| abstract
| - No matter what the reasons that bring one to New Alderaan's starport, the reasons for one to stay are plentiful, whether it is the lure of adventure, of easy jobs or a thousand other things. The most recent vessel to land, but a handful of minutes ago, was an immense freighter some hundreds of metres from end to end, though it does not carry so much cargo as people. Yes, the Queen's Liner is not much compred to dedicated passenger transports, but she is big enough to accomodate large numbers cheaply enough, and by the sight of the hundreds upon hundreds who exit it, that combined with its cheapness is enough of a draw. Some head to the immigration office and others directly into the city, having no need to declare themselves as new inhabitants of this man. We shall focus now, for the purpose of our story, on one particular individual. Not particularly tall, at least not by some standards, but there is about him a certain air of leadership, or more precisely of a certain aristocratic look about him that some translate as the aura of command. A back arched straight, eyes slightly off the ground and with his aquiline nose raised a milimetre more than it should. Yes, there is something to him. Of course, that something, whatever it might be, is contradicted by his clothes, tatters the more merciless might call them, some trousers torn just below the right knee and boots that are some years beyond their expiration date. Last but not least is the jacket he wears, its sleeves torn off and that of the t-shirt he has on underneath shown. A backpack is casually slung over his left shoulder and he heads towards the nearest watering hole that he sees. The Goodman's Tavern is misnamed, in truth, it is an inn as some call it, but none minds as the name does not detract from the fact that it is a conveniently located, and above all, reasonably priced. Past its main entrance is the bar slash lounge slash reception area, a large area that is divided only by the different carpets and furniture to be had. The unknown man heads first to the bar, a chair taken along the far wall, near a window that gives a pleasant enough view of the spaceport and the people that pass by. His backpack, as if it were the most precious thing in the world, is carefully laid on the ground underneath the table and between his legs. And there the fellow sits, awaiting patiently enough his turn to be served by the roaming droid, his eyes in the meantime drawing over the crowd. The arrival of the freighter is noted, but it's just another bit of traffic to maneuver around as the ship carrying Lynae makes a landing. Typically they'd have asked for permission to land at the military spaceport, the security being better, but there was a bit of a dialogue and Lynae lost the argument from a vote of four to one. Being out-voted is a rather new concept for Lynae, and one she's not entirely fond of thus far. But.. this was part of the package deal. The ship lands, Lynae disembarks with two of her four guards, leaving two in the ship and allowing the other two to accompany her into the city itself. Her steps lead her eventually in the general direction that many of those on foot are taking into the city, killing time (such as it is) before she plans to head towards a specific building and some friends who happen to call this planet Home. Slumped a bit tiredly at the bar is a woman in a deep blue veil and matching dress, a mug of coffee held warmly in her hands. A straw is placed in the mug for Brin to drink from, but she is forced to wait for the drink to cool enough to be safe to sip from. She glances around the room, as she waits, partly to pass the time, and partly because she has long-since learned the value of watchfulness. The man entering and sitting near the window is noticed, but earns no more or less attention than she has paid most who've entered that evening. Gustaf, that his name, Gustaf, though there is nothing to suggest that that is his name. Gustaf, as was being said, stands after some moments from his chair, his backpack slung over his shoulder once more, though he is not leaving. No, the man is heading instead directly to the bar, at a spot not too far from where Brin is seated though little attention is paid her. After all, a veil is a common enough accessory in many worlds that little thought of it being off crosses his mind. "Fizzyglug, cold.", not particularly a sophisticated drink, but taste takes a backseat to quenching his thirst cheaply. "Ladies and gentlemen, attention, attention. We've received news that readings of a Betarian blood worm have been picked up. Until the specimen and its owner have been found, all passengers that arrived within the past fourty five minutes between landing bay H12 and H34 are restricted from leaving." So goes the announcement that is heard over the area's speakers, while it is quite inconvenient, such is the Betarian-native worm's reputation that not too many do little beyond complaining momentarily. Lynae is just reaching the threshold of the Inn when the loudspeakers go off. She looks up, startled by the sudden booming voice, and one of