It was just a natural thing for her to do, when that feeling took her. To the former smuggler, there was solace in the anonymity of a busy street, in a dark cantina. Not the glitter and shine of the entertainment district's upper levels, where the Opera House and famed restaurants and trendy clubs were set. No, Mal found her comfort in the lower levels, where people didn't dress to impress, or get attention. Quite the opposite, in fact. Folks preferred others to mind their own business, in those streets of dive bars, strip clubs and diners.
That feeling, the one that compelled a Commander of the Galactic Alliance Navy to seek recreation in such a place, was loneliness. Solitude had become her companion, aside from a clunky S19 droid, at least since Glara's betrayal. A shattered heart became embittered, and Mal strove alone to carve out a living with an inherited small freighter and that boxy droid.
She never had a crew member or passenger long enough to establish any kind of relationship, the one exception being Damsy Callet, whom she had unexpectedly found at the Jedi Temple just days prior. It turned out being an officer in the Navy offered no better companions, at least for a new officer.
The half-Nagai exchanged her uniform for a pair of dungarees, a snug white shirt and a wide-brim hat she picked up from some spaceport kiosk in the Rim. Feeling much more herself then, Mal found herself on the street, looking for a place to drink. That in itself was dangerous. She had a problem when it came to drinking, in that she had a hard time stopping. Another reason to do her drinking in a less conspicuous environ.
A skilled, deft hand fluttered over the handle of the Tehk'lka Blade, the blade of a Nagai, tucked neatly against the small of her back. Mal checked its placement with a soft touch of the fabric concealing the weapon.
Walking along the busy sidewalk, Mal looked up at the neon signs, looking for the one that called to her. But a disturbance ahead drew her amber gaze away. A Gran was getting in the face of a frightened Balosar. The Gran glared at the squirming irritant from his protruding eyes, his thick hands continually shoving the scrawny, mop-headed Balosar against the wall of a building.
It really was no concern of Mal's, and she shifted course to avoid the altercation. The maneuver failed, as the Gran jerked the Balasor to one side and shoved him through the crowd, until the stumbling fool threatened to fall over Mal. The pale-skinned half-breed gracefully stepped aside, watching as the off-balanced Balosar fell backwards to the sticky sidewalk. The Gran, still griping in his own language, approached, his thick foot raised to stomp on his pathetic antagonist cowering on the ground, his antennae waving frantically.
Mal found her hand hovering over the knife concealed at her back, but that hand relaxed and lowered. Instead, she began to speak to the Gran. "Hey, buddy, that's a whole lot of energy you are burning on such a little guy, is he really worth it?" Mal's voice was strong but soft, fluid, almost seductive. It as the voice of a Nagai, the tone that could sweet talk a rancor out of a full on bantha feast. "Now, I think a drink would make you feel a lot better than time wasted on a slag-humper like him." Mal added, giving the Gran a hearty pat on the shoulder. The surly creature looked at her, lips pursed. With a grunt, he abruptly turned and stalked off through the crowd.
Mal looked down at the Balosar. "Whatever you did to piss him off, don't be a fecking ass hat and do it again." She said, without offering any more aid and slipped inside the first cantina door she found.
Tag: Allyson Locke
