This Old Cantina - Confederacy Space/Tatooine

[Long Gone]

OOC NOTE - PM TO JOIN.

Spoiler

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]

Sand...

It wasn't like that beach sand either, it was that gritty, annoying sand that got everywhere you never wanted it to get. Aaralyn groaned as the sandstorm continued to blow harshly against her form, causing her to hug the robes tighter against her form. She kept her head down low, relying on the Force to guide her to her final destination. If she lifted her head, the sand would blast her face and feel like a thousand pieces of glass hitting her flesh in a continuous flow and no doubt with how hard the wind was blowing, would draw blood. For some reason, this particular storm seemed a bit worse than any she had ever experienced before. The wind howling in her ears, screaming a song of eternal damnation on a deafening scale.

Unfortunately for her, this is where she was directed to start. In the lowest form of places in all of Tatooine, Mos Eisley. It could have been a better place, like Mos Espa or even Mos Anek was better than this place. Nope, had to be Mos Eisley. For her, this place brought back memories, not fond ones either. She had her first brawl in the Cantina a few hundred years ago, and even shared a drink with Cameron when they were traveling to Geonosis to speak with a weapons developer about defecting to the New Republic....but those were the old days. As she reached the door to the Cantina, it quickly opened and allowed her entrance and slammed shut behind her, the sound of the howling wind continuing outside as she shook off the immediate sand from her duster and hood. Darkened gloved hands appeared out from underneath the overcloak, brushing off the molecules of earth from her form as they came up to the hood and pulled it back to reveal the lightly dusted chestnut-brown hair. She didn't bother to remove her goggles or the breather over her nose and mouth as she began walking down the stairs and into the cantina.

Her eyes looked over each patron underneath the green-glazed goggles as she approached the bar, when she spoke there was a reverb within her voice that sounded almost alien. "Corellian, on the rocks." She said with little emotion in her voice.

The bartender raised a brow and leaned close to her, opening his mouth to a semi-toothless smirk. "Whiskey or Ale?"

Aaralyn made a motion with her hand and raised up, adjusting her posture as she did so. "Both."

The bartender looked almost shocked and nodded. "Comin' right up lady..."

 

[Vulpesen]

The doors to the cantina seemed to open and close without a person as Vulpesen slipped into the room, his back robes concealing the shadow fox armor underneath. As he glanced around the room, a beacon of light shone through the area. So he wasn't alone. Walking over, he sat down next to [member="Aaralyn Rekali"] and lifted off his mask. "Salutations." He looked up to the bartender and lifted his hand. "Corellian whiskey please" As the man gave him his drink, he returned his attention to what he ould only assume was a fellow jedi. "Whats your mission?"

 

[Long Gone]

Aaralyn raised an eyebrow as the whiskey-ale combo was set down before her. She looked at the pale liquid that swirled in the glass and gently grasped it with a gloved hand. She didn't remove her breather mask or her goggles as she spoke. "I don't know what you're talking about." She would deny it vehemently as there was no particular mission she was on that one would know of outside the Jedi Council.

She smirked as she raised the glass and continued to examine it. "Who said I was doing anything more than enjoying some time in this dust bowl?"

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Ice clinked in the glass, tumbling about as a dark-haired man swirled pale amber liquor. It sloshed about as the man of perhaps average height, with a pale complexion, came down the staircase that led to the second story of the bar. His gaze almost immediately snapped over to a couple at the bar. They seemed rather innocuous at first glance, but where natural senses failed, the Force told all. They bled light. One felt warm and fierce to him, like a fire that could just as easily burn those who sought out its heat. The other seemed colder, shifting aurora lights in the polar cap. Nice to look at, but somehow chilling.

Mischief glittered in the man's pale blue eyes.

Mikhail Shorn's presence did not hold light. He burned with a different fuel, full of passion and power. He was the swirling, dark storm that brought chaos and strife. A storm in motion, always seeking excitement, adventure. Capable of love, yes. Capable of hate. Mercurial, like the sea from which the storm had sprung. Brief flashes of lightning brought clarity in the darkness, followed by swift claps of thunder that sent some into terror, struck others, and left a bare few thrilled and wanting more of such danger.

This man, this Mikhail, strode over to the two beings light with a smug look and a confident stride. He wore a leather jacket, a grey shirt, and some dark wash pants. Nothing else. No weapons to speak of, not even a blaster.

He swirled his liquor lightly and blatantly looked the woman up and down. Goggles and a breather told the story where the sand-coated duster let off.

"Wandering around in a sandstorm?" A brow quirked, "I hear that can be dangerous."

