The dock on the underside of the Dentavii Facility was scheduled for years to be decommissioned for lack of use. The tunnels from the rest of the colony to that side had fallen into disrepair and it hadn’t been worth the budget to resolve them. So it had been ignored for years.
Until recently.
Those paying attention would have seen the transports, the crews coming in and out of the lower dock for a month before the missive went out, explaining the opening of the new private facility. You’d need Naga Sadow credentials or a specific guest pass to enter, but that only added to the curiosity for most.
The new R&R facility was built deep into Dentavii Prime, a mile of rock from the lowest levels of the colony. A joint venture between some of the more deep-pocketed members of the Clan, rumors swirled that it was to be run by Malisane Sadow, who was the owner and operator of the famous Dystopia Nightclub. Members of high society still bemoan the end of that venue, so when the rumors flew, they were welcomed with an almost breathless anticipation. And then, they waited for their golden ticket, an invite to the party that might not ever come.
The club itself boasted a full service bar and grill, several electronic games and other pub games - billiard tables from Kashyyk, pinball machines from Dorin, high resolution screens capable of tuning into the holonet for any variety of sport or current event requested lining the area around the bar. All premium products, paid for without hesitation on the understanding that those who work the hardest deserve the best recreation. Added to that, soundproofed private rooms for conversation and Dejarik, a stage for performers and even an artificial fireplace. Allegedly, they had wanted to put a real fireplace in the facility, but the logistics proved troublesome.
Some of the old existing facilities between the dock and the bar remained, Small businesses popping up to serve the workers, but perfectly willing to cater to the clan’s own. Chuff’s sold all manner of goods and weapons, while Squeaks’ maintained a quick-service noodle and dumpling bar.
As the broadwave comm went out to all members of the clan on secure channels proclaiming the facility open, the staff stood by, proud of their work. Today would be the soft opening, and you’ve decided to show up, have a look around, and catch up with some fellow clan mates…
A YT-1300 flew into the hangar before landing to the side out of the way of other ships that may come and go. The dock door opened a DB the ramp lowered revealing a Mandalorian who as he stepped off was greeted and asked for his credentials. Rixas lifted his left arm so that it was horizontal with the floor and keyed up his chain code. “ Ah Mr. Buurenaar, welcome sir. Please right this way.” The attendant said as he motioned toward the door with his arms. Roxas tipped him and then headed in.
There wasn’t anything exceptional about the hangar itself. Pretty typical for post imperial prefabricated construction, in all honesty. There were dozens of hangars just like it across Sadow space, across Brotherhood territories. The unusual part was that they actually confirmed his chain code, to make sure that they were authorized and from the Clan. All across clan space, there were few places that catered specifically to the members of the clan. It was a little bit refreshing in that regard.
A mouse droid kicked off in front of him, leading those fresh from their ships down through the maze of corridors, into the neon lit mid-base. a dimly lit street helped more neon pop, data-feeds from the core, from Sepros blinking out newsworthy items, a sign for ‘Chuff’s stuff’, presumably a store beckoning customers to spend their money. The scent of hot noodles and dumplings floated by as the droid led them on their way. A sharp eye could spy a charismatic Ranat operating his food stall beneath a large screen showing a variety of entertainment and news. Then, a long corridor, getting progressively cleaner and newer with each footstep.
The final door opened, a wide hall with an immaculate round bar ahead. Droids poured drinks, one shaking some sort of cocktail for a Duros sitting next to the consul. Beyond them, a cyborg waitress brought a glass to a robed Krath, himself seated in a comfortable looking leather chair by a large stone fireplace, illuminated by the warm glow. All manner of entertainment could be had here, and that was the point. To give the members of the clan a place to truly unwind.
The angular T-5 sliced through the atmosphere, hurtling purposefully towards the hangar indicated by ground control. The hull quivered under the strain of reentry heat, a sensation Eos embraced, turning the routine descent into a challenge for her piloting skills. Like a nimble but hefty ballerina, the boxy vessel gracefully maneuvered toward its intended destination.
