First Reply Some nights

[Drifter]

The Peggat Cantina
South Stretch Worker's District
Canto Bight

Some nights, I stay up cashing in my bad luck; some nights, I call it a draw...​

---

"Buta Peg, you're coming with me!" The Nikto brandished his blaster, holding it at the Ceran gambler in the middle of a Sabaac game. The revelry in the cantina stopped, all eyes now directed at the brandished weapon and the Ceran standing.

A waitress froze, Buta Peg's fellow gamblers rising to their feet, only to freeze and hold their hands up when the Nikto sent a blaster shot right above Ishi Tib's eyestalks, prompting his sudden squeal of fright and a grunt.

"Don't move." The Nikto growled out, swinging that blaster tip from side to side. In the back, a loud groan of annoyance rumbled through the voice modulator of a polarized helm, where a man hung his head in exasperation. It was Drifter, sitting on a table, no drink in sight because the ale he'd ordered was presently on top of the serving tray held by the frightened waitress. Canto Bight was a coastal city on the desert planet Cantonica. The city was a destination for wealthy individuals, filled with casinos and racetracks. Child workers rode quadruped creatures called fathiers in the city's racetracks.

A dire need for a drink, a job, and very little fuel left on his ship resulted in stopping by Cantonica. He'd managed to find space in an open hanger by the South Stretch Worker's District, deciding to take in a drink at the local watering hole. Of course, before he could even enjoy a cold one, the bantha shit hit the fan.

Clearly, the universe is working against me today.

[ What does a man need to do to just get a fething drink around here? ] he bemoaned to no one in particular, the stand-off preventing delivery of his vice and threatening to send the entire cantina into an uproar.

This couldn't get any worse, Drifter mused, only to curse right after. A sudden series of blater shots filled the air, and chaos ensued. People ducked under tables and counters, trying to avoid the sudden shootout.

Of course, it always did.

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC

Really, if this was a cantina on Mos Eisley or some other point of reference, the cantina wouldn’t have stopped for one pulled blaster toward a gambler and Casany Praxor would have been enjoying her drink in peace and quiet.

In some establishments, however, one little commotion and disagreement was enough to upset the entire customer base, servers included. This cantina on Canto was one such.

A drifter thought he had problems with his waitress? Try a waiter who spilled a spot of vodka onto the tray and then the entire drink onto his patron’s table.

Dank farrik. “I asked for a glass of vodka, not a pool—” The Mandalorian, garbed in her beskar’gam, couldn’t finish her sentences before the cantina erupted into pulled blasters blazing.

Nikto. Ishi Tib. Was that a Weequay shooting at a Chevin? Casany didn’t question it or anything as she got busy drinking in her corner. The table at her left no longer had patrons who needed their drinks. Vodka. Just my luck. She lifted her helmet, it hissed, and she sipped. Didn’t regret it. Better brew of beverage than the one this Mandalorian had ordered.

Blaster bolt flew over her head. She tilted her helmet. Misplaced shot. No aim. Queue the chaos. And a change of music because why not?

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

Ducking down, Drifter flipped the table for an impromptu cover. Crouching down, the hunter pulled his blaster from his hip, holding it up and ready to send a pot shot downwind or two.

With the change in music came the cacophony of curses, blaster bolts, and the occasional cry of pain. There was a sudden crash to his right, and a body slammed onto the chair next to him, sending broken bits of chair everywhere. It was the Weequay, who had been tossed like a sack of potatoes by the Chevin. A nasty, smoldering blaster hole was at his side, not that it did much as the Weequay gave a roar. The Weequay naturally had tough skin, so all that did was char his jacket.

[Whoa there, big guy.] Drifter began, holding his hands and his blaster up as the Weequay rolled towards him.

[ I'm not the one who threw you - feth! ] The Weequay charged, heading straight for the hunter - the Chevin was behind Drifter after all. Not that this mattered to Drifter; he was too busy trying to save his skin from getting body slammed in between a Weequay and Chevin sandwich.

[GAH!] he cried, crawling out with a dive to the side, unfortunately crashing onto a Mandalorian's back in the midst of drinking vodka. Well, perhaps not any longer because Drifter accidentally sent that glass flying.