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"] [member="Vulpesen"]

 

[Long Gone]

A slender eyebrow rose in question as she felt the presence close to her, her eyes shifted beneath the goggles to gaze upon the well, how would one say this without being blunt? The questionable aura that swirled beneath his charming good looks made her facial expression shift. She inadvertently gave him an unimpressed look beneath the breather and the goggles and looked back to the glass before her, her eyes rolling underneath the green-tinted glass. "I believe I can handle myself stranger." She gently set down the glass and brought both hands up to the sides of the breather and depressed the switches, a soft hissing emanated from the sides of the breather as it made contact with the atmosphere. She quickly brought it down and set it next to her with her left hand while her right reached up and lifted the goggles off of her eyes.

Her amber-red hued eyes blinked a few times as they adjusted to the light in cantina, a soft smirk coming to her crimson stained lips as she adjusted her position to face him. "Is there something I can help you with?" She said through the smirk, her right hand reaching to the side to grab the pale green colored glass of Corellian whiskey-ale combination within her hand before she brought it to her lips and took a gentle sip.

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]

 

[Lord Ghoul]

His lips twitched, eyes blinking lazily as his head shifted slightly in an entirely too sly way. "Depends," he began in a slow drawl, leaning closer in a conspiratorial hush, "Did you have something in mind?"

Mikhail drew back, a scandalous look scampering across his features.

The odd coloration of her eyes didn't seem off putting to the man. He'd lived in the Sith Empire for a long time and in that time he had seen all manner of freak. Eye color hardly registered. Except... red and amber. Oddly reminiscent of the liquid yellow and crimson that suffused the eyes of those profusely using the Dark Side.

He took a sip from his own glass, not bothering to hide the infuriating smirk that quirked up the corner of his lips. Amber liquid burned down his throat, settling in his stomach with a warm glow. Not quite the nectar he wanted right now, but it would do. Shorn continued to ignore the other man. No doubt he'd butt in at some point, red cheeked, huffing and puffing hot air.

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

 

[Long Gone]

She took another sip of the pale liquid, a soft expression of harshness overcoming her as the bitter liquid encompassed her taste buds. She winced a bit as she set the glass down infront of her, biting her bottom lip slightly. "Welp, with you?" She said a bit choked up. "I'd rather arm wrestle a bull rancor..." The liquid hit her like a beskar'gam gauntlet to the gut and she knew she'd feel it sooner or later. Her senses were amplified despite the alcholic effects the whiskey-ale combination would have on her physical being. The Force never ceased to function, unless she was dead and obviously that wasn't something she planned on being anytime soon.

She could sense a bit of mockery, yet serious undertone behind his advance. This only caused her cheeks to lightly turn a shade of crimson inadvertently, and in turn she grumbled and grabbed her glass. "Excuse me, stranger." She gently pushed away from the bar and made her way towards a darkened booth in the corner of the cantina. She gently placed her drink onto the table and slid into the booth, a sigh escaping her lips as she looked over towards the man at the bar she had just left and then @Vulpesen.

She was getting side-tracked too easy. She had to start looking for links to artifacts in Confederacy space, but how? This wasn't like the old days where one could march in and just demand answers, no...this required a more subtle approach. That type of approach wasn't one that Aaralyn was a professional at.

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]

 

[Lord Ghoul]

He winked at her slyly as she stalked off, not missing the shade of red that suffused her lightly tanned cheeks, barely noticeable with all the sand covering her. Looking entirely too pleased with himself, Shorn turned to the bartender, who gave him a nearly-toothless grin.

"She's a feisty one ain't she," the bartender growled.

"Oh," Shorn said, smiling, "She'll come around."

Ah, the common person, blissfully unaware of the Darkness that poured from Shorn's aura. To the bartender, this all looked like typical cantina antics. Tame by Mos Eisley standards. If only you knew.

Mikhail turned suddenly, too fast, and stumbled. Amber liquid sloshed from his glass, splashing [member="Vulpesen"] in the face.

"Oops... my bad." He fished a cred chip from his pocket and put it on the counter, looking the bartender in the eyes as he did. "Drinks on the house, right?"

The Sith Lord's eyes dilated as his presence nudged the mind of the bartender.

"Uhm, no need," the man waved the cred chip away. "A round of drinks on the house!"

Seedy eyes glanced up in interest, meanwhile, Shorn's flicked over to the woman's booth. He stared unabashedly, tossing a secretive wink her way and holding a finger to his lips.