her guards actually takes a step closer and scans the area while the other does the same. She waits, patiently, having learned THIS as well recently, until they move aside to let her step into the inn. "We won't be going anywhere until this is cleared up," she says calmly while guard 1 comlinks back to the shuttle to relay ahead that Lynae has arrived but will be delayed somewhat. Sometimes there seems to be little reason to leave the Temple while Jessalyn is staying in New Alderaan; it's virtually its own small city in and of itself, and few needs can't be met within its walls. But she finds it overly insular, and after a day or two of confinement to the Spires of the Jedi Temple, she is -needing- to get out. How she found herself in this place is beyond her, however. Maybe it was just her old flight tech's instincts directing her to the nearest starport, and so she ended up here. At any rate, she is seated beneath one of those speakers as it goes off with the announcement, and she sets down her cup of tea with a deepening frown crossing her face. "Great. I picked today to get out of the house," she mutters to no one in particular, though there is a wave of growling befuddlement crossing over the sea of patrons. Jessalyn glances toward the bar and sees the familiar veiled woman before the opening door snatches her attention and she watches the First Lady of Caspar stride into the inn. The announcement affects Brin very little. She has, afterall, arrived much earlier than the 45 minute window mentioned. Dipping a finger cautiously in her cup, she finds the temperature to her liking and starts to sip at it slowly. As the door opens again, she glances briefly towards the door, a smile growing unseen on her features as she recognize Lynae. The Liberty runner is nothing special to look at as far as ships go. It's a standard run of the mill Sardakh Kale-1 with no identifiable markings save for the fact that it is new and completely without any sort of battle scarring at all. A clean and shiny staired ramp descends from the vessel and the small statured Senator Al'Dira emerges in nothing more than typical street clothing. When the loud speakers go off the twi'lek stops in his tracks and then turns slightly to yell back into the ship, "Ovir, where did we dock?" "H13, Senator." A raspy voice replies. "Perfect." Alistair says with a certain level of disdain. The twi'lek actually looks a little relaxed and his arm is no longer in a sling of any sort. In all actuality the Senator had made off quietly with little fuss without actually telling anyone where he had gone. He was barely gone long enough to escape notice so it's not likely anyone would ask him any questions. "Ah well, stay with the Liberty. I'll be back whenever they're done doing whatever it is they need to be doing." And with that the Senator takes off to do who knows what. That is usually how good stories begin. Lynae is standing a few feet inside the doorway, scanning the room and it's inhabitants and spots both the veiled woman at the bar And Jessalyn within a few moments. The blue-veiled woman is given a curious glance, something familiar about that profile but the warm smile on her face is aimed at Jessalyn and she starts to weave her way through the crowded room. "Is there anything I may help you with, Madam?", says Gustaf when he catches sight of the woman turning towards him, his chosen position placing him in what he assumes to be within the veiled woman's field of view. And sudden movements, of late, have tended to set off his paranoia rather easily, still, it is with a refined and polite enough voice that he addresses Brin. The Goodman's Tavern is of the type of establishment that the sudden influx of arrivals so shortly after his own entrance does not set him off, still, one might not miss the worried glance in his eyes everytime he catches sight of someone new. "Oh, no," Brin is quick to reassure the man, speaking with her Eriadu accented voice. "Sorry, didn't meant to bother you. I was just looking to see who had entered. It certainly is busy this evening, isn't it?" She speaks politely, in a friendly tone, her gaze flicking towards Lynae again to follow her with her eyes. As the doctor approaches her, Jessalyn stands from her table and bows her head in respect. Despite such formality, her address couldn't be more affable, even intimate. "Lynae, I didn't expect to see you around here for a long time," she says, her voice almost chiding. She gives the guards surrounding her a cursory glance, but something else is bothering her, some niggling annoyance that catches her attention and won't let go. The ripple in the Force makes her glance toward Brin and the stranger again, with his nervous mannerisms. Without breaking stride, she continues her conversation with Lynae, "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping you're here to help with some... medical research," she admits, giving her a grave look. Alistair is drawn to this one establishment for no reason other than the fact that he is bored. There is no familiarity or really any need nor want to be here. But the twi'lek figures