“Eos, once we touch down, inform the docking authorities of our uncomplicated arrival. Andrestia, contact the facility to announce our presence. Eris, leave the repeating blaster but grab your ion pistol. Lightsabers on everyone,” Etah commanded his crew, his anticipation evident. He was accustomed to preparing for potential conflicts, a mindset born from the frequency of their encounters.
The hull continued to shudder and buckle, experiencing a series of jerky motions as rapid deceleration kicked in, a result of gravity interacting with the ship’s sublight antigrav engines. Etah unfastened himself from his seat and stood somewhat awkwardly. This journey wasn’t for his own enjoyment. Nightclubs and leisure were beneath him, but he understood their necessity for the women who supported his ambitions—they needed these breaks to maintain peak efficiency.
Addressing his crew with an amused tone, Etah quipped, “Alright, girls, let’s go have fun.” As he disembarked, he pondered the possibility of encountering Sanguines or DarkHawk or even Muz, hoping for a conversation more stimulating than the idle enjoyment everyone else was looking forward to. They stepped one by one into the very large hangar where Etah recognized other members of the Clan Naga Sadow gathering.
Quentin sits by a holographic fire that appears real and it even provides heat probably from a hidden heater to make the illusion of the fire place more believable. On his right a red hued drink known as the Heretics Blood, a custom recipe he brought with him from his favorite tavern the Red Scepter down on Aeotheran, he ordered it from the bar when he arrived. He sits quietly ready some old dusty tome he discovered some time back just relaxing.
The blood red Escort Shuttle glided into the massive shuttle bay of this new facility. From the co-pilot’s seat, Hades watched his pilot droid Jeeves, glide the shuttle into its assigned position facing the bay wall. Hades smirks at the shuttle’s placement. Jeeves seems to like making a show of the ships turbolaser turret to the other members of the clan. He’s such a little shit. Great droid. Hades thinks to himself as he stands.
“Shut her down, Jeeves. I doubt there will be any issues but call me if you need to. Comm will be left on.”
“Right on.” Jeeves replied.
Hades was through security and found a chair towards the back of one of the rooms. He had nodded to Muz and a few others on his way in. Looking around in general approval, Hades settled in to see who brought their ego and who just wanted to have a good time.
The ship settles down on the hanger floor, growling softly like some ill tempered beast content its long journey had come to an end. The man behind the controls swung himself out of the Firespray’s pilot seat and stretched before reaching up and pulling his silver hair out from the collar of his armour where it had stuck itself during the journey. His helm sat close by but in the confines of the vessel he felt comfortable enough to remove it. The only person who had seen his face was currently struggling to remove her harness and get herself down.
A wry smile crept upon the man’s face as he claimed up and helped his companion out and then down to the floor. She clung to him a little longer than usual, as was the Nightsister Mother’s usual response to space flight. It was these moments that reminded Kojiro of the woman’s emotional sensitivity, especially when space flight was involved, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Her sabaac face would return soon enough.
“All good?”
“Mhm” was the only sound that escaped the woman’s lips as she moved back, unsteadily, down the ship and towards the exit. Lilith, as always, wanted out onto solid ground as quickly as possible. Though as she looked back and eyed Kojiro plucking his helm from where it says, adjusting his hair and fixing it in place a frown crossed her face.
“You don’t always have to wear that you know.”
“It is my way, you know this.”
“I do. But some rules are meant to be broken. I should know after all.
The young man didn’t reply behind his helmet. It had taken a lot for his companion to leave her home, he was fully aware of her own sacrifices. He sighed, in part he knew she was right especially since latent abilities in the Force had begun to grow but still…"Right. Let’s go”
The ramp lowered and the pair made their way across the hanger towards the social areas of the complex.
“Do you think they’ll hate me?” The voice slipped into his head rather than out loud. Her way of expressing her own doubts behind the scenes. “Your family I mean.”
The man chuckles as the door slid open “Probably not, but with one them. Well you never have any idea what Muz is thinking.”
The tall Lasat stood scratching the back of his head as he watched the shuttle depart.
“What is it you hope to find here?” He asked casually.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. He just said to show up.” “And you’re sure he said to bring me too?” He looked down at her apprehensively.
Dark azure eyes glided his way. “He said there might be intel that is useful and to come prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” He asked.
