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| - It's quitting time, and the daytime hustle and bustle of the Ord Mantell spaceport is only slightly subdued. The sun is beginning to set, and those who are still on the job have paused to sit and eat a bite or two of dinner. Bill, however, is stalking the spaceport. He spots his prey, a young twi'lek woman with long lekku and walks up to her. "Ahoy, me fine beauty," he greets here. "Do ye know anything about a compound outside 'er Dossholl? Real rich folk? Kin ye tell me anything?" The twi'lek pauses for a moment, shakes her head, and keeps walking. "What about a drink? Kin I interest you in a drink? I'll buy!" She keeps walking and Bill mutters under his breath, "Wench." Even during the late afternoon and evening, Winthrop feels particularly susceptible to the heat and light and ventures into the starport proper with a great amount of trepidation. Despite his aversion to the heat, he is wearing a robe that is fastened all the way to the neck though his skull-white head is exposed. He is carrying a small plaid cloth umbrella with a fringe that hangs over his eyes. In his other hand is a short, square rod that he taps against his leg as he walks. He gives a start! There's one. He finds Bill with his eyes and heads for him. "Hello! You there!" Bill gives a start as he is approached and hailed by the strange creature. He stares for a moment, trying hard to decide what to make of the fringed umbrella and the long robe. At length, he nods and replies with a hesitant, "Aye," and then adds for good measure, "But I givin' you any money fer free, if that's what yer askin' for." Winthrop's vacant stare is due in part to his alien physiology and in part to Bill's remarkable dialect. "I..." Winthrop begins, with a fit and start. "Why yes? Yes, of course. Sure. You're with the Captain, right? I was supposed to meet the Captain." Winthrop slaps the rod he is carrying against his thigh and it explodes into a huge clover-shaped paper fan. He begins to whittle away at the heat in front of his face at an amazing frequency. Bill seems to relax a little, as the strange alien does not seem to be looking for any sort of handouts. In fact, he seems to puff up a little, as the Givin seems to know about Salty_Jack. "Aye! I be Barnacle_Bill, his first mate! Are ye seeking Salty_Jack, captain of the --," the calamari falters, as their ship has recently met with some ill-fortune. "Skies?" he finishes. The pirate waits for a beat for a reply when the paper fan snaps open. This causes Bill to jump back in surprise, instinctively reaching for where his weapon should be, but is not. It, too, met with some ill-fortune. "Arr!" he says, in order to cover his embarrassment. Sitting on some left out crate, Sally keeps her eye on the spaceport. It's the best place to find out what's going on. She sits half reclined on the box with one booted foot brought up to her and the other dangling over the edge. The dangling foot keeps tapping at the side of the crate. The noise isn't loud enough to carry throughout the spaceport, but it carries enough that more than one being has given her a dirty look as they passed. Sally doesn't seem to notice she's annoying anyone. Winthrop leans in on the Calamari, peering at the creature's face with his grinning visage. "Salty_Jack did you say?" he asks, enunciation crisp and prim. "Yes I believe that was it. Well met, ah, Barnacle_Bill. Where is the ship then? I should like to give it the once over before I agree to any term of service. My standards are somewhat exac..." Winthrop eases back a touch when Bill looses his Arr. "You alright?" he asks, preparing to clap the Calamari on the back if he was choking. Perhaps he was ill. "Arrrr....," Bill says again at the next question from the Givin. Perhaps he was choking after all. He kind of wished he were, so he would not have to explain about the lack of a ship. But after a moment he pulls himself together. "I be fine, mate. Jus' fine." The calamari reaches up to adjust the bandana on his lumpy head. "About the ship, y'see, we ran into a little trouble, and it were eaten. Me sure as sailin' won't be treadin in the space near Nar for a good stretch. Evil spirits live there. Ship eatin' spirits! At any rate, we be in the process of 'quiring a new one. Just don't have it here...yet." Sally yawns a mighty fine yawn. The bright metal front tooth of hers glints in the spaceport light. Taking a deep breath and stretching, she stands up from her crate. It's getting to be time to move on. Maybe she'll go find those guys she joined up with the other night and make sure the deal is still on. Looking around the spaceport, she figures she might find them here since they were in search of a ship when she saw them last. Despite the inflexibility of Winthrop's facial exoskeleton, his dismay cannot be hidden at this revelation. "I have been on a shuttle for four days and paid two hundred and thirty four credits *just in cargo fees* to get here." He leans the umbrella far back on his shoulder and turns it in a half circle. "I will expect to be reimbursed for my trouble if there is no ship," he explains softly. A luggage droid appears around the corner carrying a numbered of patterned trunks, a squeaky wheel marking its arrival behind Winthrop. The droid becomes caught on something and nearly tips forward, just a meter away from Sally. The Givin clears his throat and peers at Bill expectantly. "What do ye mean, she ain't in?!?" A booming, gravelly voice cuts through the loud hum of the spaceport, causing a few heads to turn toward where the commotion is coming from. After a few moments, Jack comes into view from behind a rather large stack of crates, apparently talking on a comlink, though it looks a bit odd in his large, suctioned