Beneath The Mask

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uq7kyf1T_lk&t=205s​

The cold night air caressed Sylvanan's pale features as he made his way toward the bar. The streets were relatively empty, though hints of the city's night life could be seen in alleyways and under awnings. The Echani paid them little mind; his thoughts lingered on the drinks that awaited him.

The bar itself was a hole in the wall called Borgan's. Sylvanan didn't know why it had that name - there was no one named Borgan that worked the bar - but he'd made it his port of call nonetheless. There wasn't much else for him to do in the evenings these days.

Calloused fingers ran through his mop of white hair as he settled on a bar stool. The Devaronian working the bar gave him a short nod and a smile; Sylvanan met the gesture with a wave.

"Balmoraan Bluesky."

"Again? You don't want to change it up?"

"Not tonight," Sylvanan offered the alien his best smile. The Devaronian offered no further protest, and only a few moments passed before a glass filled ot the brim with bright blue liquid was fizzing in Sylvanan's hands.

Crynic was done. The hospitals and research facilities had been raided by the Sith during their assault. Assets worth millions of credits were liquidated overnight; regaining control after that disaster had almost proven to be impossible. The company had survived by the skin of its teeth, but rebuilding it from the ashes was not Sylvanan's current priority.


His brow furrowed as his thoughts drifted to the parade that had been held in the capital city. A brief moment of anger burned in his belly as he recounted the way the Sith had spoken down to Ession's people. They had sought to crush Ession's spirit, and for many, they had succeeded.

Not for me.

 

[Saine Kela]

The stranger entered through the back entrance, as if she had the knowledge and the privilege to so, judging by the lack of muscle intended to stop unwanted guests. She came on foot, leaving no trace of a vehicle behind. It was late evening and the street was beginning to empty. The air was thick with humidity but the visitor had a black coat thrown over her shoulders.

Before entering Borgan's, she stood still for a moment, listening from the hubbub of voices from within. As usual, at this hour, the bar was full of people. Enjoying a better reputation than most business establishments in this sector, the woman seemed to be considering something before slipping inside. The tender raised his head above the cracked, well-worn counter as he rose to his full height and measured the new arrival with his gaze. The outsider, still in her coat, stood stiffly in front of him, motionless and silent.

"What will it be?"

" Spice beer," said the stranger. Her voice was low and husky.

The barkeep wiped his hands on his canvas apron and filled a slightly banged-up pewter tankard.

Pulling back her hood, the newcomer revealed a tumbling mass of lustrous chestnut hair. Beneath her coat she wore a black leather ensemble of a fitted vest and matching trousers tucked into Styke combat boots.

As she took off her coat those around her noticed that she carried a vibrosword - not something unusual in itself as nearly every man she had come across this hellhole of a planet seemed to bear a weapon - but no one carried a vibroweapon strapped to her back as if it were a bow or a quiver.

The woman did not choose to sit at a table or booth, like the other guests had. She remained at the counter, slipping onto a swivel stool nearest to a pale, scruffy-looking patron . . . piercing the bartender with a seemingly casual gaze as she drew from the tankard.


[member="Sylvanan Glass"]

 

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He had imagined a silence falling over him, though the bar was anything if not vibrating with noise. He'd simply mastered the art of tuning all that noise out; a gift from his Echani heritage he suspected. For a few perfect moments, Sylvanan had found peace. Unfortunately that peace was shattered when a woman chose to sit down beside him.

He was not sure why she drew him out of his meditations. Perhaps it was her perfume, or maybe it was simply her close presence. Either way, Sylvanan found his eyes opening and his head turning toward the girl.

She was a pretty thing, but then most of the girls here were. What intrigued Sylvanan was the sword strapped across her back. It was not abnormal to carry such a thing, but slinging it across the back seemed a bit detrimental. His brow furrowed as he eyed the weapon.

"Why bring a sword into a bar?" He asked with a raised brow. Pale eyes peered at the woman as he appraised her. She seemed to be about his age, and even while she was armed he felt little threat from her.

His glass clinked as it was brought up to his lips. "Some sort of religious practice?"

[member="Saine Kela"]

 

[Saine Kela]

"The better question would be - why wouldn't you?" The outsider's melodic voice wafted quietly, as if to make sure her words were not misinterpreted as belligerent. Her reply was meant to be thought-provoking or, at the very least, lead to a simple but logical conclusion.

It was a sanguine and yet unfortunate assumption, on Saine's part.

