2008-03-29 - A Funeral to Forget

Ord Mantell: Worlport - Beach Quarter
A few huts line the side of the ocean that extends off to the east. The ocean itself is cold and little swimming takes place except for those who are hearty. Mainly the beach is used for sunbathing. It is not a wide beach, but it is relatively flat and spacious even at high tide and extends some distance north and south until the land rises to form cliffs in the distance.
There is a small open-air bar beside the water. The bar and stools around it sit under a roof and the side away from the water is walled. The decor is vaguely tropical. Along one side of the bar are several girls, pilots by the look of them.
Ord Mantell looks much different as it is now out of the Republics hands. The major bombing which took place during the Broods initial invasion still left buildings crumbling, and people walked the winding streets homeless and hungery. BZ squads seemed everywhere, patroling the streets rather harshly, and more then once would can s trooper be seen taking property from Ord Mantell citizens. The beach seemed the only difference. Perhaps cleaned for the funeral. No sunbathers, no children playing in the water, instead two hundred Brood troops scattered the beach and at the head of them was the Trandoshan Dassead.
The Captain of the forces here on Mantell stood by his man, a force pike resting against his armored shoulder. He simply stood and waited for the processions to begin.
A human, his armor seems to have been at least wiped down, strolls from the Trader's Quarter. The shield of his helm is down so little of the man can be seen. As Ryka reaches the beach and pauses a moment, head looking right then left, before he continues on to witness the proceedings.
Rylas is also in attendance, though out of curiosity more than anything else. His duster flaps slightly in the breeze as he makes his way down towards the proceedings. Ever since the Hutts took control of this place, he's had to admit that things have been going a little smoother. But he had never come to see it for himself. He figured that it was time he did so.
Republic uniforms seem out of place on Ord Mantell these days, but that does not stop Brisies from wearing hers. She's exchanged every day olive-greys for the sharp lines of her dress uniform, and she's quiet as she moves toward the gathering, her head lowered and her expression inscruitable.
Dassead Renz remained unmoving, and the two hundred and fifty Weequays held the same posture behind him. The orange and black eyes gaze over those approaching and gathering. They halt and hold on the female in the Republic uniform. The scaly head tilts lightly, a breif study of the human before moving on.
Slowly but steadily, Ryka moves closer to the Republican Captain. As he comes up from behind and to the side he whispers "Not ever day a uniform such as that would be welcome here, eh?"
Briseis startles, her head jerking up with an instant and defensive wariness before her head swings around and she places Ryka. She breathes out slowly and dips her head with a short shake. "I suppose not," she murmurs, and then adds, "It is a funeral. I did not think they would mind." She wears her officer's sabre today, but not her blaster or pistol, and their absence at her hip is easily noted.
There was a reason why Rylas didn't wear his uniform. King Organa told him that it wouldn't be the smart thing to do. So he had come in his civilian clothing instead. He moves over where Ryka and Briseis are. He offers them both a nod, but his expression remains neutral as he takes a moment to check out the two hundred and fifty Weequays and their Captain. He wore his blaster...never left home without it, actually.
Nash Dragen comes from the Trader's Quarter to the west.
No one said anything about Republic officers coming, but Dassead's orders were simply...no armies. That was what he planned to enforce. Any armies were to be met with extreme hostilities and destroyed. Though, the orange eyes landed back on the Republic female and simply held in a watchful gaze.
A muffled chuckles comes from under the helm's shield as he nods "Indeed. And you knew the," Ryka looks and nods to the procession, "guest of honor?" Then as Rylas steps up a slight nod of his head and in that same low tone voice he spoke to Briseis "Seems you are making the rounds, Rylas."
Okran comes from the Trader's Quarter to the west.
R1-Z0 comes from the Trader's Quarter to the west.
Nash Dragen walks into the Beach Quarter, without his guard. This doesn't seem to bother Nash, outwardly, and the man calmly takes his place in wherever the special people seats are for the funeral. There are always special people seats at these things. The man smiles politely at everyone that looks at him, and gives a polite wave to the crowd. Have to be nice to the adoring public, after all.
