revivalproject | Coming in at last call!

Entry tags:

Coming in at last call!

WHO: Drake Riley
WHERE: Coruscant
WHAT: Angrily bumbling through unsuccessful social interactions
WHEN: March Event catchall
WARNINGS: Language, but only if you speak Goa'uld

Arrival
For the second time in - what, a week? - Drake woke suddenly and with no idea where he was. And it was getting annoying. At least this time, he didn't feel as though he'd been pushed down a cliff and trampled by an upset moose. The ship gave a judder-

Ship? What? He sat bolt upright and staggered to the front just in time to see the planet spread itself out before them, glittering and vast. Astonished, he couldn't take his eyes off it, and only found a seat by fumbling blindly for one.

Later, after being ushered against every protest into the hotel and subsequently his room, Drake spent a few minutes going over his tablet to make sure it hadn't been damaged, and then promptly left. It wasn't like he had any belongings to unpack, after all.

Shopping
Drake's first impression of Coruscant was that it reminded him a bit of Tokyo. Except that he'd never been to Tokyo. But he knew it was vast and crowded and cluttered with bright signs, and he expected he wouldn't like the smell of all the street foods mingling with the steam drifting up from manholes, and he was assaulted by all of that the moment he left the hotel.

The first thing he tried looking for was an adapter for his tablet, both for powering it and for interfacing with new technologies he might encounter. (He didn't have much luck, only finding a few little scraps he could try splicing together later.) The next thing he looked for were any items that could replace what he'd lost in coming here: a proper torch, a canteen, waterproof matches or firesteel, binoculars, water tablets, a first aid kit, a weapon, and definitely some meal bars. Maybe a small shaving kit if he had room. So far, he's only found some meal replacement bars and a flashlight, and his increasing agitation with being unable to communicate with the shopkeeper (who he's sure is holding out on him for a better price, but is actually just getting fed up with his tone) is about to get him kicked out.

Underground
It didn't take long for Drake to get himself thrown out of the establishment, after which he'd yelled "Kel kek, mikta!" which didn't mean anything to the shopkeeper, but was clearly an insult if the rude gesture that accompanied it was anything to go by. They'd squealed angrily and thrown a small, hard bag of something foul smelling at him.

WELL.

It wasn't his fault they were too thick to understand easy-to-decipher body language regarding drinking, shooting, and bandaging (but could, for some reason, understand when he was calling them stupid). Oh well. That was fine. No upstanding citizen would sell a weapon to some random stranger without an identification, mailing address, or even a background to check, anyway, so he'd go looking elsewhere. After asking around here and there, Drake began to get the impression that he could buy just about anything he wanted the further down he went. No one really warned him about the violence down there, though.

That's how he wound up pinned against a wall with a blaster under his chin when he'd made too quick a move to reach into one of his pockets.

Late lunch/Early dinner
If no one came to his aide, he'll have escaped by offering up all of the power bars he'd bought earlier, claiming that they had "sun" in them - which he assumed they did. Vitamin D, that is, which appeared to be distinctly lacking down there. Weapon or no weapon, Drake will have taken the experience as a cue to retreat.

Tired, shaken, a bit smelly, and hardly having found anything on his shopping list, he turned his focus toward dining. He'd have given anything for a P.F. Chang's. Just someplace quiet to gather what remained of his wits, have something warm to drink, and try to calm down and formulate a plan. And have something to eat, obviously. He was starving.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Both Cal and the little droid that's been quietly clinging to his back shot Drake a look once the man spoke up again, but thankfully the merchant wasn't rethinking his options. Plastering a smile on his face, the padawan gave the merchant a salute as he made to grab Drake by the arm to steer him well away from the other.

"No thieves here, sir," he reassured, but he didn't bother looking back as he figured it was better to just put some distance between them. Besides, BD-1 could keep an eye out for them. Once they were well out of earshot Cal looked to Drake.

"You all right? That was a close call there. It's a good thing that guy actually cares about his reputation. This area isn't exactly the nicest place to do business."

Drake didn't notice the look, but if he had, it would have been a familiar one. The scientist was far too shaken to protest being grabbed or guided anywhere, and for just a moment, he desperately imagined that it was one of his team mates at his elbow. If he could have wished for anyone to be with him, it would have been Ferthing. She was diplomatic, empathetic, a beast with an M4, and she always had snacks and always knew the way out. (And she was pretty, which didn't hurt.)

He snapped out of it with a few blinks.

"What? Yes, I - I think I'm..." He let out a breath. "What the bloody hell- I was just seeing how many credits I had and - and - !" He couldn't even finish his sentence, he was so frustrated. Drake knew he wasn't the easiest or most socially adept person to get on with, but usually, he had to do a lot more than check his bank balance to trigger a reaction like that. (Usually, it was something more to do with an unexpected consequence of fiddling with unfamiliar technology. Ah, this device is what's triggering all your earthquakes, let's shut that down, shall we, oops, it seems to be counting down to a devastating thermonuclear reaction. That might get a gun in his face.)