hand. "No, I won't be dealin' with ye, matey. SENATOR Marx didn't say nothin' 'bout no secretary!" He emphasizes _senator_ like the person on the other end should think Jack very important for knowing such a highly-placed person. Even though the secretary probably knows her much better, and is just doing his job. "You tell 'er to call ol' Jack wi' th' details, then, an' don't be callin' yerself, mind, or I'll go over there an' keelhaul ye!" He slams shut the comlink, muttering curses under his breath. His eyes fall on his first mate, and he begins to stump over towards the mon cal, not seeming to notice his rather perturbed expression. "Arr, Bill," he says, shaking his head, "if I have ter deal wi' another level o' blasted bureaucracy, I'll jes' commandeer the first ship I see 'n' be done wi' it." Only then does he notice his first mate's companion, and he regards him for a moment, before saying, bluntly, "Who the kark 'r you?" The captain's in fine form tonight. Winthrop's umbrella tips forward and he averts his gaze slightly at the intensity of the Captain. "Winthrop. Master Technician." And navigator. Though that should go without saying if these 'shipping experts' had ever met a Givin. "You must be..." Winthrop looks to Bill. "What was it? Salty_Jack? I was just telling your mate here that I was expecting a ship, Captain. A ship tech is of little use with no, well. Ship." With a step forward and a flick of her wrist, Sally helps the little droid finish it's fall. "Oopsies daisy." She laughs. But to cover her involvement, she quickly stoops to help the droid back to its wheels. "Watch yerself fella." She says to the metal thing. "Got a clumsy droid." She says to the Givin, assuming the droid was headed toward him. After all, if the droid were Bill's, she assumes Bill would have sold him by now for extra credits toward that ship he is needing. It's then that Salty_Jack makes his appearance. The laughable type from the other night has made a turn for the cranky, in Sally's opinion. Good thing she doesn't mind cranky. She can do a good cranky herself. But all the same, she's not going to be jumping into the conversation any more than she already has, at least not yet. Bill looks quite distressed and, while digging through is pockets for change, begins to explain, "Well, ye see, thar will be a ship, hopefully, any minute now, if the spirits of the sea smile upon us. Bill has been offering fish up to them every day fer a week! And, um, arr, 'ere be the Captain now!" He takes a few steps in the direction of the approaching Captain, ushering him over. The calamari seems quite relieved to see Salty Jack come, despite his cranky mood and rude greeting to the already irritated Givin. It is then that the droid falls over, and Bill turns to look. It is then that the little droid tips over. "Oh no!" he says, moving to help the droid up. It would not do to upset the technician even further. Jack regards the givin for a moment, his expression irritated, but the captain's moods are as changeable as the seas, and after a moment his face shifts into a wide grin as he reaches forward to grasp the given's hand, but because of the presence of the umbrella only manages to grab the outside of his fist. He gives it a firm shake, nearly knocking it out of his hand. "A tech, eh?" he says, not seeming to notice the awkwardness of his grip, "Pleased ter meet ye! Aye, Salty_Jack I be. I see ye've met Bill." He nods happily, previous crankiness forgotten as he continues, "And a ship ye shall have! The best one there is, that's fer true. I'll show 'er to ye just as soon as the deal's done. But she's a fair beauty." His tone takes a wistful turn, "a beauty indeed." Which is strange, since it's unclear whether he actually has a ship, or if he's seen it. His eyes turn to the fallen droid, and Sally, and he says, "Ahoy, Sally! Sally, meet Winthrop, our new tech." He waves a mottled hand at the givin, though he neglects to ask whether or not he's actually going to join his crew. "Ye best fix that droid, though. Can't have 'im fallin' around all over th' place." As Winthrop's luggage tumbles away from the stack on the luggage droid he turns and gives an audible gasp, his fist still in the Captain's grip. Two of the large trunks open when they hit the tarmac. Fine clothes of all sorts tumble out, light and silky fabrics of all colors. Wrapped in the various clothes: delicate machine parts, data discs, and unrecognizable machine components. The droid reaches out with its clumsy loading claw, scratching uselessly at the spilled items. "This is untenable!" the Givin yells, running to the items, looking aghast at Sally and flitting around while the droid works. "It is normally /quite/ reliable! He has carrying 3.84 times this precise weight just a few weeks ago! Don't touch that!" Winthrop edges Bill away with his umbrella, creating a shield between his things and the Calamari brute. "Captain. You mentioned that we would discuss the specifics of our contract in person. The remuneration component of that contract is of course extremely provoking but still a bit unclear, if I may say so..." "A tech, eh?" Sally's words mirror Jack's as she eyes Winthrop. She makes a bit of a face, as any human might when introduced to her insides turned out. But she recovers with a large smile complete with metal front tooth. She stands leaving the luggage scattered about, and watches with interest as the Givin starts scurrying around to secure his belongings. "What'd he say?" She whispers to Bill as Winthrop continues talking to the Captian. "Did he see our new ship, Cap'n?" the calamari asks as he reaches to help the Givin. But Bill's grabbing hand is stopped by the umbrella, but the umbrella cannot stop him from seeing the silky fabrics laying on the ground. Bill begins to snicker to himself, trying to press his lips together to suppress the laughter. Sadly, calamari do not have much in the way of lips, so he is not very successful here. Elbowing Sally, Bill shakes his head, for he did not understand what Winthrop said either, and instead says, "Look, 'e's got women's clothes in there." "Aye," the captain agrees, prodding one of the fallen objects with the end of his peg leg. Unfortunately, one of the silken fabrics somehow manages to get caught on a large splinter of wood that is sticking out of the rather low-tech prosthetic, and when Jack reaches down to dislodge it, the fabric rips in two. "Oops. Sorry, there, matey," he says, chuckling lightly, "Bill'll be able to fix that fer ye, he's a wonder wi' a needle." He then straightens, and nods, "Yessir, yer contract. 