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Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
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last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
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Oct 8, 2009 20:06:56 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Oct 8, 2009 20:06:56 GMT -5
It was either a curse or a blessing to be grounded on Tatooine. It was a curse because of the dreaded heat, ugly sands, and nasty people that came with the planet description. The twin suns did nothing but multiply hot to extreme blaze. The heat didn’t make Tatooine a furnace; it made Tatooine a hell. That heat would sooner suck the fluids and lovely juices out from a person’s body through their skin and then leave them sprawled on a random sand dune until the bones were baked black. That is, if the sand didn’t cover them first. Sandstorms were horrible with blinding and suffocating grains as they invaded eyes and leaked down the backs of throats. Eating sand was like eating a handle of miniature rocks. It didn’t taste good and, quite frankly, one really was not supposed to eat it. Though, sometimes, it probably would not be past some of the sentient beings that wandered a swirling sand pit such as Tatooine. Ugly people docked, visited, and lived here. There were people who were all sorts of cruel and villainous to their last and dying breath. Others were fugitives for some reason or another, seeking shelter from being sought out and the light of justice beamed into their eyes as horridly blinding as the scheming sands.
Then there were reasons to believe Tatooine was a blessing. This opinion could probably only be answered by one of two views: one of which was the criminal side and another through the more righteous side. To a criminal, Tatooine was a haven, count one for blessings. There were more evil people here than there were a lot of places in the galaxy. Not many people who did the right thing by the law lived here. This was a place of cheats and lying made by thieves and murderers. When one place became a cesspool of terrible people even the people of justice packed their bags, moved out, and never looked back. Tatooine was like a bad neighborhood that nobody but crime wanted to reside in. Tatooine was a good place to find work, like a bad neighborhood was a good place to seek out a drug dealer. Tatooine constantly was a known place that criminals were hired for their illegal uses for illegal purposes. The evil whirled around and around in a circle, a spiral to tough a bottom that was never ending.
To someone more righteous this place was a heaven because it was easy to discover information. There were many loose lips in the cantinas. If such a person seeking out one person for justice, all it took was a couple of drinks or a big enough bribe to get mouths to open. For enough bribery, someone could hire ears and eyes, plus the mouth that came with it. A blessing, in a way, especially if one wanted to find someone.
Melody had to call it a curse and a blessing. The bloody heat made her hot and sweaty. It cracked her lips and dried out her hair something fierce. She guzzled liquid like it was the end of the world to try to remain hydrated but she lost her chapstick somewhere. Darn. There were, however, people here that warded off the Republic. This place was keeping her hidden for now while she searched for a way off this planet of sand and… weird things. Then again, because of the type of crowd that was here, it was hard to find a good enough person to pay for passage. Or perhaps that had always just been Melody Prance’s luck in finding partners, employers, or chauffeurs.
Well, today she was going to take a break, give her mind a brief time to work out how to sell her story to the next man. Perhaps that was what she needed: a better story. She wouldn’t lie, however. Melody Prance never lied. She had never needed to lie. She was never looking for trouble or getting wrapped up in any trouble she couldn’t handle. The worst kind of trouble she might have would be a run in with someone from the Republic, but that was a matter of what kind of business she ran. Er… once ran. But, she had never lied about her business. She had always played her pazaak cards right while remaining on the right side of several employers. When one did their job correctly, they did not have to tango with problems. Problems tangoed with the smuggler.
As she wandered into the cantina with a shadow behind her, a sudden thought came to mind: what if she didn’t have her shadow? Would she be able to purchase flight easier? Cheaper than what she had already been offered? The look of her shadow could simply make others fidget. Melody figured it was the eyes, the way the red eyes stood from his face. It was an unnatural hue in a human being, and she admitted to herself on occasion that it could be intimidating. Was that perhaps why the passages offered so far pocket-book eating?
Nevertheless, she had this shadow. He seemed pretty willing to stick around her after all that happened. The smuggling with Ocelot had ended after that last mission, the group had disbanded for a number of reasons. They had taken their pay and taken flight. No telling where they headed. Arc Laud took flight with Melody, seeming just to follow her around and scare the wits outta anyone who so much as looked as her dirty. She hadn’t the faintest idea why he chose to remain with her. Not after the way she treated him that last mission; the yelling, the slapping, the criticizing, the attitude. She didn’t mind Arc, no; he was a decent drinking buddy. Melody would also admit that she liked the fact he kept several gross men from approaching her, or lingering if they did manage to come close.
“… Just, ugh, I don’t know why everyone has to be so expensive. It’s not like we’re asking to go to the Core or anything. Maybe we’ve exhausted our new face here, and the more we return the higher the price goes up or something. It’s when the face keeps turning up at the same place that you know they’re desperate for something. Not to say that we’re… necessarily desperate, no, but I sure as hell am getting there. I’m running outta sunblock, and you just can’t find that mess here because everyone has a darker complexion because they’re used to the frackin’ sun. I don’t have a mind to get sunburned. … What was I talking about again? Oh, right, getting off Tatooine.” Melody sighed, pushing open the doors to the cantina, eyes scanning across familiar faces from the past few days. Smirks and smiles from those faces made her frown. They had noted her presence. Again.