if he's stuck for the next near hour he may as well pay a visit. Besides, he's not dressed in his Senatorial robes so the twi'lek won't stick out like a sore thumb. He hopes. When Al'Dira enters the building he quickly scans it, not at all surprised to recognize quite a few of the faces. Despite not wanting to stick out like a sore thumb, there is still something aristocratic and proper about the twi'lek. He stands with a near too-perfect posture and his hands are rested comfortably behind his back. His head raises slightly as he smiles, though he does not immediately approach anyone yet. Simply being here seems to be enough. Lynae makes a small gesture with one hand and her guards take a step back then cordon off the room with attention directed at the entrances etcetera, doing what guards do. "Well, it's a matter of not letting something like nearly bleeding to death keep me from visiting again," she replies with a trace of a smile. She tilts her head in a nod to Jessalyn, "Well, call it fortuitous then. I was hoping to see you and Zik and Joh," she admits. The man does not answer Brin instantly, the sound of steps coming from the nearby stairwell to the upper floors of the establishment distracting him until at last he looks back at the veiled woman. "Is that so, are you commonly found here and are you familiar with its usual customers?", odd questions that, but what else can be expected of a strange man such as he. "Oh, I've been a few times, of that you can be certain," Brin replies, under the guise of continuing to be polite. In reality, she is quite curious about the nervous man and his strange questions. "New to the area, and hoping to settle in here?" she asks as naively as she can manage. "New Alderaan is pretty nice for that." Noting the arrival of the Twi'lek Senator, Jessalyn lifts her eyes in his direction should he happen to look her way. She gazes back at Lynae, a look of relief crossing her face. "Were you? That's excellent news." She gestures to the chair across from her and settles back into her own seat, part of her awareness still spread across the room like a veil of her own, picking up nuances and shifts in the flow of the Force's energies. "I know you've spoken to Enb'Zik about his family... I have a rather urgent matter of my own. I think helping one might help the other." The door to the establishment slides open, its servos making the quiet wooshing sound that they do as it closes behind the newest arrival. Looking about the place, she quietly scans the room before moving the rest of the way in and making her way too find a place to sit. Pushing a strand of purple hair from out of her eyes she smiles a bit to herself. Grabbing the arm of a passing server, she places an order for a drink before continuing to find some place to settle in for a bit. Senator Al'Dira does indeed meet the gaze of Jessalyn and he seems to make his way towards the Doctor and the Jedi. Alistair's emotions and facial expressions are well guarded as usual, but he does seem to be relaxed compared to his normal appearance. "My friends," he says extending his hands from behind his back in either direction in a sort of greeting. "Hello." His appearence is one thing to notice, but the happy chipper tone of his voice betrays the grim and somber tone that he typically keeps with those who are familiar with him. Lynae seats herself in the empty chair across from Jessalyn, reading the look of relief on the red-haired woman's face and she tilts her head slightly, "The look of relief on your face worries me a bit," she is saying softly as Alistair is crossing the room. "No matter what it is, believe me when I say that I will do what ever I can to help," she promises just as the senator reaches the table. "Senator," she says, tilting her head in a somber nod before a small smile again forms on her face, "for someone who's just been trapped and quarantined like the rest of us, you're rather chipper." "I am new to the area, yes.", no other answer is provided Brin, perhaps because only now is he given his drink, the tall glass brought to his lips, and with only short pauses to breath in, the soda drink emptied in one long try. When he places the glass back down, it is with a smile on his face, "That is more like it. What do you d...", his words are stopped there. Gustaf is not one to stop rudely in the middle of sentence, but perhaps he can be excused in the current circumstances that the man find himself in. His arm, or at least the portion of it just below his shoulder finds itself bleeding rather profusely, a blaster bolt having struck him there. It is only through the good fortune of having turned to look at the main entrance to the Goodman's that he did not lose the entire limb. Unfortunately, the force of the blow is such that it propels him forward and into Brin, perhaps even carrying her down with him on his sudden descent into the floor. The area's rather boisterous and fairly relaxed atmosphere suddenly and severely broken by that shot which is quickly followed by another one that, thankfully, splashes against the wall on the other side of the counter harmlessly. The