Huxy
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Of Tatooine Nights
Location - Mos Eisely, Tatooine, Evening
Well, that had certainty been an interesting turn of events. Furor hadn't really been expecting to be attacked by that red mandalorian. Well, he had expected it...though he thought it was just the force and his instincts playing tricks on him. Turns out, he couldn't be more wrong than he just had been. Blasted bounty-hunters, always running around and ruining people's days. Though to be fair, Furor had silently wished for some type of action to take place...though that wasn't what he had been expecting at all. Well, the fight had certainty not made him bored anymore. Though it did irk him, he had been enjoying a perfectly peaceful evening all to himself. Oh, what was he saying!? Of course he had enjoyed doing something other than just sitting around, bored out of his mind. It had been a breath of fresh air. And a warning to not leave his guard down again. Something he wasn't particularly planning on doing anytime soon.
Furor had decided to move locations after he had been attacked, he didn't want to be all out in the open as he had been moments earlier once he had been attacked. Now Furor sat alone in the back of the Cantina, a table all to himself. Their were other people around him, though they were either drunk, sleeping, or playing some gambling game he knew nothing about. He would've joined their games, though he knew not the rules and he hadn't the money to gamble away in entertainment. Furor's brown-blue eyes were planted on a cool glass in front of him, not a glass of alcohol, but a glass of water. Yep, water in a cantina. Furor wasn't one for alcohol, at least the Tatooine style. The other systems might have better tasting alcohol, though he didn't know. Alcohol was a foreign substance to him anyways due to growing up on Crait. He just personally didn't have an interest in it. Furor's arms were folded over one another as he looked down at the cool glass. After a few moments, he withdrew his lightsaber from his belt from under his trenchcoat, examining the cracked and splintered handle of it. It was an old blade, a relic of a different time. An artefact of war, though it still did it's job. Furor just wanted to make it his own somehow, someway.
[member="Asheda Tyr"]