will you sink down to me?
ALIAS - RISHA UPASI
Location: Coruscant > Uscru District > Outlander Club
Form: Humanoid
The life of a rambling woman was breakless.
And even still, Damsy tried to track them down. Ironically, her ceaseless search was why she always seemed to run into trouble. Gamblers, glitterati, and gunslingers had the exact same idea what constituted R&R as she did. She, though, couldn’t seem to do two invaluable things they could: keep her head down and mind her own damn business. The moment she overheard the first hint of trouble, she bestowed upon herself a self-righteous mission to straighten it out. One that, after completion, she would need another break from.
Rinse and repeat.
A vicious cycle of sorts, but one the Dauntless major didn’t in the slightest mind. Suffice to say, transition to civilian life was not panning out for her. Talay’s defense was supposed to be her swan song, AWOL her recuperation, but evidently neither had worked out just so.
Transport-hopping had crossed the sithspawn into Galactic Alliance territory, though she hadn’t realized until being deposited on its capital planet. She reasoned that the less she herself knew about the places she drifted, the less likely CDF was to track her down amidst them. Almost immediately, she sought out a bar or game house. If the two were one in the same, which they were at Outlander Club, all the better. Drinking, that was a necessity, but betting was purely practical. Her rationale? Her pay grade funds were in need of cushioning.
She began to push through the dense, club going crowd with her shoulders and one hand, floating the other down to her side. She was never more conscious of her sidearm as when she was around so many beings. Old urban warfare habits died hard, as they should. Now, her shiny dartgun sat on her upper thigh, happily concealed by the general drape of her trench coat.
“Hey.” A voice stood out against the club ambience, but Damsy chose to ignore it. That was until it spoke out again, closer still this time. A hand extended onto her shoulder accompanied a question: “How much, sweetheart?”
Turning, Damsy knit her brown at the humanoid addressing her. She glanced quickly around and glimpsed the back of a fancily- but scantily-clad woman. Oh. A companion. The adjunct-major’s own outfit was relatively more modest, but the wrong impression was evidently being given by it still. She looked back shortly to her interrupter and shook her head before turning on her heel and continuing on her previous trajectory. “I’m just here ta bleed creds, ‘right, buddy?” she redirected, hoping she was speaking to no one. Ideally, she would reap them instead, but she’d say anything now to divert this unwanted attention.
But of course she wouldn’t; he followed behind her. “Cool, that’s cool,” he commented, prompting Damsy to roll her ocean eyes. “I can buy you in.”
The crowd gave way to a crescent-shaped sabacc table. Three players conversed with others gathered as the Kiughfid card-dealer readied the table for a new round. Damsy rose her betting chit at him, signaling she wanted to be dealt in. He nodded.
Coming to lean on the table’s lip, Damsy blindly flashed the chit at the man now at her side. “What’s this look like to you?” she asked rhetorically before dropping it before her on the board. “Scram or stake.” She hoped he didn’t stay for either game – her or sabaac. She wasn’t about to lose either, but she sure didn’t have a desire to play with him.
And even still, Damsy tried to track them down. Ironically, her ceaseless search was why she always seemed to run into trouble. Gamblers, glitterati, and gunslingers had the exact same idea what constituted R&R as she did. She, though, couldn’t seem to do two invaluable things they could: keep her head down and mind her own damn business. The moment she overheard the first hint of trouble, she bestowed upon herself a self-righteous mission to straighten it out. One that, after completion, she would need another break from.
Rinse and repeat.
A vicious cycle of sorts, but one the Dauntless major didn’t in the slightest mind. Suffice to say, transition to civilian life was not panning out for her. Talay’s defense was supposed to be her swan song, AWOL her recuperation, but evidently neither had worked out just so.
Transport-hopping had crossed the sithspawn into Galactic Alliance territory, though she hadn’t realized until being deposited on its capital planet. She reasoned that the less she herself knew about the places she drifted, the less likely CDF was to track her down amidst them. Almost immediately, she sought out a bar or game house. If the two were one in the same, which they were at Outlander Club, all the better. Drinking, that was a necessity, but betting was purely practical. Her rationale? Her pay grade funds were in need of cushioning.
She began to push through the dense, club going crowd with her shoulders and one hand, floating the other down to her side. She was never more conscious of her sidearm as when she was around so many beings. Old urban warfare habits died hard, as they should. Now, her shiny dartgun sat on her upper thigh, happily concealed by the general drape of her trench coat.
“Hey.” A voice stood out against the club ambience, but Damsy chose to ignore it. That was until it spoke out again, closer still this time. A hand extended onto her shoulder accompanied a question: “How much, sweetheart?”
Turning, Damsy knit her brown at the humanoid addressing her. She glanced quickly around and glimpsed the back of a fancily- but scantily-clad woman. Oh. A companion. The adjunct-major’s own outfit was relatively more modest, but the wrong impression was evidently being given by it still. She looked back shortly to her interrupter and shook her head before turning on her heel and continuing on her previous trajectory. “I’m just here ta bleed creds, ‘right, buddy?” she redirected, hoping she was speaking to no one. Ideally, she would reap them instead, but she’d say anything now to divert this unwanted attention.
But of course she wouldn’t; he followed behind her. “Cool, that’s cool,” he commented, prompting Damsy to roll her ocean eyes. “I can buy you in.”
The crowd gave way to a crescent-shaped sabacc table. Three players conversed with others gathered as the Kiughfid card-dealer readied the table for a new round. Damsy rose her betting chit at him, signaling she wanted to be dealt in. He nodded.
Coming to lean on the table’s lip, Damsy blindly flashed the chit at the man now at her side. “What’s this look like to you?” she asked rhetorically before dropping it before her on the board. “Scram or stake.” She hoped he didn’t stay for either game – her or sabaac. She wasn’t about to lose either, but she sure didn’t have a desire to play with him.