“Maybe we should move to a different area. Maybe visit new cantinas, find someone less… Agh, whatever. I don’t feel like messing with anymore people. I’mma drink today instead. Let the idiots think what they want, hmph.” Her light blond waves bounced subtly as she purposely strode from the entrance to the bar and slid into a stool with the grace of a landing bird. In that moment, she didn’t say much except for answering the silent question from the bartender. Seconds later she had a small, filled glass and a bottle of some brand of whiskey. She turned her seat so her side faced the open cantina, filled with neon lights dimmed by the haze of smoke and crawling with scantily clad women. Certainly, it was simply another night. The only difference is Melody actually had the intention to drink it away.
She spun her small shot on the counter, and then looked up at Arc. “Now, you’re sure you didn’t use red food coloring as eyedrops?”
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last online Apr 8, 2020 19:14:54 GMT -5
Guardian
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Oct 10, 2009 20:03:50 GMT -5
Post by Grawn on Oct 10, 2009 20:03:50 GMT -5
You know Arc Laud once was a quiet one. He didn't really care or like people in general, finding them more of an annoyance then actual assistance. The most human contact he had gotten during his time as a bounty hunter were the shady contacts he had to associate himself with. Whom would always have a shaky voice when he was staring at them, out of fear of him apparently. Oddly enough, this didn't bother him when it came to those type of people because when you fear something to a great extent, there was a better chance of not stabbing that person in the back.
Then there was the other type of person. The bounty. The fool he would have to listen to like an angry, blithering, begging, spewing, spitting backseat driver in a cramped speeder as he took them away. If it wasn't the dragging them to his ship and stowing them away in one of the many cages he had built into it that irritated him, it was the time he had to spend with them as he took them to the designated drop off point. It really just gave him an example what most beings will break down to when they are cornered and their doom is closing in on them.
Well perhaps they shouldn't have gotten on the bounty list in the first place, hm?
Arc Laud had liked to think himself and his life pretty simple. He wore an assortment of trench coats, always had a pair of guns on him along with a few miscellaneous items such as glasses that allowed him to sync with a microchip in his skull to the Hunters Net, grenades of a wide variety and a knife concealed in his boot. He hunted, he returned person or thing and got money. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. However, life sometimes like to throw you off course. Even if you were on that course for...oh, say a really long freaking time! No no, life wanted you to go to a cantina one day and have a drink like any other day but decides to spice it up by meeting a mysterious few people. These people recruit you into joining a mercenary group for loads of cash. Not that Arc needed cash, heavens no, Arc could probably retire with all the money he had. Arc just hunted out of boredom and the excitement of finding a bullet in your body that wasn't previously there.
Arc Laud the loner bounty hunter with the weird red eyes sold his ship and goes off on crazy adventures with these people. Of course, being the solitary man he had been previous, Arc wasn't use to it all. Having to rely on other people to promote his own well being, it just wasn't something he did or hell, dabbled in. He was a "look out for number one" kind of person because in the galaxy that he lived in, everyone was out to screw you over. Whether that was true or just because Arc had a rather...err...lets call it "rough" upbringing, is anyones guess. The work hadn't been all that bad, it had been easier then some jobs he took, thats for damn sure. But then he met HER.
Yes. HER. A girl.
A girl by the name of Melody Prance.
Miss Prance was in lamest terms, a goof. Hell, when they had first made eye contact, her first question concerning Arc's peculiar eye color was "So did you use red food coloring as eyedrops?" or something along that sort. This was able to generate something odd and by odd i mean a laugh. Not a laugh when you hear a bounty try and pay his way off of being killed or laugh that came when you saw someone whom was below you in gunmenship or fighting style dare to challenge you. Nope, this laugh was a pure, good natured "what the hell" laugh. And that was just a spark on a bonfire that would lead to the discovery that perhaps there was more to Arc Laud then just a merciless killer/bounty hunter.
See, Melody also provoked the memory of a forgotten love in Arc's cold heart. Arc once had almost given everything up to be with this person, he was willing to drop bounty hunting and just become a straight up civilian to just settle down and be happy with her. Fate would deem this unacceptable though and reversed all the goodness that had penetrated that cold heart of his through her subtle teachings. For years after her death, he had locked the girl and anything involving her away in the deepest corner of his mind and forgot she had almost existed, becoming what he had been but WORSE after she came into his life. It wasn't until he met Melody that Arc had kept that part of his past in the dark and if it had been his choice, he would've kept it that way. Melody unknowingly had chucked a boulder into his still pond of a soul and now it was all to shambles. Sure he kept the image of a tall, dark brooding man with a piercing blood red gaze that would want to make most people stay clear away from him but underneath he wasn't the same cold person he was before meeting Ocelot and the crew. Arc still wasn't sure if he like this but, what can ya do, eh?
But just when you think your course, although altered from the normal, is set again and your slowly settling in being social and a...relatively..."nice" person when you don't have a gun in your hand, life goes DENIED! So where was he now? Shipless, crewless, jobless in the non bounty hunter way and following around the girl who had messed with his pond. He had rather liked that pond still and quiet but Force forbid Arc Laud be allowed to exist without something coming along and changing things! Strangely enough though, he didn't mind the change.
