Drown Your Sorrows (Mara)

(((Sorry for the wait. I had to restart my post because for some reason I was thinking of a different planet than Ylesia... anyway, all is well now...
On a silly side note, I had an earlier thread with Pak on this planet with a very similar thread title, haha...)))



Ylesia wasn’t exactly the best place for him to pick up a new passenger or two, at least ones that could pay a decent amount of credits, but he had taken this last job without question. It had been a short trip, just a hop and a skip from Nal Hutta, and hadn’t paid all that well because of it. But Pak had jumped at the chance, wanting to check on the possibility of new upgrades for the Crimson Requiem. The shipyard where he had originally purchased the freighter was just a few systems over at Ypsil. And since he hadn’t ever heard of anyone needing a ride to the mostly deserted planet, the only way he’d get a chance was if he was in the general vicinity.

The trip had proved fruitless, but in the end, Pak still wasn’t completely bothered by it. He had been to Ylesia before, had sampled its various cantinas throughout the colonies there. And since it was a fairly forgotten, backwater planet, some of the bars tended to have some better liquors, saved up from whenever the last shipment had come in. Plus cantinas were usually a prime place to find a being who might need a ride somewhere and didn’t want to travel through more official, expensive means. The Balosar was by no means into anything illegal in his mind; he was just offering a second option to travelers needing somewhere to go.

So after arriving back and making sure the red freighter was locked up securely in her berth, he headed out to find which fine establishment would be his drinking spot for the evening. He decided to head a ways out from the spaceport and look for a sign he didn’t recognize. It would have been easy to just go to a place he knew would have what he wanted, but this time he was up for a bit of a surprise. He just hoped it would be a good surprise. There was nothing worse than finding a cantina that served a limited supply of very weak spirits. Pak turned down a side street and strolled along till he found the first place that looked promising.

He ducked inside, immediately liking what he saw. There was a decent amount of beings inside the dim and dusty room, but it wasn’t packed full. What little tourists there might be to this planet wouldn’t be in this sort of place, and so everyone here had to be either regulars who lived nearby or beings who wanted to do business anonymously. The place had to have somewhat of a reputation then, and that was always a good omen for Pak. It looked to have a droid bartender, which had its pros and cons. A con was that it was less likely to care as much as an organic about little used bottles; the pro was that it wouldn’t be as chatty as an organic bartender was prone to be.

Satisfied, he ambled up to the bar and plopped himself on an empty stool. It was the best place to see what was on display on the liquor shelves and better to gain the attention of the bartender. Plus, despite the centrality of the bar, it was the better place to avoid being disturbed than if he had picked out a table to sit by. In his experience, no matter how much of a ‘do not disturb’ vibe he was putting out, some idiot always felt the need to come and cheer him up. And Pak really hated that. No, up at the bar was his place to be.

Pak quickly surveyed his options and then snapped his fingers to gain the droid ‘tenders’s attention, throwing a grin on his face. “A bottle of your best stuff, my good man. Your choice.” He reached in his jacket and piled some credits on the bartop, hoping if the droid had the foresight to be offended by Pak’s address, the money would ease any of the discomfort. The droid scooped up the credits without a word and clattered over to the bottles of liquor.

While he waited the few moments the bartender needed to make his selection for his new customer, the Balosar decided to check out his surroundings. It wasn’t until then that he noticed that with everyone else scattered throughout the room he was alone at the bar except for a blonde human woman. She was seated a couple stools down on his left, and immediately Pak’s antennapalps were hit with a wall of emotions from her. He was used to a bit of despair floating around a cantina; they tended to attract beings of that sort, especially the places he patronized. But the only other times he had felt such darkness as this it had been coming from his own mind during some of his lowest moments.

Briefly he wondered what her problem could be to induce such a strong presence, but then the bartender set a label-less bottle of light green liquor in front of him, and he other things to think about for the moment. Pak nodded his thanks, pushed away the proffered glass, pulled off the cork, and pressed the neck to his mouth, taking a big gulp. “Ahh, that hits the spot. Thanks. And no worries, I won’t even ask what it is.” He winked at the droid who just ignored him and moved back to cleaning glasses with a musty rag.

