Felyn
Character
The grand opening was short, simple, and many weeks ago. By now, the name of the place had been circulated well enough and most folks stopped in for a drink or two fairly frequently. It wasn't as busy as it was when he'd first opened the bar up, but it was steady. All things considered, Felyn was fine with steady.
He finished topping off the glass in his hand with amber liquid and set it on the counter before another patron. Credits slid across the bar top and disappeared into Felyn's hands only to reappear as he moved to the register. Business was good, the alcohol flowed, and it was generally quiet. People who started trouble generally found themselves barred from the tavern, which was problematic as it was probably the only reputable place on the space station so far.
A server droid slid past as he rang up the beer he'd just served, the platter it held aloft carrying a number of mixed drinks and the typical bar fare finger foods. That was probably the only thing that regularly changed, he figured. Ironically enough, alcohol supplies were relatively simple to establish. It was food that was a bit more hit and miss. Last week it was sliced and candied fruit from Wayland as the house special. This week it was battered and fried fish imported from Manaan. Or, rather, he was pretty sure it was Manaan. Either way, it sold along with all the rest.
As he worked, the chronometer on his wrist chirruped twice before silencing itself. A frown creased his brow as he let his good eye rest on the reading a moment. It was almost the end of happy hour, which usually meant things slowed down a bit. At least, for him it did. The patrons fluctuated in number only slightly, it was the sales that changed. Late evenings and nights were mainly regulars with simple drink orders and those looking for a meal, both of which he could trust to the droids behind the counter. He left the more complicated fare for himself to tackle.
He reset the timer on his wrist and went back to work. With luck, the time would go by fast. He had work to do later on that he didn't want to put off any longer than needed.
He finished topping off the glass in his hand with amber liquid and set it on the counter before another patron. Credits slid across the bar top and disappeared into Felyn's hands only to reappear as he moved to the register. Business was good, the alcohol flowed, and it was generally quiet. People who started trouble generally found themselves barred from the tavern, which was problematic as it was probably the only reputable place on the space station so far.
A server droid slid past as he rang up the beer he'd just served, the platter it held aloft carrying a number of mixed drinks and the typical bar fare finger foods. That was probably the only thing that regularly changed, he figured. Ironically enough, alcohol supplies were relatively simple to establish. It was food that was a bit more hit and miss. Last week it was sliced and candied fruit from Wayland as the house special. This week it was battered and fried fish imported from Manaan. Or, rather, he was pretty sure it was Manaan. Either way, it sold along with all the rest.
As he worked, the chronometer on his wrist chirruped twice before silencing itself. A frown creased his brow as he let his good eye rest on the reading a moment. It was almost the end of happy hour, which usually meant things slowed down a bit. At least, for him it did. The patrons fluctuated in number only slightly, it was the sales that changed. Late evenings and nights were mainly regulars with simple drink orders and those looking for a meal, both of which he could trust to the droids behind the counter. He left the more complicated fare for himself to tackle.
He reset the timer on his wrist and went back to work. With luck, the time would go by fast. He had work to do later on that he didn't want to put off any longer than needed.