"Hey, calm down," Cal suggested. Using the Force to mentally influence people wasn't something he specialized in, so words would have to do. "People here know their line of business isn't the most legitimate, so they're extra paranoid sometimes. You just happened to choose one such person."

He gave the man a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Were you looking for anything specific down here?"

He pulled both his hands down his face, the very picture of a looming emotional breakdown being desperately staved off.

"Yes, I lost my sidearm when - uh...I arrived. Along with a good plenty other things, too, I might add. But I was hoping to find a decent replacement for it, and someone suggested going 'underground.'" He put the word in air quotes.

Cal gave him a crooked smile at that. "Well, they're not wrong. But it's always better to be careful when you go into places like the underground." He looked the man over. His clothing didn't quite match the style of Coruscant, but then he'd said he'd arrived, so he was most likely from off-world somewhere.

"My name's Cal. This is BeeDee-One." He gestured to the droid who was peering over his shoulder, who gave a little beep in greeting. "Tell you what. We'll help you out. I was looking for some things too."

"Cal." He repeated. "Yes, uh- Riley." Drake stuck his hand out. "Doctor Drake Riley - Oh, look at you. Look a bit like Johnny 5, don't you?" He was more talking to himself than the droid, because he didn't exactly expect it to respond.

"Anyway, yes, I've quite found that out, thank you," he groused. Then he peered suspiciously at the offer to help.

"Thaannks. ... What is it you're looking for down here?"

Cal shook the man's hand, brow arching at the comment directed to BD-1. He exchanged a glance with the droid, the latter tweedling a question.

"'Johnny Five'?" Cal echoed, not that he expected an explanation. He almost laughed at the look Drake gave him then.

"Parts, mostly. I'm trying to put together a better charge pack for BeeDee, but it'll take some reworking since the power source won't be the same as here." He arched a brow at the man. "First time on Coruscant, right? You don't have to accept my help, but I just have to warn you that you'd be an open target around here if you don't be careful."

'Parts' sounded like just the sort of thing Drake would find useful. It caught him a little off guard when he was asked if he was a first-timer on Coruscant, though.

"Y- ...yeh. Yeah, I came with the others from Agra-10. You mentioned that power won't be the same as here. Are you from Agra-10 as well?"

He thought it awfully strange that this man was so familiar with this place if he wasn't from here, but at the same times, seemed to be expecting to go somewhere else long-term.

Cal blinked. "Agra- yeah, actually." He had to laugh. What coincidence. Or perhaps it was the Force.

"Huh. Well I guess it's not the first time that the Agrii have directly transported people over to where everyone else was sent. But that's exactly it. I'm hoping to find some components that will help with converting things over once we get back."

"As in power conversion, adapters, etcetera." He supplied without actually asking for a confirmation. It was precisely the sort of thing he was also on the hunt for.

Drake pulled his tablet from inside his tac vest. "I'm looking for a number of things, besides a replacement sidearm. My tablet is about halfway down, and I'll need to find a way to charge it without worrying about overload. I need a nineteen-and-a-half volt, three-point-three amp cable, but I'm finding that cables aren't well labeled here."

That the man appeared to know just what he was talking about was definitely useful. "Chances are you won't find anything exactly like you're looking for, but if you can translate the power output you'd need to a more relatable equivalent, then that'll cut down on difficulties for what to look for. But that shouldn't be difficult."

Cal studied the tablet, notably different than the ones the Agrii provided. "The Agrii use power rods that can be inserted into equipment back in Temba. They can be recharged at the power station or through portable chargers but those are less common. So there's also that to consider."

"Yes, I'm familiar with crystal technology," Drake said, taking back the tablet (which is a hefty, rugged model that looks a bit like this, only with a lovely Velcro sleeve and a carrying handle).

"Might take some getting used to, but I picked up Ancient pretty well, so Agrii tech should be a snap. In either case, it won't be the first time I've had to improvise." He frowned at its blank screen, powered down to save what battery there was left, and put it back into his vest.

"Anyway, if you're familiar with how and where I can find useful supplies, I'd certainly appreciate the help. I've got quite a shopping list prepared, and if this world is half as advanced as I've been led to understand, it should have everything I'll want: sidearm, binoculars, thermographic camera, etcetera," he ticked them off on his fingers, "maybe some lab equipment, instruments for analysis and measurement, computers, quantitative imaging software, batteries, magnets, that sort of thing. There isn't a Radio Shack or an army surplus store conveniently nearby, is there?"

"It seems like there's something about Agrii-anything that just doesn't make enough sense to be grasped without their datapoints, unfortunately," Cal explained. "You can't even fly the ships they provided without that specific information. Same goes for making any sense of their tech to fix it. I'm not quite sure how that's managed, but that's pretty much how it works on Agra Ten."

At least most of the things that Drake mentioned were familiar enough. Cal had no doubt they'd be able to find such things. "Might have to go elsewhere for lab equipment and more delicate equipment like all that, but it'll be levels up rather than down, at least." The question of a Radio Shack is lost on him, naturally. "Not sure about an army surplus store. This Coruscant is centuries older than the one I know."

When Cal suggested that Agrii technology was unlearnable, Drake gave him his cockiest smirk, and even a little chuckle.

