the meeting. "Fair weather to you, pirate." he bids to Vane's departing form, reaching down to fish out the bottle once again, and uncorking it, attention remaining upon the departing woman, and the exit itself.

"Yes-yes-yes..." the Rattataki's coarse voice rumbles back, backhand brushing at the air in a dismissive gesture. "...bluster all you like. We'll see what happens. Good day." as she climbs the steps into the street.