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| - The cargo bay, even though it's somewhat compact, and relatively well filled; is still somewhat bustling with the activities of the men who were on this operation. Dareus, is handing Medpacks to several of the senior NCO's to help out with those who are wounded; himself looking somewhat scorched, but obviously still in operational condition, as it were. Once most of the supplies have been handed out, he heads to the rear of the cargo area, and opens up several dufflebags. He removes his overshirt, and tshirt which are rather charred in the shoulder area, the armor which obviously protected has previously been taken off. Quickly; he puts himself into another black Tshirt, leaving it at that in the rather warm area of this ship. He moves back to near the table, and grabs another bottle of water from one of the racks, opens it up and takes a long sip; looking at the holoterm as if he were contemplating something. Sitting ontop of one of the cargo crates located in the bay, Cantrell lays back against the metal bulkhead, the body armor and rest of the clothing on his upper torso is missing. One of the commandos that was in the team tends to the Master Sergeant's wound, located to the right towards the bottom of his torso. Puffing away at a long, black Sullustan cigarrette, Cantrell snarls in pain as the commando tends to him. "Argh..." He sighs, taking a quick drag of his cigarrette. Rarely one sees Cantrell without some sort of armor or clothing; his arms are well-muscled and covered by many strange, tribalistic tattoos. "I'm going to find that damn traitor, and when I do...his hide is going to be scattered through the damned galaxy." "Easy, Sarge..." The commando medic gestures Cantrell to lean back a bit. "That's a hell of a wound. You're lucky it didn't hit anything important." "It's nothing..." Cantrell scoffs, taking a look around the bay. "I had worse back during the third battle of Coruscant." Compact is a cute way of putting it. Try claustrophobia-inducing. From where she sits jammed against an accursed cargo container that keeps digging into the small of her back, Johanna can see most of the activity here in the hold. Why Danik chose to pack her onto this ship is quite beyond her; the aging Admiral is nothing if not macabre in some of his inclinations. Perhaps he simply wants to annoy her. She wouldn't put it past him. The mention of the third battle of Coruscant catches her ear and the pilot squints, trying to identify the source of that remark. How many times has the city-world seen war already, only to be primed and awaiting the next siege? A frown creases her features and she tries to settle into a more comfortable position. Accursed Danik and his accursed friends. If she weren't without her prized weapon, she'd help herself to a few instances of murder. A young medic comes by and mutters a few words to Dareus, who gets a visible frown on his face, in the conversation between the two, most of the hold would only be able to hear "painkillers..." He nods in acknowledgement, and heads again to some of the cargo containers, reading over some of the labels which appear in there. He steps over near the person who definately didn't come with them on this little errand, and opens a crate that is somewhat above her head, and mumbles down, "Mind your head" to her. Seeing the contents, he pulls the whole case, which is admittedly smaller than most of the ones back here, and opens it up, handing a few bottles out to the Medics, as well, he walks over, handing one to Cantrell, "Corellian Whiskey Sergeant, 25 years old. Your men earned it." He takes a bottle of his own, closes the crate, and has a seat on in, again near the rear of the hold, which seems to have the only legroom, if you want to call it that; in the entire back of this little box. That woman...Cantrell studies her quietly while the medic finishes applying the gauze on his wound, wrapping the binding around his waist. "All done.." The medic pats the Master Sergeant on the shoulder, with Cantrell replying with a nod. "Alot of men died...she better be worth it." Cantrell forces out those words under his breath, his teeth grinding as he watches Johanna. He's seen her before, but more than likely from behind the mask of a Stormtrooper's helmet. His attention is caught by the bottle of Corellian whiskey, one of Cantrell's favorite drinks. His face lights up, a grin forming on the side of his mouth. "Ey...that's what i'm talkin about now, sir." Cantrell chuckles, reaching over for the bottle, gesturing Dareus to an empty crate next to him. "We all deserve it..." He grabs ahold of the cap with his teeth, yanking it out of place and sitting it to the side. "So...what's your story, m'lady?" Cantrell raises his voice in question towards Johanna, taking a swig of the whiskey. "Mm...damn...that's nice." The pilot snorts audibly at the question, a few blotches of color appearing on her face before they disappear again to leave her pale and seemingly imperturbable once more. "My story?" she finally echoes after a few moments of silence, during which she considers not replying at all but finds the alternative somewhat more appealing, "Well, let's see. I was having myself a visit to the liberated palace on 'scant when Mister Kreldin decided to bust in on the joint and cause a ruckus. Why he decided to take me along on this joyride is beyond me. Say..." Here she rises from her