Fistfights and cantina's

[TriDaan]

[OOC: just looking to get a little experience in a nonchalant duel, haven't done one before so this will be a learning experience for me]
Jarak, a tall and powerfully built male Zabrak, had already had quite a bit to drink. Jedi training on Tython was going alright, but he had taken a few days off to head to Coruscant and have some fun. He needed it after all those hours spent in the archive halls. He had to head back in the morning, but tonight, tonight he was in the mood for a good bar fight.
He had ended up spending most of his time in a small ramshackle cantina in one of Coruscant's poorer districts. It was quite spacious inside, with a wide and open walkway by the bar, flanked on the other side by tables, the large room bordered by several smoky booths. It was almost like being back home at the good old Mos Eisley Cantina. Downing one last glass of Wookie liquor and gasping slightly, Jarak spun on his stool to face the general assembly of patrons and stood. He aggressively eyed the cantina's customers as only a slightly intoxicated hulking male Zabrak could do, he flexed his finger, cracking his knuckles meaningfully as he scanned the crown. He was searching for an individual who needed to blow off steam as badly as he did and all he needed was the slightest cue.

 

[mrmrlol]

((OOC: A dueling learning experience for me as well))

Lur glanced at he Zabrak. He had seen him in the temple before, though they never spoke. What was his name again? Jallen? No, Jarak. Yes that seemed right to the Kel Dor. Jarak. Gin wondered why he was here. He was here because he was having nightmares of the "incident" on Dorin. Again.It seemed he ended up in a bar at least once a week, much less than it was earlier. His mental wounds had began to heal

 

[Darth Nexus]

A young Kaleesh sat in the corner, wearing a knee-length coat. He bore a brand in the centre of his forehead, the mark of Trandoshan hunters. He swallows a little more of the drink he holds, the fourth so far. He tends to ponders memories of days gone by while spending his money on cheap alcohol. He had originally planned to pass through the ports of Coruscant unnoticed, hopping between merchant and pirate vessels. So far his journey had taken him from Kalee to Ryloth, to Tatooine and now to Coruscant. His whimsical travellings had taken their toll however, and by looking at him you could see signs of considerable malnourishment. It wasn't surprising therefore, that the man had been searching to find his own personal transport (capable of lightspeed travel of course). He had, in fact, chosen a ship that suited his fancy. He had earlier witnessed a Surronian Cruiser docking in one of the lower platforms. He had stood watching as an assembly of poorly organised Weequay pirates disembarked from the vessel, leaving only a nominal few (around ten) to stand guard. It was not in fact, the Surronian Cruiser itself that Ivora was interested in, but the Flarestar/Penumbra-class vessels he assumed to be aboard the Cruiser. He stood up from his chair, unbalancing it so it fell to the floor with a clatter, and made his way towards the exit. It was now or never...