man who is to be blamed for this, a Rodian otherwise undistinguishable save for the blaster in his hands, ducks behind a nearby column just beside the entrance, and soon enough he is screaming something into his commlink. Brin is looking towards Gustaf with a polite and attentive expression as he is shot, and thrown towards her abruptly by the force of the blast. She lets out a faint curse, arms reaching out towards the man even as he is coming towards her, and she attempt to turn in the air as his momentum and weight drag them down into the air, hoping to land with the injured man down towards the floor, and herself on top, shielding him from further fire. "Ah well," Alistair chuckles. "I've sat through worse. What is a little downtime? Sometimes it does the body good." Ironic as the twi'lek has just very much finished his own little vacation. Anything to put the thought of fleets, the Empire and the New Sith Order out of his mind. He is about to say something else when blaster fire rings out. Al'Dira immediately dives prone without looking up to see the source of the discharge, instead he brings a table with him as he goes to provide soft cover. For months, the twi'lek has had Senatorial guards following him around. Alistair never saw much reason for it, ironically, until now. This time they are nowhere to be seen, probably a side-effect of the politician sneaking off to a little retreat for a few days. With the sound of that blaster bolt ringing through the room, Jessalyn doesn't get the chance to tell Lynae why she needs her help, or to wave toward Ranma when she sees her pilot friend enter the inn. While almost everyone else seems to hit the deck, the Jedi stands up, whispering, "Stay down," to those near her. Her lightsaber in hand, Jessa hunches down and darts toward the bar without pausing to think about her actions. In the blink of an eye she is crouching beside Brin and Gustaf where they have fallen, and glaring toward the column where that Rodian has taken up resistance. "You okay?" she asks Brin, peering into her veiled face, then down at the bleeding man who clearly is -not- okay. Jessalyn motions to one of Lynae's guards near the door, pointing toward the hiding Rodian. Maybe they can take him down without incident. The two guards that had taken up position a few feet away from the first lady of Caspar are surveying the room with that cool professional look that bodyguards have, the sort of air or aura that marks them for what they are. The first blaster bolt is barely cooling before the senior most of the guards is at Lynae's side and making a determined effort to drag Lynae away from the table. 'Effort' being the right word as she's reaching for the blaster at her side only to have her hand suddenly grabbed by the guard and he says rather firmly, "Mrs Mahon, please let us protect you," in a very low voice that she barely hears. Her eyes lift suddenly, startled by the spoken plea - for that's what it is. After a year of being married to the Presav she's just never settled in to letting anyone or anything protect her. To say that she suddenly GETS IT is like having a lightbulb go off over her head, a 100 watt bulb at least, and she nods. Her hand remains on her blaster, yes, but she lets her guards to their work. The one immediately with her moves to stand between her and the unfolding chaos while the other one is scanning the room, calling to their ship for reinforcements, then sending off another direct channel mayday to the Rep-Mil headquarters. They make no pretense about doing anything other than taking her physical security Seriously. "Wounded man," she says in a low voice, easing away from the table and towards the man that is bleeding all over the blue-veiled woman. The second of Lynae's guards nods, holding his blaster steady between both hands while scanning the room for even the barest sign of movement from the Rodian - but not firing wildly into the crowd. Ranma had just noticed the trio of people she recognized when the shot rings out through the establishment. Her back to the door, she didn't see where the shot came from or even the target, just several people dropping to the floor to protect themselves. Drawing her blaster from its holster at her side, she turns around and tries to locate anyone who looks suspicious. Instead of ducking down behind a table, she stands with her back against one of the support beams in the middle of the room, partially to aide in her scan of the room, and partially hoping to invite an attack so she can find the attacker's location or locations. The Rodian alone they could have taken down, but not long after he spoke, another two joined him, the doors to the place thrown wide open as they rush in only to duck in at the warning of their companion. These two are not Rodians, tall and heavyset humans, though it might just be because of all the hardware they carry, now exposed when they throw off their trenchcoats. Soon enough, the trio are rushing towards a rows of tables just across from them, turning them over and using it as cover as they fire back at where the man, and now Brin and the Jedi, can