Shrugging, Pak took another sip, remembering the woman again. It was hard to forget, though, with her feelings battering his ‘palps. All the other beings were just barely simmering below the surface in his mind, but hers was a roiling boiling, threatening to overflow the pot. He decided, since he had nothing better to do, to say something to her. It wasn’t that he really cared about whatever her problem was, but he preferred to enjoy his drinking time, not be untimely dragged into a depression. He’d make it there eventually himself and didn’t need help with the degradation.

Gesturing his bottle in her direction, Pak turned to look at the woman who seemed content to stare into her glass. “You know, you’re bringing the whole mood in this place down. Isn’t there another place you could go be miserable in? It’s making my well-deserved drink here not as enjoyable.” He kept his voice light, but prepared himself to make a run for it if the woman didn’t take too kindly to it. Pak knew that if roles had been reversed, he usually wasn’t willing to make conversation when he was feeling so low. But they weren’t, and he had felt the risk was necessary.

“You know, you’re bringing the whole mood in this place down. Isn’t there another place you could go be miserable in? It’s making my well-deserved drink here not as enjoyable.”

It took Larrine a minute to realize whoever it was was talking to her. It took draining her glass again to realize, in fact. She glanced along the bar, trying to find somebody else to respond so she could be spared by the bother, but there wasn't anyone. So, she turned to the speaker. It was a Balosar male, looking at her in a rather irritated fashion, though his voice was light. Trying not to give offence. Probably wise, because her nerves were none too patient today.

"Well, nobody's forcing you to stick around," she said bluntly, not bothering to make her tone conversational. If he was going to try and start a fight about it...well, she was more than willing to oblige. A good fight would do her good. Maybe she'd get killed and wouldn't have to worry about her creditors.

She pushed the glass across to the droid, impatiently tapping it. The wheezing droid returned, seeming rather askance, but there was apparently nothing in its programming that told it to stop when a human had had too much to drink, so it filled tje cup up again. She promptly guzzled half of it and looked back to the Balosar. "So I'm sorry your choice of cantina has made you miserable, but that's not my fault."

'Course, she'd heard things about Balosars being empathic or something along those lines. She might be making it a bit miserable for him. But the idea, rather than inducing any twinges of guilt, merely made her a bit more cheerful. Somebody else might as well be made miserable. Why wasn't the whole darn galaxy miserable? There was a frakking war going on, and she saw no reason for people to be happy.

At first Pak thought that the woman hadn’t heard him or maybe was just ignoring him, which wouldn’t have entirely bothered the Balosar. He had voiced his opinion, and it didn’t matter if it had fallen on deaf ears or died in the general air around them. It wasn’t like he was expecting his words to just turn things around. Pak was no therapist and not in the business of fixing other beings’ problems. But he had just gotten paid after a job and was beginning his drinking for the night, still in a reasonably good mood. A mood that allowed him a little bit of fun and jocularity before reality eventually hit him after a few more drinks.

Shrugging off the nonexistent encounter with the woman, he turned back to his bottle. He had it inches from his face when his unofficial companion finally acknowledged that he had spoken to her. Amused with her remark, he raised his brows, making them disappear for a moment under his mop of brown hair. She was right; no one was forcing to stay around in this cantina. But once Pak found his watering hole for the evening and into the night, he was almost an immovable force. At the present he was in fairly good spirits, in more than one way, and could fairly easily find a new place to drink. Though he really didn’t feel like it. He had just gotten here and was enjoying his mystery drink. Plus this brooding woman was intriguing, perhaps a good diversion for the next few hours until he lost interest in conversation and life in general.

Seeing the woman turn to the bartender, seemingly done with him, Pak took another slug of the unknown green liquor, smiling as it slid down and slightly burned deep inside. Perhaps later he’d see if he could get the droid bartender to speak and tell him what kind of stuff this was. It was good enough to note for later and maybe stash a couple aboard the Requiem. His stores were running fairly low. The last time he looked around he found more empty bottles than full ones. They were scattered all over, even in the ‘fresher and the galley, though they usually hung out in the cockpit. Ol’ Mr. Alberts would probably gasp in horror at the sight, and Pak smiled to himself at the thought of the smuggler.

His curiosity getting the better of him, he watched the woman quickly down half of her newly refilled glass. Pak remembered back when he had drank like that. He couldn’t remember how many glasses he had gone through during a night of drinking. Probably dozens. That’s when he had started going straight to the source, going after the bottles. It was perhaps a bit more of an expense, but he had deduced that in the long run he was more likely saving some credits by just buying a few bottles instead of filling up countless glasses. And he generally had enough credchips on him anyway; his hobby wouldn’t exactly drain him of money.

