Night descended over Galactic City level 4026. With it came a calm that settled over the districts; brief respites to take the mind off the urban sprawl. Crowds mingled on the duracrete streets, edging nearer to multifluous destinations. In the suspended dusk, it all converged. A homogenous blur of people and droids falling nothing short of splendid.
Priscilla wandered among them. Another face in the mass, unadorned but with the weary tracks of exhaustion. An interview at the lower municipal court brought her here. A wildly unsuccessful one. They'd grilled her without cessation, demanded transcripts and referrals from a dozen live sources, and investigated her claims live before her eyes. The secretary had hardly hid disdain upon her arrival. It made for a wasted morning. All that effort to dress, to take the turbolift up to the district office... all that courage mustered to give them a smile worth hiring.
Civilian life hardly suited anyone these days.
There was an edge of hostility about. Folk carried arms openly, lacking the reservation she remembered from her youth. Even here, on a block patrolled hourly, she felt ill at ease. If not for the strain the afternoon put on her, and the early reservations she'd made for travel back to Corellia, wisdom might have dictated her straight back to her rooms.
Instead, with some small chagrin, she decided to hit the bars. The opportunity was hard to overlook. Rarely did she find herself in this sector of the run, and rarer still could she justify the expense of letting loose. Two or three drinks were all she asked for. Nothing extravagant. Only the barest of luxuries to afford an evening's reprieve.
Alas. It was not meant to be.
When she came to a crashing halt against a man's outstretched arm, a groan of agitation escaped her.
"Can you—"
And just as swiftly, she was cut off. A hand shot at her coat, ripped away a credit chit resting there, and boots tore away into the setting sun. She threw her hands up, teeth grinding, and watched her bar funds race out of reach.
@Zay
Priscilla wandered among them. Another face in the mass, unadorned but with the weary tracks of exhaustion. An interview at the lower municipal court brought her here. A wildly unsuccessful one. They'd grilled her without cessation, demanded transcripts and referrals from a dozen live sources, and investigated her claims live before her eyes. The secretary had hardly hid disdain upon her arrival. It made for a wasted morning. All that effort to dress, to take the turbolift up to the district office... all that courage mustered to give them a smile worth hiring.
Civilian life hardly suited anyone these days.
There was an edge of hostility about. Folk carried arms openly, lacking the reservation she remembered from her youth. Even here, on a block patrolled hourly, she felt ill at ease. If not for the strain the afternoon put on her, and the early reservations she'd made for travel back to Corellia, wisdom might have dictated her straight back to her rooms.
Instead, with some small chagrin, she decided to hit the bars. The opportunity was hard to overlook. Rarely did she find herself in this sector of the run, and rarer still could she justify the expense of letting loose. Two or three drinks were all she asked for. Nothing extravagant. Only the barest of luxuries to afford an evening's reprieve.
Alas. It was not meant to be.
When she came to a crashing halt against a man's outstretched arm, a groan of agitation escaped her.
"Can you—"
And just as swiftly, she was cut off. A hand shot at her coat, ripped away a credit chit resting there, and boots tore away into the setting sun. She threw her hands up, teeth grinding, and watched her bar funds race out of reach.
@Zay