Arc sighed as he followed her, one hand in his trench coat and the other holding the pack of possessions he had slung over his shoulder. It had been rather sudden that the crew Ocelot had brought together had decided to splinter, though it wasn't a major change for the bounty hunter. He had been able to stay with the smuggler girl, apparently her not minding his presence all that much so he thought he might as well accompany her until they decided to part ways. The twin suns of Tatooine were a major annoyance to him, which was for the reason he was wearing the reddish orange circular shades to keep the beams from causing him to squint and miss any subtle shift in movement from any passerby who thought him or the girl would make easy marks for thieving from. The planet was known for its hive of scumbags that infested it which was why Arc had been here more then a few times, a lot of wanted people preferred to hide here from the authorities. This made his job quite easy however. But for now he was taking some time off, enjoying the company of the odd Melody and perhaps a few drinks here or there.
"I'll see if i can get in touch with anyone who owes a favor to get us off this rock" he said as he looked around. He didn't mention to many he could probably buy and maintain well over three large ships at once. Arc didn't plan to start now until the situation got a lot worse then it was currently. Travel was sometimes a hassle when you had to deal with crooked merchants and those who just wanted to make a large amount of credits without doing to much. He couldn't help but smirk at her remark of forgetting what she had been talking about after she had gone off on a rant. It was those types of things among many others that made her easy to get along with.
Following her into the cantina, Arc eyed the transdoshan that bouncered the door. The reptilian humanoid returned the shaded stare with a stare of his own. Only a few feet behind Melody as they entered the shady place, many humanoids of many species sitting in a vast area of tables and chairs, Arc blew a few strands of black hair that had to decided to part from the mass that covered his head. Thinking perhaps a haircut soon wouldn't be such a bad idea. Seating in a stool next to her.
"What'll ya have?" the bartender asked him. Thinking for a moment, Arc took off his glasses and seemed to silently startle the large man a bit.
"I'll take something strong and Corellian. Surprise me." he said vaguely and the bartender nodded. Melody already had hers as his bottle and glass came to him. The bounty hunter poured himself a shot and had it in his hand about to drink it when he heard Melody say.
"Now, you're sure you didn't use red food coloring as eyedrops?"
Downing his drink, he turned his head to see the blue eyed woman looking at him. She had asked the question before and even on the second time it still brought an amused smirk to his face.
"Miss Prance...I have to wonder if you have a screw loose," he said as he poured another shot for himself. Drinking away the day didn't seem like such a bad idea.
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sparrow
The Night is Dark and Full of Onions
2,999 posts
145 likes
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last online Dec 26, 2019 3:11:06 GMT -5
Master
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Oct 10, 2009 23:20:47 GMT -5
Post by sparrow on Oct 10, 2009 23:20:47 GMT -5
Wiping the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve, Zarene Yin wondered why such a large part of the galaxy's scum hung out on Tatoonine. The place was hot, dangerous, thoroughly unpleasant. Realizing that she just answered her own question, she made a beeline for the nearest shelter. Being outside under not one but two suns wasn't very good for cybernetics, she was sure, and she wasn't in the mood to find out how much time it would take for them to overheat.
The reason she was on this rock was of course the same reason of just about every other fringer on Tatoonine. The inhospitable climate, combined with its remote Outer Rim location, meant very little Republic presence. A series of high-profile assassinations had recently shook the Republic, and the last thing Zarene wanted to do right now was lead the Republic troops straight to the fledgling Sith Order. That was the reason for the particularly roundabout path she was taking. Besides, there was no need to return until after the completion of the new Temple.
Two weeks ago she had been on Kuat. There had been a rather unpleasant incident there, but she had managed to leave the place after erasing the evidence of her involvement, the blame instead going wholly to the mercenary company that had instigated the whole thing. Last week had been Bothawui, where she had made a big show of doing some Exchange job. Hopefully this week she would actually be able to get some rest.
Besides, if she could get used to this place, then perhaps Korriban wouldn't seem so bad.
The building she had walked into was a bar bustling with activity, filled with strange and bizarre beings. Quite the freakshow in here,... but look who's talking! she thought. That was probably the only other thing she liked about Tatoonine. Between all the strange hunchbacked aliens playing pazaak, bounty hunters in full armor trying to do a badass pose while drinking, and smugglers with faces that could only be loved by a blind mother, almost nobody stared at or made a fuss about the young scarred cyborg entering the room. She was sure that many had noticed her and were already logging the details down for whichever intelligence agency they worked for (she had already picked out this particular establishment's Exchange informer from the crowd from a signature piece of clothing), but at least they were discrete about it. Just leave me alone as I get something to eat, and we'll get alone fine.
Lucky day, she thought, spying an empty table in the far corner. It seemed a nice, quiet spot, or at least as quiet as it would get in busy bar room. It would be a while before she would be able to get a ride off the planet, and in the meantime she was hungry and had some time to kill.
