Open Coruscant Into the Depths

[Envir Vadul]

Coruscant, Level 1313​

Envir Vadul was stuck in this place for three days now, he was running low on credits but he felt like he was going to absolutely lose his mind if he didn't go out for at least one night. Three days ago he had landed on the surface level of Coruscant, his ship, an old B-7 light freighter- had malfunctioned so terribly that during the landing one of the ship landing legs did not eject properly which caused the B-7 to tilt. Envir was too much of a cheap sake to buy a new ship so instead he sent the ship to a mechanic to attempt to replace some parts for the cheapest price possible... At first, he got charged what he considered an extremely unreasonable price for the fixing of his ship, though in the end they came into an agreement in which he could pay less but will have to wait for a longer time. After the mechanic venture, Envir quickly realized he did not have enough credits to stay on the surface level for a week while his ship got fixed. The young Corellians mood turned ugly after having no choice but to go below the surface of Coruscant, level 1313 to be exact. The following days he rented a tiny room in which he carefully ate his last few rations in attempts to not spend his credits so quickly.

Tonight however, was going to be different. Envir ventured out to a nearby district known for its bustling clubs and cantinas. He couldnt help but to feel somewhat wary and out of place within the neon lit district. The glowing signs and advertisements were pasted on every inch of the narrow streets that if he looked up it would be impossible to tell that he is hundreds of miles below the surface of the planet. Steel stairwells led to who knows where, alleys seemed to be crooked leading downwards or upwards, the labyrinth-like streets promised many interesting places that Envir could venture into. Among the many options Envir had, he picked a cantina located in a particularly dimly lit alley marked by a broken sign that most definitely had seen better days. The padawan knew this wouldn't exactly be the safest place to be, but at this point, he did not care as long as he wouldn't have to spend too many credits.

He entered the cantina, it had a lot more customers than he would have thought but they were not so loud, and lively music was playing in the background. A lot of individuals seemed to be doing their own thing, it was only two particular individuals that seemed to be getting into a heated argument. Envir warily sat down on a bar stool, making sure that his cloak covered his thigh garter with his lightsaber. In these kinds of places, it never hurt to be careful. Just as he was about to order a drink, a fight broke out between the previously mentioned individuals.

"Seriously?" He muttered, knowing it was going to be a long night.

 

[Xim Zhan]

Xim Zhan cradled his head in his hands, his Mandalorian helmet nestled on the bench beside him. He sat at booth along the wall of a particularly dingy cantina, but one that had cheap drink and cheap entertainment. It had been a lengthy haul, but the man had transported a load of nerfs from Concord Dawn to Coruscant. Now he was awaiting transit home; and the soonest one was not until noon local time the following day. His headache had come from customs; while the pay had been suspiciously generous there had been a catch, one he had not known. Nobody had registered the flight as live cargo and Xim had spent the better part of the afternoon heatedly proving he was, in fact, not smuggling unregistered farm animals into the ecumenopolis. Between a stiff drink and the smooth Quenk Jazz melody in the background, he hoped to alleviate the pulsating tension that pulled at his very brain.

The bustle of the city was not the scene the space-faring, nerf-herding, far-off-world delving, beast fighting Mandalorian was accustomed too and he really had little desire to explore it’s inner depths or upper jeweled spires. What he wanted was to get back home, to his people, or to the nice quiet hum of an engine in the void of space.

And so when a rather inebriated Quarren seemed to take offense at the advanced of an equally tentacled Nautolan. The joys and pitfalls of cross-species romances or the lack thereof. The two had started with hissing scathing remarks at one another, but it quickly devolved into full fledged shouting that drown out the smooth tones of the band. Most all of the patrons and staff paid the interaction no heed. The sign over the bar was simple enough to understand as it listed the rules of the establishment in a dozen different languages: No blood. No mess. Pay your tab. No bodies to clean up.

The bouncer in the corner paid the squabble exactly zero attention, he was too lost in the wiles of a scantily clad Zeltron who had taken to his affections. And the fight just kept getting louder. If left alone, it would probable spill out of the bar and no longer be a problem; that or it would fizzle out in one way or another. Those were not things Xim wanted to wait for; not with his headache.

And so, with an exasperated sigh, the black flight suit and armor clad Mandalorian stoop up and grabbed his helmet. With purposeful steps he walked toward the spatting pair. Without a second thought he swung his buyce (helmet) up and brought it crashing down on the Nautolan’s head, dropping the being like a sack of wet topatos.

The Quarren seems shocked, at least for the moment. “Go home!” Xim snarled as he pulled his helmet over his face and turned to return to his booth and drink.