Casany Praxor

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC

It wasn’t every occasion in an establishment like this that Cas had managed to witness a Chevin engaging in a bit of action over conversation. Farrik. Tough as they are ugly. It was a good move and throw so it was all the Mandalorian could do to raise her vodka in a toast to tonight's entertainment.

“Kandosii! That’s one for the big leagues buddy! Well deser—” There goes her drink. And there goes the Mandalorian. Whatever had crashed into her sent the beverage right out of her hand, glass flying away, while her helmet almost crashed on the tabletop. Great.

She just couldn’t catch a break with her booze, could she? Somebody was going to pay, too. So Cas got up, calmly turned to face her attacker, and didn’t wait to hear him explain. “You’re paying for that, by the way.”

What did he say? She didn’t wait to listen because, at that very moment, that same Chevin came barreling toward both of them. “GURRRAWWWRRRRRRR”

“OH KRIFF” Cas exclaimed before diving away, crashing into the back of a Rodian, who spilled his whiskey, for it accidentally went flying. The music changed again. It happens.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

[ Oh, Feth! I’m sorry! ] Drifter cried out, extending his hands as if to assist only to jump back in comical, disorderly sidesteps to try and avoid the Chevin.

Emphasis on try because the long face brute managed to clip the hunter by lunging, shoulder first, onto Drifter. Needless to say, the sudden slam and crushing weight of the Chevin as he got body slammed into a table was painful enough to knock the wind out of him.

Maybe even cracked a few ribs.

The high pitched wheezing sound coming from Drifter’s voice modular was the most comically pathetic sounding whimper ever heard. By that point the Rodian Casany Praxor had crashed into grabbed a chair, fully intending to bring it crashing down over the Mandalorian’s head.

Meanwhile, Drifter mused about his life’s choices and attempted to crawl to safety.

Alex was never going to let him live this one down.

 

[Casany Praxor]

The Rodian who was crashed into by the Mandalorian had first stood up from his table, turned to his attacker, and said of his missing whiskey: “You’re paying for that, by the way.”

“Ah, farrik,” Casany scratched her helmet. “Sorry.”

Then came the chair for her head. So she sensibly stepped to her left. Wasn’t drunk yet. Couldn’t be thanks to some di’kut who spilled her own drink. A punch to the gut and the Rodian bit the dust.

Cas turned around, now completely wary of everybody within this chaotic cantina where it was about impossible to get vodka. She looked left. Couple idiots headbutting each other. Looked right. Chevin. Chevin. Wait. “CHEV—”

“WAAAAAAAHHHHHHH”

Cas wah’d as she was picked up and tossed like a huttball, landing on the back of a familiar person with a voice modulator who was apparently trying to crawl away to safety and get out of town.

“Watch where you’re going!” The Mandalorian shouted.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

Drifter had been so close to finding sanctuary at a corner bench seat table. Alas, fate had other intentions, including breaking the hunter's back. Or at least trying to. Clearly, unless he got his arse out of here, he was going to leave black and blue with more than just a few cracked ribs.

When Casany Praxor 's heavy weight landed on his back - woman, are you a heifer?! - there was a distinct cracking sound that made Drifter howl out, [ FETHING HELL! ]

He went splaying flat on the ground, pain racing over his ribcage - yup, no longer cracked, might be broken now - with the poor fool wheezing. At this point, Drifter had enough.

A surge of adrenaline raced through him. With a heavy grunt, he attempted to shove the Mandalorian off his back and buck them to roll them over. Maybe he can follow through the roll and try to pin the heifer in a tin can down.

[ Oh hell no, you watch it! ] he grunted out, wincing in pain at the jab right at his ribs. Yup. Broken. Feth, that hurts like hell.

 

[Casany Praxor]

To be fair neither of them were going anywhere. Not very far, anyway, except to a world of pain and misery in a place meant for drinking. To think, all this Mandalorian had wanted was a glass of vodka. What did she get? A chaotic cantina and an idiot with a broken rib.

Casany was shoved over the next moment by him, rather unceremoniously, like shoving someone out of the line to the ferris wheel. “FARRIK!” She landed on her back with another helmet hovering over her own.

“Hey!” One hunter exclaimed to the other, visor into visor. “Watch this!” She shoved her helm into his for a bit of a headbutt. Who said helmets couldn’t kiss?