Pak nodded to the woman at her further comment, just noticing then that she had a pretty formidable scar running across her face. The small bit of self-preservation he had remaining kept him from commenting on it. Instead he just tipped his bottle to her in a salute. "Of course. Maybe it’s that poor excuse for a band in the corner." He winked a blue eye. It wasn’t entirely true that it wasn’t her fault, but he didn’t feel like dwelling on the matter. Pak had ran into plenty of beings who didn’t know the physiology of his species, and it was possible this woman didn’t know how deeply she was actually effecting him.

He was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her, creeping over her face and inspecting her. She knew how to deal with people who thought that such things were perfectly acceptable. Once again, the thought of a fight came to her mind, and she once again found that she relished the idea. It would be something to do, at least, something that would give her a chance to escape this pitiful excuse for life before she ended up being caught by some good-for-nothing bounty hunter who thought it was worth the creds to mess with her. Then again, the thought of blasting several of the cretins into slag sounded nice, too.

He winked at her as he answered, and she returned it with a steady stare. He was joking, trying to relieve the tension, but she still felt angry, and...

It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault. She repeated this to herself in an endless mental refrain, finishing off her glass of ale and looking back to him. "Probably so," she said, nodding as she examined the glass in her hand, noting the scratches and tiny pits that covered its surface. This was a cheap glass of ale from a cheap cantina on the edges of civilization. And this was what she had fallen to. Oh, if her mother could see her now...

A sudden image of herself showing back up at her parents' home, blaster and all, and asking for help intruded suddenly. She saw multiple reactions flash past--anger, joy, shock. The last was most likely. She was quite sure her parents had long ago consigned her to a bottomless abyss that was as close to death as one could get.

She was daft. She was never going to go back, especially not at this late time. She'd come too far since then, been too many things. She'd be more likely to end up in jail if she went back to Coruscant. She might as well bring the rifle to her own execution. "Either that," she continued abruptly, "Or the whole shoddy galaxy is insane, and I'm just obliging it."

He had turned back to his bottle of liquor after his attempt at humor and lightening the situation, but he still kept a corner of his eye on the woman to watch her reaction. Pak hoped that it would at least work a little bit and ease some of the pressure in the atmosphere around them that his antennapalps were sensing. Of course, with a bit, or perhaps a lot, of concentration, the Balosar could have just tuned out the woman’s depressive emotions and forced himself to keep his own mood up for as long as he could. However, he just didn’t feel like wasting the amount of energy that it would take to do so. A couple of jokes could work just as well, and it was so much more effortless.

So far it hadn’t seemed to have worked. All the woman did was just stare at him and return to her own libation. He shrugged to himself and switched his attention away from her. If she was just going to sit there like a stone, unwilling to change, then he would just let her. Pak took a couple swigs of his green liquor, setting the bottle back on the bartop afterwards, a smile on his face, his eyes half-closed in pleasure. It wouldn’t be easy, but he would try to put the woman out of his mind for the remainder of the evening, even if it meant moving away from the bar to do so.

When she spoke finally, he almost didn’t realize it at first. The voice came into his thoughts and took a few extra seconds for him to register that it was the blonde and not someone else in the cantina, or in his mind, who was talking to him. And then another couple to figure out that she was agreeing with him, in a way, about his joking surmise that it was all the fault of the band instead of his ‘palps just playing off of the woman’s bad mood. Though she wasn’t looking at him, he nodded in response, smiling a bit. Perhaps he had gotten to her after all.

At the very least, Pak thought he felt a slight change in the woman’s mood, a minute lift in her emotions that he could only feel if he focused real hard. He decided to let the woman continue on, though at the moment she didn’t seem inclined to. Not real chatty, are we? the Balosar thought to himself. Pak scanned his mind for some kind of response, looking for something that might keep her talking. He was thinking that if he kept her going, it would help lessen the depressing mound that seemed to be hanging over her head, the same that was affecting his own peace of mind.

But before Pak had a chance to get anything out that would hopefully lighten the mood without further insulting the woman, she added to her earlier short response. He couldn’t help but chuckle at it, remembering a little too late that it might not have been the best counter and shoving the bottleneck into his mouth partway through his laugh. Gulping down some of the liquor so suddenly caused him to cough a bit, but he couldn’t do anything about that. What was done was done.

