The Smuggler’s Moon
Nick’s
2300
A cigar hung loose in Jacen Cordro’s lips as he scanned the patrons of the dive from his vantage point at the bar. His attention flitted between newcomers and his datapad as he scanned the roster of eligible delinquents like himself. He liked this spot. It was just busy enough to get lost in, but never crowded enough to cause claustrophobia. There was an interesting ebb and flow to the customers at the bar. Most were thugs from the block, roughnecks with more attitude than anything else; unfortunately, none of them seemed to have the gall he was looking for.
Jacen pulled his durasteel lighter and lit up the cigar in his mouth he took a couple drags followed by a sip of his whiskey. For Serenno’s prodigal son there was no better combination. The scoundrel relished the mixing flavors for a moment and then slowly released the pent up smoke through his nose. His ocean eyes were veiled behind hombre lenses that faded from pale translucent blue to mirror silver. The wayfarer glasses matched the rest of his outfit perfectly. A pale blue tunic front tucked into light grey trousers that were messily blouses into a pair of black Coruscantie boots. On the hook in front of him below the bar hung a black duster that hid his DL-17, meanwhile, his DL-18 hung from his hip.
To most that entered the establishment, he looked like a preppy spacer in the wrong side of town, but the locals from the block knew he was with the Syndicate and that notoriety secured his privacy for the most part. Today, however, he was looking to be noticed. Having recently secured his ship, The Prodigal Son, he was itching to run his first op, but he couldn’t do that until he had a crew. Sure glory on his own sounded amazing, but he wasn’t stupid enough to believe he could pull off something of worth without a little help. The issue was finding people he could trust long enough to get the job done. He needed professionals.
The scoundrel drained his whiskey and then ordered another. He'd been here for three hours and was starting to lose hope. He clenched his jaw as he considered his options. The last thing he wanted to do was go door to door, but if it got the job done that's what he'd do. His fingers drummed a cascading rhythm on the bar as his impatience began to set in. With a petulant huff, he ran a hand through his wavy locks and pushed his hair out of his eyes.
"If this were easy everyone would do it..."
@Phoenix @Malon