Retaliation
「 Wildcard Cantina and Casino 」
「 Derapha, Phaeda, Cademimu Sector 」
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A sudden prick at his senses alerted him to danger. A hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder. Morrow turned and was met face-to-face with an individual of a species he'd never seen before. Ready to retaliate, one fist clenched while the other hand reached inside a pocket for his vibroblade.
"Maray tom tee tok maky cheesa?" asked the stranger in an incomprehensible language. They held up a small receptacle with different colored cylinders sticking out. A mutual language wasn't needed to know this was a proposition.
Death sticks. Something Dantooine had prepared Morrow for.
"No." Morrow held up an open hand, pointing his palm toward the substances as a universal sign of rejection. Quickly, turned to move on, the feeling of impending danger dissolving as he went. Fingers released his concealed blade and the arm dropped to his side. He was still learning the differences between real danger and simple promotions. Still, it certainly didn't hurt to be prepared in a place like this.
Caution first, always.
Several waves of dancing bodies later, and Morrow had made it to the club's center. Crowded would have been an understatement in regards to the bar itself. Dozens of shapes obscured the bartop, babbling just as many languages, mixing into an unintelligible susurration. A dazzling Twi'lek woman left her place at the bar, passing Morrow with a provocative grin as she disappeared into the crowd. His gaze followed her almost involuntarily as he moved forward to take her place. Yet another thing Dantooine hadn't prepared him for.
"Dtay wonno wan go?"
Another alien tongue, clearly directed at him snapped Morrow back to reality. His gaze returned forward across the bar to see a Nikto looking at him expectantly.
"Hydrade?" he requested.
"Nangwa."
Silence lingered between the two and beneath the bustle of the cantina.
"Friz?" came his second request once he realized what the Nikto meant.
The bartender said nothing, gave a blasè nod, and began reaching beneath the bartop. Ice clanked against the edge of a metallic vessel before the Nikto shot a carbonated liquid from a hose into the cup. A cold mist curled over the drink as the Nikto handed it over, and Morrow likewise a small palmful of credits. Blue eyes swept across the cantina as he sipped the fizzling, non-inebriating beverage. A fruity flavor coupled with a tingle of tiny daggers across his tongue reminded him of the cantina back in New Eol Sha. A memory he quickly shut out from his mind. He wasn't here to reminisce, this was a mere stop for refreshment and hopefully, one to find a ship going coreward. A spaceport might have been a better option, but he didn't want his name on flight logs after that business back home. Disappearing was a lot more complicated than just running away.
"I'm need passage coreward, if anyone's looking for work," Morrow told the Nikto, uncertain if he could even understand him.
"Awa."
That sounded assuring enough for him.
After allowing himself his moment, Morrow turned with drink in hand to leave the barside. Suddenly, something struck him across the torso, halting his stride abruptly. Feet scrambled for balance, nearly carrying him into another patron. Once he regained balance, he quickly realized what had happened. A Zeltron stood before him, shirt soiled with the Friz that used to be in Morrow's cup. Impending danger began bubbling up again, his gaze narrowing at the fuming man in front of him. Anticipation began pulsing throughout Morrow's body as he reached for the vibroblade once again.
"Watch where you're going, foito!"
"I didn't see you."
"Yeah, no chit." The man attempted to wipe the stain off his shirt, but to no avail. Frustrated, he shook his hands off and looked back up to Morrow. "You know how much cred I spent to get this fit dry cleaned?"
"I didn't see you," Morrow reiterated.
"Is that all you can say!?" His anger was become more and more tangible. "So, what? You gonna hand over some cred?"
Taken aback, Morrow's entire expression puckered into agitated confusion. "What?" It was an accident, why would-?"
The next pang of danger was too late. A fleshy mass hit Morrow in the face, evoking a toe-curling crunch beneath it. A flash of white overtook his vision and he stumbled backward, delayed pain beginning to throb. A damp warmth slowly overtook the lower half of his face as he reconquered his footing. His free hand raised to check and revealed blood on his fingers as he pulled them back into his field of view. Where once he'd been alerted to danger, dark impulses began to swell and roil at the sight of the bloody swath across his manus. It was the same instinct that drove him out of Dantooine. It whispered to him without words.
Pay him back.
The Zeltron laughed derisively. "How about now?"
"No."
Another punch came from the zeltron, but this time, the Dark Side told Morrow exactly what he needed to do. His head dipped to the right, and he lunged forward with his vibroblade pulled from concealment. It sunk into his assailant's shoulder as Morrow caught his arm with a free hand. A labored gasp resonated into his ear as flesh began spewing blood almost immediately. In the moment, he was hardly aware of what he had done. That same mysterious force as before had moved him. The same went for his next move, driven solely by some grisly volition that slept beneath instinct. Morrow's teeth clamped on the soft flesh of the Zeltron's ear, and his head WHIPPED back to tear it from connective flesh. This time, the Zeltron screamed. Slipping off the vibroblade, the pink man fell to the floor and rolled around in pain, whimpering.
More peril tickled his senses. Morrow looked up to see three men approaching him, no doubt seeking vengeance for their friend. Grip tightening on his blade, he prepared for the worst.
"Hey!" A voice cried out from behind the bar. A human was pointing at the men approaching. "You know the rules," he asserted firmly.
The trio shot glances at each other before seeming to come to some wordless agreement. They grabbed the floored zeltron and dragged him through the crowd and disappeared behind patrons who almost immediately forgot about the incident that took place before their eyes. Morrow didn't know the rules, but they had worked in his favor. A self-satisfied grin fissured across the bottom half of his blood-blackened visage. Again, he wiped the blood from his face, retrying his trek through the crowd. Several people made extra space for him, though most were entirely unbothered.
Pain throbbing in his face, he'd make it through the jungle of limbs and to a table. Using house kerchiefs to manage the flow from his nostrils, he'd sit alone and wait.
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