Awakening the Giant [Closed RP - Typho and Lisara]

The larger the beast, the more parasites it attracts. That is the way of all things. Whether this beast is an animal, a company, a government system, or even a planet. It is irrelevant. No matter how successful it is at life, it will always attract the attention of scavengers, pests, bacteria. Sometimes, the beast... the giant... it awakens... and retaliates, and the parasites know retribution and death...

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If there was one past time that Commander Typho Raame, Comitatus Vigo of the Galactic Trade Commission and a veteran of a hundred battles and over sixteen years of warfare, could never get enough of, it was tending to his weapons and armour. The warrior was currently residing in his office, sitting ramrod straight in his chair, positioned behind his desk, slowly running one of his large, black, deadly looking combat knives along an adamantine whetstone. While some individuals preferred the use of droids or laser technology to hone and sharpen their blades, there was no way in hell that Raame was going to allow someone other than himself to tend to his weapons and armour.

He was prepping his gear for an upcoming mission assignment that had come through very recently. It was a grave situation, this assignment, and one of highest importance for the Galactic Trade Commission. It would also require the use of an individual with persuasion and social talents that, for some unfathomable reason, the Commander lacked. He had just the person in mind.

Raame opened a private channel to one of Chief Kelhur's many smugglers, a woman he had come to use greatly in these situations, despite her near insufferable attitude. She was a smuggler however, and it was to be expected from that... rabble. Raame spoke, his voice deep, gravely and distorted due to the helmet's mic, adding a mechanical, almost droid-like tinge to it.

"Runner Novar. My office immediately. No exceptions. Raame out."

Raame's position had not changed since he had called the smuggler in, and from when she finally arrived. He eyed her, still slowly running his blade along the whetstone, causing it to make a strong schhhick sound. His helmet gave nothing away, the dull glow of its eye slits boring into the smuggler. Raame's face was expressionless begind his armour. He felt nothing for the smuggler. While he disliked her attitude, she brought him good profits. These things cancelled each other out, and thus she was nothing Raame, other than a means to an end. Perhaps this mission would change his mind. Most likely it would not.

"Right. Here's the job. We have been receiving reports from our outposts in the Outer Rim territories that we have been coming under attack from a banded group of rival organisations. These things are minor. Nuisances. Not problems. However, they have also been taking our potential investment and job opportunities. We do not appreciate this. The group of organisations call themselves the United Outer Rim Trade Cabal. Don't let that fool you. They're just thugs. Extortionists. Smugglers. Your kind of people."

"We've received word that one of our outposts on Ryloth, an important spice smuggling location, has been attacked and destroyed. All personnel stationed there are dead. This is only a minor setback, however it may lead us to find out important intelligence of this Cabal. We're heading there, finding information, if there is any, then moving on. Our priority is to eliminate the leaders of this Cabal, and we will only be able to get to them through visiting Ryloth. Any questions?"

The Commander raised one of his eyebrows behind his helmet, the only expression he ever really made, apart from hate and anger during battle. Naturally Novar could not see this, but the fact that Raame had shown any expression at all was evidence of his disdain and contempt for the woman and her way of life. It was the attitude, and arrogance, the pure insubordinate hubris that the smuggler displayed in her movements, her voice, and her cocky smirk.

"I will offend you all I wish. You... smugglers... are all the same to me, save for a few select individuals, such as Gunslingers Nova and Odias, and of course, Chief Kelhur. You get the job done. That's all I care about. "Little small time" smugglers, as you call them, have their uses. I don't care whether, in your arrogance, you consider yourself "big time" or not, the point is, you get the job done, and we won't have a problem... any more than usual. However, that being said, I do not trust your... skills... enough to partner you with anyone with less combat experience, for such a mission of high importance. In addition, I want to see if you are capable of curbing your attitude at all. That is why I'm leading this mission. You will take orders from me, and you will obey them, or you will be having a nice early meeting with my rifle... or an airlock. Is that perfectly understood, Novar?"

Raame's eyes followed Novar's body as she moved towards the exit of his office. His helmet made no movement, however, its eye slits dull red glow intensified as he targeted Novar. The Smuggler was incredibly unintelligent and overconfident of her authority and ability to turn away from a man like Raame without permission or dismissal. He had killed men for lesser transgressions.

"Do you think this wise or brave, Runner? Disobeying a direct order from not only a Vigo, but a former Republic special forces Commander and displaying extreme arrogance in a superior’s presence. Believe me; Chief Kelhur will not protect you should you leave this room. I will not stop you, but if you value your life, you will take this mission and obey every order given to you. To do otherwise… will generate extreme consequences. "

A deep, dark noise suddenly began sounding out from the Commander's helmet. It was a harsh, grating sound, reverberating around the helmet and room. Raame was chuckling. Without changing his stance, he reached down to his utility belt, and flipped out his Reaver 50. High Calibre Pistol from its holster, bringing it up to Novar’s face.