be found. Speaking of Gustaf, the fellow aside from a rather audible curse, nothing worth repeating in polite company, can be found trying to get away from under Brin and now the Jedi, what else could she be with that Jedi? Even as he tries to crawl to the safety of a nearby table, he is reaching with his still-useful hand into his coat, a blaster, Merr-Sonn made by the markings on it, removed from within his jacket. "I can take care of this.", the fellow says to ward off any more outpouring of concern, and already he is raising his left arm and aims towards where his assailants are covering, not yet firing. How can he with the sudden rush of people running away from this section of the establishment and towards the back or better yet up the stairs? "Fine," Brin replies simply, allowing Jessalyn to provide her and the injured man with cover while she attempts to assess his injuries. "Doctor!" she calls out towards Lynae, probably quite needlessly, since she was quite certain the woman was /aware/ of the fact that someone was injured. Hopefully Lynae has a medpack with her... or perhaps the bartender would have the presence of mind to toss one over the bar towards them. The injured man in question, of course, endeavors to make her efforts all the more difficult as he insists on backing away from the dubious cover she and Jessalyn provide. "Don't be an idiot and let us help you," she hisses urgently, reaching for her own blaster just in case, as she glances back briefly at the chaos behind her. The lightsaber provides better cover than a fallen table, the bolts deflecting harmlessly from Jessalyn's spinning blue-green blade when the two additional thugs join the fray and fire toward them. Jessa's expression is one of annoyance -- an emotion that only grows stronger when the injured man she's trying to protect stands back up and tries to take things into his own hands. "Get down!" she warns him in a serious voice. "Hey, big guy? What do these people want, can we talk to them? No need for anyone to get hurt if we can help it. But get down, or you're gonna get fried!" The new arrivals immediately draw her attention as they burst through the door and behind cover. Using the support beam for cover, Ranma peers carefully around it, trying not to expose too much of her form as she tries to get a better look. Making a mental note of where they are crouched she ducks back behind the beem and shakes her head slightly, "I'm so going to get shot... Again." Taking a deep breath she pops her head around the corner again before her whole body comes out from cover to fire off two quick shots at one of the assassins and ducking back behind the beam. Lynae is always armed and ready, both with weaponry and medkit, and she's nearing Jessalyn and she recognizes Brin's voice as well once she's getting near enough. Drawing near, that is, until two more hulking beings with lots of weaponry shoulder their way into the room and now there's a trio of bad guys (TM) to worry about. But it's the blaster bolts that are being aimed at Jessalyn and Brin and the injured man that has Lynae dragged abruptly back again and unceremoniously plunked down behind one of the over turned tables, the tabletop serving as a sort of shield while guard 1 aims a 'stay put' look at her before bracing the blaster with both hands and tracking the movement of the trio. Lynae does 'sit and stay' or rather, 'stays' but she turns and draws her blaster and pops up cautiously beside her bodyguard, blaster charged and she too is tracking the movement of Goon 1 and goon 2 while her other guard is still focusing on the Rodian. Alistair on the other hand is not armed at all, because he's a normal minded person. This is not after all Nar Shaddaa or even one of the worse parts of New Alderaan and he's not a criminal, a jedi, military or crazy. Senator Al'Dira uses the table as cover as he scans for something more appropriate. Failing to see anything near by the twi'lek simply stays put as he lifts himself to a very low crouch. His own communicator buzzes with activity as he brings a wrist comm to his mouth to report the situation. Other than that, the twi'lek remains calm and collected. Not much point in running out into harms way and play hero today. There's lots of other people for that. Now that is no way to get in the man's good graces, and while he does not yet register these two as enemies, there is still a noticeable frown he directs at Brin. Springing quickly up to his feet, he scurries back a bit before ducking behind a nearby table. No effort yet made to coordinate his attacks with the others around, despite having come here for a purpose, Ord Mantell remains to him a land of strange people, many enemies and very few potential allies in his quest. Ranma comes closer than most at hurting them and as such, one of the goons directs his attention to her, his rifle aimed at her before he squeezes the trigger, though his aim is such that he has a good chance of hitting anyone and anything but her. The other fellow does not even bother with that much, his rifle placed down beneath him and he reaches into his