(prior to the Imperials) [took the liberty of moving Mack's very earlier comment down at the end as a closer; hope it's ok, Perrin]
She shrurgs as she considers it, "I am not sure Sloor. I guess we will have to let things play out and go from there."
"If he survives tawnight," agrees the green one with a wide, triumphant smile: *not* a straight out refusal then!
"He's a *real* crack at the financial stuff, you knaw. Frek, if he can cawme up with anything resembling that pre-war fawrecast thing, *I'll* invest my whawle frecsing fawrtune with him!"
"Such as it is," lightly dismisses the smoothly gliding TB from the back.
"You're a big part awf that fawrtune right naw you naw."
"Hm... Then investing me could indeed return you a 200% TB profit," blandly agrees the droid.
Sloor's eyes go wide:
"*Three* awf you?! Frek! Might have taw rethink that bit then..." He's grinning crookedly as he says it though. A stealthy glance Mir's way.
(Reined in, carefully bottled up tight and put aside... Kind of makes you wonder what's underneath, doesn't it?)
Mack asks,
"If we are finished with the small talk, shall we all go to the audience chamber?"
"Let's daw," claps Sloor, his buoyant mood holding strong. They're almost there anyways.
(Imperials away!)
At the playback of the recording, an "oh kriff" look appears on the face of the negotiator. "The quality of the organics is fine when the shipments leave our facilities," she stammers, an obvious lie.
Sloor lowers the volume on the holos with the flick of one hand, though they still stand about, forcefully gesticulating their unhappiness, a constant background reminder.
"Shame what shipping cawmpanies will daw taw their cargaw, ain't it? You'd almawst swear..." His predatory grin makes it clear he's not buying a micron of it (though he *is* a bit too busy to notice the flashing light on his datapad; sorry Mack). He wipes that away, still grinning:
"But let it nawt be said Great Darga is withawt a giving heart. *I* was insisting we actually *charge* you spirks fawr awer generous awrganic remawval services, but the Great Awne said: 'we bawth might still prawfit frawm this'. The value of sawmething we can't sell is frecsing nawthing, sra, I'm sure you'll frekking agree, but if sawmeawne were taw heavily invest in, say, a hutt-cawntrawled, tawp awf the line medical repair facility, here awn Cataw Neimawidia, then the value awf that nawthing *might* be turned intaw a little bit awf a sawmething -- maybe nawt much, but the Nawble Awne is willing taw gaw that far taw be awf service taw you... Is he nawt the mawst generous being you've ever met?"
You could sharpen light sabers on his grin at this point as he finishes and half-rests his butt on the edge of Darga's platform, upper arms crossed, lower loose on his golden ammo belt.
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OOC:
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If at all possible, Sloor is planning to interrupt her next line with/insert at the first opportunity: "Demos-man here has some numbers fawr you." with a cue to the robed neimoidian. Keep her off her feet for as long as possible, you know. 
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