@deplorable

 

[Sigurn Faldur]

Spoiler: Music IC

A broken sign blinking in the night. A broken viewscreen black as evening. On Level 1313, a woman had found her way into the cantina, gaze trained on a screen above the bar that was actually working, watching boxing with a drink.

She had ordered mead. Bartender told her sorry, didn’t have any, selection was limited, so she settled for whiskey with a hint of honey. The boxing paused, an advert showcasing cologne for Rodians to which the woman just offered a blank expression.

With another sip, Sigurn turned around to listen to the band, glancing past a cloaked man on the stool beside her own.

The music was pretty decent given the establishment, but then an argument had grown into a fight of another kind to drown out the sound of the band.

Get a room, you two. Leave it to a Mandalorian to step in and shut them up. Thank you. Sigurn raised her drink to him as he returned to his booth and the band returned to their tune.

Elbows propped on the bar, she was content for the moment to simply watch and listen, fading into the background.

She looked common enough with her outfit; blue pants, black vest over tanktop. She doubted anyone would recognize the Deucalian tattoo on her right shoulder. Black stripes. But it didn’t really matter.

Sigurn Faldur wasn’t much of one to begin with. Just a woman, just some other patron in a cantina, taking a break from work to be served one drink. And maybe another. Maybe.

"Too much drink and a person's heart is laid open for all to see..." Sigurn told no one in particular.

@deplorable @The Mad Hammer

 

[Envir Vadul]

Envirs gaze curiously turned to the Mandalorian who had been occupying a dimly lit booth a few meters away. In a swift and unexpected motion, the Mandalorian stood up only to impressively hit the Nautolan's head with his helmet. This was probably the first time he had ever been in a room with a Mandalorian, it sort of gave Envir a childish sense of excitement. In the past, he had seen Mandalorians before in Corellia and several other planets but they were always in their tight knit groups or alone, and they always seemed both mysterious and intimigating. They were like a formidable gang that Envir instinctively steered clear of in cities.

Past stories aside, at the moment he was fascinated, "Thank the Light," he muttered under his breath as the Nautolan dropped on the floor at the impact of the Mandalorians helmet.

A few moments later the young Corellian looked over at the woman who had spoken, "A very distorted version of ones heart anyways," he said naively, not realizing the quotes connection to the woman's cultural origins.

@The Mad Hammer @Die Shize

 

[Xim Zhan]

As he stalked back toward his seat, Xim could feel the eyes on him. Psychologically it felt lime little pinpricks against his already pulsing headSeveral patrons simply ignored the frackas, just another night at the bar as it were; a smaller number shot wayward or approving glances his way, and even a smaller number stared. Of course, it did not hurt that the minute his helmet clicked into place the HUD began whirring to life, taking note of this and that amongst the patrons. As he passed the bar , the eyes of one such being caught his eye.

Stopping Xim turned to face @Envir Vadul just as the man averted his gaze to the woman beside him. The black clad Mandalorian paused for a lengthy second. Truth be told, he was not sure what to say beyond how it was impolite to stare; but the problem had resolved itself and the man looked like he was trying to start up a conversation with the female beside him. Heaven forbid he break up another budding romance tonight.

Spinning on his heels, the man went back to his seat.

Seated, he made it a point to keep an eye on the wide-eyed young man. If he did not know any better, the kid almost looked Corellian; and those sort always had a way of attracting trouble. It had to be some sort of birth right as much as upbringing. He ought to know, he had been born a Corellian even if he had been brought up in the world of the Mandalorian way.

@Die Shize
@deplorable

 

[Sigurn Faldur]

The words had caught her a little off guard to the point she had to blink twice before realizing the man beside Sigurn was speaking to her. She had admittedly been thinking out loud, a musing voice, but the man’s comment was prompt and on point.

“Yeah. I’ll drink to that.” She toasted alone to distortion if he didn’t join in. “An open heart of blood, sweat or tears. Like two idiots in a bar fight, or lovers in bed, or leaning on your best friend’s shoulder or, heck, all three and then some.” She wouldn’t put it past that probably drunken Quarren and Nautolan to be hugging in the street while these two patrons speak.

“What’s your poison?” If the man even had a glass, the woman didn’t glance at it, just asked, gazing ahead. “Didn’t have any mead so I’m sipping whiskey. What do you think his is?” She nodded at that Mandalorian.

This was, ultimately, small talk for a woman who didn’t generally bother with it unless the occasion called for it, even in a bar. In tonight's establishment amid the entertainment, well, it kind of catered to aimless conversation.

@deplorable @The Mad Hammer