The large underground Ryloth spaceport of Kala'uun was a major hub of the Ryll trade, legal and illegal. The stuff was relatively weak, but it made good money for the Pyke Family, and hence Grigori Pyke, loyal member, spent much time here. The saying goes that you don't use the merchandise, but Grig was not the best at that. A brief, lusty adolescent affair had introduced him to the stuff, and now he was a hopeless addict. At least it's not glitterstim, he reminded himself.
He was usually able to stay clean during work, but here he was, just back from a run, puffing away with a blitzed human smuggler unconcious next to him. A scowling Twi'lek indenture crossed around the dingy room with a tray of fresh Ryll. Across from him a Quarren man lay twitching on a cot. The owner of this nameless joint, a fat local woman with four lekku by the name of Imma, could just be scene through the screen of beads separating the room, data pad open. It was high time for business, late afternoon, just as people came off of shift. Hopefully, Grig thought, it won't get to crowded in here. At least few would mess with a Pyke.
He was usually able to stay clean during work, but here he was, just back from a run, puffing away with a blitzed human smuggler unconcious next to him. A scowling Twi'lek indenture crossed around the dingy room with a tray of fresh Ryll. Across from him a Quarren man lay twitching on a cot. The owner of this nameless joint, a fat local woman with four lekku by the name of Imma, could just be scene through the screen of beads separating the room, data pad open. It was high time for business, late afternoon, just as people came off of shift. Hopefully, Grig thought, it won't get to crowded in here. At least few would mess with a Pyke.