It was once, as far as watering holes went, a decent little place.
Which was a blatant lie that Neeka liked to tell herself to make herself feel better as she stepped through the open threshold once more to One Fell Swoop. It was just the sort of wreck that made a person feel deceptively safe with its frequent patches of darkness that one could hide in, yet more often than not these patches were already occupied by scowling faces, sinewy arms, and hair-trigger blasters. The drinks were definitely watered down. The food she hadn't even dared to come close to. Holograms of simulated Twi'lek dancers gyrated on endless loops at both ends of the dingy cantina. Really- It was a hovel, without a doubt.
Yet the Swoop had been uniquely useful to the young urchin-turned-Mandalorian while growing up on Nar Shaddaa, for it was a favorite of the local swoop bikers and was rather close to her father’s home. For her, it had been the place to be in order to hear the wild tales of drunk spacers or challenge someone to a spontaneous race. For her, it had been more home than home. Neeka passed a few custom rides as she saddled her way in, rolling her eyes again like so often before at the extravagance that they displayed as though they were creatures trying to attract mates. Too many prioritize look over efficiency, she thought. Probably was the only reason why I won anything in the first place.
She gave a brief nod to the man himself as she sat down upon a dirty stool and the gruff, bearded bartender gave one in return with a lingering stare. Mandalorians were still a notable sight upon the moon and Neeka Wren was keenly aware of how many eyes had been on her since her arrival. The man was pouring something stiff for a pair of scarred Trandoshans that looked real dangerous and temperamental and she sat far away from those two.
”Urrqal.” Her voice was a tight roll of very slight comm-muffling through the mask and sounded odd to her own ears in the familiar setting. Still…it would be better to keep it on. Even when the drink eventually ended up before her she only lifted the helm enough to sip it.
Who knew what enemies she still had upon the Smuggler’s Moon, after all?
Which was a blatant lie that Neeka liked to tell herself to make herself feel better as she stepped through the open threshold once more to One Fell Swoop. It was just the sort of wreck that made a person feel deceptively safe with its frequent patches of darkness that one could hide in, yet more often than not these patches were already occupied by scowling faces, sinewy arms, and hair-trigger blasters. The drinks were definitely watered down. The food she hadn't even dared to come close to. Holograms of simulated Twi'lek dancers gyrated on endless loops at both ends of the dingy cantina. Really- It was a hovel, without a doubt.
Yet the Swoop had been uniquely useful to the young urchin-turned-Mandalorian while growing up on Nar Shaddaa, for it was a favorite of the local swoop bikers and was rather close to her father’s home. For her, it had been the place to be in order to hear the wild tales of drunk spacers or challenge someone to a spontaneous race. For her, it had been more home than home. Neeka passed a few custom rides as she saddled her way in, rolling her eyes again like so often before at the extravagance that they displayed as though they were creatures trying to attract mates. Too many prioritize look over efficiency, she thought. Probably was the only reason why I won anything in the first place.
She gave a brief nod to the man himself as she sat down upon a dirty stool and the gruff, bearded bartender gave one in return with a lingering stare. Mandalorians were still a notable sight upon the moon and Neeka Wren was keenly aware of how many eyes had been on her since her arrival. The man was pouring something stiff for a pair of scarred Trandoshans that looked real dangerous and temperamental and she sat far away from those two.
”Urrqal.” Her voice was a tight roll of very slight comm-muffling through the mask and sounded odd to her own ears in the familiar setting. Still…it would be better to keep it on. Even when the drink eventually ended up before her she only lifted the helm enough to sip it.
Who knew what enemies she still had upon the Smuggler’s Moon, after all?
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