Her eyes searched his for a moment before dropping to look around. Other shuttles had landed and some were taking off. A mouse droid rolled up to them and chittered before turning around and waiting for them to follow.
She tilted her head beckoning him to follow her without answering, “Come on. Let’s go check it out.”
“This place is massive!” Sully looked up and around wide eyed as they moved through each corridor. As they rounded a corner a soft light could be seen up ahead. A pungent odor drifted towards them as they approached.
A small mouse-like man stood behind a counter. Steam floated in the air around him. He smiled as they approached, his whiskers twitching every so slightly.
Sully took a long, swift smell and looked hungrily towards him. “What is that? It smells wonderful!” He leaned closer to get a better smell, his eyes eager.
“Ah! That is hot garbage soup, my friend! My specialty!” The mouse-like man beamed.
“Boy am I hungry! I’ll have some.” He looked at Ashia smiling big.
Ashia wrinkled her nose and stepped back, folding her arms in front of her as she did so. “You’re really gonna eat something called hot garbage soup?”She raised an eyebrow at him.
“I don’t care what they call it. I’m hungry.” He took the bowl that was offered to him.
“Squeaks is the name! Tell your friends! Best hot garbage soup this side of the galaxy!” The mouse looked particularly pleased with himself. His whiskers twitched excitedly.
“Yeah! I will, thanks!” Sully turned from the stand looking eagerly at the bowl in his hand. He plucked the spoon out and tossed it aside. Bringing the bowl to his lips, he slurped the smelly liquid down his gullet. He wiped his chin on his sleeve as he brought the bowl down and saw Axi staring at him, her arms still folded.
“What?” he asked, blinking at her.
She just shook her head. “Come on, let’s go.”
Etah’s boots resonated with metallic echoes as the quartet descended the ramp, leading into the expansive hangar. Eris, seemingly by instinct, took the lead as they disembarked. It was an unspoken arrangement, an ingrained part of their dynamics. Eos and Adrestia followed suit, and Etah brought up the rear. The Equite’s presence was more habitual than necessary, a relic of their shared experiences and unspoken understanding, even during moments of leisure.
A fleeting thought crossed Etah’s mind, questioning the practicality of their peculiar habits. Was it a product of efficiency or merely a manifestation of the hyper-vigilance induced by Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? Perhaps a blend of both, he concluded. Their idiosyncrasies had proven beneficial on multiple occasions, yet there were instances when such oddities seemed unnecessary. It was a fine line between survival instinct and eccentricity, and Etah acknowledged that.
As the group made their way toward the nightclub area, Etah couldn’t help but voice his curiosity. “What’s the plan for tonight?” he inquired.
Eos, with exaggerated dance moves, chimed in, “What a silly question, I’m gonna daaaance.”
Adrestia offered a simpler desire, “I just want to hear some music and have a couple of drinks.”
Etah, ever the pragmatic leader, issued a warning to Eris, “No fights.”
Eris responded with a playful scrunched nose, “You never let me have any fun. I’m gonna get karking wasted!” Her enthusiasm for revelry was palpable.
“And then get in a fight?” Etah quirked an eyebrow wryly.
“Naturally,” Eris replied with amusement.
Turning the question on him, Adrestia asked, “What about you, boss? What are you gonna do?”
Etah’s response was stoic, “If I can’t find someone to have a good conversation with, I might grab a game of pool.”
Eris, with purposeful exaggeration, protested, “Talking is so boring.”
Etah, unfazed, reminded her, “Aren’t you always telling me that I’m boring?”
“Yeah, what about it?” Eris retorted, waiting for the punchline.
“Shouldn’t you be used to this by now then?” Etah quipped, his gaze meeting his gunner’s.
“Sure, but you gotta switch it up from time to time, old man,” Eris declared, wrinkling her nose in a cute yet teasing manner.
Ty threw a stack of credits on the bar and told the bobot barkeep to snatch the top shelf bottle of Corellian Whiskey. The bobot’s telescoping arm slithered up nearly two meters then removed the ornate bottle. Setting it down in front of the Duros, the bobot took the proper amount of credits and scurried off.