Whether she missed wouldn’t matter. Tilting her head, sure enough, there he was. “CHEVIN”

What was it with this big buffoon? He really had it in for these two. The Chevin stomped toward them as Casany frantically tried to get to her feet—after shoving her bedmate in the Chevin’s general direction.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

His visor was the only saving grace that kept Drifter from a broken nose. That didn't mean that the force that the heifer decided to smack against his faceplate didn't give him a hell of a neck strain and headache.

[Gorram it, lady, quit your wiggling!] Sure, Casany Praxor might be decked from head to toe in Mandalorian armor, but even the hunter could tell that those chest pieces were for someone with more cushion in the chest area than a man would be. Well, in most circles, anyway.

It didn't matter. By that point, she'd said the one word that would have lit a fire under his arse to get the feth out of the way. Chevin!

Of course, the heifer would try to toss him to the stampeding Chevin. Oh no, not now. His movements were instinctual, grabbing Casany Praxor 's wrist to tug her back on the ground. It was time to roll.

There was no way of avoiding it. With a grunt, Drifter clung tightly to the Mandalorian and tried to roll towards the Chevin to try to trip him into falling...

Okay, maybe not the BEST of ideas but with a broken rib and the heifer trying to use him as bait, he was not willing to go down by himself. He'll take her with him!

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC

Casany pushed her contemporary toward the feet of her other enemy and began scrambling to her own feet. Only, her efforts were interrupted in a karking heartbeat. The buffoon with a cheaper helmet actually took her with him!

“KRIIIIIIIIIFFFFF”

The music shifted. It always did. As the Mandalorian went with him. That idiot. And the Chevin stomped toward them. Vengeance in his fist. His foot, too.

As a pair of man and woman rolled over one another, in some position and description less determined for lovemaking, the di’kut actually did it.

The Chevin tripped, roaring, landing on his obnoxiously large face and squealing in pain. That left only one threat for the Mandalorian.

“Casany Praxor,” she offered, lying atop her counterpart, straddling him, a leg on either side of his hip. “And your name?”

Whether or not he’d give it, she’d give him a solid punch to his gut the next instant. That should shut him up?

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

[ Well guess you can call me — ugh! ] the punch landed before his hand could block it, and his joking quip regarding being bottom never made it out. Instead he wheezed, gave a groan, the yelped out [Gorram it, woman, what’s your safe word?! You’re killing me here! ]

Well, maybe that joke fell flat, but right now enough was enough. He had plenty of being someone’s punching bag.

That cybernetic arm came up to attempt to jerk her off him down to the left. At this rate, she’ll try to have his balls for whatever Mandalorians passed as garters and, seeing how attached he was to those, would rather put some distance.

[ would you quit?! I’m not here to — oh fuck! ] he caught at the edge of his periphery, the draw of a blaster in their direction.

[ Duck! ] was his only warning, drawing his blaster to send a trio of pot shots to provide the heifer cover.

Casany Praxor

 

[Casany Praxor]

What was her safeword? “Mango.” The Mando said, though her punching bag wouldn’t know if she was being serious behind her helmet.

His cybernetic arm swung her away the next moment. He spoke but all Casany heard was that he wasn’t here to fuck. Made sense since this wasn’t that kind of establishment and hardly functioned as a strip club.

Landing on her back again after being jerked to the left, his expression for her to ‘duck’ was a curious one. “If I duck any lower I’ll bang my helmet on the floor you idiot!”

Pot shots coughed from his blaster toward their attacker. Turned out to be plural. Out came Casany’s blaster as she fired in the opposite direction. Screw this. “We’re sitting ducks!” She was lying to be specific.

So Casany flipped backwards, landed on her feet, and got up just as someone punched her in the gut. That earned him a headbutt, a blaster bolt entering his skull from another shooter. Kriff. This just got serious.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

What about a mango? Oh hell, was that really her safe word??

Drifter didn't have a chance to even mull over the tantalizing revelation, Casany Praxor already sending her own blaster shots down the opposite direction. He heard two heavy thumps. Well, she clearly had a deadly aim. The woman just shot back up to her feet and then gave a point-blank shot to the skull. Drifter wasn't sure if he felt a fear boner rising or if maybe it was just those broken ribs trying to grab his attention.

[ I can do mango.] he quipped out, polarized helmet seemingly giving a nod of confirmation. However, Mango Mando had it right here. They were sitting ducks.

