Location: Rivet Cantina, Carson City, Kyrayc
Daisy sighed. She’d been waiting for what felt like forever. Minister Creed had assured her that this was the correct place and the correct time but still no one had approached. She was unlike many of the other warriors that nursed their black ale and watched shockball on the holonet. They were weathered, both in face, and in equipment. It made Daisy feel almost like a shiny new credit. Which stood out.
Wonderful.
Few would understand that her beskar’gam seemed to be in fairly good condition because she cared for it. It was often her life. Or, the reason she was still alive. Since it was so kind as to see to her well-being—she at least repaid it by buffing out issues and keeping it maintained. Daisy had learned very young how to work with damaged beskar’gam. Her father had always answered the call of the Mandalore, at least, before they’d been forced to exile. She’d put pieces back together, almost seamlessly, that her old man had thought lost. She wore her armor with more pride and honor than most Mandalorians had left in their entire bodies. Turning her head, she caught a female with pale hair just as she was looking away, speaking to an older man in hushed tones.
The young Americus couldn’t catch any of it even with additional equipment in her suit, but, she wasn’t really trying to eavesdrop. That wasn’t why she’d come.
Her scanners let off several pings. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one in the bar using the equipment. Hardly shocking. For the time being she remained where she was. It wasn’t the best of places, from what she understood, to be mistaken as an Empire loyalist. The Minister had advised that she keep her nose clean. So, she tried. Things never went as intended.
“Hey, b'ami'r. ru ret' olar a'yaou. Ni cuyir slanar at gal'gala.” [Hey, girl. Haven’t seen you before. I’m going to buy you a drink.]
The deep tenor of a male, sans helmet, erupted from beside her and if she closed her eyes for a moment. This was one of the reasons she’d kept her helmet
on versus taking it off. Many of her people kept their gear on at all times. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. Daisy turned back toward the bar and kept her focus forward. Hopefully, he’d take a hint. There were only so many ways she knew how to say piss off politely.
“A'uym ca'nara. Thanks.” [Another time. Thanks.]
“Think you’re special, eh? I said I was going to. Ni cuyir va dasa'na.” [I wasn‘t asking.]
He signaled the barback to bring them both a mug of ale and Daisy glanced down at the dark liquid. She could hold her alcohol just as well as any Americus but this really wasn’t a social call. She also didn’t trust anyone on this planet yet. Not the bar, not the server, and certainly not some random insisting that she drink it.
“Ah’m meeting someone. Once again, nayc vor entye.” [No thank you.]
The patron seemed to get a little red in the face. Daisy was used to dealing with brothers and sisters that had downed a few too many. When he grabbed her right and arm and reached for the clasps that kept her helmet locked on she tilted her head away.
“Let go. Now.”
“Your date stood you up. Ni ganar cuyir sur'ulur—Forget about him. Join me.” [I’ve been watching.]
Daisy tried to pull her arm away but still found it being held tight. Her jaw tightened.
“Rala. Slanar. Last chance.” [Let. Go.]
Some people were hard of hearing. Especially, after downing their body weight in
ne'tra gal. Daisy turned on the barstool, a full head smaller than the
siha who gripped her arm as if it were a matchstick, ripe, for breaking. She’d warned him twice. Her arm twisted quickly from his with more strength that some would give her credit for. She wasn’t stick thin, but she was still obviously a woman on her own, and assumption was the name of the game.
She grasped his left wrist and pulled it toward her, across her midsection, and her right hand came up behind his head. Gloved fingers threaded in his hair before she forced his face down with a sickening thud as his head crashed against the fairly polished bartop. He yelped and she lifted, using his poor balance, to do it again. Surprised and more than a little intoxicated the man took the full the force of it and slumped. Daisy eased him to the ground beside her barstool and let his arm drop like a sack of potatoes.
That was going to hurt when he woke up.
Glancing at the bartender she sighed again. Great. Sliding a sizeable amount of credits across the bar she spoke lightly through her visor, almost kindly, with a thick accent leaking through.
“For the drink and the trouble. Buy this one an ice pack when he wakes up.”
“Ah’m looking for A’den Kyr’am. He’s supposed to be expectin’ me but ah’m thinkin’ something got lost in translation. Can ah get a message to him and ah’ll leave ya to it?”
It would have been nice to realize that her contact was just on the other side of the cantina, but, his face couldn’t be scanned if it wasn’t facing her. Reflective surfaces could only do so much and she wasn’t about to hack into the surveillance for the establishment for what should have been a friendly visit. There were other ways.
[member="A'den Kyr'am"] | [member="Alice Tal'verda"]
