[hr][hr][center][color=silver][h1]Kabal[/h1][/color]
[@Zarok Aleon][/center][hr][hr]
Kabal wouldn't pretend to understand Solace's rather insatiable appetite when it came to 'sampling' members of other species, be they male or female. It was a certain kind-of degeneracy that did a good job triggering his gag reflex. To procreate was one thing, sure, but with something that looked like [i]that[/i]? Kabal supposed there was no accounting for taste when it came to the preferences of Humans and their sub-types. All this, of course, ignoring his [i]own[/i] status as a Near-Human. And woe be to anyone foolish enough to remind him of that fact; lest they receive a swift punch to the throat. 

His earlier words to the not-Chiss about appearances was delivered more as a warning than anything else. She claimed to know how to fix the Baradium Fission Device, and that was all Kabal cared about. He could easily repair it himself, of course: technical expertise was one of the many talents of the Ubese species. But he had been cautious up to this point: it was her shenanigans that led them here. She broke it, she could fix it; and if she couldn't fix it, then she would learn firsthand whether her species could breathe in space or not. A hundred credits says they can't. 

But while the betting pool was open, Kabal was keen to wager another hundred credits that Solace kicks the not-Chiss to the curb. Kabal prided himself on being an equal-opportunity ethnocentric: most every other species but his own was rather fleshy and ugly-looking, 'pretty' was a relative term. But a bloody face, fat lip, and crooked nose didn't exactly scream 'pretty' in any sense of the word. 

While the two wordlessly pushed the lift past the market into the spaceport, Kabal caught the not-Chiss move her gaze towards a window, no doubt eyeing her own reflection. [color=silver][i]"Don't worry: there's nothing you can do to fix your face anyways."[/i][/color] He said in his native language in what was...maybe meant as reassurance? An odd manner of reassurance, if that's what it was, one that would certainly have earned Kabal a slap in the face from a haughtier woman, but haughty women don't expect to be hit back. As noted earlier, equal-opportunity.

Then the not-Chiss decided that this was the time for more chit-chat, beginning to ask pointless questions like [color=lavender][i]'Who captain?'[/i][/color], [color=lavender][i]'What kind ship?[/i][/color], [color=lavender][i]Do have crew?[/i][/color], yadda yadda yadda. Kabal didn't ask dumb questions like that when [i]he[/i] joined the Gray Mariners, and he was being shot at!

[color=silver][i]"You ask too many questions. CR90 in the hanger. Come now, or test your luck with the guards."[/i][/color] He replied sternly, clearly exasperated by the day's events. Events that were nowhere close to concluding, as he would shortly discover. 

[color=lavender][i]Which hanger?[/i][/color] Was the last thing Kabal picked up from the not-Chiss, to which he angrily replied, [color=silver][i]"This one!"[/i][/color] Pointing off haphazardly towards one of the hangars, which promptly exploded into a cacophony of intense blaster-fire that crescendoed with a not-so-distant explosion: thermal detonator, N-20 Baradium-core by the sound of it, military-issue. A gunfight - a [i]gunfight[/i], while Kabal was out shopping and playing with aliens. 

Swearing loudly, Kabal began pushing the cart with all his might towards the direction of the hanger, assuming that the not-Chiss would follow behind. Practically sprinting into the hanger, Kabal came across what looked almost like a crime-scene in the making. The dust still-settling from the recent explosion in the grenade pit, blaster scores marking parts of the hull and loading ramp, Solace pressed tightly against some unseen individual while holding a vibro-blade. Whatever else was happening inside, Kabal had next-to-no-idea.

Words were being exchanged, some voices familiar, others totally foreign. Great...more strays. Well, if today was Bring A Creature to Work Day, Kabal could at least contribute to the offerings. 

[color=silver]"Bring bomb."[/color] He announced in Basic, unsure if he had spoken loud enough for anyone to hear him. As if on cue, the repulsors that had been engaged to one-hundred percent lift had finally been overtaxed by Kabal's marathon to the hanger, promptly giving out and dumping the bomb once more unceremoniously onto the ground.