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Karl the Unfettered
Magnificent Bastard
1,010 posts
57 likes
(a+ bn)/n = x, therefore God exists
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last online Feb 26, 2022 22:36:25 GMT -5
Master
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Oct 10, 2009 23:46:26 GMT -5
Post by Karl the Unfettered on Oct 10, 2009 23:46:26 GMT -5
At the bar, in the seat next to the one Arc had taken, a wreck was huddled. Apparently a male wreck, humanoid definately, he wore a tattered gray longcoat that distorted his frame and anything he might have had on him; his back was bowed down with a large and rather full-looking pack, and any view of his head was made difficult by a thick sheaf of dirty blond hair that had once been a neat bowl cut. His head was down, supported on one hand; the other was splayed indifferently toward the back of the bar, palm up, and one would see he wore fingerless gauntlets.
Beneath him, the object of his dull gaze, a large glass lurked. It was empty, and this fact appeared to be a source of consternation for him.
Abruptly he roused, raising his head to reveal a piercing blue gaze; his eyes had the unnatural glint that indicated occular implants, and the action afforded a very brief view of a very thick neck. "Barkeep," he growled, in a hoarse voice that didn't sound as if it was meant to be hoarse, "another round."
"Mister Romeo, you've h-" the barkeep began, before the wreck banged on the bar with his splayed out hand; the thud was rather loud, causing the barkeep to jump.
"I said another damn round," the wreck hissed, his hand clenching and unclenching spasmodically. The hand supporting his head reached inside his coat, coming back out with a few chips; these he dropped on the bar and shoved toward the barkeep. "There's your damn tab."
"Ah... fine, whatever," the barkeep muttered as he took the glass and went to fill it up. One might then notice the glass was unusually thick, and that whatever it was filled with smoked and hissed slightly as he brought it back. "There."
"Hrm," the wreck muttered, subsiding again into his former inert state as he regarded the glass. It smoked and fumed up at him, and he seemed to be inhaling these fumes with what passed for relish. The splayed hand curled in, gripped the glass; he leaned back and downed most of it in a few large gulps, the muscles of his thick neck working audibly as the apparently volatile liquid was guzzled down. The glass came down with a thud, and he exhaled with what seemed to be satisfaction; the arm splayed back out, and he dropped his head back to its former spot.
The barkeep briefly regarded this, then shook his head. "His fifth glass today, that is," he remarked to no one in particular as he went about his duties.
The wreck, Romeo by name, took no notice of this, or indeed of anything save the hissing glass that so absorbed him. One couldn't tell by simply looking, but he was one of an elite order of assassins, many of whom were malfunctioning; himself among them. His was one of the more unfortunate malfunctions, for those around him that is.
Not so much for him, at least not on the surface. Then again, why was he drinking so heavily of such strong stuff? In a place like this, no one would notice, much less care. Or so he hoped.
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.:Falcon:.
Lvl. 38 Gum Bandit
486 posts
0 likes
*Insert catchy title here*
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last online Dec 31, 2015 10:49:17 GMT -5
Knight
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Oct 12, 2009 10:20:56 GMT -5
Post by .:Falcon:. on Oct 12, 2009 10:20:56 GMT -5
Larrine Gibrenn was not happy. She had been on her third spice run so far, and each time, she had been beset by pirates. Granted, this time she had managed to outgun them due to some interesting tweaking by the mechanic on Nar Shaddaa, but it still didn't change facts- someone was stalking her, knew about her shipments, and was after them.
That didn't make for lucrative business. Luckily, the Domingo had fared better on it's last run. It had delivered every bale of spice, every bit of pirated parts that had been ordered, and ten hours ahead of schedule too. If only the Captain of that dang-dratted barge wouldn't get so cocky. Larrine hated cocky people, and she especially hated cocky people who had their eye on her ship.
Larrine stared out of the viewport at the dirtied duracrete of the hangar wall. Here she was, stuck on this hellhole of a planet with a broken hyperengine. And she was behind hand. Badly. She pushed herself up, and strode determinedly out of the cockpit, nearly bumping into her inept mechanic, Dex. Dex jumped backwards with a yelp.
"I'm going to get drunk." Larrine announced. "If I'm not back within two days, know I got into a brawl and died." Dex stared at her, but Larrine walked past him and down the ramp without waiting for questions. She needed a stiff drink, badly. She wandered about for several minutes, staring at a few cantinas, but not going in.
But finally, the heat won the upper hand, and Larrine ducked into a tiny hovel of a cantina. Like most cantinas, it was dark, smoky, and loud. Gamblers sat at a few tables, and the bar was crowded. Larinne pushed her way in, and gestured the tender over.
He came up, grumbling under his breath. "Yah?" he groused, looking at her from under bushy eyebrows. Larrine threw him a credit, and placed her order. He grunted, and moved off. Larrine kept her eyes on the counter in front of her until the barkeep thumped her drink down.
Larinne picked it up and took a slow sip. Liquid fire electrified her limbs almost immediately, and Larrine put the glass back down, swallowing the burning mouthful. Feeling a bit more congenial, Larrine looked about the cantina with more interest. People crowded close on either side, and some of them looked as if they might have promise. She wondered if any were looking for a job. Probably. Tatooine dwellers were notorious for having little employment, and less work ethic.
Larrine took another sip of her drink, and turned her attention to the other people at the bar. A girl who looked way too innocent for a place like this was nearby, next to a man who looked immensely dangerous. Directly next to Larrine was the shriveled wreck of what might once have been a humanoid.