Ty leaned over the bar and grabbed five fresh glasses. The bobot immediately scolded the Duros, “Hey you can’t do that!”
“It’s quite alright mate, I know the owner.” Ty said confidently.
The bobot scoffed then followed up his discontent with a series of beeps and clicks. Ty popped the cork and began pouring fresh rounds in each glass. The aroma of smooth, woody notes began wafting through the area. The Lion caught the smell and raised an eyebrow as a fresh whiskey slid in front of him. Ty continued to slide a glass down to Prophet Leena'shylow and then to General Blackwind.
“What is the occasion for the top shelf Ty?” General Blackwind asked curiously.
Ty stood up and poured a drink in his glass, “Any occasion that pulls you off the Spear General, it is worth a top shelf bottle.”
Blackwind raised his glass, and Ty returned the gesture. Ty turned his glass toward the Lion of Tarthos, “Lord Keibatsu, many thanks for our new nitery, cheers!”
Everyone tipped their glasses back and enjoyed the smooth taste of the whiskey.
“Ty, bust out the stogies. I know you switched boxes in the ship so you and General Blackwind could smoke it up while pining over the ships you want.” DarkHawk said snarkily.
“Bloody hell man, your lack of decorum is appalling. If you are insinuating I switched those coffin nails from Corellia you continue to rave about for a more refined flavor profile. You are straining that last brain cell my boy!” Ty said emphatically.
“Sgt, Major, I am not insinuating anything! I know you did! Not to mention, I can smell the ones you have in your jacket pocket. So pass them over good sir,” DarkHawk said sniffing at the air.
“I absolutely loathe you…”
DarkHawk laughed as Ty reluctantly handed the fresh stogies over.
The door to the cantina slid open with a quick whoosh before Roxas stepped through it and then looked around for a spot to catch his eye. He decided on a corner and headed for it. He sat down and removed his helmet, revealing his glowing red alchemic eyes. He set his helmet on the seat beside him as a server approached with a menu, which he accepted and laid on the table before saying “Tihaar in a bucket of ice.” The server left and promptly returned with a bottle of the clear spirit sitting in a bucket of ice with a glass. “Anything else sir?” The droid buzzed having completed its task. “I’ll browse the menu and let you know.” The droid gave a slight bow and went on to other duties. The cork popped loudly from the bottle as Roxas pulled it out and poured himself a drink. He took a deep breath after a quick swallow and relaxed to reach out with the Force make up his mind on whether or not this location was safe for the members of Sadow to actually unwind.
Locke had the Gemini Alpha land next to Hade’s shuttle, leaving room for it to get out, but incidentally obscuring the large turbolaser turret from view of most of the hangar.
He had debated whether to come to this, but since Muz was here, he figured not much could go wrong. Besides, Locke needed to mingle once in awhile. He had his bounty hunter companion, Anya, with him. She wasn’t carrying her normal, heavier weapons, but she was still pretty well armed. She had mentioned that she’d like to share stories, maybe see if the owners would let her play some music, and do “normal cantina things,”.
He had said it probably wouldn’t be like a normal cantina, and she had just laughed. The old bounty hunter didn’t seem to take anything seriously.
Locke made a point to show his ID to security. He was sure his face was well-known, but these procedures existed for a reason and he wouldn’t give Warhost personnel a hard time for doing their jobs.
He strolled into the cantina, not knowing who all he would find. The first person Locke and Anya came across was Roxas. Awesome, a familiar face he thought.
“Look Anya,” he said, gesturing to Roxas “they call him the Horseman of War.”
“He must have some interesting stories for a title like that,” Anya said, more to Roxas than to Locke.
Boring pre-fab construction. Still, Dentaavi had languished until eyes with windows to the past had seen. The mad Sith dropped from the blacked-out Star Courier. He tapped notes on his gauntlet to tell the pre-programmed droids their mission. “Repair, Guard, Haul, Kill.” It was routine. The Adept nodded as the Sith Hound slunk back into the ship. An HK Hunter Killer droid followed him. “Button her up tight.” The Sith’s boots clacked on durasteel as he walked across the gangway and the droid clicked along beside. “A lot of beings here,” Macron murmured. “Still. I am sure I can find some chance games of statistical polyhedronic outcomes.” He grinned, stretching the tattoos and scars on his face. “I have been asleep far too long in regeneration. Everybody else has been having all the fun, man.” The Adept breathed deep and closed his mismatched eyes. Different flavors of the Force floated about his consciousness. “At least one of my Apprentices is here… and several of my friends and enemies, who could be both. As it Is, and will be.”
