Private Let's Get Down to Business to Defeat...

[Asemir]

Asemir Lor’kora took a sip from his glass of dark, bubbly liquid and sighed contently. The cold drink carried a caramel aroma with little bitterness; there was even the hint of chocolate undertones. It was certainly the best tasting beer he had experienced in quite a while.

“What was did you call this?” he asked the barkeep. “It’s amazing. I’ve never had anything quite like it.

The barkeep, a man by the name of Erik Mahler, finished polishing a glass. “Timbiqui Dark. It’s brewed on the world of Timbiqui. Even though there’s no trade embargos, it’s still a pain in the ass to get imported out here. Which, I’m sorry to say, is why it’s one of the pricier drinks we carry.”

Shrugging, Asemir dug into a pocket and set a small gem. It sparkled as he set it gently on the bar top. “Well, I just finished a job. How’s this? How many Timbiquis can I get with this thing?”

Mahler peered at the cerulean gem. As he picked it up, it gradually shifted from blue to red. “I’ve never seen anything like this, but how about six?”

The Ingr’Nysk shrugged. “Fine by me! You can keep the beers in the fridge for now. I’ll grab them before I leave.”

Smiling, Mahler nodded as he headed towards another guest. “Good doing business with you!”

Asemir had no idea if he’d been ripped off, but his gut told him Erik had been fair. That and the Force didn’t scream at him in warning or anything. Plus, it honestly didn’t matter. Money wasn’t a big driver or even a necessity in his life, not after his stint in the Sith Empire and absconding with a crazy amount of credits. Now, jobs were mainly for his entertainment, to keep him busy and sane in this insane galaxy.

He took another sip, enjoying the coolness and taste. It was, he guessed, going to be a quiet evening. He needed that after the last job, and this bar was out of the way enough that nothing ought to disturb him.

Quietus

 

[Hazel Scheler]

The other guest was an armored woman who had arrived to the little watering hole in such a flurry that she might've stepped in with a gust of wind were there any wind to be had. She walked with a slight limp and conducted herself with the grace of an old cat, helmet tucked under her arm. Her traveler's cloak was a dirtied grey, worn and tattered that brought with it the smell of space dust and a strange aroma of ... burning.

She took a bar seat to Asemir 's left, set her helmet on the bar and offered the bartender a wane, if not lopsided smirk.

"Scheler," Erik eyed her.

"Mahler," she eyed him back.

A moment of silence passed between the two before Erik looked around and gently cleared his throat, "The usual?"

"I'll have whatever he's having," the woman nodded her head in the direction of the blue-skinned man to her right.

"Timbiqui," her replied, turning to pour a glass.

"Sounds good," Hazel had no idea what a Timbiqui was, but Asemir seemed to be enjoying it just fine, so she decided he was the best one to ask. She leaned toward him, "What's a tim-beekee?"

 

[Asemir]

While he didn’t look up from his drink when the armored woman, Asemir did cast out with a light touch of the Force. He learned a long time ago that it was always best to keep an eye on his surroundings, and while he couldn’t read minds, he could discern intent. And since he found no cause for concern, he replied to the woman with a friendly smile.

“I have no idea,” Asemir said. “Mahler said it’s some world that’s far enough away to cause these things to cost a small fortune, but I haven’t heard of the place.” He took another sip of the beer. “It tastes great though. Best I’ve had in quite a while.”

He glanced at her helmet and the pieces of armor he could spy under her cloak. “I don’t recognize the design. Not Mandalorian or Sith. Is it custom?”

Hazel Scheler

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"Well shit-" small fortune indeed. Hazel wasn't the type of person to have a small fortune to spend on a drink - but this is just the sort of thing to remind her to look before she leaped. Or at the very least ask how much something is, first, before blindly ordering it.

"Mahler, ey Mahl- bah," too late, already poured. Mahler set the glass on the bar before her with a raised and hairy eyebrow, "oh, forget it." She digressed, lifted it to her lips and took a healthy swig. Good enough to lick the froth from her lip instead of wiping it on her cloak. Welp.

"It's uh," she looked down at herself and frowned, "custom, yeah. Kuat Drive Yards R&D department exclusive ... from about ten years ago. Give or take." Feth, had it really been that long? "Got an eye for armor then?"

He didn't look like a soldier. Or a warrior. Who the hell was she to judge, though.

Asemir

 

[Asemir]

Asemir shrugged. "You could say that." He paused, taking a sip of the beer that probably cost a month's wages on some planets, and considered how much detail he should add. Another sip was followed by his decision to press onward. "A lifetime ago, I did a number of stints in the military. It wasn't an official job requirement, but you kept up with all of the latest armor designs, features, and the like. You did that if you were smart and wanted to make it home in one piece.

