They called this next piece of shit establishment The Twilight Twi’lek. Yet another in a number of dumb clubs from one end of Smuggler’s Moon to the other and there’s your monument. It wasn’t a strip club, at least, though there were a number of dancers so slick with sweat they may as well be in one of them said dens.
For her part, Xyrin was at a bar. There was an Ithorian bartender who spent his moments serving others or passing a rag through glasses. Otherwise he kept his silence and stared past the woman. She stared past him, they barely perceived one another’s existence, her eyes on a viewscreen overhead.
War. More war. The news was as hollow as ever, as insincere, as repetitive as a rag through a glass. “Another.” The woman clad in a black cloak, hood pulled over a red complexion, demanded her round with a tap on the counter.
Bartender nodded, moved onward, and the universe kept its logic, as expected. But what shifts between the blankets? A senator caught red-handed with his opponent’s mistress. “Tsk, tsk,” the Sith tutted. A Hybrid of the Purebloods but just as much of one.
“Nice tats, lass,” some Trandoshan patron sitting adjacent said as he bravely grazed a lone finger over one of her tattooed hands. “Red skin. Black print. I like that.” In a tone that otherwise admitted ‘I’d like to tap that’. Ugh.
“Take your hand off mine.” Xyrin didn’t take her eyes off the viewscreen as the guy moved immediately. “Okay.”
“Go tell that Wookiee he’s two whiskers shy of a full face and have a nice day.”
“Okay.”
He moved away. Moments later and all she heard was the sound of arms breaking if not worse. Typical nonsense in a cantina on Nar Shaddaa, the other armpit of the galaxy besides Mos Eisley.
Oh well. Xyrin had entered the scene, had ordered a drink in this pisspot establishment, for other reasons indeed. What they were remains to be seen. “Here’s to freedom and liberty.” She lifted her Bloody Mary and took a deep drink.
@Sicadorito
For her part, Xyrin was at a bar. There was an Ithorian bartender who spent his moments serving others or passing a rag through glasses. Otherwise he kept his silence and stared past the woman. She stared past him, they barely perceived one another’s existence, her eyes on a viewscreen overhead.
War. More war. The news was as hollow as ever, as insincere, as repetitive as a rag through a glass. “Another.” The woman clad in a black cloak, hood pulled over a red complexion, demanded her round with a tap on the counter.
Bartender nodded, moved onward, and the universe kept its logic, as expected. But what shifts between the blankets? A senator caught red-handed with his opponent’s mistress. “Tsk, tsk,” the Sith tutted. A Hybrid of the Purebloods but just as much of one.
“Nice tats, lass,” some Trandoshan patron sitting adjacent said as he bravely grazed a lone finger over one of her tattooed hands. “Red skin. Black print. I like that.” In a tone that otherwise admitted ‘I’d like to tap that’. Ugh.
“Take your hand off mine.” Xyrin didn’t take her eyes off the viewscreen as the guy moved immediately. “Okay.”
“Go tell that Wookiee he’s two whiskers shy of a full face and have a nice day.”
“Okay.”
He moved away. Moments later and all she heard was the sound of arms breaking if not worse. Typical nonsense in a cantina on Nar Shaddaa, the other armpit of the galaxy besides Mos Eisley.
Oh well. Xyrin had entered the scene, had ordered a drink in this pisspot establishment, for other reasons indeed. What they were remains to be seen. “Here’s to freedom and liberty.” She lifted her Bloody Mary and took a deep drink.
@Sicadorito