uncomfortable seat, glancing through the hold with not a little malice in her eyes, "You don't happen to think the old fellow's finally lost it, do you? If you ask me, he's well on his way there." Of course, Cantrell hasn't asked her, and probably doesn't appreciate the sentiment, but Johanna has never been one to withold her opinion as a social courtesy. "Seems he caused you a spot of trouble." Dareus stands back up, walking past Johanna, he takes a seat on the crate that is near Cantrell;not quite disturbed by the woman's words. After all, he takes them as the idle ramblings of a prisoner of war. He finally removes the cock from his own bottle, far more civilly than Cantrell of course, and takes a long drink, looking up to the Sergeant, "Won't be long before I'm back on Corellia to get another case for myself." He leans back agains the crate and takes another sip, then looks to the spike-tongued vixen, "Listen Lady, I spent 10 years on Kessel, come back into active duty after serving my sentence like an honorable man." He sets the bottle down between his legs, and continues in a solemn tone, "Even still, after watching our men die, I will still follow GRAND ADMIRAL Kreldin to hell should he decide that's where our duty takes us." He takes another long drink, "Being bound by duty must be overlooked in the New Republic...." "Indeed..." Cantrell nods towards Dareus, taking another long, hard drag from his cigarette while listening to Johanna speak. She's a wiley one, alright. He's heard rumors she's downright mad. "You think it's destiny? Or just a bad case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time?" Shoving off from the crate, his stride a mix of limps and groans. "We are all losing it, m'lady." Cantrell states plainly, brushing back his hair. Letting out a deep sigh, he shrugs simply towards Dareus. "As vile as the New Republic is...and as much as their views are invalid...they are a force to be wreckoned with." He states, lightly touching the wound on his abdomen, a clear reminder on how that traitorous sniper could've ended Cantrell's life had he not flinched. Looking back towards Johanna, he studies her for a moment before his voice grates back to life. "Who are you...and why is Danik so interested in you?" "Oh, cry me a river," Johanna replies to Dareus at his mention of the time spent on Kessel, "You're not the only one to have scraped around in the mines." It had been her brother's associates who'd shipped her off to prison, in fact. Her brother. The thought makes her eyes narrow. One day, Malign will indeed be hopping around with her foot up his arse in a most painful manner. What are siblings for, after all? "Besides, what makes you think I'm with the Republic? You know nothing about me. I've found that stupid assumptions generally get one nowhere in life." Then, to Cantrell, "Destiny is a concept I don't believe in. As for your question about Danik's interest in me, who knows? Maybe he's bored and needs a gardener or something, and figured it would be funny to try and take one off of Coruscant." Okay, that one makes her snort again. "I'm just a pilot by trade." Dareus simply shakes his head with the stupid accusations comment, after all, he was the one who was not being guarded in the cargo hold of a ship. He looks at the whiskey bottle in his hand, swirling the contents around a little bit, before looking back to Johanna, "As stupid as you take us for; there is no one in this galaxy who would be insane enough to run half way across the galaxy to pick up a goddamn pilot." He takes another long drink as he contemplates the name Malign, looking up to Cantrell somewhat puzzled, and with a shrug, "Hey, I've been gone for 10 years, need to fill me in with anything, Sergeant?" A half smirk crosses his face; as he stands up and grabs one of the fresh bottles of water, tossing it over to the woman, "Might as well not die of thirst or starvation before we get to wherever the hell we're going...." Pilot...anyone is a pilot these days. Cantrell chuckles, rubbing his chin while finishing the rest of the whiskey with a gulp, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Pilot eh? I'm a pilot too...just not a good one." He grins, pulling up a box and sitting on it. "I've known Danik for a long, time, lass..." He gestures Johanna to take a seat. "...he's been through a lot of battles, I assure you on that. His mind may be a bit frayed due to that...but I've always known that when he has an objective, it has a clear motive." The trooper pauses to let a grunt, the pain from the wound shooting up as he sits. "Blasted wound..." He grunts, tilting his head over towards Dareus. "You haven't missed much...just more politics and bantha shit thrown into the engine exhaust." He throws the stub of a cigarette down to the ground, his boot crunching it out. "You are something more, aren't you? I highly doubt that Danik would go out of his way to break into the Imperial Palace just to steal himself a gardener." She catches the water with little enthusiasm, though her gaze drifts to the now-extinguished smoke with some longing. It takes most of her willpower not to ask Cantrell if he happens to have another one. "I really am a pilot," Johanna begins, settling herself down, "You call, I haul. I could fly this crate with no problem. I suppose it's my part-time gig that has your Admiral torqued." Blast Cantrell for smoking already! "Suppose he has some kind of problem with