Roxas looked up from the menu still not having decided on anything to eat and noticed Locke and a female companion. “It’s been awhile Locke, how’ve you been? Care to join me?” The Mandalorian waved his hand toward the empty seats at his table, welcoming the two to sit with him.
“Yeah let’s do that,” Locke says before sitting down along with Anya. He waved over a server while Anya looked Roxas up and down.
“Those are some interesting eyes, I am something of a collector of stories,” she said, taking out her Hallikiset and fingering the chords. “How did you come by that title?”
As the Deathshead made the final approach, the Sith elder was stood in the lounge area talking to a large figure on the screen.
“I do not accept your feeble excuses Draga,” he said coldly, “you approached us. You gave us assurances and signed a contract. Any delay would be a betrayal of my Clan’s trust. We do not tolerate betrayal.” There was a burst of Huttese from the other side of the screen and Malisane’s eyes flicked downwards to read the translation. Finally he said, “Tell me, have you ever faced a Sith Ewok commando squad Draga? Not many Hutts have. Our supplies will be here in three days, or you will be nowhere in four. I hope you understand.” He waved his hand at the sensor and the screen went dark.
He felt the ship tremor slightly as the Lancer Patrol Craft landed on the hangar deck and nodded in satisfaction. There was a beep and he heard the mechanical voice of Sidrat the pilot droid announce, “We have arrived Master.” “Good,” he replied, “once I have departed, book the ship in for a service.” “Of course Master.”
Malisane turned, looked down to check his gear was in place, and headed off for the exit. Zero was stood in front of it, the black astromech blocking the doors defiantly, one red light flashing slowly. The Sith looked down at him. “Very well, follow me.” There was one deep tone from the droid as the doors opened and the ramp lowered.
Malisane walked across the hangar, the droid following. He noted in satisfaction that the final snagging works to the area were proceeding ahead of schedule. He had been surprised the Summit had approached him for the task of getting the entertainment facility up and running, but he had accepted readily. Unlike the man he had once been when he created Dystopia, he felt no desire to engage in personal pursuits or socialising. He did recognise the positive morale effect on his fellow members and the troops and personnel that served them. He would make sure everything ran smoothly.
The doors to the cantina slid open and both Forgemaster and Sacred Mother walked into the room, before anyone had a chance to notice Koji felt a slight pressure squeeze on his hand before his companion stood to the side taking her usual haughty apprearence. The young man scanned the room and noticed faces he hadn’t seen in months, or perhaps longer. It had been some time he realised that he’d just vanished from Sadowan space to begin his pilgrimage of self discovery. Despite the many faces gathered there was one in particular…
“Target identified,” the ai in his helmet chimed and Kojiro followed the newly appeared targeting reticle that sat over the long haired man sat near the bar.
He walked that way, Lilith falling in behind. Forgemaster and Sacred Mother less comfortable than either had been before. Upon reaching the bar two whiskeys were ordered, one given to Lilly whilst the second was slid across to the man he had spotted moments ago.
“Pleasure to see you again, brother,” he took in Muz and nodded gently. “It’s been a while.”
Blackwind smiled, running the cigarra against his mustache, inhaling deeply as he took in the smell of good tobac. “Well, I’m not about to turn down a Chandrilan.” He spoke, the pattern in his words a little melodic as his accent tended to be. “It wouldn’t be polite, would it?”
Bobot wheeled across, absconding with the empty glasses as <@854787468817858591> and the pale woman moved over. Muz nodded at the man. “It has.” His voice was raw from frequent use as of late, after what seemed to be a decade of sparse vocalizations. Among family and close allies, he preferred to just share the thoughts directly without the need for an intermediary like language. It was a habit, and one that persisted, his inadvertant telepathy carrying the words into the mind of the recipient as he spoke, the voice rattling around their senses. He tapped the bar next to them, inviting them to join in.