Rylas crosses his arms over his chest. He inclines his head faintly to Ryka as he speaks in a low voice. "The King will want to know how this went. I did not know this man at all, but that shouldn't be a reason not to pay respects."
The Republic Officer is out of place, perhaps, a sore thumb in her dress uniform with her sabre hanging at her side in place of blaster or pistol, but she does nothing else to draw particular attention to herself. Her gaze remains on Ryka, her eyes darkly shadowed as she answers quietly, "Celis? Yes, I knew him." For a moment it seems that she may add something more, but in the end she simply leaves it at that.
Everyone knew Nash Dragen's face, and the sight of it caused Dassead's thin lizard lips to tighten in a smirk. Stepping from the Broodsmen he begins towards the Warlord's seat. Heavy footsteps bring the large being before Nash and a respectful bow is offered to the human. "Warlordsss Dragen." He says with his hissing lisp. "A pleassssure to haveinsss Warlord on Mantellssss."
Administrator Okran joins the mass, followed by his R1 astromech, which wears a silly black bow tie for the occasion. Sure, Okran smiles, though it's nothing joyful, just a reassuring sketch of compassion. He nods to each and all, even those who make not eye contact with him.
Strata comes from the Trader's Quarter to the west.
Ryka, in his full armor and shielded helm - not easily recognized except by voice, nods to Rylas as the small trio stand together "And what better person to send, eh?" The slightest turn of his head as Nas Dragen's arrival causes a stir "It seems that Celis had a few folks that knew of him, so you are not alone, Captain."
Nash Dragen smiles as Dassead speaks to him, and inclines his head. "Ah. We are glad to be here on Ord Mantell. We shall have to check to see how our beloved Mantellan people are doing, under the administration of the Brood. We have always had a soft spot in our hearts for Ord Mantell."
At Ryka's words, Briseis turns, her gaze whipping toward Nash Dragen, and the startlement on her face, the sudden rush of anger and emotion, is unmistakable. She jerks physically forward and then rocks back, drawing in a sharp breath. Her jaw clenches in silence and her hand drops to her hip, toward the blaster is not there.
The bald form of Aidus stands silent watching the new arrivals and those already here speaking. His hands are clasped before him. Shifting his shoulder a bit, his armor moves just a fraction and it seems to be more comfortable now for him. He was here to make sure that the funeral remained peaceful and that there was no duplicity.
Okran shuffles to place himself besides Ryka Starn. "Good day, Mr. Starn. Congratulations and eternal bliss, for your union with Lady Amelia. I'm sorry I couldn't attend.", he tells Ryka on a low tone. "Fate's cruel, to gather us in such dreadful circumstances."
Draven comes from the Trader's Quarter to the west.
Naboy slips out of hiding.
"Goodssss, Ord Mantellsss beingsss are goodsss." Dassead says, despite on the way in the numerous crumbling buildings and homeless natives which scatter the streets. "Warlordssss needinsss anything..." A fist pats his armored chest, "Dassssead takeinsss caresss of it'sss."
Rem comes from the Trader's Quarter to the west.
Rylas half-smiles to Ryka as his cool green eyes continue to survey the other guests as they arrive. He comments idly. "I volunteered." When Okran arrives near them, he inclines his head to the man in greeting.
Approaching Okran, a smiling, gold-skinned Twi'lek bows both his head and lekku in solemn greeting. That smile soon fades, however, to adequate to the situation at hand. "Hello." he says.
On the beach, somewhere down the promenade and a distance away from the mourners, sits a figure. A death-stick is casually held between thumb and forefinger, and from time to time it lifts to the person's lips.
Presumably, at least.
A fine robe, dark blue, covers its form - and the hood remains up to conceal the sentient's face.
Nash Dragen nods, and smiles, and then stands, waving to the crowd. "Thank you, Mr. Dassead, we will let you know." he says, turning to the crowd, and announcing. "We would just like to show our gratitude for all of you deciding to come to our personal friend Lord Celis Dissek, and we appreciate the sympathetic looks we are getting, especially from the valiant soldiers for the Coruscanti Hegemony." he says, bowing towards Briseis.
