:: HERO of KORRIBAN ::
Wearing: This
Tag:
Allyson Locke
Location: Coronet City, Corellia | Outskirts – "The Rusted Blaster" Cantina
The smell hit him first: spilled ale, fried nerf meat, and something burning that probably wasn't supposed to be. Judah Lesan wrinkled his nose and stepped deeper into the cantina, boots echoing faintly on scuffed durasteel flooring. The place hadn't changed since the event which had seen the planet broken. It had the same dim lighting, a haze of smoke curling lazily under flickering lights, and the kind of crowd that didn't ask questions. That was exactly why he'd picked it.
The shadow slid into a booth tucked against the far wall, back to the corner, habit more than paranoia. His dark cloak was draped over his shoulders, hood down, the hair from his beard on his jawline catching the light from the neon sign behind the bar. His mechanical right arm rested on the table's edge as he nursed a hot glass of…
…tea.
Judah didn't look like a Jedi, not anymore. Maybe that was the point. He didn't feel like one either. Not since Woostri. He exhaled through his nose and stopped the thought cold.
The cantina's door hissed open again, a gust of night air carrying the scent of rain on permacrete. He glanced up. Not her. Just another pilot and a droid trying not to draw attention.
He'd sent the message two days ago. No signature. Just coordinates. A meeting time. A simple line:
"Thought you might want to remember who you were before all of this. Come alone."
It wasn't a threat. It wasn't a trap. If anyone understood ghosts, it was Allyson Locke.
Judah leaned back, eyes scanning the cantina lazily, but his senses were anything but relaxed. The Force ebbed around him like a quiet tide, but not still. There was always motion, anything could happen, and somewhere in the static of this ruined galaxy, maybe there was still a piece of the past worth holding onto.
Maybe.
He took another sip and waited.