The purple Twi'lek leaned forward on the bar, the tip of one of her lekku twitching in interest. “So, as I was saying, the personality matrix that these guys run off of…” She gestured at the bartending droids as they scurried behind the round bar. “Was based off of this data file from the old archives. A notorious partier and bartender named Bob. Maybe you knew him?” She smiled at Muz as he nodded slowly, recognition blooming in his face, half of a smile creeping up his cheek to his eyes.
“The only thing that I don’t get is this.” She tapped the bar to get one of their attention. As it stopped in front of her, she pointed to a bottle on the top shelf, unopened. As it reached up and held it, a second hand ran around the collar of the bottle, the wax holding the stopper in peeling back. AT the same time, the droid made an unseemly noise, not unlike a bark, but as if it were sharply inhaled. “See? It doesn’t seem to be in the code, and it only makes that noise as it’s opening a new bottle.”
Muz looked at <@524388230481707009> and then back at the droid as he started chuckling, the sound fleshing out to a full-hearted laugh as they listened.
“What?” Leena tilted her head in question. “I don’t get it.”
He paused, catching his breath. “Oh gods, he’s breaking the seal…” He started laughing again as Leena shook her head. Muz slowed it down, watching Darkhawk laugh as well. “Check the archives for references to Bob and Fred the seal.” He raised his glass, smiling.
“Not bad turnout, so far.” Blackwind mused, using a tiny torch to set the end of the cigarra aflame. A sound whirred above him, an miniature exhaust fan springing to life in response to the smoke. It sucked the air up, keeping the smell from setting into the area, into their clothes. Blackwind looked up, an eyebrow arching as he wondered. It would probably make the cigarra burn faster, but it would keep the people around him from being affected by it. Not a terrible trade off, he supposed.
“Not at all.” Leena responded to him, a tall conical glass with a few ounces of vibrant green wobbling in it, a small steel spike and a couple pieces of fruit impaled. “I guess I didn’t know what to expect from this lot.”
Muz chuckled at that, leaning back and letting his eyes glide across the room. So much tragedy and untold years of hard fought victories echoed in their faces, hidden beneath the surface. Surfaces that were just starting to relax, finally starting to realize that there was time enough for severity later. Koji was right.
It had been too long.
“Master, I am detecting airborne aromatics.” The HK droid clanked alongside it’s owner. “Query: investigate and eliminate?”
Macron looked at the readouts crossing his heads up display. He could smell nothing but purified air and metal inside the hood of his sealed battlesuit. The Sith reached up, touched the deactivation studs and removed the helm. He sniffed the air suspiciously and wrinkled his scarred nose. “No. Smells like garbage stew. We used to eat that crap back in the underlevels on Coruscant.” Visions of his time as a swoop gangbanger came to the Sith’s mind. Those were hard days full of pain, desperation and hunger. The alchemist handed the helm to the droid. “Carry this, droid.”
The madman had come to visit the arms shop first, of course. The sign for Chuff’s was dead ahead. The Adept walked slowly in, mismatched eyes scanning the shelves. Behind the counter stood a scarred Devaronian male.
“Can I help ya mate?” The red devilish alien grinned a mouth full of sharp teeth. He coughed. “Guns, stuns, and all manner of delights are in stock.”
“Spare me the sales pitch, my good crimson fellow. I am requiring a score of dioxsis grenades, and some bulk Eliminex Seven gas in 5 liter tanks.” The Sith grinned. “You know. Gets rid of… bugs and vermin.”
“Ah, I see you have refined tastes. I can’t sell that without a permit. The Overlord wouldn’t be happy.” The alien shrugged. “I’m not looking for trouble. He raised his hands in a gesture of resignation. “I got a whiff of that stuff during the War.
Macron frowned. “I used to BE the Overlord,” he chuckled. “Even so, you will find my permit is in order.” He slid a datachip across the counter that bore the Inquisitorius seal. “And my credits are plentiful.”