Having taken a couple minutes to lick his lips and wipe off stray droplets off his mouth, Pak was finally composed enough for a decent parry. He looked over at the woman, one of his eyebrows raising up and disappearing behind his mass of hair. "Insane, huh? Well, what else is new?" Pak grinned. There was a lot in the galaxy that didn’t make sense to the Balosar. It would take much too long to understand it all. And though there were a lot of crazy things he had come across in his travels more recently and then earlier with the military, he wasn’t quite sure he would go so far as to theorize that the whole place was insane. But he thought it was in his best interest not to completely disagree with the moody woman.

His strangled laugh, cut off midway by his bottle, was rather surprising, and she turned her cool eyes on him, trying to decide how to take it. He'd apparently decided he'd made some sort of mistake, because he'd quickly shoved his bottle back into his mouth, guzzling down whatever it was he'd chosen to wile away the evening with...and so quickly that he subsided into several wheezing coughs as his body tried to adjust to it. Whatever was in the bottle was apparently more welcome than bringing her wrath down on his head. Probably a wise choice, overall; Larrine was known for many things, but not her patience...particularly not when she'd been having a bad week and was half drunk.

The sight of him trying to cover his slip so obviously was actually rather amusing. It was nice to be feared, for possibly the last time in the foreseeable future. The moment her creditors got a hold of her...

She winced and tried not think about that. Whatever happened would happen, and there was little she could do about it. Unless she felt disposed to run. And she most definitely was not. Imagine--Larrine Gibrenn, running from her problems, retreating into some dark hole and trying to wile away the years until people forgot about her. It would be relatively easy to do, all things considered, but ridiculous, all things considered. The day she ran... Yes, that would be the day the Core imploded.

Next to her, the Balosar answered, apparently having recovered from his practically voluntary near-drowning. She turned to look at him again, her lips pressed together as she considered what he'd said, trying to find a worthy response that (hopefully) wouldn't sound too much like she was completely jaded. Because she wasn't, after all. "Complete ruin," she offered, looking back to her empty cup rather regretfully, internally weighing the cost of another versus the relief she might find. Not that she'd found much refuge from her thoughts, even in the bottom of a bottle, today. It was annoying, how quickly one's body adapted to the strenuous abuse that was inflicted upon it by alcohol. Very disobliging of it.

She looked back at him, narrowly examining him as she tried to figure out what his game was. "I suppose," she began again, "You've not been hit by this infernal war. Judging by your perky attitude." Her voice was almost bitter, condemning of what she considered an insufferably cheery mental state compared to what the rest of the galaxy was doing. What right did anyone have to be cracking jokes when smugglers were losing cargoes?

With his composure regained, Pak took another sip from his bottle of liquor, this time a lot more slowly and more intentionally. When he set down the bottle, he noticed it was more empty than full and decided it was time to start scanning the shelves behind the bar for a second course. His light blue eyes flickered around, not sure which type of alcohol he felt like. Maybe he’d just ask the bartender droid for a surprise. Though on a further thought, that might not be a good idea, trusting a droid to pick something for him. He’d probably end up with something cheap and watered down. Or the most expensive bottle in the place, which considering he was in a backwater cantina on Ylesia wouldn’t be all that pricey.

Another idea came to him as the blonde spoke, thinking she was agreeing with him by comparing their earlier comments of ‘insane’ with her new one of ‘complete ruin.’ There were still some emotions there, but the pressure coming from her on his antennapalps was lessening. Pak had noticed her looking down to her empty glass, and then he knew he had what he hoped to be the perfect way to lighten the woman’s mood still further and satisfy his own needs all at the same time. Two happy customers, one bottle of liquor.

But before he could suggest such, she spoke again, her mood darkening again, turning his own mind a bit foggy again. She had spoken it as a statement, but Pak could hear the question in her words. It was true; the war hadn’t really affected him. Even while in the Republic Starfighter Corps. his squadrons hadn’t really done all that much but take care of little disputes or bands of pirates. The war hadn’t begun in earnest until after he had resigned. He sometimes regretted his choice to leave when the Republic needed him the most, but he also didn’t feel he’d be as useful as he once was after losing Shen. Better to not be involved at all than to go through things half-assed and get himself killed for a stupid mistake taken in his depressive haze.