bandolier, tossing out in quick succession a small flash grenade and a concussion one, their small size allowing them to be used with some relative safety within the small confines of this battlespace. Suddenly, from the opposite side of the open area, and well to the back of the folks duking it out, a loud boom is heard and following soon after the explosion and smoke and rubble is fire coming at those who came to Gustaf's help. Reinforcements it would seem, though just who or how many remains to be seen. Brin curses the man's heritage, in Ryl of all languages, and with her attention still split between Gustaf and the attackers, she misses the incoming grenades and is left quite blinded and stunned by their affects. A hiss escapes her teeth as she attempts to find cover of her own, staying low to the ground, and keeping her eyes squeezed closed for a moment as she gives them a moment to recover from the affects of the weapon. "If I get killed trying to help you, I swear..." she grumbles in a meaningless threat. "What they want is me, if you don't want them dead, get out of my way Jedi.", Gustaf says through gritted teeth as he takes aim against the assassins, it is a miracle that he hasn't passed out from the loss of blood. The man quickly ducks behind the table in time for the flash grenade's effects to pass over him, but there remains the matter of that second one. "Maker," Jessalyn swears under her breath as Gustaf bails on them, though she isn't surprised. She gives up on any efforts to keep the bleeding man protected, and focuses on her friends, instead. Both hands grip her lightsaber as she gauges her next move, looking around the room. She grimaces at the sight of the goon firing at Ranma and lifts her hand to intervene, bending the barrel of his gun at a stiff ninety degree angle. But that effort and concentration keeps her from acting swiftly enough when the grenades are tossed. The first goes off all too quickly and she holds up one arm to shield her eyes from the flash even as she wills the second one to reverse course and drop into the proverbial lap of the goon who threw it. She falls backward, exhausted and sweating as debris falls around her, and lands unceremoniously on her behind, dust coating her dark red hair in an ashen layer. The boom that signals the explosion from the back of the restaurant is followed by a harsh gust of debris laden air, billowing dust and the cries of the more easily excitable of the unlucky patrons to have picked the wrong place at the wrong time. Lynae ducks down instinctively, debris clattering down around, her hands lifting to protect the back of her head even as her guards are starting to get really terse with their counterparts who haven't come up with a way (yet) to get IN and get Lynae back out of the Inn. Their job is to see to her safety. Lynae, on the other hand, is now more worried about the bleeding man (Gustaf) and those potential innocent bystanders who just happen to be in the way of what's unfolding. Alistair rubs his eyes viciously as the flash goes off and he's a little rocked by the sonic grenade, but he is otherwise unbothered. That is until more goons arrive. The twi'lek isn't entirely sure who they're with, but for his sake he prays that they're cavalry as opposed to opposition reinforcements because they've emerged just behind him. Alistair stays crouched, however, ready to pounce and or get shot. As the first grenade goes off, Ranma thankfully had her back to it from ducking back behind the beamand shields her eyes as the bright flash still manages to get her a bit. Turning her head just in time to see Jess fall backwards. Gritting her teeth, she fires off two more shots while sprinting across the room ducking behind tables and chairs until she is kneeling next to the redheaded Jedi, "You ok?" A look of concern crosses her facial features as she looks Jess over for any injuries that may be visible. "Ah, crap.", the grenade-wielding fellow says when the grenade is tossed back at him, the only thing he manages before he is violently tossed into his companions, the Rodian suddenly squished beneath the weight of the two goons, now safely passed out, at the extreme least. The three of them out of commission, there remains only the issue of the two now attacking from the rear. Those two follows, one a Shistavanen of all things and the other a human, do not bother with niceties, instead turning their rifles on full automatic and beginning to shower the entire establishment with blaster bolts as soon as their rifle can pump them out. Gustaf is quick to shift his attention to the newcomers, though he has enough time to respond to Brin, "Madam, I would suggest you get to safety, this isn't proper place for one such as you.", yes, definitely there is the aristocratic/high-class aura to him when he says that. "Where is the damned police in this place?" "What do you think I'm trying to-!" Brin protests, managing to find a table and fumble her way behind it. It just happens to be Gustaf's table, but that's probably for the best, right? Her blaster still in hand, she leans back against the table, allowing