Session export: House Sunrider: The Christening
In Orbit Over Daleem Daleem Shipyard: Central Station ** 38 ABY** Jon sipped a glass of Corellian brandy as he reclined in his chair. The lounge was pleasant enough, though a bit spartan for his standards. That was the way of the Shipwrights though; luxury meant resources wasted that could’ve been spent better elsewhere. The bare minimum of comfort was their way.
He’d specifically requested more comfort on the actual ships they were building for him and his house, and they didn’t put up a fuss. They were getting paid either way, and if their client wanted to pay extra for what were, in their eyes, resources better used making more ships, they weren’t going to complain. And Barad Ghalor, of House Ghalor, was more than willing to throw obscene amounts of credits at maintaining his comfortable, aristocratic lifestyle.
“You know, I think this brandy is growing on me,” said Sephi aristocrat said from across the table. “It’s got a kind of rustic kick to it.”
“What a polite way of saying unrefined,” Jon chuckled, and watched the overweight man’s face split into a grin. That’s one thing he liked about the lord of House Ghalor; the lack of pretense.
“So when are the rest of your House arriving?” Ghalor asked. There were a few retainers from House Ghalor milling about, making conversation with the engineers of the Guild. The only ones missing were the heroes of the hour.
Just then, a door slid open…
Aurelis steps through the door, in a deep burgundy button up shirt and black pants tucked into her usual combat boots, topped by a good quality black leather jacket. Her hair pulled back into a plait, and despite all efforts, wisps of her curls had inevitably escaped. As Jon’s Aedile she’d made sure she was among some of the first to arrive on the ship.
While not exactly elegant, she didn’t look like she’d walked in off the street either. She cast a glance at the occupied table where Jon and his ‘friends’ sat gave them a nod and walked towards the bar to grab a drink before she would join them.
As Nat approached the gathering, she reflected that somehow everything had turned out alright. Sure, she had spent most of the prior conflict in an unpowdered space station, surrounded by strangers, and being shot at by overly enthusiastic Sephi guardsmen, but no one had been killed by some miracle. Between security systems being activated, doors being randomly being put into lockdown, and the power being switched off and on, the Vatali had made extraordinarily little progress. So little that they had barely made it beyond the boarding torpedoes before the counter attack had started.
The fact that the Hyperion and its crew had abandoned her at short notice was still a sore spot, but that was a matter for tomorrow. For tonight, it was a time to drink and celebrate. As best she could anyway. Few tailors in the system made anything for reptiles, and those who did never had encountered a hybrid like Nat before. Having embraced all of the strengths and all of the weaknesses of Trandoshan and Barabel physiologies, most had refused her on sight. She just had to hope the dark green flightsuit wouldn’t be too out of place among whoever showed up.
“Corellian whisky, please, and leave the bottle,” Nat said approaching the bar and then stopping, realising someone was ahead of her. “Sorry, didn’t see you. It’s been a long day, so you first.”
“I see your Aedile has deigned to join us,” Ghalor said, leaning over to Jon. “And… who is that lovely woman by her?”
Jon quirked an eyebrow as he followed the rotund old sephi’s eyes. Well, never let it be said that Lord Barad Ghalor was discriminatory in his tastes.
“That, would be Nat.”
“Nat?” Ghalor asked.
“Just nat.”
“Just Nat,” he said, nodding to himself, before pushing himself to his feet. “And Aurelis as well. Well, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Be my guest,” Jon said with a wave. This oughta be good.
Bharad strolled over to the bar where Aurelis and Nat were conversing, slicking his thinning lavender hair back and puffing out his chest.
“Hello, ladies,” he said, extending a hand. “Pardon, I saw you both here and was hoping to introduce myself. Barad Ghalor, of House Ghalor. You may know me as the benefactor of this arrangement. Madame Phaelor, of course it’s as lovely to see you as it ever is. And you, Madame… Nat, is it?”
“Lord Ghalor,” she said clasping his hand in a solid handshake. “ Allow me to extend my own appreciation for making this fleet possible. Thank you for your support.” The House Sunrider Aedile with sincerity, offering the slightly portly Lord a smile. “ After getting a drink I had planned to join your table and state my thanks there, but you’ve saved me half of a trip.”
