The End Narrator
Narrator
Fondine Blob Raceways, Umgul City
Umgul wasn’t exactly his ideal location for a stop – but any place seemed better than that armpit, Nar Shaddaa. Greyson sighed and swished around his glass of Corellian ale, staring into it as if he hoped some prophecy was going to be foretold from the fluid. A plate of bantha steak and vegetables sat to his left, a bit of steam rising up from the meat that had been barely touched. He had no desire to eat, atleast not right now. For the most part – Greyson’s search for answers to his past had yielded no answers. Nothing in the archives from the Alliance, nothing from the Omega Protectorate – absolutely shit. It was downright depressing to think that he might have a family of some kind out there but he had no knowledge of who they were.
So it wasn’t that depressing but it still held a bit of a sour note.
He would like to atleast know if he had a last name instead of being just called Greyson or Grey or whatever nickname that [member="Loske Matson"] decided to conjure up at the moment. He chuckled a bit, bringing the glass up and taking a sip. The bitter liquid was refreshing to say the least. He found Corellian ale to be a bit sour at times, with a bit of a bitter after taste that was on the crisp side. One of the better tasting liquors – and he would know, he had some shitty liquor in his time. Well, he wasn’t that old.
The roaring of the crowd caught his attention for a moment, causing him to look up at the several holo displays. Apparently blob racing was just as interesting to these people as pod racing was on other planets. The patrons were either clinging to their tickets as if their lives depended on it, crying from whatever they called eyes or fighting amongst each other over wins or loses. It was a typical for this type of establishment.
A very low class establishment indeed, perfect place to blend in and just relax in a Galaxy at war.
[member="Maleah Talith"]
