Just Another Day In The Life...

[Fidelis]

"Quite the offer there, sir."

Did he look that much like a scrub? Sure, Fidelis hadn't shaved in a few days and his hair was in need of a trim, but he liked to think that he looked a little more put together than much of the rabble at the station. Then this guy comes in out of nowhere, all big words and put downs, dressing him down like a newly-minted officer that hadn't seen ten minutes of combat. This little backwater station wasn't a place one got to willingly, but it also wasn't the kind of place you stumbled into by accident. Fidelis was far from a religious man - faith in any higher power than the Supreme Leader was quashed in the ranks of the First Order - but there was a reason for each and every person being here. The Duros bartender had debts he'd never repay. Fidelis and his pilot failed to refuel at a more reputable stop. So what poor circumstance had led this well-spoken, ill-tempered patron to this place?

"...but I'm going to venture a guess and say that if you've got half the money you pretend you do, you could hire some bounty hunter. If you're looking to a...what was it, beggar? If you're looking to me as an errand boy, it can't say good things about your decision-making skills.

"Besides," Fidelis said with no small amount of bitterness, "only a fool signs up for something without being paid and knowing the details."

[member="Zye Woden"]

 

[Zye Woden]

"...but I'm going to venture a guess and say that if you've got half the money you pretend you do, you could hire some bounty hunter. If you're looking to a...what was it, beggar? If you're looking to me as an errand boy, it can't say good things about your decision-making skills.

Zye's face twisted in what could best be described as wistful and longing. He looked down at his bottle with a painful look of longing. "Unfortunately the house Woden, after years of faithful service to the people of Thule, has been recently discarded for political purposes."

His family had lost all but everything. Their masses of wealth were gone, their estates were gone, and for their thousands of years of service, they had been tossed out like refuse instead of heroes. That didn't change the mission of House Woden. Zye had been taught to protect people from horrors they couldn't imagine, he couldn't stop that. It was his destiny.

"Besides, father always taught me to be careful to look out for the," his fingers gave quotes with the next words, "little people."

"Besides, only a fool signs up for something without being paid and knowing the details."

Zye's lips curled upwards. He may have been down on his luck, but clearly this one hadn't lost his wits along the way. He could make a valuable ally in the by and by. "I am a hunter, a Sithspawn slayer. Judging by the way the callouses are distributed on your hands you know how to handle a blaster. But judging by the cleanliness of your hands, you also have some measure of medical training. A Corpsman perhaps? A man with your skills is important on the hunting trail, if you want to do something with them."

[member="Fidelis"]​

 

[Fidelis]

"Something like that," Fidelis said with a cold stare and a small smirk.

The medic wasn't sure he liked this man at all. In point of fact, with every word he said, Fidelis weighed the options and found the notion of decking the man far more permissible than he otherwise would have. But the newcomer - Mr. Woden, if he liked - was right about one thing; Fidelis had training. What he might not have known was that such training was one of the few things keeping him from a broken nose. That and the ridiculous notion that this guy was some kind of Sithspawn slayer. Whatever a Sithspawn was. The name itself seemed to invoke a kind of dread just in the way it sounded, and to Mr. Woden's credit, it was perhaps the one word he'd uttered all evening that didn't have some air of pomp and circumstance to it.

"Let's say I was interested," Fidelis said, almost as a challenge, "what exactly am I getting out of being your bait?"

[member="Zye Woden"]

 

[Zye Woden]

The stranger was interested, that was good. But he was leery, and that was better. Zye wouldn't let him die on the field if he had a say in things. Accidents happened, sure. He remembered the day he and his cousin were taken out on a hunting trip on Thule for a certain Sithspawn that had been haunting a city. He walked home, what was left of his cousin was carried home by his father and uncle. He had learned a valuable lesson that day--even the Wodens were not immortal. Everyone would die eventually.

"Let's say I was interested, what exactly am I getting out of being your bait?"

"For starters, I will pay better than whatever piss your getting for your work now," Zye muttered, swirling the contents of his bottle approvingly. "It looks like even now you've barley got the funds you need to get even remotely buzzed. That, I'd say, is enough for a second glance in itself."

Zye took a drink from his bottle and let that point sink in before he moved on to the second. This fellow didn't like him, and he didn't have to. Ever since he lost his place on Thule, Zye quit caring what people thought about him. "Second, you would be actually able to make a difference in this pathetic galaxy. Unless your in love with the idea of still scraping mud and crap off the backsides of your betters. Someone has to do that."