And now, after his short-lived smuggling stint, life was pretty good. There was always a being or two who needed to get somewhere fast, avoiding the normal transport companies. Pak wondered how the war had affected this woman so much that she was in such a foul mood. There were the obvious reasons, of course; war made very few beings actually happy to be involved in such conflict. But he felt there was something else there, something that was more personal to her and not the general atmosphere of a galaxy at war. Perhaps it was her family or her job.

Pak nodded at her, reluctantly agreeing, but knowing he should say something as well. “No, not really. You’re right. But I tend to stay here in the Outer Rim. It stays mostly isolated out here and unaffected.” He wasn’t willing yet to give away too much about his past. The Balosar wasn’t sure if there was still more to her stance against the war and wasn’t sure how she’d react to knowledge that he had used to be military. As for commenting on his ‘perky attitude,’ he decided to leave that alone entirely. That would just open a can of worms so large he’d drown in the critters.

Tipping his bottle back, he finished off the green alcohol and tipped it towards the woman’s glass before setting it back on the bartop. A change of conversation was needed now; the current topic was destined to lead into areas he didn’t want to get into, not while he was still feeling good. Perhaps later when the weight finally dropped, if she was still around, they could get depressed together. But now, he needed another drink, and it was time to put forth his earlier idea. “It seems we’re both in need of more. What’s your poison? It’s on me.” He had wanted to tell her to pick the anything she wanted, price not a problem, but had kept it back, thinking flaunting his apparent wealth in front of her would do more harm than good. So Pak just gestured to the bottles lined up in front of them, urging her to choose something.

((I am so, so incredibly sorry. The holidays were ridiculous. So here's a hopefully not-meh post for you to make it up. :3))

So he stayed in the Outer Rim, and didn't know a single thing about what was happening in the greater galaxy. Well, that must be convenient. For a moment, the thought of retiring on her spoils drifted through her mind, the idea of passing on the Demon's Head and the customers to one of her promising recruits and melting into one of those seedy, not-quite-respectable places where crime was rife and people hid until things blew over and she could merge back into society at large. People with large nest eggs were never questioned, they could go back into the comfy world of legality with little to no fuss made. A few creds here and there, and peace was assured between one and the authorities.

But she dismissed the idea as ludicrous. Her creditors had longer arms than the distracted authorities, and were relentless in their quest for what they were owed. Yes, she could disappear into some black hole, but she would leave her followers to foot the bill, to be pursued and killed for her sake. She couldn't let that happen; some tenuous shreds of nobility and responsibility still left rebelled against the idea.

So, she was back to square one, caught between a rock and a hard place. Life would probably have been simpler if she'd gone into some easy, mindless job like selling yacht insurance. He spoke again, this time offering her a drink. Well, that was a welcome change of events at least. He'd gone from complaining about her emotional state to offering to foot the bill for her drinking habits. Well, that was fine by her. She mutely pointed a bottle of dark purple liquid out to the droid tender and its servos squealed as it reached up for it, tipping an inch or two of the liquor into her glass. "Thanks," she said, picking up her glass and tipping it towards him in an almost-salute.

She took a sip of the stuff, swallowing hard at the tang, then glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "So, you got a name?" She wasn't accustomed to making small-talk, but since he'd just bought her a drink, she felt obligated to try it out. Usually when she ended up in a situation such as this, it either ended in a fight or a bed, more often the former. She simply couldn't manage to make her words inoffensive most days. It was a remarkable talent she had, starting barfights with formerly unassuming members of the galactic citizenry. She'd have been proud of it if it hadn't tended to lead too so many disfiguring scars.

(((No worries. I understand. Considering for similar reasons I’m getting back to you late as well. ;p
My apologies.)))


He was grateful and just a little surprised that the woman hadn’t been offended by his offer. A small part of him had thought that, even if he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with his credit lode, she’d wonder why he’d offered. Or money aside, that maybe he was just pitying her, trying to appease her with alcohol. Further growing her ire wasn’t something he’d have been looking forward to. Then Pak might have had to go against grain and leave the cantina, evening unfinished. But perhaps he had just touched the right nerve, giving her no reason to dissuade him of paying for her next glass, or more.