Barad chuckled. “Please, Barad. The way things are going, throwing ‘lords’ and ‘mi'ladies’ around won’t be, shall we say, fashionable for much longer, hmm?”
The rotund sephi moved to the bar and began pouring himself a glass of Raxusian vodka. “But you are welcome. Your friend Nat here and her compatriot Blackwood made for a very convincing argument. And given Kaltani’s current… popularity, well, there was an obvious right answer.”
“ Then Madame seems a bit out of place as well, so you’ll have to do with Aurelis.” she answered,“ I was highly amusing by the apparent frustration of the vatali fleet with the repetitious and righteously loud insert of a song called Fizzlepop into their comm frequencies. There was a LOT of yelling.”
The old sephi laughs. “Fair enough, Aurelis, fair enough! And you, Nat? How would you prefer I adress you?” <@326457564994994176>
“Nat will do fine,” the Trandoshan said with a modest shrug. Captain was hardly a term for a noble to use, and there was no surname to fall back on. Nevertheless she offered a slight bow in acknowledgement of his status. “And thank you. Both for hearing us out, and sticking with us after the Empress decided to make her displeasure know.” <@230809550297497600>
“Ha! Hahaha!” Barad laughed heartily; it was a warm, welcoming kind of laugh, rather than the sneering condescension that seemed universal to aristocrats across the galaxy. “The Empress makes her displeasure known on many things. Once she decided her displeasure was worth starting a war with the Burmessians, it was tits up for the monarchy. You’ve given me an out that the other noble houses are still scrambling for. If anything, I should be thanking you, though I suppose funding your fleet was a good thank you letter on my part.”
“In that case here’s to new opportunities,” Nat said and raised her drink. “And also to staying ahead of whoever comes after us next.” <@230809550297497600>
At that moment, an electronic voice came over the room’s intercom unit.
“Attention all guests. Thank you for your patience. The main event is about to begin. If you would please make your way to the viewing port on the far end of the room.”
From his table, Jon’s face split into a manic grin, and he downed his remaining drink in one swallow. The pleasant buzz added with the excitement at what was about to happen.
Someone nearby frowned. “Wait, what viewing–”
At the far end of the room, the clean steel of the walls began to retract on invisible seams, folding invisibly into the walls around it. On the other side was a force-field, incandescent violet plasma separating the room from the cold void. Beyond it, only darkness and the faint twinkle of distant stars.
And then…
The ship that broke from hyperspace was like nothing anyone in the room had seen before. Those who had spent time in the Core in the last decade might have recognized it’s long, slenderly curved hull as that of one of the New Republic’s beloved Defender-classes. A cruiser designed to be aesthetically pleasing and unthreatening as much as it was functional.
Its hull was painted sable, with bright orange pannels highlighting the ship’s sleek silhouette. Emblazoned across the prow one one side was the silver emblem of Clan Odan-Urr, and on the other…
(Message deleted)
<@326457564994994176> <@186977617356783616> <@423221807818997807>
Vigo entered, fashionably late as always, right as everyone’s attention was directed away toward the newly revealed ship. His footsteps were silent as he scanned the room, noting everyone’s position.
He wore a dark blue angular corset-vest that hugged his figure well, under his dark, open front, trench coat. His hair was stylishly disheveled as always, and found a spot against a corner wall where he propped himself. He sipped a drink consisting mainly of Vodka.
His eyes scanned the ship from his corner. He was thoroughly impressed, although his younger brother would know more about it than he would.
“It looks very… sleek,” He said with a heavy accent rolling his R. “What’s her statistics?” He took another sip of his drink, clicking his teeth.
Someone seemed to take Vigo’s word as a cue, because right on time, a mon calamari whose bone-white skin was mottled with blue-grey patterns stepped up behind him; he was wearing the coveralls of a member of the Shipwright’s Guild, but everyone in the room recognized him as Arak Curl, the de facto Guildmaster.
His normally emotionless, baritone voice carried the barest hint of pride as he spoke, his words being echoed over the intercoms so that the entire room could hear.
“The Curator-class Cruiser,” he began, “is a 1000-meter long experimental Cruiser retrofitted from the New Republic’s Defender-class Cruiser and engineered to be an advanced research and experimentation vessel. A state-of-the-art research ship, she boasts advanced laboratories and additional research areas, including a greenhouse, vault, and an aquarium.