Ryka notices the change in Briseis and his muffled voice comes once again "Easy Captain..." his arm moves quickly to stop her but is recalled to rest with his other at his back. When the other voice comes up he turns and bows his head "Administrator Okran, my thanks sir. We did miss you but we understood that some times these things happen." His head turns to where the procession has stopped by Nash "Yes, a cruel fate indeed...while some of us celebrate joy there are others morning the loss of..." he says no more and shrugs his shoulders. A chuckle follows as he turns to Rylas "Volunteering...not good for longevity I think."
Draven strolls down the beach towards the gathering, the young man has his thumbs tucked into his belt as he approaches, his face is a melding of a sad frown and stone dead eyes. As he nears into ear shot, the young President says in a low, almost depressed tone "My Apologies for being late.."
Nash's words cause the smirk on Dassead's face to hold. A nod is added towards the Warlord before he moves from him, orange eyes looking back to the growing crowd. It isn't long before they find Okran, and the Trandoshan now heads for him.
The blue-robed figure's head turns to Briseis when Nash Dragen adresses her. And here, the death-stick smoker's attention remains - at least for now.
Administrator Okran nods to Ryka before parting from his side, to go meet Dassead. "Good to see you, Brood scum.", he greets the Trandoshan with a complimentary nudge on the shoulder. "It's a dark day, today. Gloomy biz, all over."
"Administrator," Briseis greets, although her voice is tight and her attention lacking as she notes Okran's presence before her gaze whips forward to the figure of Nash Dragen as he speaks. Each word draws her posture tenser until she's absolutely rigid, nearly quivering with the effort of it. She meets his gaze with her chin held level, and for a moment the petite Republic officer stares at the Lord of the Black Empire with absolute hatred in her eyes. She's stiff at Ryka's side, and she speaks with a low, broken hiss, not audible to any but those closest. "He's lying."
Rylas notices the change in the Captian's behavior, but makes no move to stop her. Republic officers are known for their discipline. He knew that she would eventually come to her senses. He replies to Ryka. "That is what they say." He says to Okran. "Nice to see you again, Administrator." Though the man might not recognize him at all, it was fine. His eyes remain on Nash. He didn't know the guy personally, only through reputation.
In an attempt to sneak in unnoticed, though spoiled by the man coming in ahead of her and equally late, Rem straightens, pinking slightly, and bows her apologies, even adding a faint mutter. Despite her somber attire, general atmosphere of the funeral, and the cold breeze of the sea, she appears in a generally good mood. 
Nash Dragen smiles, and bows before reseating, noting Rem with a polite incline of his head. What? No one else wants to talk to him? Really? First opportunity to talk to the Leader of your enemies? How boring!
A bow of his head as Okran goes then he straightens up again. In that same soft voice that the Captain has used, Ryka replies "Easy Captain..." he cautions.
Shrugging, the gold-skinned twi'lek turns to Starn. "It seems some people of my species have forgotten basic instruction on etiquette, but I digress." A tiny smile is offered. "I am Naboy, of Ryloth. You are?"
Clawed digits keep the force pike resting against his armored shoulder which extends a few feet above his head. Dassead nods in greeting to Okran as he reaches the Bespin Administrator. "Okranssss, a pleassssure to besss ssseeinsss againsss." The Trandoshan hisses, a glance to the Republic officer nearby.
Rylas gets a wave, Captain Karas an almost military salute. Okran then returns his attention to Dassead, though he's having a hard time to resist peeking at Nash now and then. "A pleasure, yes. Too bad it has to be 'round late Headman Celis. I have to tell somethin' to the Warlord, over there... meecha later?"
Briseis does not relax, nor does she look away from the figure of Nash Dragen as he stands before them. Neither, however, does she move, save for the faint clench of her fingers at her side, absent a blaster. Ryka, at her side, earns a simple, faint jerk of her chin in nod.
Draven focuses his attention on the female who came in behind him, bowing slightly he says "Sorry to have brought attention on you, I only meant to ask an excuse for my own lateness." Draven looks at the assembled persons and frowns more. "So many... mourners, I hope.."
