Torn Eskol
Knife in the Dark


AGENT ESKOL
Inga's Diner, Level 680
Coruscant
Alliance-controlled Space.
Coruscant
Alliance-controlled Space.
The caf sucked.
The food was okay.
The waitresses were pretty bad.
But it was cheap, it was quiet, it was busy, and nobody cared here. That's what made it so nice for Torn. Torn took a deep breath, looking out the window. He managed to get a booth before it became batshit busy, an Alliance hauler carrying people to and from Tython, a traveling troupe taking seats, and the changeover shifts of the laborers that kept Coruscant spinning. He took a sip of his caf, when the waiter came by.
"Sir, if you don't mind- we'll take ten percent off your bill if you seat another customer with you, or we might have to ask you to leave as soon as you're done." Torn took a deep breath, raising both of his eyebrows.
"Ah what the hell. Let 'em sit down, make me look like less of a weirdo." He said, glancing to the waitress as she giggled, returning to the front of the diner to lead his compatriot to the seat across from him. Torn was good at a lot of things, and life had been moving fast for him. From the mission to the foundation, to the Dark Empire falling- he was a busy man, the SIA keeping him more than occupied. Kill here, capture this, bug this person, blackmail her, shoot him, push her out the window (make it look like a suicide), the list went on and on.
Maybe it'd be nice to share a so-so meal in a so-so place with a stranger. That, and under the table, he had a suppressed pistol in his jacket, crumbled up next to him.
Just incasies.