The cantina had seen better days.
The air was thick with the scent of cheap liquor and overcooked rations, a humid, cloying blend that clung to every surface. A holoscreen flickered weakly in the corner, broadcasting some grainy Outer Rim swoop race, but few paid it any mind. The patrons were a mix of locals and transients—smugglers, traders, the occasional spacer nursing a drink like it was the last good thing in the galaxy.
Aielyn had settled into a shadowed corner, the hood of her cloak resting over her shoulders rather than concealing her face. She was dressed down, nothing about her immediately drawing attention save for the intensity in her violet-blue eyes as she idly traced the rim of her glass.
She wasn't here for trouble, but trouble had a way of finding people like her.
The first comment was easy to ignore. Some grating voice slurred something about how "offworlders" shouldn't take up good seats. The second remark was louder, aimed to get a reaction. When she didn't so much as glance up, the presence shifted closer. A shadow fell across her table as one of them—a broad-shouldered brute with a crooked nose—set his hand down on its surface with a dull thud. "You deaf, sweetheart? That was a request."
Aielyn exhaled slowly, glancing at the untouched drink in front of her.
Patience.
It was always patience.
But the moment stretched, and she could already tell—this wasn't going to be one of those moments where patience paid off.
Caelan Valoren
The air was thick with the scent of cheap liquor and overcooked rations, a humid, cloying blend that clung to every surface. A holoscreen flickered weakly in the corner, broadcasting some grainy Outer Rim swoop race, but few paid it any mind. The patrons were a mix of locals and transients—smugglers, traders, the occasional spacer nursing a drink like it was the last good thing in the galaxy.
Aielyn had settled into a shadowed corner, the hood of her cloak resting over her shoulders rather than concealing her face. She was dressed down, nothing about her immediately drawing attention save for the intensity in her violet-blue eyes as she idly traced the rim of her glass.
She wasn't here for trouble, but trouble had a way of finding people like her.
The first comment was easy to ignore. Some grating voice slurred something about how "offworlders" shouldn't take up good seats. The second remark was louder, aimed to get a reaction. When she didn't so much as glance up, the presence shifted closer. A shadow fell across her table as one of them—a broad-shouldered brute with a crooked nose—set his hand down on its surface with a dull thud. "You deaf, sweetheart? That was a request."
Aielyn exhaled slowly, glancing at the untouched drink in front of her.
Patience.
It was always patience.
But the moment stretched, and she could already tell—this wasn't going to be one of those moments where patience paid off.
