Public This One's For... (Open to Corellians, otherwise ASK)

[Julius Sedaire]

Music Theme
Surroundings
Location: Coronet City, Corellia - Green Devil Inn
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The Green Devil Inn was a sanctuary if a rowdy and rough-tumbled one. All of the Corellian rogues knew it, a few called it home. Many members of the Underground and Rebel types used it as a base of operations when in the sector. It had good rooms, great food cooked by a burly Trando that Julius lovingly called 'Mick' and if you knew the right words, an armory hidden underneath that could outfit a few crack squads with a speeder or speeder bike and an array of weapons, depending on what was passing through the hold to be filtered to the various organizations the owner worked with.

Over the bar hung a flag of Corellia, pennants, and pins attached the flag. All mementos of the wars for Corellian independence and sovereignty that Julius and his cohorts has been in. A man that was clearly not one to be messed with sat by the door, exotic tattoos in geometric patterns covering his face, and a truncheon made of the bone of some poor creature sat next to the worn but very plush stool the brick wall of a bouncer occupied. It did no good to flirt or bluster him. You got one chance to act right, then as evidenced by the dented hab wall across the street you were tossed, rather than truly bounced, right out the door.

And behind the bar a young lady, the niece of Julius and daughter of the CEO of the Corellian Engineering corporation Cal Sedaire, served up liquid courage and sage advice, a deep drawl and fiery hair to match her temper, which was disguised by the sweet and flirty manner she greeted everyone with. Though it was rumored only one person had matched her prodigious tolerance for Corellian whiskey, and the poor sod (a CorSec veteran sergeant) was treated for alcohol poisoning after.

This place Julius called home these days, working where needed, running intelligence and support for the younger field folks and even just... Existing. Today saw him waiting on a litany of guests he had invited out of no great purpose other than he missed them. The comm waves had gone out to old Corellian Federation and League veterans, Jedi, Galactic Alliance folk and even one to the last known location of Jorus Merrill. Though the last one was a longshot to jar his old friend and comrade out of whatever hiding hole or adventure he was into. Behind the bar, he worked to fix a broken plumbing line. A beskar pauldron was strapped to his left shoulder, secured by a krayt leather band across his torso that held a bryar pistol in the small of his back, and a kal-knife of Mandalorian make at his left pectoral. Typical spacers shirt, bloodstripe trousers, and silver toe-capped spacers leathers boots. A lightsaber hung at his belt, and a flask opposite the saber.

"You goramn shabla piece of rancor osik, I will turn you into scrap and drink from your parts if you spray sewage on me again!"

Odd words for a former Grandmaster of the Corellian Order of Jedi, maybe. But perfectly fitting for the man under the counter fighting with a waste processing unit.

 

[Dair Cotarin <inactive>]

Corellia. A land of antiheroes and fantastic scoundrels.

It had been the first place Dair had gone on a mission with the Jedi Shadows under one of his old masters Kian Karr. That had been a training mission, but it had left its mark on Dair such that it was one of the few planets that he felt truly safe on.

Which was odd for a planet that could possibly boast a pistol beneath every jacket.

Dair had met Grandmaster Sedaire only briefly when the Green Jedi Order and the Corellian Independence movements were strong. It had been one of the last actions Dair had partaken in before sequestering himself in the wilds of Midvinter these last few years. What he remembered was good, and he assumed it was that brief contact that had included him in the invitation.

Of late, Dair had taken to wearing robes that spoke to old times, when the Galactic Republic still held sway in the galaxy, off white, tan, and gold in color. Here, however, that wouldn't do.

The Dair that entered the Green Devil Inn wore standard spacer leathers over a black shirt. He wore a force imbued pendant that sparkled in the v of his shirt. His lightsaber was somewhat concealed in a shoulder holster, and he wore a pair of blaster pistols at his hips in quick draw holsters. His belt buckle was small, but was a green jedi symbol to honor his host.

"Last time I was in a bar like this, I had the sweetest Corellian whiskey, I think it was a twenty year aged with vanilla." He smiled warmly as he walked over to the bar and leaned over it. "If you have anything like that I could use a glass."

