1612/Starlings and Space Cowboys

Starlings and Space Cowboys
Date of Scene:	19 February 2015
Location:	Aces and Eights (A8)
Synopsis:	In her aspect as the mercenary pilot 'Blackout,' Juno pays a visit to Courier Six to discuss a business proposition.
Cast of Characters:	32, 428

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Courier Six (32) has posed:
Access to Johnny's ship is performed by... transporter. It tingles a bit as they are wont to do, and leaves Juno in the back of the shuttlecraft, standing near a collection of crates and boxes and such.

This place is... homey. Like Johnny peeled pieces of his comfy old furniture out of the 38 or one of the hotels he camps out in, or something. A warm and safe and especially secure place for his shenanigans.

Johnny is currently fiddling with what appears to be a digital interface storage device, as ED-E floats and overs over by a computer bank by the ship's piloting area.

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
The incognito Imperial is pretty quick to arrive, as usual. No matter what sort of role she's filling, or what sort of disguise she falls back on, she's always punctual. Inefficiency and waste are two things that Juno Eclipse absolutely cannot abide by.

From the transporter comes Juno in her mercenary guise, with the same cobbled-together outfit that Johnny had originally met her in – reinforced leather jacket, white tunic-like shirt, leather legging and boots, dual blasters holstered one at each hip, and a miniature, wrist-mounted datapad which might well be her radio unit. Her white-gold blonde hair is drawn back into a plain horsetail, and those clear blue eyes are taking in every detail of the transporter itself, rather ignoring the ship for a moment.

She folds her arms as she steps off the pad, looking around.

"Not bad." Her tones are clipped, professional, no matter how much her guise might seem to want to be that of a freewheeling smuggler or mercenary. Perhaps she's a former Imperial? "A little shabby, but I suppose my preferences run to different tastes than yours. Where's the engine room?"

Courier Six (32) has posed:
Johnny snorts and tosses his hands out wide. "Heeeyyyy! Welcome to the Aces and Eights! So nice of you to come see. I figured you might be interested in seein' this fine piece o' machinery." That name sounds supciously like a Pazzak or Sabbac hand. Hmmm.

The Courier's grin is infectious, as he looks around a bit. "Shabby, maybe, yeah, but mosta my world is pretty Shabby, Blackout. And on that one, uh..." He looks around to ED-E, who blittler beeps a bit. "ED-E says it's not accessable from inside the cabin unless you really want to tear at it."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"'Aces and Eights?'" Juno's tone is one of vague amusement, although there doesn't seem to be any recognition, if it's a reference to something. "I'm not certain I'd describe it as a 'fine piece of machinery.' Actually, it looks like something pulled out of Tatooine's scrapyards..."

Oh well. That just means it's got character, right?

She looks thoughtful as she surveys the rest of the ship, but that might just mean she's kicked over to her rational engineer's mind, already sifting through possible improvements in her mind. She's an intellectual; she's not happy unless she has some problem to solve.

When denied the engine room, she just sighs. "Fine, fine. That's the only part of this bucket of bolts that interests me. I just hope it isn't as shabby as the rest of the ship, or you're going to be in trouble sooner or later." She squints, perhaps towards where the hum of the engines comes from. "What sort of engine does this thing have, anyway? Ion array? I'm going to hope that sound I'm hearing is the hum of the engine, and not something straining."

Courier Six (32) has posed:
Johnny snorts a bit as ED-E floats over to wiggle its antennae at Juno in greeting, the little zapper prod underneath sparking a little tune along with a blat of sitcom intro music. "Ah, it's a famous poker hand. The Dead Man's Hand. Figured it'd be a good name for a ship flown by a guy with.. you know." He mines a gun firing at his noggin.

Then the Courier shakes his head. "It's much fancier on the outside. Take a look when you get a chance. All sleek and curves and cherry red and stuff. Very chic. I just like bein' homey is all." Johnny shuffles over towards that digital locker thing, which blats at him and spits out a pair of drinks like an automat. Cold refreshing milkshakes of some sort, look fruity. "Here, have a cherry shake. It's got fruit, that's healthy." A snort, and he starts slurping on his own a bit. "SAIL, that's the Ships Computer, tells me we're running on something like Ion Trusters, yeah. Though the primary engines are some sort of hyperdrive FLT whizbang. Ai ant' fired em too hard just yet, just enough to get me to a safe spot and tool up this place. Got some guns on the front but I'd rather not be bringing this into a pitched dogfight. Ain't built for it."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
The little droid thing is blinked at, somewhat owlishly, but Juno ultimately ignores it to focus her attention on Johnny and his explanation.