"She boasts a class 2 hyperdrive, expanded hangar, seven turbo-lasers, five defense point lasers, five ion cannons, and a powerful tractor beam. You’ll also find she has room for seven hundred civilian passsengers in addition to the standard crew.”
“Ahem,” Jon spoke up, clearing his throat. “Arak, my piscine compatriot, aren’t you forgetting something?”
The Mon Calamari rolled his massive ivory eyes, an uncharacteristic display of emotion from the stoic man.
“Yes. The forward section of her tenth deck has been, at the Quaestor’s… insistent request… been converted in a…” he sighed. “Casino. And recreation area. Including holo-theatres, several small concert halls, and multiple… alcoholic establishments.”
Nat had been watching, open mouthed at the reveal, quietly taking in every inch of the ship, down to the last window and fine detail on its hull. Curl’s description took several moments to sink in, as she kept looking over the vessel and thinking of the opportunities it opened up. Even if it wasn’t a brawler, or the kind of ship she’d expect to run blockades on enemy worlds, it was the kind of vessel she’d only seen a scant few times in past voyages. The sort of ship which could support the better part of a full fleet for years at a time, from supplies through to charting new navigational maps.
“That’s…” Nat said, trying to find the words to fit the masterpiece which had just been displayed to them. “That’s not a ship, that’s a flying city. Burning stars, I knew we were… No, I don’t know what I was expecting, but definitely nothing so beautiful as this.”
While nothing could force her to give up the Hyperion willingly, if the Curator had been offered to her in a trade she would take at least a few minutes to say “no” to such a deal.
“Well, at least diplomacy will be easier to handle with a ship loaded down with so many leisurely activities. At least depending on the culture.” Aurelis remarked, taking the glass of brandy from the bartender. “ I’m just glad I got to name the Raider-class.”
Jon elbowed Aurelis in the ribs, grimacing, but it was too late. Barad Ghalor looked at her askance.
“Raider-class? What Raider-class?”
<@186977617356783616>
She set her brandy down and turned to Barad,“ My apologies, there seems to have been a misunderstanding. I asked for a ship for my own duties, and I guess I hadn’t read the paperwork closely enough to realize that it had been supplied by another associate of mine outside of Jon’s connections, and simply presented as if it had been part of your generosity. I ask that you forgive my own slight of words.”
Arak Curl cleared his throat, obviously eager to move on with the event.
“There are, of course, a number of other vessels to show. But per Quaestor Silvon’s request, we will be moving the remainder of the event onto the Eternity itself, to be viewed from…” he sighed. “The Casino deck. If you’ll all follow me, we have a shuttle waiting.”
<@267489687902486530> <@326457564994994176> <@186977617356783616> <@267511113783050240>
Vigo hid his excitement behind a wall of nonchalant and neutral expression but he was excited. Shiny new toy, and a casino? His fingers itched to try his hand at sabacc.
He downed the rest of his drink, found a droid and handed the glass to them, and angled himself closer to Jon, as he opted for last in line, his paranoia getting the better of him.
“Don’t look so eager,” Jon whispered, leaning down next to Vigo. “I don’t intend on losing at sabaac the inaugural night of debauchery on my own flagship.”
“Better her than the rest of us,” Nat said quietly, keeping her voice as low as possible. “The last time I tried to risk anything in a game of chance, it ended with me running from armed gunmen.”
“Nah,” Jon said as the group began filtering out of the room and towards the hangar. “There aren’t any guards on the Eternity yet. Right now it’s just droids. Feel free to go wild.”
Vigo’s corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.
“I’ll raise you one.” And he gave a small nod with a smirk. His elongated canine peaking above his bottom lip.
Aurelis rolled her eyes,“ Jon the last thing you should advise on a new ship is for someone to ‘go wild’” She followed the group out into the hangar to be moved to the new ship.
“I’ll only do that if they give me the helm, I swear,” Nat protested, louder than she intended but eventually sticking with the point. “It’s always a coin toss if anything the New Republic made was worthwhile, but the amount of overhauls on this thing? It might as well be a brand new class in its own right.” <@230809550297497600> <@186977617356783616>