 

[Wyatt Morga]

How long had it been since Wyatt had drank? He imagined close to a hundred years, but he could still taste the wood aging of his coruscanti whisky. Although it didn’t bring saliva to his tongue any longer, he thought after the last year of not so much as a drop of even water, he deserved a small treat.​

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It was that, and that between the harsh images during his meditation efforts - he saw this bar appear over and over. Again and again, before he couldn’t really keep it from his mind. He had lost his once legendary attunement to the Force’s will, or hid from it, but he knew this was likely the place he needed to be. Yet, even as he entered he found himself holding onto a faint anxiety about it all.​

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It was almost relieved by the comedic anger behind the counter, and Wyatt drew down his hood to find himself a seat at the bar alongside Dair Cotarin <inactive> - not that he knew of Dair, but he thought it only reasonable to sit among company. The jedi cleared his throat and asked for his own drink -​

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“Coruscant Whiskey.”, he chimed, though almost stumbling on the words.​

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“And uh… some water.”​

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Nothing beat the classics.​

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Dair Cotarin <inactive> │ Julius Sedaire​

 

[Selinica Miriya Cailis]

It had been a little while since she last stepped foot in a place like this. It had been Corellia's freedom, and for her, a homecoming of sorts. Years wound on, and she found herself taking the place her parents had once occupied to an extent, though kinder, but much of her background after secreting away from home as a young woman was spent in places worse than the Green Devil Inn, a lot of the time. She didn't come because she needed a drink, or to be whatever else she was beneath her public identity... no, she came because blood, and specifically because it was the seat of an old acquaintance.

Wandering in, looking more the well-worn traveller (old hat, so to speak) than the secretive aristocratic philanthropist (newer hat), Sel took stock of the other patrons, noting two unfamiliar but Force-endowed men at the bar (Jedi? She hadn't visited the temple in a long while, either), and behind it, what would have been her quarry if this wasn't an inn and if he was difficult to track down. They had both been so much younger... she stepped up to the bar, not taking a seat, instead leaning on the bar counter, folding her arms upon it. She leaned over further, craning to get a better look as the former Grandmaster swore.

"Doesn't seem a fair fight," she observed, tongue in cheek, peering at the gray back of Julius Sedaire 's head, "when it can't talk back."

Maybe she'd take a few fingers of the good stuff. It'd been a while for that, too.

Wyatt Morga | Dair Cotarin <inactive>

 

[Rik Perris]

He'd never been in a bar in his life, outside of accompanying his late master, until recently. Never tasted drink, outside of family gatherings and parental supervision, until recent months. Until he was out in the galaxy alone.

When Julius Sedaire was Grandmaster of their particular verdant order, Knight Edic Nurown had still been alive, and Rik was just a boy. An eager padawan learner, a child. The unpredictability of life, and the cycle of war saw the old man behind the bar depart his post, and the young pilot's master depart the land of the living, by the time he was all of twelve years of age; an event that altered him, within, the stages of grief doing their work, with the guiding counsel of other masters that mentored him. The recent loss of his great-grandfather, the elder Tadel Perris, further tempered him, but the horrors of his last flight missions before that day had already set him on some sort of path that made the grieving of his aged relative's passing a different experience.

And now he was here, on the cusp of returning to the Order, at the tail end of his meandering introspection. A lightsaber at his hip, stubble on his face, and mere weeks past his nineteenth birthday, he took a seat at the bar, straddling a stool, along with Wyatt Morga and Dair Cotarin <inactive> , trying not to pay the blonde bent over the counter too much mind... though he could have sworn he saw her in the halls of the floating temple, at least once, in bygone times.

"I'll take a home ale," he added, after the others... maybe the whisky, to follow? He'd found it tasted even better, this way; Rik looked again to the red-haired beauty behind the counter as his stomach grumbled, "And... got nerf?"

His expression turned vaguely sheepish. He hadn't eaten since that morning. Too much running around, evading notice, wanting to save the surprise of his return for later, for family.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The redhead smiled, with a look that was pure danger. Or perhaps an invitation, if one were particularly stupid. Either way, she began pouring, juggling bottles like a circus entertainer. As she did, she kept up a conversation with her uncle, teasing him.