Scanning the area, his eyes spotted a door a few tables down alongside the bar. Perhaps their best exit strategy?

[ How about I cover you, and you head towards the exit? ] no one could say that he wasn't being gentlemanly, as he gestured towards the door he'd spotted earlier.

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC

Had Cas been the one to plug the skull with a bolt after a headbutt then she’d be reassured of her own combat prowess. However, it was some other shooter that shot her attacker, which meant that the Mandalorian wasn’t alone in her endeavor to come out of this establishment with her bones intact.

Guy with a ski mask—might have been a drifter but his visor did fit the characterization under the circumstances—mentioned an exit. It wasn’t the main entrance, that being a bit busy blockaded by angry shootists and other drunken patrons.

No, it was a side door, an emergency exit, largely unchecked, unchallenged, unguarded. Bet. The Mandalorian just then sidestepped a lunge, tripped the thug, sent her flying face down onto the ground without so much as a hiccup.

“I guess you could always shoot me in the back or I could ditch you as soon as I dip.” Cas mentioned the obvious. “Don’t do the first and I won’t do the second, suva?” Didn’t actually expect he’d pick up on Mando’a but whatever.

The Mandalorian turned, waved away the bartender, blasted attackers backwards, kicked a Twi’lek in the chest, reached the exit, flipped over a table, got behind it.

“Oya, Winter Soldier!” Cas called across the carnage. “Your turn! Viinir, verd!” She would cover him as he crossed the distance. She would wait and let them both exit this establishment from this exit.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

[ Last thing I need is another hole in my hide, lady. ] Drifter assured Casany Praxor , gesturing with his own blaster for her to please carry on. The woman was ferocious. Okay, so Mandalorians certainly lived up to their reputation, he mused, only to grimace under his helm in pain again. Blasted broken ribs.

Alex would have a field day with this, he was sure. Her nagging and self-indugently smug peanut gallery comments would be heard for weeks. Regardless, he made sure to send cover fire for the Mandalorian to make it to the exit. Not that she really needed his cover fire it seemed...

“Oya, Winter Soldier! Your turn! Viinir, verd!"

Snapped out of his pain-induced reverie, Drifter rolled to a knee - cursed to the Great Inari the Reviver as pain lanced through his chest again - then got up. Thankfully, she managed to create enough of a clearing for him not to worry about having to deck anyone - his ribs were very grateful.

Reaching the exit, he brought his blaster up to his helm as if to give a salute to the Mandalorian.

[ Thanks. Let's skidaddle. ] he gave another grunt of pain. Ugh. Yup. Definately a broken rib.

 

[Casany Praxor]

With the cantina having erupted into a shooting gallery, there weren’t many enemies left for Casany to defend against for her would-be friend. That was good for him in his current condition.

“Skedaddle from this shitshow of a battle?” What might have been Jawa Juice just then splashed on her helmet. “I’m in.” He couldn’t see her grimace. Oh well. The rest of them could fend for themselves as the gentleman and the Mandalorian hit the side entrance and made their exit.

Outside was a lot less violent. Vibrant lights in the streets of Canto Bight lit the night and greeted the feet of the Mandalorian. Her and the other person ended up in a back alley. “Looks safe to me.” Cas wiped the beverage away from her helmeted face.

“Sorry about the ribs,” she admitted, giving her contemporary due attention. He had already indicated his injury. “Shit happens and no hard feelings.” She all but demanded as she looked around their environment. “Buy you a drink as an apology? Just uh…not in this establishment.” Plenty of other places, though it was just an option, and she'd settle for vodka in her ship, to be honest. But The Peggat Cantina could kiss Casany’s ironclad ass.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

A drink? Drifter's eyes went wide behind his polarized helm, observing Casany Praxor with incredulity that could only be conveyed by the sheer rock and roll of his head swiveling at her.

[ Are all Mandalorians this crazy? ] he asked, leaning against the wall after having exited the hot mess of The Peggat Cantina behind him. Another sharp stab of pain and Drifter gave a grimace; the sheer groan and wince indicating that he was, in actuality, in quite a bit of pain.

[ Look -- ] what did she say her name was? Kas? Cas? Casany? Casa? [ Cas. ] he went with what seemed to be the most neutral almost sounding nickname that he could come up with.

