The air was thick, and bore an acrid taste of sweat and Force knew what else. Not from the fighters themselves, of course, the Corellians were much too far from the action. No, the atmosphere was a result of the drunken, rabid crowd, cheering for violence before them.
"Djyoo two!" — from their left came a voice with all the soothing properties of nails on a blackboard — "De nyext fyght. It whill be whort your credit. Djyoo mayk bet, yeys?" A Toydarian, barely scratching at Basic, wafted in, bringing with her a stench so terrible it could drop a bantha. An instant reminder of just how seedy this place was, despite all the lights and projectors. Ah, the charms of Hutt Space.
"We have bet, yes, your friend over there has taken our wagers already. Seems to be a packed night. We're hoping it'll bring us some good luck." — replied Morgan, before turning to Callahan to his side — "Unless y-"
"Freynd? Wot freynd?" — the winged woman interrupted.
"The little Duros guy." — met with a look of confusion, the Corellian explained further — "Bald, short, red eyes, green skin. Nice jacket."
"Whjat did jhackeyt loowk lyk? And wjheyr did djoo ssee jhim?"
"Leather. Kind of a caramel. Maybe tawny?" — a glance at McKoy — "Tawny. And just over there." — he nodded in self-assertion, before motioning with his chin in a particular direction — "You just missed him."
The alien rudely turned away from the pair and spat a flurry of sharp ks and guttural grunts that made up the Toydarian language into a comm device in her possession. Morgan calmly leaned to one side, to get a better angle on the flying, irate bookie weaving her way into the spirited crowd to chase after a nondescript spacer wearing a light brown leather jacket.
As the two fighters in the centre of this room and the many screens therein continued to beat the living daylights out of each other for a quick paycheck, surrounded by the roaring chants of a crowd that gathered for blood — the thin veneer of civilisation and sport in this warehouse in Nar Shaddaa fading quickly — one smuggler turned to the other and, his features peaceful as always, offered a silent, knowing look.
The game was on.
@Zay
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