Problem Child
Capris flexed a hand, watching it pale under the constrictive force of a knuckle wrap. From where she sat—hunched over in the dim isolation of some dive bar's locker room— the motion almost felt meditative. That was good. Familiar..And probably the only thing about her current situation which could check both of those boxes.
Ring fighting was an admittedly sharp pivot for the ex-padawan, but it soon came to be a much needed substitute for income. As theatrical and addicting as bounty hunting was on any given day, the trade could prove annoyingly unreliable at times. Capris couldn't just stack her credits and coast.
So here she was, making a name for herself in the pits of hell like any good wayward soul would inevitably try.
With enough narrow victories Capris had managed to cement herself as something of micro celebrity in this one singular, derelict joint. If she was comfortable lying to herself—and she was— she'd claim her motivation to be rooted in simple economics. After all, this had to be one the least offensive way to put all those years of Jedi conditioning to use and still turn a profit. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact beating the chit out of people was free and therapy decidedly wasn't.
Stemming a growing nausea, Capris ran a clawed hand through her hair to tame it. Flakes of crusted blood freckled her cheek but she largely ignored them, opting instead to stand in front of the refresher to scrutinize her eye-bags a little longer. Rudely, her brooding session was interrupted by an impatient knock on the door. One followed by an equally incoherent string of complaints. With a sigh, Capris pushed away from the sink and towards the door, bracing against the flood of light as she pushed it open and stepped back out into the main bar.
Ashla, what she wouldn't do for a strong cup of caf right about now.
Talin Treicolt
Ring fighting was an admittedly sharp pivot for the ex-padawan, but it soon came to be a much needed substitute for income. As theatrical and addicting as bounty hunting was on any given day, the trade could prove annoyingly unreliable at times. Capris couldn't just stack her credits and coast.
So here she was, making a name for herself in the pits of hell like any good wayward soul would inevitably try.
With enough narrow victories Capris had managed to cement herself as something of micro celebrity in this one singular, derelict joint. If she was comfortable lying to herself—and she was— she'd claim her motivation to be rooted in simple economics. After all, this had to be one the least offensive way to put all those years of Jedi conditioning to use and still turn a profit. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact beating the chit out of people was free and therapy decidedly wasn't.
Stemming a growing nausea, Capris ran a clawed hand through her hair to tame it. Flakes of crusted blood freckled her cheek but she largely ignored them, opting instead to stand in front of the refresher to scrutinize her eye-bags a little longer. Rudely, her brooding session was interrupted by an impatient knock on the door. One followed by an equally incoherent string of complaints. With a sigh, Capris pushed away from the sink and towards the door, bracing against the flood of light as she pushed it open and stepped back out into the main bar.
Ashla, what she wouldn't do for a strong cup of caf right about now.
Talin Treicolt
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