Zye looked into his bottle and arched his brows in disappointment, "Lastly, if a sense of purpose for your miserable excuse of an existence isn't enough, I could give you a sense of adventure. You're clearly miserable, clearly in need of a life change, the real question," Zye turned to face the other man full on, "Is what you are willing to do about it."

[member="Fidelis"]​

 

[Fidelis]

Mr. Woden wasn't wrong. Not on any individual point, anyway.

Fidelis had to agree; he had been miserable. Two years of wandering had taken its toll on the soldier's mental health. The credit chips in his hand weren't enough to cover another drink, and they damn sure wouldn't cover the bottle that the ginger spitfire had made off with. And what was more, a sense of adventure sounded like exactly the kind of thing that would cure what ailed Fidelis right to his core. And Fidelis had never been unwilling to make a change in the galaxy. It was what he had trained for. What he had been born for, whether he had issues with the circumstances of said birth or not. And if Mr. Woden had the capability to provide him the chance to actually make another difference, then his offer was the most damned tempting one that the former Stormtrooper had been given in a long, long time.

"Here's the thing, friend," Fidelis said in a tone that indicated Mr. Woden was anything but, "I've done the kind of work you're asking for people that didn't give a damn about me before. Can't say I'm keen to do it again. Find someone else to scrape your backside."

Throwing his last two chips on the counter, the former Stormtrooper stood from his seat and made his way to the bar's door.

[member="Zye Woden"]

 

[The Girl In Green]

There was nothing better for two black eyes than a drink. Or two drinks, really-one for each eye. That was Irma's philosophy, and it was the philosophy that led her--for the third day in a row--to darken the door of the dingy little bar, ruck and rifle on her back, her face a glory of purple, yellow, and greenish bruises. Through the bruises, a clever observer would notice the faintest expression of distaste.

She'd prefer someplace cleaner, for one thing. The bartender wasn't exactly a shining beacon of friendly customer service, and she was pretty sure the only reason she hadn't caught some kind of disease was because of the sterilizing quality of liquor. But it's not like she had many options, without her ship and with two black eyes rendering her unemployable for at least another week. There wasn't much she could do until then but sit on her hindquarters and drink.

Ah, well. At least her winnings from that card game would last until then. And at least the bar was empty enough that a booth was still available. With a booth, she'd actually be able to sit without worrying somebody would run off with her stuff.

"Tiharr," she yelled lazily, leaning into the booth with a groan of pleasure that spoke of too many hours on one's feet with too much weight on one's back. "And leave the bottle."

Irma allowed herself a chuckle at the bartender's...rather colorful response. He'd bring the bottle anyway, even if she'd just pissed him off. He already knew her money was good.

 

[Zye Woden]

"Here's the thing, friend. I've done the kind of work you're asking for people that didn't give a damn about me before. Can't say I'm keen to do it again. Find someone else to scrape your backside."

Zye snorted. He doubted this, this-- trooper had ever been on a true hunt like Zye was speaking. The sithspawn slayer didn't hide the look of doubt he gave the drinker.

"Scraping backsides and wiping piss, I am quite sure are what you're doing right now," Zye scoffed sardonically. "No I don't 'give a damn,'" he said the words like even muttering such lowly syllabus was a taint to his glorious lips, "But I do protect my investments. I do not lay out my own dogs to die, its much too ineffective to find and train another. If you want to leave, then go. But best be clear, tis unwise to reject good grace when offered."

Zye turned back to the bar, taking a fresh drink from his bottle. For all he cared, if the stranger wanted to leave and spit upon Zye's offer that he considered rather generous, then he could crawl back in whatever hellish hole he came from and rot. The sithspawn slayer glared at his bottle, as if by sheer will alone he could make the entire galaxy burn from his hate of every atom there was. He would one day get his own back. He would one day have his own revenge.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw another enter the bar. It looked like a female, and smelt like a female, but judging by the black eyes, scrapes, and clothing--it was kind of hard to tell.

"This is the part where you tell us we should see the other guy," Zye said.

[member="Irma Olanthe"] I @Fidelis ​

 

[The Girl In Green]

Irma peered up at [member="Zye Woden"] with a sort of casual bemusement. The man who had approached her had all the hallmarks of a once-rich man long since gone to seed. Of course, he'd have to have gone to seed if he were drinking here. "Not exactly," she said, quirking her mouth at him as if holding back another laugh. "You start bragging about fights, all it buys you are more fights. I'm not a big fan of fights."