She silently pointed out a bottle to the droid bartender, who came over to pour some into her glass. When she thanked him, Pak picked up his empty bottle and saluted her back with it, issuing a grin and a nod as well. “Don’t mention it.” It was no problem; he was happy to do it. Anything to keep this blonde with the scarred face from returning to his bad side and depressing him before he was ready to be that down. He was actually starting to somewhat enjoy her company. It was a fine way to waste a few hours, anyway.

The question that came next from her wasn’t completely unexpected. In fact, Pak had thought such pleasantries would have come up much earlier. But then again, she--and he—had been focusing on other things far from pleasant. Maybe it had been the drink he had bought for her, or maybe she was just warming up to him in general, or even still, just felt obligated to talk to him because of his generosity. None of those options really bothered the Balosar. As long as he could keep the conversation going, focusing his mind on other matters, he could stave off his dark thoughts for as long as possible. And maybe he’d make a new friend in the process.

Before he answered, though, he waggled a couple fingers at the ‘tender and set a couple more credit chips on the counter. “Why don’t you leave that bottle over here, chap?” As an afterthought, he added, “Uh, and a second glass.” Pak was used to just drinking straight from the bottle, but if this woman wanted refills, it’d probably be best if he wasn’t giving lip service to the bottle she wanted to use for said refills. It wasn’t that he was trying to be particularly polite or even hygienic; he was just trying to stay on the woman’s good side and carry on as friendly as possible.

After the droid had brought the bottle back down and set it and a somewhat clean class before Pak, the Balosar poured himself some, a bit more of a serving than the bartender had given his companion. Pak just wasn’t the type to go about anything halfway. If he was going to drink, he was going to drink. He took a sip and smiled, savoring it; it was good, whatever it was. His contemplation of the woman’s alcohol choice thus completely, he turned back to her. “Ah, yes, a name. Of course. You can call me Pak.” He forewent his usual introduction, believing that she wouldn’t really be impressed or even care that much that he was a captain of a ship. Occupations and last names could come later, if things between them progressed that far.

Pak sipped from his glass again, enjoying the small burn of the strange purple liquor as he was quiet for a moment or two. He was unsure whether to just let her answer in kind on her own or whether to lead her. In both cases, he might never get an answer; all kinds of scenarios could be responsible for her earlier mood, including ones where she might wish to remain anonymous. But she had asked him for his. It’d only be faire, after all. So in the end, he quickly decided to go with the latter, trying to keep things lighthearted. Hoping that he wouldn’t ruin the good terms they were tentatively on at the moment. “And what about you, Blondie?”

Silence stretched between the two of them as they both focused on their drinks. The fellow seemed polite and friendly enough at least, which was a welcome change. Whatever the motive behind his behavior, at least he wasn't going to try and steal every cred she owned. Hopefully. No. She wasn't going to be paranoid, not today. She was just going to be nice and polite, and hopefully get a few free drinks and a pleasant conversation before having to go back out and face the world with nothing but her wits.

Pak. A simple name, pleasant with its bland shortness. At least it wasn't some ridiculous name that took five minutes to say. Some cultures were addicted to that sort of behavior, forever finding the most complicated set of syllables possible to inflict upon their newborn children. The memory of diplomats, their nobility shining through clearly in their given names, danced at the edge of Larrine's mind. She buried her face in her glass again, draining it and reaching over to the bottle that sat in between them, tipping herself out another generous helping of the stuff, filling it up far past where the droid had. Skimpy hunks of metal. Didn't understand what an actual drink was.

She took a sip of it and glanced over at him as he inquired as to her name. For one moment, she considered curtly turning down his request and retreating back into her shell. Her identity was possibly the only thing of value she now possessed, and she'd much rather keep it to herself. But he was a good diversion from less pleasant thoughts, and he hadn't tried to rob her yet, so... "Larrine," she said in much the same tone he'd introduced himself in. "I'm Larrine, and not worth a sodding cred." She grumbled the last bit into her glass.

If she ever got her hands on those pirates, she'd...do bad things to them. Very bad things.

Turning her mind once more away from the sore topic of her most recent business losses, she set her cup down, tipping it up and dropping it back down to watch the liquid slosh about inside. She looked up at him. "Anything in particular bring ya to this armpit of the galaxy?" she asked, trying to sound pleasant. Prying in the affairs of men who frequented this sort of hole was potentially dangerous, but she'd already decided she didn't care. And besides, she could take care of herself.