"No, Novar, it is you who do not get it. I fought for eight years in the Great War. I was there at Haeteen III when we unleashed the World Eater virus upon the planet and decimated all life there. I have killed hundreds of Sith, Imperial Troopers, Bounty Hunters, Smugglers and all types of life forms you could think of. I helped orchestrate the downfall of our former High Vigo, storming the GTC headquarters and crushing all in our path. You believe that I am arrogant? Enjoy that notion. It is not arrogance. It. Is. Truth. I will not respect you until you begin showing me that you are worthy of it. Respect is earned, not given, and so far, I have yet to see you earn it. It is your move. Either you take the job, or I spray this room with your blood, brain and bone. Do not think you would be able to defeat me. Thirty-four years of fighting and killing will not end in a smuggler being able to take me down."

"Now, I suggest you back the fuck down, and accept this mission, Runner."

The Commander raised an eyebrow once again, facing Lisara with a lazy, disinterested expression on his face, in light of her "threat". He tilted his helmet to the side, and nodded slowly, pondering her request. Looking at his RCH Pistol in his hand, the warrior seemed as if he would do just as the smuggler had requested and return the weapon to its holster, thus ending the tension between the two individuals... for the mean time...

Without warning, Raame launched himself upward out of his chair, toppling his seat to the ground with a loud crash. At the same time, he switched his grip on his pistol, holding it by the stock, and as hard as he could, swung it into the side of Novar's cheek, the hardened durasteel butt of the pistol cracking into her face. The advantage on his side, he followed through with a solid strike from his elbow, using the momentum of the pistol whip to enhance the strength behind his blow. It hit her in the same side of her face as the pistol whip. Her position, having leant her weight back onto a single leg, had left her vulnerable and in a non-combat stance, completely open to attack. Perhaps that would teach her a lesson.

Raame stood facing her, his 191 centimetre tall, 198 pound heavy set, hardened, broad, muscular frame displayed in its full height, width and strength within his heavy combat armour, as he looked down on the Smuggler's smaller body.

"Pick yourself up, and get the FUCK out of my office. This mission will go to an agent who knows loyalty and obedience, and is more capable at following orders. Go have the Doctor check you out. He may have something to say. You. Are. Dismissed."

Raame glanced at the armed thermal detonator without any real care or interest. He was a special forces Commander, and a Vigo of the Galactic Trade Commission. His office was built to withstand explosives, airstrikes, heavy weapon assaults and much more, both internally and externally. Its hardened structure was made of Beskar, also known as Mandalorian Iron. He had... acquired it from a Mandalorian clan when he first commissioned his office to be built. Beskar was nearly indestructible, well over a thousand times stronger than durasteel, and it was even hard enough to prevent a lightsaber from cutting through it. The Commander's modified Myrmidon-class Heavy Shock Trooper Combat Armour contained it, and was designed to be similar to the armour which Mandalorians utilised. Raame respected the Mando'ade on the field of battle, as well as their way of life, and as such utilised their designs, weapons and armour from time to time. There would be some damage done to his office, however there was nothing that had not had a copy made of it, or stored in the massive archives of the GTC.

From his position behind his desk, the Commander raised his arms out wide, a direct challenge to see if the detonator could do any damage to him inside of his armour.

"Come get some."

The large explosion ripped through his office, forcing Raame to activate his armour's defence stance. The feet components bolted into the office surface, and the heat shields raised to counter the blasted. He was knocked back slightly, however the defensive stance kept him upright as the wash of flame passed over him, burning off the paint and symbols on his armour. Other that that, the Commander remained unharmed and intact. It could not be said the same for the rest of his office, however. Scorch marks covered the walls, and a number of items littered the floor, ripped apart and destroyed. However, his office's internal shields had protected the infrastructure and much of the large possessions. Raame's office was Spartan to begin with, and as such, did not contain much that could be destroyed.

That being said, Runner Novar had just attempted to assassinate one of the Galactic Trade Commission. Her life was over. She was dead. The Commander's Wolverines and Greyhound would never stop making her life hell. They would not stop hunting her. Never stop harassing her. Raame could have her killed yes, but that would mean her suffering would only last for a short while. He intended for it to last for many, many years to come, and she would wish she was dead. Bounty Hunters, mercenaries and thugs would come after her, constantly attacking her. She had made her decision, and was now an enemy of one of the most ruthless and hateful men in the entire of Outer Rim Territories. Wolverine Company and the Comitatus Consortium, along with their Vigo and Commander, would make sure that she paid for her incredibly unwise decision.