Larrine looked away. Such pitiful wrecks, ruined by drink and a life full of malfeasance were none of her business. She tossed back the rest of her drink, and thumped the glass down to gain the bartender's attention. "More." the bartender looked her up and down, as if sizing up whether this woman could take another glass, then shrugged and turned to the tap.
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Ashi
The Site ?sshole
501 posts
0 likes
The Herpes Sore on SWU
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last online Sept 23, 2014 18:13:59 GMT -5
Knight
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Oct 12, 2009 18:01:57 GMT -5
Post by Ashi on Oct 12, 2009 18:01:57 GMT -5
OOC: From the Assembly [SWU link]IC: It never takes long for a skilled bounty hunter to find their prey. The longer you spend in your chosen trade, the easier it becomes to find the many places people go to hide. These are the places that it's easiest, by far, to find someone who doesn't want to be found, much to the consternation of those who try to hide there. For someone in need of credits and armed well enough to count themselves as bounty hunters, few places were so richly endowed with potential marks. Miran walked pointedly onto the slightly cramped bridge and took a look at the weapons settings before taking her seat at sensors, comm, and operations. As she had expected, the weapons stations were on standby, but unpowered. It would take a mere ten seconds for the entire weapons array to power up. They exited hyperspace over Tatooine, precisely a hundred kilometers from the edge of the gravity well. After twenty seconds drifting in the dead of space, they fired up the sublight engines and powered the Cuyir towards the planet. Nothing stood out from the norm on their approach, nor on their landing, but one never knew when approaching a planet like this. An idiotic bounty might not change their ship's transponder and give them the perfect shot at both a bounty and a ship to sell. "So, Honey, who are we looking for? A place like this is bound to hold a large number of potential marks." Darren smiled, still focused on the controls in front of him. "Well, we've got a name and a partial appearance. Somebody who goes by..." Darren glanced at a datapad near the console. "Melody, Melody Prance. Got a fair-sized bounty on her head, about 30k." Miran considered this. 30k. that seems just like Darren. I know we can probably pull this off without a hitch, but... there seems to be so little challenge these days. She thought silently. Let's make things interesting. "Let's pull this without grenades. I want a bit of excitement." This caught Darren's interest. "Oh? Why not keep the grenades and just take out whomever else is in the place too. If she's in a cantina, like they usually are, it's not like we'll have any shortage of potential bounties." Miran again took a moment to ponder. "You make a good point. Sonic grenades it is." Miran rose, her work powering down the console already completed. "See ya in a few." She headed aft, to the compartment which contained her armor, to prepare for the rather interesting challenge that lay ahead.
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Kella
Fire and Blood
4,089 posts
5 likes
Fire cannot kill a dragon.
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last online Oct 30, 2014 9:41:46 GMT -5
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Oct 15, 2009 20:12:14 GMT -5
Post by Kella on Oct 15, 2009 20:12:14 GMT -5
Glem hated Tatooine.
But it wasn't just any sort of hate. It wasn't the sort of hate that Glem directed to lousy package inspectors, or having her toes stepped on. It wasn't the sort of hate that Glem felt when Greek ran off and refused to be found, or when druken men oggled her, just because she wasn't human. Those were wry, exasperated uses of the word.
No, this hate could be be better described as a deep and festering loathing, consuming her with a heat more ferocious than Tatooine itself. The sun parched her lilac skin with vampirical excitement, making the delicate layer crack and peel. The tattoos which swirled along her body, appeared dull and black like charcoal streaks on the back of her arms and Haillu. Dark violet eyes surveyed the cantina with a foul temper.
Glem could not stand to think about why she was here. In Tatooine. Again. She had made a vow that she would never ever come back. Too bad it wasn't her choice. But no, she couldn't think about why she was here. If she did, she'd strangle some random passerby out of sheer spite; quite drastic for the normally conservative Gungan. As tempting as that was, it would attract far too much attention.
"Crooooou!"
Greek warbled, nudging Glem's elbow. At least the Gizka seemed to be enjoying himself. Glem was unamused.
"Quit it." "Crou?" "I am not going to pet you right now, so stop. Go bother someone else." "Krrrur." Greek sighed, looking up at Glem with big, pitiful eyes. "Nice try. Not working today. Look, Food!" "Krei?" The Gizka immediately perked. "Yes, over there, look!" Glem exclaimed, her voice dripping with false enthusiasm. "Crrrrou!" Greek raced off, bouncing along the floor in search of his spoils. That would keep the critter occupied for maybe ten minutes. Glem sighed exasperatedly. It really was cruel to keep sending Greek off on wild goose chases, but right now, today, she really didn't care. She just wanted to get the hell off Tattooine. Why anyone would ever choose to come here, she had no idea. And it was six hours before her shuttle left. Six long, agonizing hours.
And so she was here. At the Cantina. Trying to A) occupy herself, and B) prevent herself from committing suicide out of sheer exasperation.
Curses to time. She was sure it slowed down just when she needed it to move faster. Perhaps by playing a bit of a game, she could trick it into speeding up again, give it a taste of its own foul medicine.. Glem's eyes began to skim the Cantina, from her vantage point, a tiny booth tucked against the wall, a yard or two from the bar, which is where she began her game.
