>>6142818>>6142855>>6143258>>Final Weapon Loadout for the Albatross:>Dorsal/Ventral-mounted Quad Laser Cannons. [2]>Forward-facing Quad Laser Cannons. [1]>Forward-facing Concussion Missile Launcher. [1]>>Final Ship Loadout for the Albatross:>Cloaked Smuggling Compartments. [1]>Electronic Countermeasures. [1]>Holonet Pirate Array. [2]>Security Measures. [0]For all its utilitarian exterior, the shipyard and its surrounding stations boast a dizzying array of amenities designed to support a cozy stay during lengthy repairs of upgrades. True to the spirit of profit, the Teladi have crammed every corridor and open space with all manner of establishments that entice people to part with their credits. Restaurants boasting faire from across Wild Space bump elbows with souvenir shops, hawking everything from gaudy trinkets to “authentic” relics of dubious origin. The distant echo of dice rolls and cards slapping tables spills out from gabling deans, accompanied by the clink of glass and raucous cheers.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost compare it to a scaled-down slice of Nar Shaddaa, or other planets renowned for their permissive stances on the vices of the galaxy. But the spirit of the station isn’t hedonistic as much as it is indulgent professionalism. Even the dens of vice operate with a veneer of corporate polish, transactions conducted with an air of mutual consent rather than unrestrained debauchery. Indulgent, yes, but with receipts and a surprising level of decorum.
But you aren’t here for any of that. The <span class="mu-i">Albatross</span> is gonna be in the shop for a few days, and you’ve decided to make the most out of the time in drydock. And first on the itinerary is sitting down one Pip Arcblade for drinks.
Suzel coughs. “Gonna talk about the bantha in the room?”
“Which one?” you return dryly. “There’s at least five I can think about.”
Trykov snorts, and Elba rumbles what you think is a chuckle. Ceyla doesn’t find it funny, especially not after what she’d overheard. The identity of that caller is just another can of worms that you’ll have to tackle eventually. Especially since it involves a risk to the shipyard, not just the MSA assets.
“Stay close,” you order the group, pulling your hood up. “I’ll call if I need you, but Force willing, it’ll be a simple wine-and-dine.” You pause, then add: “And make sure that Ceyla doesn’t get her hands on any death sticks.”
>>Did you want to discuss the strange bio-ship that you encountered?>Yes. Even if a freak encounter, you need to take precautions.>No. It's still being kept classified by the MSA and Triumvirate.>>How do you wish to broach the subject of "Ruvi"?[UNLOCKED]>"If the missus calls, that's its own emergency." [Joke]>"On your comm, was Ruvi who I think she's supposed to be?" [Blunt]>"So what exactly is your relationship with Dreadbones?" [Accuse]>Custom option. [Write-in]<span class="mu-s">[VOTE OPEN FOR TWELVE(12) HOURS[]</span>