"Must be like Pazaak," she muses, though she doesn't seem very interested in thinking about it. In fact, her expression turns a little sour at the strange term. It must be something she doesn't like.

The shake is eyed somewhat dubiously, though she accepts it, ignoring the condensation building up on her gloves. A sip or two, and apparently she decides it isn't too bad. "Ion thrusters... I'm familiar with those. Most of the ships of my, er, world, run on ion models. Sublight engines, anyway. Those are usually ion, but hyperdrives are another beast entirely, and I'd need about twelve hours to explain the principles to you."

Sip. Si-i-ip. "No, it's not," Juno observes, almost cheerfully. "Going by what I can see from in here, you'd probably be ripped apart into scrap if you tried to stand toe to toe with just about anything else. This is basically a shuttle with some extra cargo space. I'm going to bet that there's not much in the way of external armour, unless it's some kind of ablative wonder-tech or energy shielding well beyond what I'm accustomed to seeing. If you want this thing to be a battleship, then it's more like a rusty coffin."

"Still, it isn't bad, for a shuttle." She toes at the base of a wall with one dusty boot. "I've seen, and piloted, much worse."

Courier Six (32) has posed:
The Courier snorts and grins at that. "Well, cant' be anything worse than the last several ones I went though. I think I got a few surplus models from your sector too. Old bulk frighters and skiffs and shit. Nothin' that extensive, really." A shrug, and he nods over to a couch where he takes a seat, slurping at his shake again. Mmmm. Frothy.

He does snort at Juno though as he hears the muttering on the radio. "Seriously, sit down and chat. It's been ages. You can get yer fill of science in a bit."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"Ugh. Freighters." Juno transfers the glass to one hand, raising the other to rub at her forehead in weary gesture. "I've piloted freighters." No, but a creative lie lends some credence to her cover, and anyway, she knows the theory and she could do it if she needed to. "Trying to control a freighter is like piloting an ion engine strapped to a clay brick."

Also not a lie. She knows how they're built, and that's all she needs to know to know how they handle. She's one of the finest pilots in the Galactic Empire, and her engineering is also top notch. It has to be, or she wouldn't be the Rogue Shadow's capable mistress, or Starkiller's personal pilot.

Juno shifts her weight; cocks a blue eye toward the Courier, and finally gives an unhappy sigh. "Sorry. Can't really turn it off, you know." A slender forefinger taps at one temple.

The nearest chair or chair-like thing is uncerimoniously flopped into, and Juno manages to make even her graceless landing look graceful. "Right, then. I'm sitting. So. Talk."

Courier Six (32) has posed:
The Courier snorts and shakes his head. "That's okay, some days I get like that too. Though, arguing my brain back into my head was an experience." A little laugh, and he slumps into his spt as well.

He stirs at his shake and then looks over at Juno. "I could use you in something that's going on in the Strip. There's a rat. A mole. A cancer in my house. My strip and it's hurting people, festering. I've had people out to get at it, but you're another set of eyes I want. There's plenty of eggheads helping but..."

Johnny looks over at Juno. "I need an operative's eyes on this. If you can put on the act and play nice with the idealists that banter on the radio." ...Where did the friendly drawl go? The Cowboy Attitude? This is... certainly another side of Johnny he doesn't let out much, it would seem. "I've got ideas at what's going on, but I'd like you in on this."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"Sounds like you need black ops." Juno arches a brow as she crosses one leg over the toher at the ankle. "I'm an engineer and a pilot, not black ops. Heh. Whatever gave you that impression? I just fix things and fly them. It's not half as glamourous as it sounds."

Still, her mind is arleady whirring over this, considering, even as she maintains a neutral face. While it would be nice to bring in the extra money, she has to be careful about what she accepts. After all, 'Blackout' is just a front.