"We'll see about that."

Then he clapped his hands together, all business.

"Right. Since we're already down here, let's grab what's found down here. Parts for you, a sidearm for me. Utility knife wouldn't go too wrong either."

Cal exchanged a look with BD-1 before shrugging. He was open to being proven wrong, but there were a lot of things on Agra 10 that really made no sense, the situation included.

"All right. Let's try that way. Stick close, and try not to make eye contact with anyone. If there's anything that catches your interest, don't make too sudden moves."

Cal was clearly much more diplomatic than Drake and understood the local culture to boot, so Drake didn't think twice before falling into the familiar team role of following and taking direction.

It didn't take too long for him to see something that begged a closer look: a small blaster pistol that bore a strong resemblance to a Colt M9. Being so recognizable meant it would probably be easy to get the hang of, and he gave Cal a nudge with his elbow.

"D'you see that? You reckon it's legal to own?"

Well, Jedi were encouraged to handle things peacefully when at all possible. Cal only had one weapon on him and he wasn't very eager to go brandishing such an identifiable thing such a lightsaber around here.

Once something caught Drake's eye, Cal glanced over at the other weapons that were on hand, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "It might be. I'll admit I'm not exactly an expert on firearms, but I don't think they'd openly display anything that was questionable."

He steered them closer for a better look, offering the vendor a nod.

Drake had just been threatened with a blaster in a dark and grimy part of the city where it was apparently normal to sell questioinable objects and accost people suspected of being thieves or narcs or what-have-you. As such, he had his doubts that merchants down here adhered to any kind of legal ethic in regards to their wares and made a face that suggested as much. Still. He liked the familiar look of the weapon and pointed to it with a silent, questioning look. (He had learned by now that not everyone could understand him and that it was a bad idea to just grab at things - especially down here.)

Fortunately, the merchant just nodded and held a hand out, waving it over the entire display in an apparent invitation to browse.

The blaster (or was it a projectile? It was hard to tell from the outside.) felt heavy and solid in his hand as he weighed it. The grip was unfamiliar, and he didn't know if he'd need ammunition or a charging cable, but he liked it nonetheless.

"How much for this one?"

Cal simply shrugged back at Drake's expression, but as they engaged the merchant, the young padawan remained on his guard. At least this one didn't seem so paranoid; in fact, the merchant almost looked bored.

Looking over the other weapons there, Cal found nothing particularly of interest to him. He hadn't ever really tried using a firearm, the closest perhaps being when one of the troopers in his old battalion had let him hold one of their DC-15s, and that had been rather massive to a fourteen year old.

The merchant quoted two hundred and fifty credits for the blaster Drake was looking over.

He tried to keep his face impassive, he really did, but two hundred and fifty credits was something like (he did some quick conversion math in his head from credits to dollars to pounds) well, almost four hundred pounds! What he didn't know was that nearly four hundred pounds wasn't that unreasonable and was probably close to what his Glock had cost the RAF.

But...he really wanted to be armed with something. And he'd been informed that the credits were unlimited (which was economically boggling, but he wasn't an economist so he tried not to think about it).

"Two hundred."

He'd also been told that people liked to haggle here.

A gleam, like something of a challenge accepted, touched the merchant's eye though he kept his own face poker-stoic. "Two twenty-five," he said, eyeing Drake.

Cal glanced at them and then the weapon in question, but he decided to let Drake handle things. He really had no gauge for prices to know if it was fair or overpriced, and he was certain that the merchant had been dealing for quite some time that he was a difficult read.

Oh, he wanted to play hardball, did he? Drake made a show of looking skeptical.

"Two twenty."

He had to admit, this might be sort of fun. (If inefficient.)

The merchant's brow twitched. He grunted, nodding. "Fine. Two hundred and twenty credits," he said, a large hand extending for payment. Only after it was received would he add with a greasy leer, "Extra charge-pack, is twenty-five credits."

Cal hid a smirk as he turned to look at some of the other weapons. The guy reminded him of some of the shopowners back on Bracca in what amounted for a commercial district.

Drake didn't have an excellent poker face and when the merchant caught him off guard, he looked mortally offended. The merchant seemed to find this uproarously funny and slapped his big hand on the counter a couple of times before holding it out again, making grabby motions.

The extra 25 credits were smacked ill-temperedly into the merchant's hand while Drake maintained glowering eye contact, and then held his own hand out.

"All right, then, it's not that funny."

"It really is, small one."

"WHAT-"

"Learn to make less face, hm?"

"EXCUSE M-"

"Here is your weapon. Don't wave it around, now."

Drake looked like he was about to pop. He snatched the blaster (and the charge-pack) and crammed it into his thigh holster. It didn't fit very well, but it would do. Then he turned away with a disgusted huff.

"Let's go."

All things considered, the exchange went well at least. Cal was extremely thankful that the merchant was tolerant of Drake's outbursts. He supposed even they had to find some way to be entertained.

Smiling crookedly, the padawan nodded a farewell at the merchant before turning to follow Drake. "Could have gone worse," he suggested.

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