Oh, that was nice. The first, a Trandoshan, quite recently unconscious. Her appraisal quickly came. Body guard, came to work for a Hutt, less than minimum wage, and once his employer found him dead, he'd be kibble for the pet Bantha. Next to the Reptillian, a Rodian, looking rather tipsy himself. Mentally unstable, escaped convict, with the potential to begin frothing at the mouth and suck the blood from any passerby. Glem then spied a rather tall fellow, black hair, red eyes, draping coat. Bounty hunter, spent too long looking at computer screens, once had a tangle with a Rancor, slept with a stuffed Bantha at night. Next to him, and presumably with him, was a young woman, with bubbly blond hair and bright blue eyes. She definitely didn't belong in a place like this. Glem would guess... waitress, who the laigrek-eyed man had taken a fancy to, and decided to hire along for his personal amusement. Next Glem moved to a pitiful frump of a man, all rags and no backbone. Businessman, made a bad gamble on the Stock-market, drinking his life away in a Tatooine Cantina, due to being disillusion and landing because he thought the sand looked like piles of credits.
Glem moved throughout the Cantina in this fashion, each assumption just as sarcastic and entirely untruthful as the last. It was not useful in any way, shape, or form. That's why it was a game. It did, however, pass the time. Slowly. Very, very slowly...
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Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
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last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
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Oct 25, 2009 20:35:13 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Oct 25, 2009 20:35:13 GMT -5
What a mess of a man, she thought. The glass gave faint rattles as she spun it in a circle. Every so often, it would rotate on its edge, coming tantalizingly close to the danger of spilling the fiery liquid. Melody’s fingers were the glass’s safety rail. The glass never tipped so far to spill its contents. The glass completed a rotation and her arm flexed out of habit, bringing the glass to her lips. With a backward tilt of her head, Melody sent the liquid to the back of her throat and smirked, pleased, as the whiskey burned. With a short, heavy sigh, Melody’s index and middle finger grasped the bottle by the neck and bowed it over the length of her forearm, pouring more fire into the glass.
It was quite possibly a redundant act, pouring from bottle to glass and glass to mouth instead of going from bottle to mouth. Melody only did that in private. In private, she wouldn’t have to control her urge to consume. In private, Melody didn’t monitor how much she swallowed because it was those times her give a damn was busted. In public, oh no, she had to appear semi-competent and contain a semi-alert state of mind. Drinking herself silly without walls of a ship encompassing her, without an environment that Melody could control, could be dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s of her signature on Death’s contract.
Unfortunately for Death, she did not wish to sign a contract securing a date with him. Dead was not something Melody aspired to be any time soon. More than five times, she had been so close to Death’s face, she could have kissed him if she so wished. Each time, the thought of turning into a cold, empty corpse to join the ranks of the ever so many wives Death acquired each day scared her enough she had held fast to the tight grip warm Life offered her and strove to follow his path though he abused Melody greatly.
Her blue eyes were settled on the lump huddled to his protective shadow. The lump was beside Arc, and she wondered if Arc had sat down there for the purpose of worrying the messy lump that was, as far as Melody could tell, a man. The man and the bartender had just had a quick spat, ending with the customer getting his way as another drink was brought to him. Well, it certainly wasn’t her problem. A mess he might have been, but she figured with an attitude like that, the man could suffer an atrocious hangover.
“Mister Laud,” she started out, just to echo his previous tone. Her tone was light and playful. “I would hope I don’t have a screw loose,” Melody said. Her face shaped into the mask of mock horror and her blue eyes seemed to stare off into some kind of space. Her mind was left behind, still formatting sentences for her voice to thrum and her mouth to shape. “If I did, that would make me a droid. And I don’ think I’mma droid. I’d be the fleshiest droid you ever did meet, then.” Sapphire flickered back to place, meeting the bounty hunter’s crimson gaze with something of fearlessness in the gemmed depths. Delicate pieces of laughter made her mouth shift into a teasing smile.
Amber flames sloshed down her throat. She repeated the earlier process of grasping the whiskey bottle and bending it over her arm. Pretty blue watched the shot glass fill about three quarters and the bottle lifted, the bottom firmly settling on the counter. When she looked up again, her features were serious, the flirty grin gone.
“Why are you following me? I haven’t asked b’fore, and it makes me rather… suspicious. I figure you, a bounty hunter, would have some reason for following a little smuggler, doubtless a little blond smuggler you’ve heard of before. Or just recently found out about. And, being the informative lil’ gal I try to be, I’ve heard about you.” She had been staring into her whiskey. At the end of that sentence, the gaze lifted back up to Arc’s face, as if giving a more definite punctuation to her statement. “Which doesn’t bode well for me. I know my name’s on the list, Arc. I’m not dumb. I’ve put myself there, and kinda damn proud of it. So, I hafta wonder… are you following me for recreation? Or for throwing a knife in my back, disable me, and dump me to the highest bidder?”
A few other people had entered the cantina. One was a woman, and one with a history by the way she walked. Melody tracked the woman with her eyes, watching as the lady took a seat at a deserted table. That wasn’t too bad, but, like several others in the cantina, Melody was aware of her. One sentient was rather interesting, the head of the species floating above the rest as it walked around: a Gungan. He, Life, truly had a sense of humor. The odd species out tickled Melody in the chest, amusing her though her face remained expressionless.
