Bilbousa Back-Room Brega

[Galdaart]

The 'Ugly Duckling' (if Sate was in fact translating it correctly -- his grasp of Huttese was shoddy at best) was loud, dirty and filled with the type of folks who would stab you as soon as fill your mug with ale. Which was a good thing, because the beer was awful.

Still, it passed for a cantina, and Sate was supposed to be meeting a fence here in the wee hours to discuss payment terms for a recently completed job. He had stumbled into a Brega tournament (best described as full-contact Jenga) and was, surprisingly, holding his own. (he credited his profession, and a high tolerance to the local Whiskey.)

Every so often, wiping a bloody lip or a damp brow, he cast a glance around the bar to see if the Fence had arrived. No sign of him yet...

Another round, Feldan? he asked the Iridonian opposite him, the stack of oddly-shaped bricks tottering.

[member="Ayvari Dorian"] [member="Cemas D'baen"]

 

[Lief]

She stomped the dirt from her boots the moment she stepped into the establishment; Nal Hutta wasn't known for having the cleanest streets - if one could call the dirt tracks streets - but when the rain came in they were made particularly muddy. Lifting her gaze up from the ground, Ayvari did a very expert visual sweep of the room, in search of any hostiles or prying eyes, before making her way over to the bar. She had always been taught to respect her appearance, so first things first she would need to get the rest of the muck from her soles.

"May I purchase a pitcher of water and a disposable rag, please?"

Her accent marked her immediately as an outsider, soft spoken despite the rasp of the Ubese people with a slight Imperial twang that spoke of the Tingel Arm. Her diction was impeccable. Despite this, and despite the desire to clean up as quickly as possible, Ayvari still held the tell tale signs of combat; Her face was grimy and sweat streaked by the back of a hand, her left sleeve was slightly torn revealing a trickle of blood beneath, and there was a rather shiny bruise on her left cheekbone. All things she would tend to as quickly as she could.

Sweeping aside her jacket to reach for some credit chips, Ayva carefully brushed the side of her hand against her Father's old blaster to make sure it was still upon her belt before handing over some money for the supplies and effort of the staff who were quick to serve her odd request.

Then she unceremoniously plopped herself down into a seat on the far side of the Cantina, watching the strange game that some of the patrons were playing with mild interest. She slipped her feet out of her boots and began to scrub them down, she could tend to her wounds soon enough.

[member="Sate Sorenn"]