"Ya know, we have a great berry and apple drink iffin you can't handle your whiskey straight, cutie-pie."

A pour of Wyrenn's 10, a vanilla bean sliced and dropped in the glass along with red peppercorn she crushed between thumb and pointer finger for a kick. and slid to Dair Cotarin <inactive> as she spun the glass, swirling and mixing the flavors.

"Wyrenn's stopped the fancy barrels to focus on aging better. But that'll do ya. The pepper balances it."

To Wyatt Morga she glanced next. She was Force-sensitive, though more in a Merrill way than a Sedaire way, as her uncle said. Emotions, thoughts, intent, and such. She could feel the pain, the baggage. A dusty bottle was wiped off, and slid with a crystalline rocks glass to the man, along with a bottle of spring water from Anch-To. She nodded.

"From the Capitol. Before the Republic fell a few years back... To your health, Master Jedi."

To Rik Perris she slid a heft ceramic mug etched with a devil painted green, and smiled, the head froth just enough to show it fresh, but not make the mug vacant air. And she hollered in back to the cook.

"Mick, nerf steak, medium-rare. Bantha butter on the side with a Concodian tuber. "

A glance at the younger one, and a nod.

"You'll like it, trust me"

With a flash of the troublemaking grin, she turned to chide her Uncle on language and stopped short. The former Grandmaster of the Green Jedi had risen, wiped his hands, and stuck the oil-rag in his belt. His hands gripped a bottle of Wyrenn's Reserve, laid down the same year that Corellia was freed. By all the few accounts of it being drank, even for a relatively young age, it was an astounding whiskey. And Julius never opened it. But he slid a glass to the blonde, plopped on a seat in front of her with the bottle to his left, and hefted a raised glass in expectation of a toast with Selinica Miriya Cailis. For a long moment, he just stared at the woman, almost stunned, before speaking.

"To old friends?"

 

[Wyatt Morga]

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The drink slid to him, aged as it was even on the shelf. Just the sight of the light brown liquid put the flavor in Wyatt’s mouth - and with that smoky memory, the salt and pain of a life once lived. His eyes fell to the water, almost rescinding himself to it - but as his hand moved to reach for it, it still managed to find the bottle of whiskey. A thumb wiped away what remained of the dust on the label and he offered a quiet smile -​

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“A good year.”, he offered, to no one in particular but himself.​

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Slowly, he poured himself a small amount, sipped it slow, and set it back down. The ex Grandmaster almost had to hold back a cough, if nothing else but appearances; but it reminded him how long it had been, how far he was from the Wyatt he once was. A shame, in some sense, that he had come so far only to fall into a new hole.​

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It wasn’t anger that bound him now, but fear. Another trial in his all too long life.​

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He sighed as he glanced up - raising his water bottle this time.​

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“To everyone’s health.”, he offered, as he took a longer, more refreshing drink.​

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Julius Sedaire │ Rik Perris │ Selinica Miriya Cailis │ Dair Cotarin <inactive>​

 

[Dair Cotarin <inactive>]

"Thank you." Dair says with an open smile. He saw a bit of familial relation between the young woman and Julius, though not too much thankfully. He trusted Sedaire and his kin when it came to the right actions and whisky. He took a sniff of the drink and smiled and nodded. "It smells wonderful."

He waited to sip, though. His education in these things had been fairly good in the shadows. He wasn't disappointed when Julius raised a toast.

"To old times, still alive in our hearts and minds." He says as he raises his glass. His eyes lit on the beskar pauldron, and then back to the group assembled. He had been gone a long while, it seemed a lot has happened.

He took a sip of the drink and was not disappointed. The initial flavor was exactly what he'd wanted, then the heat of the peppercorn hit and it truly added to the depth of the flavor. He nodded appreciatively and set the glass down for the moment, looking around at those beside him.

Julius Sedaire | Rik Perris | Selinica Miriya Cailis | Wyatt Morga​