And then a gizka leapt out from underneath the feet of passing patrons. There was a small chuckle from Melody as the small creature paused at her stool, eyeing up at her, letting out what Melody thought was a disappointed coo. “Lookit you. What’re you doing here?” Melody leaned down, hand on the counter’s edge, and stroked the tips of her fingers across the critter’s head.
“Which is it?” she asked suddenly, jerking her gaze up at Arc once more. Melody was certain that Arc wouldn’t speak truth to her even if he was escorting her until the time came to bite her. If he was playing faulty, Melody was confident she would know. Then again, she didn’t, because she had never really been face to face with a bounty hunter without one trying to blow her into oblivion. Would detecting a lie in a hunter be like detecting a lie in an employer? This sudden discover startled and frightened Melody. What if she couldn’t? What if she couldn’t tell the difference between truth and lie?
Well, then, Death would have his date. And Melody was likely to fall in love at first sight.
Uh-oh.
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last online Apr 8, 2020 19:14:54 GMT -5
Guardian
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Oct 25, 2009 23:51:05 GMT -5
Post by Grawn on Oct 25, 2009 23:51:05 GMT -5
Unlike Miss Prance, Arc Laud didn't care for pleasantries as having to refill ones glass constantly. After the third round, the bounty hunter said screw it and grabbed the entire bottle of whateverthehellitwas. The lump of what he suspected might be a person had quieted a bit after his initial outburst, the thought of pistol whipping him into unconsciousness had crossed his mind but he didn't really wish to make a scene.
Taking a drink from the bottle, the bitter, cold as ice liquid went down the tube and nearly made Arc make a face. He had downed more then a shots worth and the stuff had lingered a bit, surrounding his tongue with what it probably felt to lick the cavern walls on Hoth. Along with the taste of what a wampaa might be like. If it didn't have the extreme potential to make him forget who he was, he probably wouldn't drink it.
Spinning around in his chair to look over the rest of the cantina, his arms resting on the bar counter as he leaned back, a certain smuggler began to chatter.
"Mister Laud"
Arc's head turned in her direction, his gaze lazily lingering on her.
"Yes, Miss Prance," he was able to get in before she started in.
"I would hope I don’t have a screw loose" she began, her face then taking on a position of horror that almost made Arc want to look where she was but he had a strong hunch she was playing with him. If Arc hadn't been liquored a bit and it wasn't her, he probably wouldn't appreciate this. "If I did, that would make me a droid. And I don’ think I’mma droid. I’d be the fleshiest droid you ever did meet, then"
Arc let this mess of odd similes and humor penetrate his brain and looked away from her as he digested this. The only thing that really came to mind was whatthefudge? Funnily enough though, it was that kind of thing that made the bounty hunter split a small smile on his face. He could only wonder if the girl did that purposely or if it was just natural for her. Just about the time his smile appeared, he could hear her laugh lightly and her own mouth turn into a smile of a girl who knows she sounds goofy as hell but loves it.
He sat quietly, not really able to form anything for his mouth to come up with an adequate response to her statement. His hand wrapping around the bottle that was still half empty, he took a quick drink, not wanting the wampaa liquid to stay to long again and put it down as his throat burned with a icy sensation. The cantina was awfully well behaved for it to be a Tatooine hangout. Though a disgusting mix of aliens sat here and there, drinking, passed out or playing cards...it lacked any violent potential.
"Shucks," he muttered to himself.
“Why are you following me? I haven’t asked b’fore, and it makes me rather… suspicious. I figure you, a bounty hunter, would have some reason for following a little smuggler, doubtless a little blond smuggler you’ve heard of before. Or just recently found out about. And, being the informative lil’ gal I try to be, I’ve heard about you.”
His eyebrow raised in interest, though he didn't even look at her as he still scanned the bar. Wow, that rodian was missing an eye.
"I'm flattered" he commented absently.
“Which doesn’t bode well for me. I know my name’s on the list, Arc. I’m not dumb. I’ve put myself there, and kinda damn proud of it. So, I hafta wonder… are you following me for recreation? Or for throwing a knife in my back, disable me, and dump me to the highest bidder?”
Well that was quite the question. He'd have to drink on that one. Picking up the bottle, he took another swig as his words began to come to his mind. At around this time, what appeared to be a gungan entered the cantina. That was odder then any of the disgusting creatures here, for gungans weren't fond of such dry conditions. Her irritation at her current location was beyond obvious but what was also interesting was the small animal that accompanied her.
"Gizka" he muttered under his breath as he watched the thing bounce around a bit, drawing curious gazes from a few sentients who weren't completely passed out. Finally the gizka seemed to think perhaps the blue eyed smuggler girl had food on her or something as it stopped near here, regarding her. Arc watched lazily as the girl cooed and pet the small thing, the bounty hunter kind of glad she was distracted while he thought of a story that made sense.
"Which is it?” she quickly forgot the gizka and her eyes were on him again.
Damn it. The bounty hunter sighed and put the bottle back on the counter as the story was about to be winged.