5,000 credits a week, was it? Aye, that sounds 'bout right. Plus keepin' the crew outta yer way at all times. And anythin' else ye need, come ter me and I'll see that ye get it, how's that sound, eh?" "What! Why, that's preposterous!" Winthrop replies, clearly affronted. "They aren't /mine/," he exclaims. "They are from a friend. Do you know what foam packing does to an alluvial dampener cross coupling? I didn't think so! This is Corellian silk, my odiferous friends, with the highest thread count credits can buy!" Winthrop pauses when he realizes that he is now standing in front of Bill and Sally with a glossy bright red undergarment of inscrutable origins and use in his hand, shaking it at the pair. "Nevermind!" Clutching his undergarment to his chest, Winthrop turns, shocked, at the ripping sound and the fabric snaked around Jack's peg. "This is untenable!" he repeats, hurrying to collect his things. "5,000 a week will do just fine," Winthrop finally summons. "Plus the advance I wrote you about will do fine, just fine." Winthrop pauses to touch his forehead, find his fan, and he falls silent for a while as he attempts to cool himself. "Oh dear." Sally snickers with Bill over Winthrop's women's clothes. She presses her thumb to her chest, "I's don't have under things near so purdy." She comments softly to Bill. Her eyebrows rise at Jack's words. She whistles, "Now that's a deal." These words are meant more for herself than anyone else. After all, she didn't negotiate anything when she signed up. Of course, she was deep in her cup when she threw her hat in ring, so she'd probably had offered to pay to go along, if she'd been pressed. "What'cha be needin' an advance fer?" She asks knowing it was none of her business, but curious all the same. "You don't have trouble following ya, do ya?" She eyes Winthrop. Bill bends down to help Jack free the remains of the silky garment from the peg leg. Once the tattered material is free, he passes the frock to Sally. "Me sure these will make a fine under thing for ye, missy." The captain and his first mate, along with a little help from Sally had pooled their money to buy a ship, if push came to shove. But Jack's earlier conversation had made it seem like the deal was all but sealed. The money would almost be enough to cover the advance that the Given was demanding. Bill reaches into his pants and pulls out a dirty looking sock that hangs like it is full of something heavy, like credits. He passes it to the Captain. The grizzled quarren waves a placating hand at the rather excitable givin, although it's true that he had some help getting his panties in a knot. So to speak. "Aye, yer advance, ol' Jack hasn't forgotten." He throws Bill and Sally an amused glance, but continues, "Just see that yer ready ter set sail at a moment's notice. 'Cause I did see our ship today, Bill, an' she's a fine-lookin' thing, all right. Gonna need a few more ter crew 'er, but we'll get 'em, sure as my name's Salty_Jack." Not just plain Jack at all. He takes the proferred sack, peering into it momentarily just to make sure of its contents, and passes it to the givin without another thought. "This oughter brighten yer day." Sally stares at the dirty sock and turns her nose. Credits are nice, but you shouldn't have to wash them. "Where'd ya come up with that?" She says to Bill, having a pretty good clue where her dinner money just went. But she doesn't wait for him to respond, instead she turns to Jack. "So this ship ya found? Think we'll be getting to see it too?" She shrugs. "I mean, I know a little somethin' about 'em. I wouldn't mind givin her a look, ya know." Actually, other than the most moderate of piloting skills, Sally doesn't know much about them. But that doesn't make her any less curious. "Here and there," Bill replies to Sally's question. Some of it was her money, to be true, but some he had come upon through slightly less underhanded means. But Jack always got upset when Bill talked to him about his pick-pocketing and stealing, so he had learnend to not talk about it. What Jack did not know would not hurt him. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all, and being shipless was about as desperate as it got. "Arr, is she a beaut, Jack? Room for the whole crew? An a room for the spirits? It ain't lucky to not devote a room to the spirits of the sea and space!” Jack grins at his crew's reaction to the news, pushing his hat back from his face and wiping a hand across his brow. "Aye, ye c'n see 'er soon, mates. Gotta clinch th' deal, first, but it's all but done." He cuffs Bill on the shoulder at his talk of spirit rooms, but because of his good mood, it's a very light cuff, and he simply says, "We'll be keepin' a room fer the spirit o' good sense, an' I hope he'll 'ave the foresight ter possess ye afore the tide goes out again!" His gaze jumps between Bill and Sally, "We're comin' along, mateys. Soon, we'll be set fer life."
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