Catching the Moon

[Talon Vosra]

There was nothing so undesirable as loose ends, and his ends were looser than most. He hadn't been a part of this galaxy for years, lost and forgotten he had wended the ways of the black alone. But there had always been something that nagged at him, tugged him to come back. So, he had returned, to tie up loose ends and follow a path he'd started some twenty years ago.

He stepped from the old passenger transport, bare feet light on the cold durasteel deckplates, his simple travel clothes were threadbare but still covered him modestly. The patches were new, but they fabric they were meant to fix was growing less and less every year. His bright green eyes squinted a fraction for a moment. He could feel something, someone, but faint, like the memory of remembrance.

She was here. The woman long over due to be set on a better path. He regretted not helping sooner but you can't force a wind to change or the moon to rise and fall.

He hefted an old leatheris bag over his shoulder and decided to just follow his feet. They usually knew where to go, even if they took a while to get there.


[member="Luna Vega"]

 

[Luna Vega]

"Aye...na'swar et..." Luna squeaked, eyeing the gentlemen. Stormy grays were weary, glinting a little of confusion. "I dinna use'ahh nay majik..."

The chits, holding various amounts and displaying various colors, along with jewelry, speeder slips, and ship slips were drawn into a hearty heap just in front of the pirate. It was closer to her and thin, inked arms were strewn in a circle of sorts, not quite surrounding it. Her hands made half-moons near the prize, fingertips tinkering with some of the rings.

Their cards were all revealed, set just so on the table in relationship to the players. It was quite clear the Vega had a full Sabacc and nearly just as clear that the lass had been about the bottle, too. Other things were apparent too: she was diminutive in appearance to the rest of the gamblers and as neon as the mop of beryl tresses braided back on her scalp, out numbered by a fair few sore losers.

A bare set of lips ticked at the corner like a sort of spasm, a little irritated and a lot scared. "Luuk, I doona nae whacha talk'n bou. Ya shoo'da nae beah gamblin' wit'ye ownlay riide. I wun far'n'squar, werrrmoooh," the non-native drawled in her thicker-than-normal accent, nose'a'wrinklin'. Luna wasn't moving her hands though, even though her fingers itched and felt tingly and she shrugged in the warn leather vest, albeit attempting to shake the feeling.

The blades and single pistol on her person were concealed and otherwise useless in the moment. Besides, Luna Vega wouldn't make the first move. Metallic pools narrowed a fraction at movement, however small, at the end of a table. Her pierced ears perked at a click.

Bloody 'ell.

[member="Talon Vosra"]​