The bartender finally approached the booth, a dusty bottle of tihaar and a glass with ice on his tray. He slammed both onto the booth's table with a grunt, then sidled away, giving the other man a wide berth. Irma watched him go with a wary eye, then grabbed for the bottle. She made a quick swipe at the neck of the bottle with her jacket sleeve, wiping off some of the residue, and then it was at her mouth, bubbling as she took a strong swig of the stuff.

Well, shab. This bar didn't look like much, but if she'd known they had tihaar distilled from varos fruit, she would have been ordering that from day one. She winced on the swallow, savoring the burn it left in her throat as she finally took the glass in hand. It was like Pa'd always said: you don't drink the good stuff straight from the bottle.

 

[Marcus Lok]

He wasn't home, not yet, and there was still a good bit of travelling to do before he got there. The job had ended up almost as abruptly as it had begun, and now the Hutts wanted him back on Nar' for god knows what. He thought about mouthing off to them sometimes, telling them to take these distance jobs and shove it, but that'd only earn him a bolt in the Vertical City and that was something he avoided whenever he could. He could whine and moan about the journey and their fickle attitude, but the real icing on the cake was the pay cut due to the scrub. It was the thing he hated the most. No mission? They only cover your travel fees to haul your sorry tail back to their game room.

He needed this pit stop, and the glowing half lit letters of the station's bar seemed like just the right spot. It was the usual grimy cesspit. Aliens all over the place, and a corner that seemed to belong to a particularly devious looking group of pirates... Yeah... This'd do it.

It was about the time he'd selected an open spot at the bar that he sighted some spacer with a particularly deadly looking weapon on her back and a bottle of something familiar in front of her. He didn't suspect a Mandalorian out this far, and he didn't expect she was one. A clansmen would have at least come in some suit of bes'kar, but he certainly wasn't one to throw stones at that. It had been almost a year since he'd put it on, after all. Beyond the bottle, she looked cute enough for a place like this. Poor girl looked like she hardly knew how to handle eye shadow though...

Eh, what the hell...

He turned towards her booth and walked over, adjusting the strap of his flight bag so that it didn't cut into his shoulder so much.

"You fall or something?"

​

/ [member="Irma Olanthe"] /​

 

[Petal]

a slight storm seems to roll in as Petal walked up to this run-down shack called a bar. she was used to
seedy places but this had to be one of the top 5 worst places she been to. but there always seems to be someone looking for a pilot or at least someone who can fix a ship and she was low on credits. walking in she stops for a small place there seemed to be a lot of people standing there for a bit she steadies her nerves. she slowly walks to the farthest part of the bar from everyone and sits quilty sometimes the best way to find a job is let it come to you.she orders the cheaps thing there and nurses it. it was crap but it was something.

 

[Petal]

a slight storm seems to roll in as Petal walked up to this run-down shack called a bar. she was used seedy places but this had to be one of the top 5 worst places she been to. but there always seems to be someone looking for a pilot or at least someone who can fix a ship and she was low on credits. walking in she stops for a small place there seemed to be a lot of people standing there for a bit she steadies her nerves. she slowly walks to the farthest part of the bar from everyone and sits quilty sometimes the best way to find a job is let it come to you.she orders the cheaps thing there and nurses it. it was crap but it was something.

 

[The Girl In Green]

The other fellow seemed to have left between glasses. Irma hadn't noticed; a good glass of tihaar, after all, was enough to engage her full attention for at least five to ten minutes. It was while pouring her second, however, that another young man decided to approach and ask her questions about her face. What was it about a good set of bruises that made people think she was so interesting all of a sudden?

"Oh, no," she said, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm. You fall? Really? At least Once-Rich Guy had given her the credit of having been in a fight of some sort. "I just ran into a doorknob earlier, that's all."

But still, it was hard to be entirely mad. This one was much younger-looking than Once-Rich, who seemed to have faded back into the depths of the bar when she hadn't humored him. The dark-haired young man in front of her was actually quite well-groomed compared to some of the other people she'd seen in here over the last three days. Clean-cut and freshly shaven, he had the kind of wide-eyed look that gave one the impression that he'd walked in here entirely by accident. He was armed as if he knew what he was doing, though, and didn't seem to be actively looking for trouble.

Unlike that damned Togorian.

He hadn't even reacted to the Twi'lek slipping into the bar behind him--something anyone spoiling for a fight would have picked up on. Irma relaxed a little and leaned back into the booth, swirling the inch of tihaar left in the glass as she quirked her mouth into a smirk. "Seriously, man," she said before lifting the glass to her lips, "you pick up a lot of girls with lines like those?"