Turning ever so slightly Ryka nods to the Twi'lek "Naboy, it is good to meet you. Ryka, Ryka Starn." A glance at Brisies "Simple merchant and trader," he adds.
Nash Dragen is quite relaxed, lounging in his special people chair, waiting patiently for the funeral to begin. Coruscanti Hegemony. Must make a note to trademark that.
Rem flashes the assembled guests a dimpled smile, no matter their affiliation, though she seems to take great joy in the discomfort of the Republic guard, as her smile grows a bit wider. Then, she's all to business, striding purposefully over to the Warlord of the Black Imperium and bowing at the waist. 
"Warlord," she greet cooly and quite somberly again, as proper form of chain of command. 
Nash Dragen inclines his head. "We are quite glad to see you here. Would you like to join us up here at the front? Her Grace the Duchess of Paxo was not able to attend."
When the time for the funeral seems to grow near the blue-robed figure rises, strolling over to the place where Dassead and Okran stand. Trailing death-stick smoke and a faint scent of desert spice, the hooded mourner stops up near and behind the Administrator's right side.
"Well, how quaint! One would assume that being space-bound would bring with it a life of excitement, despite," And Naboy glances sidelong to Nash, "the hazards of this galaxy, yes?" His attention returns to Ryka. "I used to work as the aide of a clan head in Ryloth, but I was on a vacation - pursuing my own interests, that is - when I quickly became aware I could not return to my beloved homeland when the war started." His lekku seem to shy away, his expression a vague reminder of a frown.
Rem pinks brighter at the mention of the esteemed Lady Euphemia, and bows her head, hoping her red hair will hide all the mysteries in the world. "An honor, your grace," she says quietly. 
Briseis remains quiet and stiff in her place, head held high as she watches the Blacks covort near the front of the funeral gathering. In her dress uniform, she looks - and feels - entirely out of place.
Dassead shrugs at the mention of Headman Celis, only mournful thing to this Trandoshan was the fact he wouldn't be paying the monthly credits anymore to keep Brood of Zergata troops on Tatooine anymore. "How'sss Okran'ssss been?" Dassead ask after his reply. The lizard eyes turn to the hooded humanoid which approaches, armored scaly head tilting lightly.
Draven notices Okran and Dassead speaking, and strides over. "Gentlebeings." he greets politely. "Quite a mixture of nobility, brass, and commoners, isn't it?"
Walking along from the west, a small group of protocol droids come walking in. They are all battered and well-abused-- and they appear to have been modified so that oil leaks from their eye sockets. They walk haltingly, perhaps because of a lack of oil. One falls to the ground, grinding to a halt well before the group reaches the assemblage.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhh!" they wail electronically. One twitches, "Mournbot 5000 ready for orders," it walks along, "Mournbot 5000 ready for--"
As they approach the gathering, they lift small, well-made baskets and start throwing handfuls of their contents into the air... are they flower petals?
"Been good, Dassead.", Okran reassures. He nods to the Trandoshan. "Excuse me, chums.", he says to both Draven and Dassead "Silly biz won't quit, even at funerals", he mumbles. He parts from Dassead to head toward Nash. "Greetings, Warlord.", Okrans tells Nash on an even tone, adding a deep bow. "Too seldom I see you. The Baron General Cerebra asked me to give you somethin', after the ceremony. Hello, Rem."
Nash Dragen raises an eyebrow, and smiles. "Ah. You are... the CEO of Bespin, as We recall? How is Our former Corporation? We are anxious about it, as it also was the launching point for our campaign of freedom against the Hegemony."
Ryka has fallen silent all the while, his attention shifting from one bit of the funeral to the other...only the slightest movement of his head would give any indication that he is really watching....but when the flower petals (?) are tossed in the air Ryka begins to take steps back from them.
Dassead nods to Okran as he moves off, a side glance to the hooded figure before Draven steals his attention. "Greetinsss, Yidri'ssss rightsss?" Dassead asks to the human, shifting the force pike to rest against his opposite shoulder.