"We all took turns betting how long a new design would last or how well it'd fare or how messy it'd be to cleanup if the armor didn't hold. It was a great way to introduce the new recruits." He saw that he was getting to the bottom half of his glass and debated whether he should pop open a second Timbiqui. "But, yeah, that's me. You're wearing custom armor. I'm guessing mercenary of some sort?"

Hazel Scheler

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"You could say that," Hazel returned with a wane smirk.

"Depends on your definition of Mercenary. I'm a non-lethal contractor. Take jobs that don't require wanton destruction or slaughter; mostly transportation of precious cargo or detective work for missing persons or things. Recon. Search and rescue. The occasional guard duty..." her eyes rolled upward at the thought of her last stint as a bodyguard for Caulder Dune and she made a mental note to scratch that one from the list.

"More or less retired now, I have a standing contract with a company that holds me over well. Take the odd job on the side if it suits."

A sip, then, of this fantastical beer. She was actually here to meet someone for information on a very specific missing person, but a quick glance at the HUD on her right gauntlet told her the contact was late. Ugh, she hated it when they were late.

"I'm ex-military, too. Panathan Special Ops ...mm," Hazel reconsidered the full title for a moment. Her team hadn't existed since the Gulag Plague...not something you shared, well, ever - "the when doesn't matter. I don't need to age myself in front of a complete stranger. Who'd you run with?"

 

[Asemir]

"Xedael Empire, out in the Unknown Regions. Way out in the Unknown Regions." He decided it didn't matter if he revealed a bit about himself. He hadn't fought an assassin in a very long time, and he figured that his former handlers and the Sith had forgotten about him long ago. "I ran with the Null Regiments. Scratch that, I led the Null Regiments. It was a messy job. We took the assignments that regular troops couldn't or wouldn't handle."

He shrugged as he took another sip. "After a bit, I got tired of it all and headed out to see the rest of the galaxy." That wasn't the exact truth, but the truth was so complex and convoluted that it would have taken many, many more Timbiquis to explain it all, and he didn't have that kind of money.

"Like you, I'm basically retired now. I take the occasional jobs just to stay active. Mostly extraction, missing people, good cases, you know?"
Asemir sighed. "Trying to do some good in this galaxy." Or to balance out the wrongs he'd committed, he didn't add.

Hazel Scheler

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Hazel wasn't a mind reader, but she could read body language and she could read between the lines well enough. Though she'd never heard of the Xedael Empire or the Null Regiment, it wasn't hard to tell her new drinking companion had seen and done some shit. Didn't need to pry into it either - sometimes the details weren't really all that interesting. If anyone knew how a strike team or warrior regiment lifestyle went, it was her.

"That's commendable of you. It's never been about the money, though a gal's gatta eat and ship's gatta fly, but balancing out all the shit out there -" well, she snorted lightly and took another swig of her drink, "someone has to do it. Nice to know I'm not the only one. Hazel Scheler," the mercenary offered the man her right hand to shake, "it's a pleasure."

The bartender stepped over and gently cleared his throat to get Hazel's attention, then leaned over to mutter something to her.

"That so? Thanks for the tip Mahler, I owe ya."

"You sure do, that drink ain't payin' for itself."

Asemir

 

[Asemir]

"Asemir Lor'kora. It's nice to meet you, Hazel," Asemir said as he shook the offered hand. "And Mahler, go ahead and add her Timbiqui to my tab. You can pull one from my stash in the fridge."

He saw the questioning look from his newfound drinking partner. "I just finished a job and traded Mahler a gem for a few of the Timbiquis. It's no problem, I've got a few extra." He paused a moment, noting the unheard whisper from Erik Mahler. "If you don't mind me prying, what brings you here to Mahler's place? New job? Old job?"

Hazel Scheler

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Questioning look described the expression well. Hazel wasn't used to generosity or handouts, even if she had received her unfair share over the last thirty years of her life. Sarge Potteiger pulling strings to put her broken pieces back together ... on numerous occasions. Then there was that Empire guy who'd pulled her out of her wrecked ship and brought her back from the brink of death - though she wasn't sure how generous that had been, she'd been on his payroll at the time. She could probably think of a few dozen more instances, but very few of them involved expensive beers.

So this was a first. Maybe. Her memory wasn't exactly what it used to be.

"Well thanks, Ase," because calling people by their full name had never been one of her things, "I appreciate you." The woman raised her glass to him and tipped back another sip, licking it from her top lip and raising a scar-stitched brow at his prying.

"I normally do mind prying," she replied with a flat expression ...then gave him a facial shrug, "but this beer's pretty good and you seem like the type to get away with prying. I'm here on long-standing business. Very long-standing. I've been on the hunt for a crew called Splinter Arc and their leader Sith Lord Salas. Mahler here said he's got a contact swinging by that has their thumb on the Underworld tap." Hazel let out a slow, long sigh as she shifted on her stool, "All leads over the last thirty years have gone nowhere, but a gal can hope."