Private An Awful Night

[Amelia Zin]

Equipment: PL-18 Standard Issue Blaster ("Freedom")


Coruscant was so gross.

Why did she have to be here, of all places, for her shore leave, the one time she got to actually unwind for once?

Amelia already knew the answer of course, and she wasn't just about to tell her Coruscanti crewfolk 'no' to the prospect of finally going home after so long adrift. But Coruscant made her skin crawl. She never liked the place, never had any intention to spend any extended time here. No friends here, no nothin'.

But here she was, stuck here for shore leave.

Nice one.

To top it off, this bar sucked. The patrons all smelled like stale smoke and vinegar, the lighting was too low and made her Hapan eyes struggle to focus on what she was doing, and worst of all, the jukebox was playing her all-time most hated music ever. But at least the place was quiet, the drinks themselves were fine and — best of all — cheap.

So she persisted. Knee-high boots impatiently tapped against the stool's support as she sat hunched over the bar alone, nurturing a third or fourth brandy, savouring that warmth that started to bubble against the edges of her senses. It was the only thing she could do to quell the thoughts that attempted to invade her restless state. Funny that; come to the loudest place in the galaxy, and feel the coldest silence creep in and threaten to undo you.

Sighing as dramatically as possible, she whipped her thick, auburn locks behind her, running course fingers through equally coarse hair.

I really need a nice, long bath already...

As if inspiration had struck, she suddenly slammed back the brandy in a single gulp and knocked the glass base against the bar.

"'nother, bud."

What a terrible night.

Allyson Locke​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Coruscant //:
//: Attire //:

Coruscant was a place the Corellian rarely found herself these days. Once she'd reported here, her life centered around this bustling world—a life that now felt like a distant fairytale. Back then, she'd had friends who genuinely cared about her. Even so, as she crossed through the heart of the district dominated by the towering Jedi Temple, memories of public ridicule resurfaced. The Alliance wasn't forgiving, but this current iteration wasn't her Alliance.

Perhaps that had been her mistake: assuming today's Alliance mirrored the one she'd once known.

It was a strange feeling, having lived as long as she had, seeing so much of the galaxy, and yet still looking scarcely older than twenty-something. People she'd kept close, people like Kat, were now visibly surpassing her in age. She envied them, watching everyone grow older and fully embrace lives made richer by their short time. Exhaling softly, the Corellian pressed those darker thoughts away, letting them vanish into the practiced depths of her compartmentalization.

Dwelling wouldn't change anything; it only brought unnecessary pain.

Still, at least there was one thing she could control right now: her sobriety. Grinning faintly, she noticed that an old bar she and her Alliance friends frequented had somehow survived the passage of time. On impulse, she turned sharply, ducking into the familiar dive. She inhaled deeply as the musky aroma flooded her senses as she entered. That scent alone transported her back to the rogue squadron days, simpler times filled with laughter and the thrilling uncertainty of whether they'd return.

She tightened the worn leather jacket around herself, the faded rogue squadron emblem etched faintly into the aged hide. Approaching the bar, Allyson offered the bartender an easy smile and quickly ordered. Corellian whiskey is a costly classic that existed long before Corellia shattered.

Turning her head, she caught sight of the attractive redhead Amelia Zin nearby, and a pang twisted her stomach. It brought memories of Taiia flooding back. Mainly how messy things had gotten from start to finish. And yet…

"You look like you need more than just one drink," Allyson teased gently, laughter in her voice. "Rough night?"

 

[Amelia Zin]

Amelia didn't look over right away. She let the words hang there whilst she tossed back the rest of her brandy in one smooth motion, barely flinching. The burn was familiar, comforting in its own way. She set the glass down with a quiet tap before finally turning her head, her gaze dragging toward the woman beside her, as she gave her a slow, deliberate once-over, not sizing her up for danger, just out of curiosity. She was rather pleasant. A smirk tugged at her lips, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Well you're a cute one," she said, her voice low and unfiltered. Her gaze drifted back to the bar, her fingers tapping idly against the counter.

"Yeah, you could say that. Didn't think I'd end up back on this miserable rock, that's for sure... Should've expected it, I guess." She exhaled, and for a second something weary crossed her face, gone as quickly as it came.

"Place like this makes me nostalgic for near-death experiences." The words, flanked by a breathy chuckle, carried the edge of sarcasm, but there was something deeper underneath it. She lifted a hand, signalling the bartender for another, then her brilliant emerald eyes cut back to the woman, sharper than before, more aware. Measuring.

"..You've got the look of someone who's either about to buy me a drink..." she said, voice curling into something sly. "...or talk me into trouble."

She paused. The fresh glass slid toward her, and the Hapan caught it without looking, lifting it halfway to her lips before glancing back once more.

"Either way," she said softly. "I'm listening."

Allyson Locke​