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| - (Lazlo) Seated at the 'bar' at the 'Smuggler's Moon' is a man who looks clearly tired. Weathered, perhaps, from long travels and bad news, the man nurses a small glass placed before him. He stares into it quietly -- quiet is all he seems to be able to do, as he seems to repel the locals for some reason. No one seems to want to let him involved in their reindeer games. (Pirates) Ah, Smuggler's Moon, the cesspool of Nar Shaddaa, where sleaze from all over the Galaxy gathers to meet, greet, and deal in all things shady. Here, amidst the haze of death sticks, and the pungent aroma of spice lie secrets, should any choose to seek them, or at least be brave enough to. Sentients of mixed backgrounds come and go... but not going, however, is a particular group of rough-looking pirates. Seated in a far corner Sabbac table, the rowdy bunch, guzzling liquor as if it were water on Tattooine, telling tales of distant worlds, fast ships, and pillage plenty. (Lazlo) The outsider's brown eyes find themselves lingering upon the group of pirates. He once more gazes down at his drink, but this time he takes a deep breath and gulps down the strange liquid. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket, he stands up from his stool and begins to walk over towards them. "You fellas wouldn't know a group who might want some free drinks, would ya?" he asks them simply. (Pirates) The leader of the pirates, a large, one-eyed brute of a man stops laughing mid-way, his bulging yellowed eye studying the newcomer with some interest. "Free drinks, eh?" Mad Maddy pats his rounded belly. "Ye hear that, boys. 'E's lookin' fer folks te buy a drink fer." The group shares a collective chuckle. "I suppose this group wouldn't mind a drink tah much." He announces for the bunch. A hook-nosed, mousy human sniffs at the fellow. "We're the Dead-Eye Band. Pirates of the Rim! What's a scrawny fellah like you doin' buyin' us a drink?" (Lazlo) "Dead-Eye Band -- pirates, huh?" he repeats quietly. He raises a gloved hand into the air to beckon a waitress over. In the mean time, he looks to the leader of the pirates and nods his head. "Oh, just consider it a show of good faith." "I've been sitting in here for a couple of days now. The navicomputer on my ship is kind of old -- some fine spacers like yourselves might be able to help. I've been trying to get coordinates to the Orgo system. Most have never even heard of it," he says with a shrug. "But I suspect that after a few free rounds, a wise group of spacers might remember where it's at." (Pirates) "Oi, Mouse, nevah question a free drink," Mad Maddy waves dismissively at the scrawnier pirate, and turns to Lazlo with a more reserved look than before. Reserved, cautious, rather unlike the rowdy pirate. "Even if this fella dares to speak the name of the cursed system." "Lookin' fer Orgo, eh?" The pirate's thick tongue rolls out of his mouth to lick something thick and viscous from his beard, and he narrows his eye. "Ye crazy, or just lookin' te meet yer end in space?" (Lazlo) The waitress approaches the table cautiously -- it's full of rowdy pirates, after all. She's prepared to take whatever drink orders might come her way. "If those are my only two choices, I'll settle with 'crazy', then," he replies with a shrug. "You say it's cursed, huh? What makes you so sure?" He leans against a nearby fixture, having not been invited to sit. Despite being an outsider, he at least has the good sense to know what these folks might be sensitive to. (Pirates) Maddy sobers up considerably, shifting in his chair with some effort, repositioning the large bulk of his ample gut. "There's an old tale, ye old pirate wives like te tell: There be treasure, should you look.<br> A fine prize, the dark one took.<br> Many seek to test their fate,<br> But only his hunger doth ye sate.<br> To the cursed system, should ye go,<br> Then, yer life ye must forgo.."<br> The pirate leans back slowly. "I mightah missed a line or two, but I'm sure it ends with..." he pauses, the pirates around him look excited. ".. and DIE!" And he brings his fist down dramatically onto the sabbac table, spilling cards, drinks, and credits. (Lazlo) The stranger's features slide slowly into a look of contemplation. You know the one I mean -- the sort of look whose description is just too difficult to type out. He strums his fingers against the support beam he leans against. "So, I assume, then, you know where this place is, yes? Why don't you tell me, then? If I get there with your coordinates and there's a treasure, you can have some, if you'd like," he says with a shrug. Something about him suggests that he's not interested in the treasure at all. (Pirates) "I saw it once!" Mouse exclaims proudly, tilting his beak of a nose proudly in the air. "Aye, we all did," another replies, aimed as sarcasm, coming out a spray of spittle and ale. The lot laugh a good deal, for everything is amusing when you've had as much to drink as they. Maddy's yellowed gaze doesn't waver from the stranger. He picks at his beard, plucking from it a small crustacean, still alive, and pops it into his mouth with a quick crunch. He appears to be thinking heavily while he chews sloppily. Finally, "Coordinates fer the place don't just exist - cursed, I tells ye. But, I been there, once..." The other pirates go eerily quiet, anticipating another tale from their captain. "Didn't see no treasure." His posse makes a collective sigh and returns to their drinking. Maddy, however, motions the stranger closer, to a seat recently emptied by a pirate who just couldn't cold his rum and lay sprawling on the floor. (Lazlo) Criminals are a suspicious lot. The Stranger sighs heavily and leans more of his weight against the support beam. It's clear that he's tired. He folds his arms across his chest and looks at the group of pirates carefully. "At the very least, could you point me in the right direction?" he asks quietly, but clearly growing somewhat impatient with their rhyming and hesitance. (Pirates) Now, Mad Maddy is a practical sort of pirate. He likes his rum, a fast cruiser, pillaging, and treasure. His filthy eye holds a curious little gleam, one you'd not expect to find in a man so consumed by lum and spice. "I'll make ye a deal, stranger." He says softly, to not draw the attention of his crew. "I'll tell ye where ye need ta go - ye bring me word if there's treasure te be had. Or better, the treasure itself." He pulls a breaded cracker of some sort from his beard, a bit on the greenish side, and that too, goes into his mouth. Crumbs scatter as he continues, "If ye survive, that is." His nose wrinkles as he considers, for the last time, then, "Look for Hoth, then, you're a jump away." Is all he says. (Lazlo) "Hoth?" he repeats. His features curdle slightly. The Stranger sighs slightly and stretches against the support beam. After a moment he sighs once more and pushes his weight off of the beam. "Very well. Hoth it is. I'll return, I imagine," he says with a smirk. The Stranger reaches to the pouch at his belt and opens it. He slides out a metallic cylinder -- a sinister looking one at that -- and tries to make it obvious to Maddy. After a moment, he slips it back into his pouch and winks to him. The Stranger nods to him and begins to walk for the nearest waitress. After a bit of muttering and an exchange of credits, he points to the table occupied by the pirates. The waitress then approaches the table and takes a drink order. (Pirates) Maddy's eye goes wide at the sight of the cylinder. Only after the his drink is placed before him, does he narrow it. "...Davy Solo's locker..." he mutters into his beard. It shudders and a credit chip falls out. "Oi! Boys! That's where it was! In me beard!" And, just like that, the pirate's forgotten about all the old sayings and dark tidings of the cursed system. The crew raise their refreshed drinks in a resounding toast to finding things, once lost...
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