herself a chance to catch her breath and gather her senses, before she turns and raises her blaster above the top of the table. Her vision is still very much impaired, but her hearing is not, and she has a feeling no one on 'her side' is using automatic weapons fire. She squeezes off a few shots towards a blurred, shadowy image that is /probably/ holding a blaster rifle, trying to ignore the bright spots dancing in her vision. The force of the flash blast was enough to knock Jessalyn senseless as she falls backward, and even now her vision is swimming. She doesn't even get to enjoy watching the sonic grenade go off and take the Rodian and his pals out of the fight. Unfortunately for some of the patrons, the protective lightsaber now lies extinguished on the floor beside her hand. She blinks, trying to retain consciousness as she hears Ranma's voice. Or at least she thinks that's who it is. Everything sounds fuzzy. "I dunno," she answers vaguely and giving a weak, irrational chuckle, unable to keep her eyes open this time and going limp in Ranma's lap. Concern washes over Ranma's face the woman goes limp in her lap. Picking up the dropped lightsaber, she reattaches it to the Jedi's belt before turning towards the direction she had last seen Lynae and the Senator in. Whistling to try and get either of their attention, and not sure if she succeeded or not in the smoke and half blinded state from the flash grenade she points in the direction of the stairs leading to the upper level and then at Jessalyn and herself. Gently she picks the woman up in her arms and uses her own body as a shield as she moves towards the stairs and up away from the fire fight, "You and I are so going to have a talk about bars later and the condition you're in." Their is a bit of humor in her voice, especially at knowing the woman probably can't hear her words anyway. Lynae's expression is resolute and she speaks in a low voice to the guard alongside her. Lynae braces her wrists on the edge of the table, taking careful aim even as the guard that'd been crouched at a nearby table rises suddenly to draw attention to his position. As soon as he's spotted and attention drawn, Lynae fires in rapid succession. Her first shot is aimed at one of the gunmen while her guard aims at the second one. There is no hesitation, not attempt to make these disabling shots, the rounds fired are taken with the intent to eradicate the threat. Since Lynae and her guards have taken out the last threats, Alistair continues to crouch behind the safety of his table. Just in case. Finally the area is cleared of enemies, and just then the law enforcement arrived, the entire establishment locked down as several heavily-armed and armoured response teams enter. Their response, sadly enough, was far too slow as there remain nothing but dead or dazed enemies. Gustaf attempts to stand up, doing so by using the counter as support and he reaches for his backpack after holstering his blaster. "I'll be on my way now.", not that there's much chance of that given that the place is locked down. "I don't suppose there's a pharmacy nearby?" Brin snorts, still trying to blink away the damage done to her vision. /Temporary/ damage, she sincerely hoped. "Oh, sit down and let someone with medical knowledge see to your wound," she says with amusement, leaning her head back against the table she had taken cover behind. "So. Why did they want you dead?" she asks bluntly, without waiting for the authorities to come in and start gathering official stories. Alistair stands and dusts his shoulder off a bit indignantly. He doesn't even need to identify himself before a heavily armored officer approaches him with questions. The twi'lek waves him off momentarily as he moves over towards Brin and Gustaf. "Captain." Senator Al'Dira announces back to the well armed officer, "This individual needs medical attention." Before the twi'lek moves to Brin's side he says something under his breath to the Captain that Gustaf didn't start the firefight but he was certainly the cause and primary victim. The twi'lek kneels next to Brin, "Everything where it should be? Any missing limbs?" And not a moment too soon as Gustaf was beginning to look on the verge of faiting, his steps towards the exits growing evermore uncoordinated and unsteady. "And who are you to want to know that?", perhaps it might come off as arrogant, but given that he was just shot up, the man might be allowed this reasonable descent into paranoia. Thankfully, just as he was about to fall down, some of the policemen arrive to help him towards an ambulance just outside, and from there, to the hospital. Brin blinks at Alistair in confusion, attempting to clear her vision. She recognizes her friend more by sound than by sight at this particular point in time. "Ali?" she asks softly for confirmation. "I'm fine. May need to get my eyes checked, but no other injuries," she confirms her friend, her gaze turning towards the sounds of a retreating voice and footprints. "Is that idiot attempting to walk out of here?" she mutters with some amusement.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)