She was about to address the Albino's other inquiry when a pockmarked beanpole of a man who, from the moment the stranger had entered had not taken his gloomy eyes from her, got up and approached the counter. Two of his companions rose behind him, no more than two paces away.

"This is no place for your kind, vagabond," rasped the pockmarked man standing right next to the outsider. "Your kind is not welcome here. This is a decent bar!"

The woman took her tankard and moved away. She glanced at the barkeep, who avoided her eyes. It did not even occur to him to defend the stranger. After all, who liked outsiders?

"You've a look of a thief about you," the pockmarked man went on, his breath smelling of garlic, ale and anger. "Do you hear me, little tramp?"

"She can't hear you. Her ears are full of shit," said one of the men with him and the second man cackled.

"Pay and leave!" yelled the pocked man.

Only now did the woman look at him.

"I will finish my drink."

“We’ll give you a hand,” the pockmarked man hissed. He knocked the tankard from the stranger’s hand and simultaneously grabbing her by the shoulder, dug his fingers into the leather strap which ran diagonally across the outsider’s chest.

One of the men behind her raised a fist to strike. The outsider curled up on the spot, throwing the pockmarked man off balance. The vibrosword hissed in its sheath and glistened briefly in the dim light. The place seethed. There was a scream, and one of the few remaining customers tumbled toward the exit. A chair fell with a crash and tableware smacked with a vibrant clang against the floor. The barkeep, his lips trembling, looked at the horribly slashed face of the pocked man, who, clinging with his fingers to the edge of the counter, was slowly sinking from sight. The other two were lying on the floor, one motionless, the other writhing and convulsing in a dark, spreading puddle. Someone’s hysterical wail vibrated in the air, piercing the ears as the bartender shuddered, caught his breath, and vomited.

The stranger retreated toward the wall, tense and alert. She held her weapon in both hands, sweeping the blade through the air. No one moved. Terror, like cold sludge, was evident in their faces, paralyzing limbs and blocking throats.


[member="Sylvanan Glass"]

 

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People that carried around swords in the age of the sidearm were insane.

"Because I've got this," he motioned to the rather large hand cannon that hung openly from his hip. The weapon was big enough to serve as a carbine, yet it was clearly a pistol of sorts. Sylvanan regarded it with something of a paternal pride as he presented the weapon to the woman.

Then came the thugs and the chaos they wrought. Sylvanan watched in silence as they harrassed the woman; he could only guess that she had crossed them at one point or another in the past. With a furrowed brow, the Echani leaned back in his chair and flipped the safety on his weapon. The S-5 made a low thrumming noise as it came to life in Sylvanan's hands.

"Friends of yours?" He asked as the man reached for her. The S-5 cleared the holster in a fraction of a second, and the bulky weapon's weighted barrel was pointed square at the chest of one of the hooligans shortly thereafter. The Echani cracked a thin smile.

"I still think it's a bit much," he gave Saine's sword a quick nod. "But I suppose it works."

The weapon was lowered as silence fell over the cantina. Sylvanan cast the bartender an apologetic smile. "I take it you'll forget this so long as I don't report you for letting it happen?" A brow was lofted toward the bartender. The man grumbled and nodded as he moved to clean up the vomit.

Sylvanan turned toward Saine. "Who were they?"

[member="Saine Kela"]

 

[Saine Kela]

A vibroblade were often no match for the speed of a kill bolt or a stun coil, and yet it would always remain the more elegant weapon of a more civilized age - not unlike a lightsaber, or the weapon of a Jedi.

Still, when the chaos of an ambush ensued, Saine barely had the time to flash the Albino stranger a grim smile before her limbs grew busy in tandem with her vibrosword.

Nimble footwork, textbook thrusts, parries, slashes - all of it combined into a flawless array of strength and agility. When Sylvanan's hand cannon came to life, the encounter was pretty much over, much to Saine's dismay. This little scuffle was her affair; now that there was another involved, there would be aggravating questions.

And there was the first inquiry - thankfully the bartender and the remaining clients were well out of earshot. Rather than ignoring Sylvanan altogether, Saine decided to answer, hoping it was enough to sate his curiosity.

"Never mind that now," she brushed him off brusquely, sheathing her blade. "In my line of work, you make enemies; it is the natural way of things. Thanks for the help - not that it was needed, but it was nonetheless, effective. I'd offer to buy you a drink but given where we are I doubt you are thirsty."


[member="Sylvanan Glass"]