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

 

[Long Gone]

Aaralyn raised an eyebrow. ~Oh...man...could this guy be anymore arrogant!~ She casually made a motion with her hand as she leaned forward in the booth, a smile coming to her face as if she really cared for his wink and the attempt to be cute in his usage of the Force. She whispered underneath her breath towards the bartender "You will pay for that round, plus another for dirtying up the bar..." Elements of Force energy manipulated the brain waves within the bartenders mind, causing him to blink swiftly and get a facial expression of anger. He shook his head two or three times as he realized what he had said and quickly corrected his statement. The nearly toothless man yelled out with a slight accent as he brought a hand down to slap the hard, cold metal with a loud thud.

"No sir, actually, yeh will pah for those drinks and another round for these gents!" He then leaned down and whispered to [member="Mikhail Shorn"]. "And for dirtying up my bar..." He made a gesture towards [member="Vulpesen"] and turned away to begin making two rounds of drinks for the patrons.

Aaralyn just offered [member="Mikhail Shorn"] a smirk as her chin rested within the palm of her hand, fingers gently tapping her cheeks as she stared cutely at him. ~Oh, I bet that stings to be beat at your own game, hmm?~

 

[Lord Ghoul]

"Adorable," Shorn muttered, mood sufficiently soured. He barely had enough money to keep his yacht running, let alone hand out freebies to bars full of fuglies. A blue-eyed stare full of icy daggers met the bartender's demanding gaze.

The bartender's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he took a step backward, before plopping down onto the ground where he sat, snoring. Nothing permanent. At least, Mikhail thought it wasn't. He had never been the best with these mental persuasion tricks. Smashing people through walls with telekinesis was so much easier.

Shorn slid into the seat opposite the woman and bared a grimacing smile. "You're the worst."

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

 

[Long Gone]

"Yes well, your antics could have cost me potential information." She held a hand up to disgruntled patrons who were appearing to leave. She rolled her eyes and leaned back in the booth, grabbing her pale ale as she did so. "It doesn't matter, I'll figure it out soon enough, with or without select individuals." She swirled the liquid around one more time, staring at it again before bringing the glass to the edge of her lips. "That is, unless you know anything about the artifacts in this sector..." She took the final swig of the harsh liquid before slamming down the glass on the table.

She shivered and even shuddered a bit as the taste of the alcohol encompassed her once again. "Bah, thought it was only the first shot that tasted bad!" She said with a hoarse voice, shaking her head as if she were trying to get rid of the effects of the drink itself off of her.

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]

 

[Lord Ghoul]

The reaction to her drink caused him to raise an eyebrow. A mischievous glint surfaced in his eyes again, the fin of a Firaxian shark on the prowl. "That's what they always tell me," he remarked, hand waving ambiguously and looking off into the distance. He blinked lazily, gaze resettling on the woman's form.

"Anyway. Artifacts? On Tattooine?" Shorn snorted, holding up fingers as he ran through a list. "I'm sorry but we have a) moisture farmers b ) sand c) crime and d) more sand. Take your pick."

Mikhail glanced down at his drink, remembered that it was empty, and set it down with a disappointed expression. A look at the bar told him the bartender wouldn't be serving anything new for a while. Shrugging, Mikhail gestured with one hand. A bottle and a second glass floated off the top of the shelf and landed on the table between himself and the woman.

"Ah, vintage bourbon."

He smiled smugly, popped the top off, and poured himself a glass. Shorn indicated the second glass.

"Care to taste, miss I'm-on-a-mission?"

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

 

[Serian Loria]

There was a farm on the planet that produced a component for a project he had in mind, but while he could have just gotten a servant to do it, he chose not to. He liked dealing with things himself and the owner seemed like an amiable man to deal with. Moreover once he’d met him face to face he’d been quite happy to be of service, which pleased him greatly. The transaction had gone well and he was in a pleasant mood, despite the sandstorm that kept the ship he was to leave on grounded. Because this was Confederacy space he had no reason to expect any hostility directed at him in the bar, after all, these people knew who helped defend them. It wasn’t his usual mean to display what he was, aside from wearing the signet, as he really didn’t like drawing attention to himself.

He strode through the doors, took a seat in the back, ordered a drink from the serving woman, then scanned the patrons. He detected the Feeling of one individual he’d encountered before and his good mood soured, but he ignored it. What was interesting however was that there was a Lightsider, though it wasn’t easy to tell from what faction. He first assumed Jedi, but then remembered that like with those who followed the Dark path, the woman might very well be from one of the varying cults or governments. Things were not so clear cut and a Lightsider did not technically mean Jedi, just as a Darksider did not exactly mean Sith. For his part however, his aura was carefully concealed. He certainly hoped that he’d gone unnoticed from Shorn, their last encounter had been obnoxious enough.

