Roll With It

[Kiber Dorn]

Kiber sat at the bar, as per usual, in his galactic pursuit of sin.

With glitterstim swimming through his veins pupils were dilapidated against the backdrop of emerald irises. It was just the way that his galaxy went.

A cocktail sat before him, it was on the bartender's recommendation, of course. He'd asked with typical swagger what fruity beverage there was that packed a punch, not at all caring for the rampant masculinity of the galaxy. It was called a shooting star and was given such a name for the surprising way that one could be floored by something that tasted so fruity.

Not wishing to scam on the girls of the cantina (for once), he opted to remove a small packet from his pocket.

Smashball cards. His second favourite vice.

After spice, of course.

It was a sport he followed almost religiously and he was only half-ashamed to say that he collected the cards. He still remembered his first pack, first card even. Lois 'studs up' Pnossim, captain of the Nar Shaddaa Nasties and that was how he chose his team. She had good stats, and looked like a lady that would certainly knock him out.

He tore the pack open with vigour.

First card was Gweek. Former goalkeeper of the Mighty Tusks. Nothing to holler about since he already had three of those, the second, third and fourth all proved to be duplicates of a similar manner but the fifth and final was none other than Duke Blaise, attack for the Tattooine Krayt Dragons. Not a bad card, high for offensive stats, typical given that he was rumoured to wield small vibroknucklers underneath his gloves.

He grinned to himself, lost in the moment of man enjoying his simple collection.

---

[member="Patricia Susan Garter"]

 

[Miss Blonde]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

Going to bars wasn't really something Patricia did much anymore these days, she had two kids and husband so going to a dive bar to get hit on by random drunk men were only memories she had from her early twenties and late teens. But to be young again, to crawl out of the old cave to go howl at the moon. It was something Patricia occasionally thought about and maybe that was what brought her here tonight, she didn't have a boring marriage or anything. Far from it really, Jarven was literally an animal in bed and she'd lost count of how many dresses she'd had to replace over the years.

But maybe it was just those memories from her more reckless days, hell she was a Jedi now of all things. Jedi weren't supposed to go to the bar dressed like this, though in her defense she always dressed like that. Stepping through the door the young Jedi padawan Patricia Susan Garter scanned the room with her angelic blue eyes, there were a few spots open at the bar and she could use a drink. Wearing her normal short red skirt she moved forward through the dim lighting of the establishment and sat herself at the bar.

"Something tropical, put a little umbrella in it." she said to the mixologist.

That was always word Patricia loathed, mixologist. Growing up on Zeltros most people working behind a bar always liked to call themselves that, but Patricia was always quick to remind them that they were a bartender. They could make up a fancy little tittle that made them sound as if they went to school but at the end of the day you were still a bartender working at a club or dive bar where everything smelt like cat urine and there was someone named Sticky Joe who was a regular. Either way it was just something that irked her.

Her gaze looked over to a sweaty looking man holding some cards that was besides her, that was another thing she didn't understand, trading cards. Her daughter was obsessed with the game the man was holding, maybe it was growing up on Zektros again but it was something that was beyond her small knowledge of the universe.

"My daughter loves that game, she always asks me to play it with her. What is it?" she asked the man in a casual tone as her drink found it's way to the bar.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

He was roused from his moment by an enquiry about his smashball cards.

Typically when speaking Kiber Dorn was a very annoying man, it was almost customary for every person that he met in the galaxy to punch him in the beak at least once. A curse? Perhaps. Circumstance of being terribly obnoxious? Much more likely.

“Oh, these?” he said still-half distracted, looking up at the woman's bright drink first and then the woman herself, “...they're like...uh, you ever heard of top trumps?”

For the ease of conversation he opted to explain before she could even answer yes or no, it was just easier that way.

“So y'get these cards, they're all smashball players, former and present,” he started, holding his newest prize of Duke Blaise up between his index finger and his middle finger, “and they've all got stats, y'see. Attack, defence, speed and aggression. Then you...”

He paused, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the thought that he might have been boring this woman's dress off.

“…tell me to stop if it's really dull, I could talk about Smashball cards for an age, y'know?”

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[member="Patricia Susan Garter"]