Roxas grinned and began the tail “Well it was during the Dark Crusade. Macron, Shirai, Maelous, and I decided to work together against the enemies of the Clan, particularly the One Sith. The four of us worked so well together that the One Sith began to believe that we were ancient reincarnated harbingers of the apocalypse and actually attributed our personality attributes to them. Macron was named the horseman of Pearilence, Shirai the horseman of famine, Maelous the horseman of death, and myself the horseman of war. Each of us has actually lived up to our titles throughout the years, which makes me wonder if the One Sith were right in their belief.” Roxas had been so into his story he hadn’t noticed the server was standing there and had listened as well. “Sir, would like to make an order?” “Oh!” The Mandalorian exclaimed “yeah, the marinated grilled steak and vegetables.” The server having everyone’s order bowed and then left to collect it.
The Devaronian shuffled off to the back room, smiling wide at the alchemist. The little bodega had a wide variety of consumer goods, consumables, and a considerable assortment of goods that members of the Clan could use, but the really dangerous stuff….well, Chuff herself kept that under a bio metrically locked case. And so, the devilish alien went off to find the woman.
A few moments later, she came out from the back, smiling at <@1147585737177432077> as she adjusted eyeglasses with too many lenses and pushed pale hair out of her face. She stopped, leaning against the door frame, her cybernetic arm fitting into the groove worn into the metal there from a thousand impressions. “Well, hello there, handsome.”
“It’s not ‘hot garbage soup’. It’s ‘Ha Gabbasu’. It’s a Traditional Ranat dish, I’ve had it a hundred times, and the guy makes it better than anywhere this side of the Caldera.” Mig slid into a stool at the noodle bar, raising a single finger before adjusting the harness that kept his tool belt in place. The Ranat smiled broadly at him, springing into action.
“I don’t care what you call it, It smells like offal, and I’m still not eating it.” Brako pointed at the menu behind Sqweeks as he bustled behind the bar, ladling a serving of hot soup into a bowl for his friend. “Dumplings, please. Without the organ meats.”
“I’m telling you, you’re missing out.” The worker took the bowl with both hands, letting the steam wash across his face.
“I’ve survived this far.”
Dally came around the corner from the kitchen, a tray high in the air with plates of sizzling food. The Iktochi wheeled around, bringing the dishes down, setting them in front of the Sith’s alchemically enhanced eyes. Drinks came next, then napkins and an assortment of eating utensils. Spoons, knives, chopsticks, forks, long hollowed out skewers, and a slender set of silver pincers all arrayed out atop a stack of napkins between the three of them.
“Anything else I can get you folk?” She smiled, waiting for a response from <@1171812493715308668> or <@225840973802897408> before tending to the others.
The Twi'lek crooned on stage, the dulcet tones carrying in the small theater as the lights bounced off of her azure skin. She leaned into the performance, reaching into her experience in the core worlds. She had been recruited by some deep pockets after all. She had heard about the rich eccentrics that would hire talent for all-but-private occasions, but still. It was hard to judge what such a small venue expected. Her contract was simple, well appointed, and …well, frankly the money was too good to pass up. She knew the other musicians, one a multi-instrument genius and the other more technical master, who could create whole symphonies with her hardware. Their genres were dramatically different, and none of them knew how a second contract or an extension would mean.
Vera stepped down the side of the stage, changing her song as the backing music sped up into a more lively tune. Only one man, in a modified military uniform lurked in the back, nursing a drink. One person, she smiled. One person, she could figure out how to impress. And if she couldn’t? Well, the sound would carry into the bar.
“You must be Chuff,” said the Alchemist with a bow and flourish. “Flattery will get you… well, it’s appreciated. People don’t say that about me often.” Macron smiled. In most humans it was a gesture that was pleasing. In his case, it was slightly gruesome as the scars and tattoos stretched. “You have an interesting aura. Been around a while eh?”
“Yes. Oh, I have heard old rumors of you sir. Many in this system have. You are a boogeyman of sorts. People say the most appalling things about mass slaughter regarding you many years ago. Frightens their kids into behaving.” She turned and handed the madman a sack of small cylinders. “One score of dioxis cans, and I will have my ASP droid deliver the gas tanks to your ship if you care to tell me which one.”