This time he would not let such an insult fly and if he decided to act aggressively, he would tear him asunder and be fully within his rights. He’d enjoy it too and leave his body alive to deliver into the hands of his government, the state of his mind however would be up to the Curates to deal with. His drink was brought and he sipped it quietly, watching outside in the vain hopes that the sand you cease so he could leave.


[member="Mikhail Shorn"] [member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

 

[Long Gone]

"I suppose I can take a small bit..." She motioned with her hand slightly as it rose up to the edges of her duster, the other hand rising as well to assist in the removal of the heavy jacket. She wiggled free from it's confines and tossed it besides her within the booth. Her gaze shifting from the heavy coat back to Mikhail before her. "Not too much, I'd rather not have to deal with drama while under the influence should it arise..." She nodded to [member="Mikhail Shorn"] and smirked. "And by drama, I mean you, who knows how many times you can deal with the answer -No-."


Then there was something that caught her eye, it wasn't a presence within the Force but an awkward movement or perhaps just someone new entering the Cantina itself.


Her attention shifted, behind Mikhail as a patron seemed to have caught notice of their little soirée in the corner. She also took notice it was a passing glance, one that appeared to be quickly dismissed as the man appeared to enjoy a drink. Aaralyn gave it little attention, storing it in the back of her mind for now. "I have to say, you're the first guy who has the gall to make an attempt...well several attempts and get past this point. To be completely honest I am surprised that you haven't been escorted away at gunpoint."

She took the glass after he was finished pouring it, gloved fingers curling around the fragile glass. She examined the swirling honey colored liquid inside as she spoke. "To answer your question, yes. I'm hunting artifacts, here and abroad..." She paused briefly and brought the glass up to the dim candle light infront of the both of two of them. "Everything except the sand is fine..."

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"] [member="Mikhail Shorn"] [member="Vulpesen"] [member="Serian Loria"]

There'd been a time when Tatooine and all the worlds around it were Ember's stomping ground of choice, back when it had been him and Denko and the rest of the originals. Before the dark times. Before the Dread Guard.

Then Mando space had called for aid, and Ember, like more than a few other Templars, had answered. He'd fought for the survival of his people, not for the expansion of border or dominion. In Mando space, he'd found another calling, filled the void left by a Jedi Order that had lost its principles. He'd embraced that calling to the point where his returns to Confederate space had grown infrequent -- and to the point where, when his only living child came back to him across barriers of time and circumstance, they'd found themselves on partially opposing sides. Oh, they'd talked since then, patched things up, spoken of matters galactic and familial, but the fact remained. She had chosen the Republic, and he had chosen Mandalore.

He no longer wore his Templar signet, much as he no longer wore his Jedi robes. Instead, a new-forged suit of hooded armor, half witch and half Mandalorian, was his only concession to visible allegiance. Wind-caked sand crumbled away from the suit and its armorweave accoutrements.

Why was he here? A confluence of causation. Cleaning out old caches near Mos Eisley -- Force presence nulled -- he'd caught a hint of his daughter's arrival on the aether, a Keetael tracker's instinct. And as he paused at the only door to stamp sand from his boots and legs, he unwove the White Current effect that had hidden him from the wielders of the Force. Those especially sensitive to such things might feel a new mind at work, a battered, middle-aged, blue-collar mind with sharp edges and not a little pain. A Lightsider, grim and tired.

Beneath the masterforged beskar mask, purple Vahla eyes flicked from the young woman to the man beside her. Any bounty hunter knew that face. Anyone who watched the news knew that face, unless, like Aaralyn, they'd arrived in these tempora et mores recently.

The Thronebreaker was on Tatooine. Talking to Ember Rekali's daughter.

With a grunt, the armored man settled down in a stall by the door and began reviewing files on his datapad. No reason to risk triggering anything.

 

[Lord Ghoul]

The sandstorm continued to howl outside unabated. Not too many people wandered around in the middle of a force that could turn your skin into a raw, pink n' red mess. Most people stayed at home. One of those seeking refuge in the cantina caught the woman's eye. Unfortunately, Mikhail sat with his back to the door. He craned his head around with some difficulty to glimpse the new entry, following Aaralyn's gaze until-

Oh.

Grimacing, Mikhail turned back to regard Aaralyn, pretending he hadn't seen what he'd just seen.