The blue cowl turns to Dassead, but the stranger quickly looks away with apparant lack of interest. The death-stick's end lights up and glows red; another breath is slowly drawn through the addictive roll. The figure then gracefully kneels, a gloved hand appears to pick up a petal and turn it around.
"Ahh, Administrator. How lovely to see you again. Are the Rodians behaving?" Rem asks cheerily, having found a seat near the Warlord. Sitting in those fancy skirts, amidst the mourners, she looks as out of place as a farmer at the wheel of a Victory. 
As Okran steps forward to converse with the Warlord, Briseis finally turns her gaze away, clearly uncomfortable and unhappy. She glances briefly to Ryka at her side with a flicker of a glance for the ostentatious droids. "Are we do to start soon?" she wonders stiffly. "I am beginning to wonder if this is a memorial or an opportunity to do business."
A soft whisper to the Captain "Step back here," says Ryka, eyes watching the tossed items intently.
Rylas was still standing near Ryka and when he moves, so does he. His experiences with these people last time let him know about their fondness for bombs and the like. As his eyes scan the crowd, the woman Rem is spotted near their Warlord. A brow raises slightly as his mind replays his dealings with that one. His jaw clenches, but his eyes go back to the droids. He made a note to say hello a little later on. He comments to Briseis after her comment, "Probably both."
Draven nods to the other being "Yes, President of the dirtball. And hopeful Headman to Tatooine." Draven offers a slight bow and a smile. "I have been meaning to speak with you, as I understand it you have quite a lot of activity on Tatooine?"
"Social events, no matter how se-" Naboy steps to the left and narrowly avoids the petals. He takes a pause, smiles to Briseis and says, "no matter how serious, or sad, are always a good opportunity to make business."
"A funeral is not a /social event/," Briseis snaps with a sudden flare of anger at Naboy before her gaze jerks to Ryka and her gaze darkens. Without comment on the matter, she moves backwards with him.
The arrival of the dreaful cohort of leaking protol droids takes Administrator Okran's attention away a couple seconds; he winces, arches his head like he would wish to spit in disdain before such display, yet he won't.
"Too soon to tell, Rem.", Okran replies with a grin. "I also have somethin' for Euphemia, if you'd be nice 'nough to deliver it for me?" Okran steps aside, so Nash can also witness the mechanical procession and the casting of flower petals.
"Right, my apologies." Naboy replies to Briseis and watches the petals fall upon the ground.
Dassead nods lightly to Draven, a brief glance to the pedal tossing droids. "Yessss...Tatooine'sss isss in the Rim, no'sss?" He hisses. "Huttsss owninsss all in Rim, Yidri'sss Presssident." The Trandoshan adds offering a light smile.
The droids keep on clanking along. The little bits of whatever fall in a clutter all over the sandy ground. But... they seem to heavy for flower petals. They don't really flow in the wind or anything. One of the droids throws some at Briseis.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhh!" one of them wails.
"He was taken from us too you-you-you-you-- his death was a mercy for someone his age!" it clicks and sputters.
As the droid moves closer, and the items are flung at Briseis, Ryka's hand darts out and grabs her arm. With a jerk he pulls, attempting to get her clear of the tossed things....clearly they are not flower petals.
Rem averts her gaze, yet again, at the mention of the Lady Admiral. Maybe the breeze will push some hair over her face this time.. Boy, those flower petals do look interesting. "Ahh, cer-tainly," she finally says, with a bit of a stutter, looking back to the Twi'lek. "As you wish." 
Draven gives a slight nod to the Trandoshans words, also smiling "Of course, forgive my silly question." Draven pauses only a moment before continuing "I am sorry for the Hutts troubles, and am hoping now that Kerrick has been found to be a enemy of the Hutts that the election might end soon.."
The droids seems rather insistant. They continue to move closer, throwing them at both Ryka and Briseis, now.
"We-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eeeeee remember Cel-Cel-Celissssssss," a little spark comes from one of them, lighting the oil on it's face on fire. It walks in a circle with a burning head.
