A simple man, he sat alone, if not lonely, with an empty stool on either side. Music drifted from overhead; strum and twang of guitar and drums on par. Viewscreen above. Some ball game, and he didn’t care about the teams, wasn’t invested as he sipped his drink. Red wine, as fine of Merlot as this spaceport cantina could boast on the planet of Alland.
He checked the time. Should be meeting me any minute. Drane T’keen, a Sith Champion, waited for the arrival of his companion. That man, while less in tune with his lightsaber, had been tuned to the movements of a politician wherein politics was more the Force-user’s side of business. The blade was Drane's.
And what treasure have you uncovered, Mr. Atelwick? Their target’s name, that politician, who was not present in this establishment, neither at port, but the pair of Sith would find him once they rendezvoused and moved forth.
“How is it?” The bartender asked the Thyrsian, glancing at his black leather jacket, golden lining, then into his eyes, pupils black as night, irises gold as sunlight. If dying. Bittersweet, easy-drinking tannin, fruity, with hints of blackberry and raspberry. “Delicious.”
He swiveled the red liquid in its glass as she grinned back, walking away to deal with another patron. That moment, a player in the game just had some rival crash into his face. “Down and out for the count,” Drane raised his glass to the viewscreen, as if to celebrate defeat as much as victory.
His ship, Darkstar, was in a hangar not far, and unless needed would remain there for the duration of this mission: Find the politician, get him to spill his secrets, and kill him if it was the name of the game. For now, Drane would wait, winding down time with his wine.
@LouJoVi
He checked the time. Should be meeting me any minute. Drane T’keen, a Sith Champion, waited for the arrival of his companion. That man, while less in tune with his lightsaber, had been tuned to the movements of a politician wherein politics was more the Force-user’s side of business. The blade was Drane's.
And what treasure have you uncovered, Mr. Atelwick? Their target’s name, that politician, who was not present in this establishment, neither at port, but the pair of Sith would find him once they rendezvoused and moved forth.
“How is it?” The bartender asked the Thyrsian, glancing at his black leather jacket, golden lining, then into his eyes, pupils black as night, irises gold as sunlight. If dying. Bittersweet, easy-drinking tannin, fruity, with hints of blackberry and raspberry. “Delicious.”
He swiveled the red liquid in its glass as she grinned back, walking away to deal with another patron. That moment, a player in the game just had some rival crash into his face. “Down and out for the count,” Drane raised his glass to the viewscreen, as if to celebrate defeat as much as victory.
His ship, Darkstar, was in a hangar not far, and unless needed would remain there for the duration of this mission: Find the politician, get him to spill his secrets, and kill him if it was the name of the game. For now, Drane would wait, winding down time with his wine.
@LouJoVi