[member="Marcus Lok"] [member="Petal"] [member="Fidelis"] [member="Zye Woden"]

 

[Marcus Lok]

He blinked, somewhat taken by surprise. His comment had purely been to start a conversation. He almost thought about reassuring her that if he wanted to hit on her, he could have said something much worse. He liked to think that he was well known for his heavy hitters like, I may look like an Ewok, but i'm all Wookie where it counts, baby or another one he'd heard from some drunk in Anchorhead... Went somethin' like, I farm moisture for a living. Thinking back on it, that might have actually been true, but that was besides the point. Truly out of all of the things that could be described as 'lines' he didn't think that commenting on her banged up eye sockets would draw up that kind of response.

In the end, the best thing to do was to shrug it off.

"Didn't know I was tryin' to pick up a girl. Musta' been the jacket..."

He indicated to the bulky article of clothing briskly before setting himself down in the booth. She wouldn't like that, but then again she didn't look like she was in any condition to stop him. The one thing that he wouldn't try was the bottle. Sure he wanted to taste the sweet burn of Tihaar before he had to cast off again, but he figured he'd be better off ordering his own bottle. But he'd get to that in a bit, the subject matter in front of him was just too interesting to ignore.

"Walk into doors often?"

/ [member="Irma Olanthe"] /​

 

[The Girl In Green]

So this one had some wit. Irma huffed, a feeble protest against the fact that this new young man was not so easily deterred as the first. At least he knew how to play the game--One-Rich had barely gotten two words in before the soldier at the bar seemed to get sick of him. Maybe this one would be good for an evening's entertainment, at least. "Oh, all the time," she said, scooting farther into the booth to give herself plenty of room between him and her ruck. "Although usually they're not Togorian shaped. Terrible ergonomics, you know? I'm not sure what I was thinking."

She hesitated, thinking over what to do with this unexpected company. Then she waved a hand over her head at the bartender, crooking one, then two fingers downwards at the table. The bartender huffed--a louder, more masculine version of Irma's own favorite grump noise--then dipped down to get another bottle of tihaar. When he approached the booth with the bottle, it was with two glasses this time. Irma drained her old glass, and with a grin and a flick of her wrist sent it sliding to the far side of the table.
"So what's your excuse?"


[member="Marcus Lok"]

 

[Marcus Lok]

Marcus smiled at the mention of the Togorian, nodding at the explanation with a good bit of understanding. Every memory he had about Togorians usually ended with a lot of swearing or a lot of blood. There must be some that weren't violent in the galaxy, but Marcus sure as sheb never met any. Stories had long been passed down about their species. He could remember a good few stories his father had told him by the campfire of his ancestors who fought among them, they were the first non-taungs to join up with the Neo-Crusaders after all. But that was all a history lesson that he knew would only draw up snoring from the beat up blonde sitting adjacent to him.

"My Excuse?"

He let the question hang while the new bottle arrived. Perfect. Once the burly looking bartender had gone back behind his set up, Marcus opened the bottle and poured out two glasses of the stuff. It looked alright, and there were no fingers hanging out of it, so he took to the drink in almost an instant. He downed the glass, immediately reveling in the heat falling down his throat. This was the good stuff. He hadn't had it this good since he'd been at the Capital. Who knew it was waiting out here in the middle of nowhere? Made ya' think.

"I just wanted to kick my feet up to be honest. You looked real, lonely, y'know? I guess that rifle just isn't drawin' any crowds... Real shame. Where'd ya' get it?"

[member="Irma Olanthe"]​

 

[The Girl In Green]

"What, Spot?"

Irma's grin faded fractionally, and she leaned back to place an oh-so-casual hand on the E-17d leaning against the booth's back. The last person who had smiled so readily when talking about her weapon, had tried to steal it. There was no way Irma would be able to fight this guy off if he had the same compulsion-- even with a baby face, she could see he had several inches and at least twenty pounds of muscle on her. "Had her a real long time," she said, keeping her voice deliberately light. "She's a trade-up from a market back on Nar Shaddaa. Don't remember the name of the guy who had her last..."

Her fingers grazed the stock of the rifle, and she wondered if this fellow had noted that it wasn't the standard build. "But he didn't deserve her. He was a terrible shot. Gun like this, deserves someone who can hit a target."