the Jedi, and all, though if you knew more about him I think you'd find it pretty funny. He's stashed my weapon somewhere around here, at any point. Don't be surprised if there's a hole in here halfway through the jump. By the by..." the water bottle shifts position from one hand to another, "We're going to Ord Trasi. Ever heard of it?" Dareus coughs somewhat as he's having a sip of whiskey while moving back to his seat, some of it is coming out of his nose. He looks to Cantrell, "We're hauling a JEDI for the Grand Admiral?" He seems a little pale, and has a seat back near the table, the closest point instead of heading to his seat, "This is sure one hell of an interesting trip now." The mention of Ord Trasi catches his ears as well, and he eyes the woman again, waiting for her to somewhat elaborate. He only ever heard stories from old condemned men while in jail. Grabbing a small silver tube from his pocket, he opens it up and pulls our a cigar; lighting it rather quickly before muttering to himself, "I think I should have brought more whiskey...." Jedi. Cantrell has never had a fondness for Jedi, nor did he fear Jedi. A faint smirk forms across his face, letting out a loud chuckle that startles a nearby trooper. "What's the matter, sir?" He asks, bearing his fangs in a broad grin. "A little Jedi isn't going to spook you, is it?" He asks mockingly, turning back towards Johanna. Spotting her gaze at the dead cigarette, he reaches into his pocket to reveal a pack. "I don't miss a thing, m'lady." He assures her, offering the pack towards her. "I do remember seeing you in the past in one of your escapades, but I didn't make of it. And no..I've never heard of Ord Trasi." Though she would normally never use her powers for something so mundane, this time it cannot be helped. Her gaze grows distant after she's taken the smoke from the pack and a moment later the thing is lit seemingly of its own volition. "Much obliged," the pilot nods, a faint gesture of thanks communicated from the manner in which she inclines her head, "I assure you that my being a Jedi is nothing for you to be worried about, unless you suddenly take a fancy to the idea of eviscerating me or some similarly idiotic notion. As for Ord Trasi..." Johanna's tone suddenly drops a few degrees into the range of frosty and she watches Dareus with an almost fixed intensity. "It's a dark world. I don't mean there isn't any physical light, I mean it's rich in the Dark Side. You probably think that's a load of crap, so take it or leave it at your discretion. But your boss suspects the truth of the matter. He'd mess his trousers if he knew the whole story." Dareus puts his feet up on a crate that is in front of the bench he leans on, "When I was in prison; there was an insane old man there, who know why he was put in there. I think he was a scout pilot who attacked a senior officer, or something like that." He keeps looking at the table while he speaks, the whiskey, or what little amount is left in it, swirling around with the turning of the bottle as Dareus remembers. "The guards said he was on Ord for several weeks when his ship crashed. He'd gone insane before the fleet was able to locate his shuttle." He takes a long drink, and looks back to Johanna as he places the now empty bottle down on the table, "Oh well. Death is another part of life. We've got orders, and they will be followed." He reaches into his duffle bag, grabbing a few ration packs; walks over towards Cantrell first, and hands him a package, and another pack to the young woman, "They taste like shit; but better than eating your own stomach lining." He smirks as he says that, regardless though, he turns to head back to his seat. "Ahh...military rations..." Cantrell lets out a light-hearted chuckle as he takes hold of a familiar object, though not one he's especially fond of. "Oh trust me...it takes more than a Jedi to make me tremble, m'lady." Cantrell states, his eyes dimming a bit as he opens up the rations. "So...a Sith planet, eh?" Cantrell munches into the rations, his face grimmacing. "Everything a growing boy needs..." Placing the rations aside, he watches Johanna silently as she speaks. "M'lady...trust me...i've heard far weirder things and gone one some oddball missions before. Going to some Sith planet is nothing. Though...I cannot see why the old coon would want to go there." Cantrell doesn't know something, and it's bugging him that Danik hasn't told him anything about why he wants to go to that planet. Cantrell has some questions of his own to ask about his own exsistance in the galaxy, but he shrugs. "So Danik is something else...like me. Guess theres many questions that still need to be answered." Dareus shrugs it all off, hell, maybe after this other trip he'll get his damn rank back, or at least something better than being 4 steps below his last post. He has a couple of bites of his food, and lays himself somewhat back against the wall of the ship, "Either way, there's probably gonna be something happening." He doesn't bother to make himself a blanket, since it's so bloody hot in this cargo area, "I'm going to get some sleep before we have to disembark." He takes a look around, noticing that most of the other men are sleeping, "Sergeant, wake me up if our status changes?" With that he lays back as best he can to try to get some sleep on this far more interesting adventure, than he expected.
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