Briseis stumbles backwards with Ryka's jerk, less graceful in her tension than she may usually be. One hand grasps at Ryka to steady her balance and the other reaches to pluck one of the stray petals from the sleeve of her dress uniform - only to jerk backward suddenly dropping it with clear revulsion. Her gaze moves up to her companion. "I should go," she suggests tightly. "I came to pay my respects. There is clearly nothing respectful here."
Naboy reaches for his back holsters, wielding the Repeater blaster and aims for the body of one of the droids. He glances towards Okran and with a nod, pulls the trigger, attempting to unleash pure-energy fury at the droids on fire.
Ryka's blaster comes to his hand in a swift move, his left still grasp's the Captain's arm, and is pointed at the droids. "I think it be time for me to make my leave..." comes his muffled voice.
<FONT color="#FFFF00">COMBAT:</FONT> #FFFF00 Ryka Starn wields his BlasTech DL-50 Blaster Pistol.
Rylas hops back a little. Clear astonishment on his face as the droid throws something towards Briseis and then it's head catches on fire. He looks over at Ryka. "This is...insane." Rylas' hand becomes a blur as he also draws his blaster. He comments, "That makes three of us."
Administrator Okran becomes rigid. He steps forth, readying something at his wrist. "In honor for Headman Dissek, let us all discharge our weapons, so his soul hears our wishes of peace and can rejoin the Force, for eternity.", he claims, loud enough to be heard by all.
He aims his wristblaster at the closest protocol droid and shoots.
<FONT color="#FFFF00">COMBAT:</FONT> #FFFF00 Okran wields his Masterwork Merr Sonn XFA Wristblaster.
Dassead has disconnected.
<FONT color="#FFFF00">COMBAT:</FONT> #FFFF00 Rylas wields his BlasTech AD2 Custom Blaster Pistol.
<FONT color="#FFFF00">COMBAT:</FONT> #FFFF00 Naboy wields his Merr Sonn TM7 Repeater.
Draven is pulled from his polite conversation by the commotion, falling back away from the happenings, watching for hopefully a safe distance.
Nash Dragen rolls his eyes, and looks to Rem. "See why we cannot be part of the Hegemony? They are such reactionaries." he says, remaining in his chair, relaxed.
Briseis has no blaster, and so makes no move to wield one. She loosens her grip on Ryka so that he can wield his instead, and her nod is a fast jerk. "Let's," she confirms.
As people open fire on the droids, they fall to pieces, quite literally, their weeping warbling and rising in pitch and falling out. A basket of the petals flies through air and lands upside down on Okran's head, and another one scatters its contents across the floor in front of Rem and Nash. The droids stop moving and wailing.
Ryka bows his head to the 'important people' as he still holds his unfired weapon. Steps backwards are changed as he turns, his grip upon the Captain is release, now he strides from the funeral and the blaster fire. "To many weapons, to easy to get shot," he mutters.
Briseis does not bother to bow. She simply turns on her heel, rigid anger read in every line of her, and follows after Ryka without comment.
For a moment, Rem almost rises, but the Warlord's ease keeps her in her chair, as if with moved by his impassive presence. Her eye narrows at the petals at her feet and she lets out a sharp, angry hiss between clenched teeth. 
Rylas walks backwards, blaster still held in his right hand. "It's been a blast." His gaze falls upon Rem and Nash for a moment, then he simply turns around and heads out behind Ryka and Briseis.
Draven watches the Republic leave "Apparently they cannot stand a bit of fun." he remarks to a man standing next to him. "Makes me glad to be unaffiliated, thus a man of my own decisions."
The Administrator lowers his blaster, his honorific shootout over. He removes the basket from over his head, brushes some of the strange petals off his face with care. Okran squints at one he holds between his pointer and thumb. "That looks like... Yeah, has to be him.", he whispers to himself, just loud enough to be heard by Rem and Nash. He drops the fingernail at his feet, face blank.
The kneeling figure turns the ghastly petal around in its hand. The movements are nimble, much like that of a woman -- or a musician.
But finally the fingers slowly, deliberately close around the nail, curling into a fist.