[member="Marcus Lok"]

 

[Marcus Lok]

Ah. She was one of the people that named her guns. He knew many who did, but he'd never taken up that particular habit. Maybe that's where their differences began. A blaster was a tool, a useful tool, but still just a means to an end. He eyed up the rifle a little bit longer as she explained its origins. It was a fine piece and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that it was extremely capable. Of course, it was only dangerous if she were indeed the type of sniper she claimed to be. Was she the next Aurra? Probably not, but he'd give her the benefit of the doubt.

The mention of Nar Shaddaa caught his attention though. He could see her being some kind of Merc just out enjoying the stars, but she didn't look the type to be a cold hearted killer. Maybe it was the beat up face and that easy going attitude. She was certainly relaxed enough around a perfect stranger.

"You on the moon often? I haven't seen you around the lower levels."

He'd see who she was working for. If it was the Suns, there'd be a problem. If it were Hutts?.. Still a problem.


[member="Irma Olanthe"]

 

[The Girl In Green]

E chu ta, now he was trying to place her. Was he trying to parse out if she had any friends on the moon he'd have to account for, if he attacked her? Aside from the bartender, Irma had pretty much kept to herself since the incident with the Togorian that had stranded her here, hoping to lay low until her face healed and she could get proper work. Normally on these Outer Rim moons, that would be enough, but sometimes...Had her bruises finally marked her as an easy target?

To cover her racing thoughts, she took up her new drink and held it to her mouth, feigning taking a long drink. She could probably huck the glass at his head if he made to lunge at her--the shattering glass and booze in his eyes would make a good cover for her to make a dash for it. Getting out of the booth with her rifle would be awkward, though, even if she made the easy decision to leave the ruck behind. Would the bartender show enough loyalty to a recurring customer to help her make an escape? And what about Once-Rich in the corner, or the Twi'lek, or that grouchy-looking Rodian? Were they with him? Was the bartender with them? Gods, she couldn't fend off five people by herself---

Oh, no. He was still waiting for an answer. But only a stupa would give a ready answer with those kinds of possibilities! She had to cover for it. Irma finally let some of the tihaar pass between her lips; the sweetness and its accompanying burn seemed to stabilize her.
"Spoken like someone who lives down on the lower levels," she finally said. "Funny. You don't look it."

[member="Marcus Lok"]

 

[Marcus Lok]

Marcus leaned back in the cushy leather of the booth and filled his glass with the bottle once again. She seemed put off by his question, and for a few moments he wished he hadn't of said anything. He half expected her to get up and out of the joint right there, but that's the last thing he really wanted. Drinking alone was much worse than drinking with a stranger, and he let his eyes wander back to his short term acquantance only when she'd formed an answer. It'd taken her a while, and that was suspect in itself. She might have had a past here, but who didn't? The crowd in a cantina usually had a good few murderers and smugglers in their midst at every hour of the day, and it was even worse on the spaceports...

Her answer made him squint only slightly. She'd not even attempted to answer his question. The deflection put him slightly on edge, but she didn't seem totally relaxed either. Maybe he should just stop asking those types of questions... Couldn't hurt.

"I'll be in the mid levels before the year's done."

He didn't offer a response for the comment about his looks as he knew that he wasn't the average grimy suspect that crawled out of the slums, or at least he didn't appear that way. Years of corporate contracting had left him with a knack for keeping himself clean and groomed for potential clients even if his new ones didn't care for it. The Hutts often reminded him that he should dirty himself up to look more threatening, but it simply wasn't appealing to him. Maybe criminals preferred working with other people that looked like criminals? At any rate, he thought that his insistence on shaving couldn't be a bad thing.


"And just what do you think I look like?"

He'd glass her if she said, 'A kid'.

/ [member="Irma Olanthe"] /​

 

[The Girl In Green]

"You look innocent."

Irma hadn't been looking directly at the man who had joined her ever since he mentioned her rifle; she did now, no longer bothering to keep her expression light. What the shab--there wasn't any harm in letting him know a bit of what she was thinking. Hey, if he was really ramping up to some sort of attack, it might put him off to let him know she was onto him.

"Or more accurately, you look like the kind of guy who has a naturally innocent face, who knows he has an innocent face, who makes a point to maintain that innocent face, and who uses that innocent face to get what he wants out of people."

She quirked her mouth at that last phrase--not so much in a smile, but in an expression that dared the man sitting next to her to prove her wrong. Which, as Irma was prone to assuming, he wouldn't bother doing. Either he was another decent fellow she was about to scare off, or one of many pieces of bantha fodder she was right to assume was such.

[member="Marcus Lok"]