[ How about you get me a med-kit and a bottle of Lum. ] at this rate, he'd also take any hard liquor.

[ Let's get out of here.] He slowly pushed himself

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music

Casany’s smile went wide behind her helmet. As before, the Mandalorian had made certain to amuse herself at this guy’s expense. Then again, even if her own ribs had been broken by a Chevin she wouldn’t turn down a round of drinks with a medkit anyhow.

“Only the crazy ones,” she answered rather nonchalantly. Personally she hadn’t thought about his injury the moment she had struck him but, honestly, she owed him nothing; not steak and peas or baked beans.

Had she even given her name? Maybe. Memories of those moments were hazy when it came to a chaotic cantina and dodging Chevins amid one another. “Pucker up, buttercup.” Cas gestured with a pat on the drifter’s shoulder.

The Mandalorian might not be obliged to help him but, well, he had proven to be a warrior to her and she felt like it so whatever. Oh, suck it up. “Lum or rum, you’ll get what’s given and the medkit to go with.” They got out of here.


Really, in the city streets, this cantina was next to that restaurant, that pub beside this bar, so they didn’t need to walk very far. After The Peggat came The Kaveat, a smaller diner on the corner that served liquor and didn’t look like it would cater to another outbreak of violence.

“Bottle of lum for my friend here if you got it,” Cas told the server after sitting down at a booth. “A burger and a beer for me. A medkit too.”

“Ahem.” The server looked at her like she was stupid. “We reserve those for emergencies and employees only.” He ended up staring into the darkness of a Mandalorian’s visor amid her silence. “Not a problem. I’ll get right on it.” Server left and left just two visors staring at each other.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

Buttercup? Drifter gave a half nod of his head in musing. I'll allow it.

Alright, the theory confirmed. All Mandalorians are crazy. Drifter feinted a scoff, but for his efforts, he only got another stab of pain to the ribs. Either way, by the time they made it to the diner, he sat down with a silent grimace and told himself that all he needed were a few pain pills and maybe a wrap.

The alcohol would certainly help, right? Well, maybe numb the pain. Honestly, if he could just sit and focus for a bit, he may be able to accelerate his healing by focusing on the Force. It depended on if Casany Praxor was the talkative drinking Mandalorian or not. While it wouldn't heal him immediately, it should help speed up the process, lessening it from several weeks to perhaps a week of wrapping and pain meds.

Goes to show you that no matter how much training one has, one could still get body slammed by a Chevin when caught unawares.

[ Does this play have any cheese curds with gravy? Maybe pour 'em over a basket of fries? ] The greasy food sounded splendid. Who cared about the calories?

The waiter looked at him with an incredulous expression, by with the deadpan stare provided by his new Mango buddy, he confirmed he would also bring a version of Belsavis poutine.

[ Remind me not to get on your bad side. ] odds were he would, but Drifter acknowledged Cas's ability to get people to get shit done. [ I owe you the drink I accidentally spilled, so I'll get that. ]

 

[Casany Praxor]

What this place had was good music. That was among the first things that Casany had noticed upon entering the establishment. It wasn’t exactly jazz, wasn’t exactly rap, was both and neither, mellow, with a tempo fit for sitting still.

Orders of burgers and cheese curds on fries later and, eyes into eyes—visor into visor, rather—it only took a moment for somebody to break the silence. Never mind spilled drinks or reminders. “You already did.” Casany shrugged. “The bit about getting on my bad side, I mean.”

She watched the person sitting adjacent from her, their expressions hidden by their helmets or whatever, their voices masked to an extent, but there was a warrior’s sentiment between them. “Like when you rolled me over—more than once, I might add—but never mind that. You can buy these drinks.”

Cas sat as still as a statue, hands clasped beneath the tabletop, and just watched. There were few other patrons in this diner, a couple servers in aprons, kitchen staff behind the counter that served as bartenders, baristas and cooks.

Granted, the local police might just be showing up in The Peggat any moment, but the Mandalorian had picked The Kaveat because it was away from the commotion. However, why had both picked the former to begin with?

“You can move,” Cas deduced. “You’ve got equipment.” Like his helmet. “You might wince at a few cracked ribs but otherwise take the pain so...you're a Jedi, am I right?" She spoke as nonchalantly as ever.

Drifter