Out of the corner of his eye even through the helmet's shield, Ryka sees the Administrator wave. So, that he is leaving is clear, his course veers slightly so that he goes by Okran. A puzzled tilt to his head.
Satisfied with the destruction of the droids,, Naboy's lekku tilts as he re-holsters the repeater.
<FONT color="#FFFF00">COMBAT:</FONT> #FFFF00 Okran puts away his Masterwork Merr Sonn XFA Wristblaster.
<FONT color="#FFFF00">COMBAT:</FONT> #FFFF00 Naboy puts away his Merr Sonn TM7 Repeater.
Briseis follows after Ryka, as if trailing behind the man offers some form of comfort. She blinks evenly at Okran as they approach.
Tuil comes from the Trader's Quarter to the west.
Elinor comes from the Trader's Quarter to the west.
Okran shuffles away from Nash and Rem. "Sorry.", he apologizes. He walks to meet Ryka and whisper something.
Cerebra the Hutt slithers onto the scene, fashionably late. He makes his way across the beach in his full dress armor, flanked by drunken Eloms. As he slithers between guests towards the grave he waves to several of the locals, smiling and nodds, "Bargon me peedunkee buttmalia nobata. Tee-tocky chuba chowbasa keepuna. Yoka a haku. Wamma your dwana planeeto inkabunga- droi, rundee. Jujiminmee nibobo a choo na. Pawa jedda bunky!"
That said, the Hutt turns his massive bulk in front of the grave to face those assembled. He folds his hands over his armored belly, waiting for a moment of silence.
It's good to see you. Glad you could come. Always a pleasure. Give your widow my love-- oh, wait. She isn't a widow yet. There's always tomorrow! 
Okran whispers to Ryka Starn and Briseis: I have somethin' for you, Mr. Starn. Comes from the Baron General himself. If you could meet me at my ship, after the ceremony, it'd be of great help.
Rylas says to Ryka. "I've had enough of this mockery. I'll see you later." He holsters his weapon and leaves for the spaceport. He eyes the Hutt as he passes by him but says nothing.
<FONT color="#FFFF00">COMBAT:</FONT> #FFFF00 Rylas puts away his BlasTech AD2 Custom Blaster Pistol.
Aidus has disconnected.
When Elinor enters, her hood is larging covering her face from view. She walks up to Karin and gently pats her shoulder, though her expression could be translated to a reluctance to be here. Close behind her is Tuil Lindo, but for now she doesn't speak to him at all.
Ryka listens to the words whispered to him by the Administrator. A glance to Crebra as the Hutt appears then back to Okran. With a nod and muffled voice "I will wait, then. But I do not want to be...well fingers of children and blaster is not my idea of..." His voice trails off for a moment then comes back with "I will wait at the spaceport, Administrator."
Thankful, Okran nods to Ryka, offering his best expression of dismayed sympathy. "Wailin' droids leakin' ain't my idea, either. Pardon my Rimness, Mr. Starn."
The blue-clad figure of Karin rises with a whisper of silk, hand still closed into a fist. The cowl follows the Hutt when he enters the scent, and only at Elinor's arrival does she turn.
"I am glad to see you," she whispers, warmly. "But you should not be here."
A booted foot discreetly pushes a few fingernails away from Elinor's path, discarding them to the side.
Draven tucks his thumbs back into his belt and shrugs silently, focusing on the newly arrived Hutt and the two others, not knowing what to make of it, yet.
Rem keeps her face down, hiding from most the emotions there, though the square set of her jaw and the fine line of mouth says enough. Her fingers curl into fists, balling the rich fabric of her skirts with them. Try as she might, she cannot keep up the aloofness of the Warlord sitting beside her. 
A wave of his gloved hand "No need to apologize, Administrator, pardon my...squeamishness in such matters." Then Ryka turns and, checking on the Captain, he nods and makes his way from the ceremony.
Briseis studies Okran for a long moment, brown eyes taking in the Twi'lek's features as Ryka responds before she speaks simply, "I had hoped for respect." So said, she glances briefly at Ryka and then turns to make her way away from the crowd, her head lowered and her gaze fixed on the path she treads.
Category:March 2008 RP Logs