"Why does the galaxy have so many sandy hellholes?" Rann said quietly to himself, swiping the sand from his tailored outfit as he entered the local drinking spot of Whistler's Landing. In heat like this, he lamented that most of his wardrobe consisted of black, black, and yet suprisingly more black clothing, with the scant golden trim doing very little to dissuade the heat from focusing on him like a magnifying glass. The dingy freighter was a welcome change to the unforgiving outside world, and the Sun wasn't even out.
Worlds like this made him miss the climate of Onderon, of Home. Sure it wasn't paradise but the
heat here was so...different. A tinge of sadness entered his heart, thinking about where he was, where he'd come from, who he'd lost and who'd lost him in turn. How long had it been since he'd seen anyone he actually
knew? The Confederacy was LONG gone by this point. His father? Who knew. His siblings? Well he only ever cared about one, and he hadn't seen
Damsy Callat
in...who knows how long. Yet here he was. Close to old CIS space, closer than he'd ever like to be.
All these thoughts, and countless others, seemingly overrode Rann's nervous system, guiding him to the bar and nearest open spot next to a man drinking a tall glass of...something.
"Bartender, I'll take one of whatever he's having, open a tab." Rann said as he shuffled up to the bar, reaching into his robe and pulling out a credit chit. One that...probably wouldn't have too much spending power these days. The bartender walked up with a glass filled with the same liquid the stranger was drinking, and looked down at the chit with an eyebrow raised, before he laid his hand on top of it and pulled it towards him off the bar. "Sure, fella." the bartender said, looking down at the card again before tossing it down behind the bar somewhere Rann couldn't see. Not that Rann cared, but he did care a little bit that the bartender kept shooting him slight glances. Rann got the impression this place typically didn't
do tabs. Places like this liked to get their money up front, and probably something a little more....real. And the fact Rann looked like he walked straight outta Designer Robes Monthly with his expensive outfits, he was sure he stuck out like a sore thumb and gave off city boy vibes. Again, not that Rann cared. A literal wave of his hand later and this same bartender'd be walking Rann out with a smile on his face, a free bottle of whatever's on the top shelf, and a few credits to boot.
But for now, Rann glanced at the bartender then back down at his drink.
"Local flavor?" he asked seemingly to no one in particular, and Genesis, his wrist mounted Virtual Intelligence companion, beeped up with his 8-bit smiley face blinking on.
"Agave beer?" he asked,
"Well alright. It's not Chandrilan Blue, but what is?" He asked again, taking a quick swig. It was lighter than he expected. Worlds like this he expected some back room swill that could kill a Rancor. But this was...comparatively pleasant. Not the
best tasting beer, but far from the worst. He placed his drink back down and looked to the man who'd inspired his choice and studied him.
"Someone orders something like this, in a place like this, you're not a local. Can't be." He turned his back to the bar and gazed around at the cantina surrounding him. Rowdy locals celebrating a hard days work, dusty dirty and grimy.
"So I'm curious. I didn't mean to be here, but you clearly did. That's curious." He wondered to himself if the man was law enforcement of some nature. To be here, in a bar, after working hours on a dirtball like this and
not getting blasted?
He should have been a bit cautious, but all he felt was curious.
"What is it, school night or something?" He asked, turning back and taking another drink of his drink.
Elias Edo
Rann Thress