Macron looked uncharacteristically thoughtful. “It’s the Panthac, Star Courier. Don’t worry, the T’ukata generally ignores droids. We picked up some mynocks outbound from Inos.”
“A Sith Hound?” The old alien whistled quietly. “Expensive pet. Smart and dangerous.”
“She is not a pet madam, a friend. I can use all the friends I can get. Droids are great for unfailing obedience but they lack that family touch. Pets are family to me.” The Sith sat down on a stool with a clank as the HK droid stood nearby holding his helm. “Twenty two here, for example. Great droid. Stone cold killer. Not much fun to talk to though. One track mind you know. Always business.”
“I can imagine.” Several optical devices retracted from her eyes. “They are known for that. If you ever decide to sell him let me know. May I ask you a question?”
“Sure. I think we have a decent rapport,” replied the Adept. “Ask away my good woman.”
“Did you do it?” The question hung in the air with a pregnant silence.
“I… I did. I regret it to this day. I struggle with my condition. I am a synthetic human. There are advantages but it leaves me not well in the head. It is my lot I suppose. I am a little more under control these days. Still, suffering brings power as you can imagine.” The madman looked down at his hands. “The trick is to use the power to protect those you care about. And to destroy those who would do them harm. It is the Way of the Sith.” “I see. I appreciate your candor sir. And the obvious dilemna. You are welcome here anytime.” Chuff smiled, her wrinkled face creasing with old and worn smile lines. “You’re an odd duck but so am I.”
“Thank you madam. Us nuts have to stick together like a Corellian candybar you know.” The Alchemist stood with a grunt. “Getting old sucks. Well met, and I will be back as a friend. Ring if you need me. I am off to go get a drink. Hopefully they have kerosene on tap. Off to the bar-bar-bar, you know. And to see the Lion <@284848346672136192> and the Overlord. Toodle-oo!” and <@524388230481707009>
Two more drinks arrived at Koji’s spot at the bar and a moment of confusion crossed his brow, so caught up in his own thoughts he’d failed to notice Lilly ordering away. He was unsure of his companions tolerance to alcohol, since they hadn’t hit any bars since his time spent on Dathomir with her. But he was certainly curious to find out.
“You know, he’s not as scary as I thought he’d be,” she muttered overly loudly as the glass raised to her lips. “I might like it here after all. Though too much…metal.”
Koji chuckled, the sound being slightly muffled by the helm he wore. A frown crossed Lilly’s face at the sound.
“Wish you’d take that stupid thing off. You aren’t drinking, I can’t see if you’re smiling or humouring me and let’s be honest….your ideal system only works when others of your kind are about…and you look pretty alone,” she took a further sip. “Plus I don’t get to see your pretty face.”
A chuckle emanated from behind Koji and he turned to see Leena standing by the pair. “She’s right you know. You look almost Robotic in that nonsense. Oh hi, I’m Leena.”
Lilly nodded “eh hi there, who are you?”
“She’s family, sort of ”
“Sort of? Oh how harsh Tin Man. By the way, are you ever coming to actually do your training again?” <@284848346672136192>
Going to take a drink, Quentin finds it is already empty making him sigh “ Already ” he says to his self as he places his reading material in a pocket of his robes before heading to the bar to request another heretic’s blood drink.
DarkHawk emptied his glass then took a long drag of his cigar. He blew out a large plume of smoke before being alerted to a comm unit alert. Recognizing the audible tone, he knew it was the secure Summit channel.
“Sepros One, this is Massassi Flight lead, sector patrol complete. Sector is clear. Handing command over to Howler Squadron.”
“Copy that Massassi. Maintain patrol intervals. Relay SITREPs on the thirty.”
DarkHawk terminated the comm and began taking another drag of his stogie. Ty raised an eyebrow, “All is good?” he asked.
“First patrol is good, Howler is taking over this leg.”
“Trubois’ is a good flight leader, she will be able to handle anything that comes this way.”
DarkHawk looked around watching the other Sadowans. It was good to see them casually and not in the midst of an operation or under the rigorous strain of Brotherhood conflicts.
There was a lot of business to attend to over the next few moons however there was no room for business here tonight.