His eyes dropped down to the candle in between them. Might've been romantic if they weren't in a smelly bar occupied by the worst sort of people. He began playing with the fire with his left hand, fingers whisking over the fluttering flame. Usually Jedi got all huffy and puffy about crime. Mikhail wondered what other order she could belong to, if any, before deciding he really didn't care. There were far more interesting things to do than attempt to deduce her past.

Mikhail smiled lazily, holding his bourbon in his right hand. He sipped a little, eyes narrowing on her. "Attempt?" He blinked slowly, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

 

[Sicarius]

Another entered the bar, the sand kicking up behind him as the doors closed. He was hooded and wore a long jacket with breeches and leather boots. He carried no weapons, but a calm, yet dangerous air surrounded him regardless. His face was cast in darkness by the hood as he scanned the room quietly. A tiny gesture of recognition with his hand, hidden from view from the two at their booth, was given to Ember. He knew of the man and knew in general what equipment he bore, but did not know the man whatsoever. Whether the other knew him, Sicarius didn't know. That wasn't his job.

For now, his job was to wait and search. To listen and catalogue. He quietly ordered a simple ale in a bottle and leaned against the bar, looking out over the tavern. He spotted where the armored warrior sat going over his datapad and glanced at the two in the booth. The Sentinel simply tilted his head to one side at the armored man as if to say 'Yours?' in nothing but body language.

All the while, the hooded man focused inwards from the start, using his, admittedly, limited knowledge of Force Stealth to try and hide his presence.

[member="Ember Rekali"] [member="Mikhail Shorn"] [member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

 

[Long Gone]

"Do you take me for some backwater cantina hooker?" She rolled her eyes and set down the liquid before sliding the glass back to him with a flick of her fingers. The glass slid effortlessly across the well-worn table and off the side, shattering into a dozen pieces, sending a spray of shards and brown liquid in different directions. She pursed her lips and leaned forward. "I'm not some spiced up girl you can woo with your looks and your charisma, but I'm sure if you take a good look around...you'll find something or someone who is right up your alley..."


She leaned back into her seat and pulled her datapad out and gently placed it onto the table. She swung her legs out from under the table and placed them in the booth, propping them up to where she could place the pad in her lap, the sound of metal hitting metal echoed softly in the corner as her boots and shin guards made contact with the table itself. She groaned and adjusted herself uncomfortably until her legs finally came to rest upon the table, crossing them at her ankles. She reached up and grabbed the datapad and placed it within her lap. As she did so, her eyes met Mikhail's and she offered him a sarcastic smirk and made a waving gesture towards the bar. "Now if you'll excuse me.." Her gaze fell back down to the datapad as it rested in her lap, looking over the recent data Rave Merrill had sent her.

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]

 

[Lord Ghoul]

He raised an eyebrow as the glass spilled, shattering everywhere and sending a spray of liquid that spattered his lower half. A flash of irritation whipped through him and he pinched the wick of the candle violently, snuffing it out. Grimacing for the third time that day, Mikhail waved a hand and collected the shards with the Force, depositing them in a pile on the table. He blinked lazily, leaning back and regarding the woman.

"Someone is a bit temperamental. One second you're talkative and the next you're smashing glasses. Careful," mischief glittered in his eyes, "or you'll end up like me."

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

 

[Long Gone]

Aaralyn raised an eyebrow. "I was being polite, don't flatter yourself..." She sighed heavily and brought the datapad up to her face as she examined a note on the datapad. "You sure are persistent, an adorable trait." She brought the pad down and placed it on the table. "That Corellian Kath Hound pups tend to have until they get a taste of blood and they become vicious..." She smirked and brought her feet off the table and set them underneath, adjusting herself. Her elbow came to rest upon the table as she brought her chin down into her palm. She lazily took her other hand and picked up a shard of glass, the light from the main lights in the cantina catching the sharpened edges causing it to glint across her face.

"You're that type of guy. I'm sure, you get one taste and you're addicted." She flicked the glass towards him, the shard coming end over end with such speed, it grazed his hair before flying harmlessly off into the distance. "And we're not talking in a manner that is just sexual in nature, no. We're talking blood lust itself." She smirked as she gazed down at the other pieces and plucked another piece up and flicked it beside his face, again, catching a loose strand of hair. "You see, I can be just as annoying and pestering as you." She knew she was tempting the tiger by throwing raw meat close to her and allowing the blood from the meat to drip down her hands and onto her form. She knew sooner or later he would break, or break away. It was interesting to see the irritation in his eyes, to see if he could truly take it.

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]