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Character
No weapons, no murder, just angry stares
-- and people usually hold them whenever they want something done, but they want to look polite about it." Cedric informed the drunken Nikto that had decided to become his best friend for the evening.
"So that's where I am?" The Nikto asked through hooded eyes. Cedric snickered. "It is indeed. A benefit hosted for the slaves that the Republic has freed in its campaigns against the hutts," Cedric brought his glass of wine up to his lips. "I used to hate them when I was a boy. My parents would dress me and my sisters up to parade us about in front of their guests. I know it was just because they were proud, but -"
Whatever Cedric had intended to say further was drowned out by the Nikto's gargling. He then proceeded to roll off of the bar, collapse to the floor, and drool all over the carpet. Such was the charm of the local wealthy men.
I suppose when the entire economy has run on spice for the past hundred years you can't expect the upper class to have much class themselves.
Music carried over the sound of the Nikto being removed by security. Cedric decided that was probably for the best.
The night was still young, and wealthy guests were rolling into the Graywall in droves. Security was on high alert, of course, as no guests had been permitted to carry weapons into the compound. Each guest was screened accordingly, though the doors remained open to just about anyone with a few credits to donate to the benefit, obviously excluding the usual Sith Lord and Imperial Moff that thought walking into an open party counted as infiltration.
The knight could only shake his head as the alien was escorted out. He took a moment to adjust his sleek black suit, turned toward the live band playing jazz in the corner of the room, and closed his eyes. For a moment he found peace, though he suspected that peace was going to be interrupted shortly.