And like any front, she has to be very, very careful about how that front is perceived by others...

Courier Six (32) has posed:
Johnny's eyes crinkle a bit at the corners. "Blackout, I ain't one to pry and I ain't poking at your business. But."

He grumbles and looks at the shake. "A soldier knows a soldier. And that's what I need. Black ops or not, you're a set of eyes I could use. I'm hunting a lady. A smart one, who knows how to cover her tracks. Who's got backing that I can't track. She's got experience in hacking, infiltration and espionage. She's also killed to maintain her cover."

A grump. "And she's either cornered in the Strip, or she's still looking for something."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"Hmmmm. It's not my specialty." Not quite a lie, not quite the truth. Juno sips and finishes off her shake, leaving the glass aside. "Sorry, but your instincts are off the mark, this time. I can pilot a ship, and I can fix what's in a ship to make it fly, but that's where my expertise ends."

"But," she adds casually, examining the fingernails of one hand, "for the right credits, I'll see what I can do for you."

Actually, that sounds like it's right up her alley in terms of challenge, but it wouldn't do to reveal that, would it? Actually, she might even be able to get Starkiller in on the fun, but then she might blow her cover. There would be... well, no, lightsabers didn't necessarily leave blood, but the short version is he'd make a violent mess of things sooner or later.

No, she'd better just handle this by herself...

"Hm. So something of interest to her is there. Noted." Juno makes a pretense of straightening her hair, even as she considers the details. Computer systems are a plus, if she can get her hands on something like that. Monitoring. Security cameras are even better. Hmm, behind the controls of the Rogue Shadow, she should be able to do some damage – or at least some surveillance...

Folding her arms, she taps the fingers of one hand against the opposite forearm, as though thoughtful. "Well," she says, as though regretful, "I still can't promise anything. It's just not my area."

Courier Six (32) has posed:
The Courier snorts at all of that, but again, he's not going to pry. "Like I said. A lady's touch, and the only ladies I've got at ready disposal who I can trust internally are Veronica, who's not at all criminally minded. I've got Cass, who's sweet but mosta what I talk about goes over her head. Seft ain't human and this lady's been using that to her advantage, so she's out. Biteblade's a plant."

A smile. "And you're the discrete type, so. Think about it, at least. I'm happy to work with all types, so long as they ain't about to shank me for my pocket change."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"I'll think about it." Juno offers a half-smile, although it doesn't quite seem to reach her eyes, as though she were disappointed or maybe a little unnerved by the prospect.

Oh, no. The mercenary smuggler pilot doesn't know what to do with black ops, and has gotten herself in over her head. Whatever shall she do?

Pushing up from her seat, she rolls one shoulder in a shrug, the reinforced platelets on the jacket shoulder dully catching the light at the motion. They're not quite shiny, but they're smooth enough for the light to glance off of, for a brief instant. "I can't promise I won't shank you for other reasons before this is through, but I suppose I can take a look at it. You should post a bill to the Syndicate's network, too. I'm sure you could find someone more suited to it."

Somebody Not Her, the statement seems to say, but already she's silently considering the ins, the outs, and the hows; picking apart the methods she'll use and the methods her slippery target might well be using.

"Anyway, I should get back to what I was doing. Salvage isn't going to sort itself, is it? And droids can't always be trusted to know if something's more valuable than it looks..."

Courier Six (32) has posed:
John... nods. "Consideration was all I was gonna ask for. Also an attempt to sweet talk you, maybe, but well. We was already at business, so that seemed a little gauche." He winks and polices that empty glass, shuffling it over to the 'locker' again and vanishing it inside. Damn if that isn't cool.

"I won't keep ya from yer salvaging, then. And I got interested parties working hard already. Whole Flotilla in fact." A grin, that does each his eyes. "Get on the pad and I'll get you home."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"I'll think about it." Juno crosses her arms as she moves to step onto the transporter pad, watching as he confiscates the empty glass and spirits it back into that odd locker-like thing. She'll have to inspect that with a hydrospanner some time, too...

She manages an irreverent little grin and wave. "You know how to get in touch. See you later, Mister Tallbranch."

And then the white of the transporter wave washes over her, and she's gone.