"Melody. I'll be completely straight with you," at the end of this sentence he turned his head to look at her, but not in a threatening way. More of a im completely serious but not in a bad way, sorta way. His crimson eyes looking at her face but finally resting on those gorgeous sapphires of hers, he finished. "If i had wanted you, you would be bagged and tagged by now". He let this settle in for a moment for dramatic effect like one of those stupid holodramas he had never seen before. "In complete honesty, i had no idea you were marked. However..." he let that however hang in the air as he took his bottle again and finished what was left of it.
That damn bartender must've lied because if that had truly been a strong Corellian, he wouldn't be conscious at the moment. This backwater rock of a planet probably didn't have anything good anyways. The bounty hunter was no longer looking at Melody but staring into space. What was he following her around for? Surely he could better spend his time elsewhere? Visit a brothel on Nar Shadda or go look for another ship or something. But what was he doing? Following around a girl that reminded him of a long lost lover of a part of his past he didn't feel like recalling.
Yup. He was deep.
"Not interested", he stated. A smile came to his face as he looked at her again. Damn, he was smiling to much, his frowns were getting jealous he was sure. "Purely recreation Miss Prance. Though i must say if i was interested in turning your pretty head in, you make it easy. No offense of course" the teasing smirk remaining on his face as he once again looked away to scan over the bar. Eventually he'd get bored and order another bottle of "strong and Corellian" but for now he was content.
"Barkeep, another bottle" he said abruptly, turning his head for his eyes to do the work of getting the large man to get it quickly. Moments later he had another bottle securely in his hand.
Well that was quick.
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sparrow
The Night is Dark and Full of Onions
2,999 posts
145 likes
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last online Dec 26, 2019 3:11:06 GMT -5
Master
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Oct 26, 2009 4:33:59 GMT -5
Post by sparrow on Oct 26, 2009 4:33:59 GMT -5
The young waiter wasn't thrilled about his most recent table assignment. Sure, his job often meant serving strange and bizarre aliens of every size and shape, a sizable number who couldn't even speak Basic, but one could get used these unusual types for the most part. But the girl who had taken the corner table,... she probably wasn't the weirdest customer he had to table for, but something about her made him slightly uneasy.
He tried his best not to stare. She looked human enough at first glance, though the chromatically mismatched eyes seemed to suggest otherwise. That wasn't what he was staring at though. It was the scar, the burn, the whatever-it-was that covered the bottom half of the right side of her face. He wondered how she had gotten such an injury, then found himself thinking that she'd actually be rather pretty if it weren't for that, went back to wondering about the source of the scar, and then realized that he was staring. And she had noticed and was returning that stare with a glare that implied that she was going to do something very vioilent if he didn't stop immediately. Hurriedly, he looked back down at his notepad, scribbled down her order (a rather curious choice consisting of a non-alcoholic beverage and several items off of the dessert menu), and rushed off to the kitchen.
Zarene Yin sighed as the young waiter hurried off. She would have thought that being consistently subject to awkward looks and whispers over the years would've gotten her used to this sort of thing. It didn't. At least nobody had asked her to leave yet, citing the no droids policy. In most parts of the galaxy, cyborgs weren't seen as much better than droids, and in some places even worse, because the blending of flesh and metal gave folks the creeps. Last time someone had asked her to leave because of that, Zarene had ended up tearing apart the entire room in a fit of rage, and had to fight a jedi in order to leave. Anger management, that was something she had to work on. She could be the cool, methodical strategist in the planning phases of a mission, but once outside her temper had landed her in unnecessary trouble on more than one occasion.
A bit after her order arrived, she managed to return her mind to a state of relative calm, and wondered if she should have glared so hard at the boy. He hadn't stared as much as most, his service was fairly timely, and he was a rather handsome kid. She made a mental note to leave a decent tip.
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Karl the Unfettered
Magnificent Bastard
1,010 posts
57 likes
(a+ bn)/n = x, therefore God exists
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last online Feb 26, 2022 22:36:25 GMT -5
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Oct 26, 2009 16:17:30 GMT -5
Post by Karl the Unfettered on Oct 26, 2009 16:17:30 GMT -5
In due course Romeo finished his fifth glass of whatever it was, and banged for another one. Seconds passed, and the barkeep didn't appear with his usual alacrity. So he banged again, harder; still no barkeep. Damnit, now he had to look up. "Barkeep," he growled, craning his head up to search for the slovenly man, "bring me another refill." He found the man, who was down the bar and trying not to cringe; Romeo got a bad feeling, as if something dire was about to happen...
Sure enough: "No," the barkeep said, loudly, squaring his shoulders and returning Romeo's glare. "You have had enough, sir."
Wrong words. "Excuse me?" Romeo said, straightening up more; suddenly he didn't seem quite so useless as before. "You did not just tell me no." Despite the supposed power of his drinks he showed no sign of being intoxicated; his eyes were clear and his glance was steady, though full of a mounting, incredulous rage.
"I did say no," the barkeep replied, pointing at a sign above the bar. 'We reserve the right to refuse service at any time, for any reason,' that sign said, in ten of the most common languages. "You have had enough, an-"
But a rustle and a faint clanking noise interrupted him, followed by the sight of an archaic weapon shoved into his face. It was a shotgun, sawed-off, lever-action, and rather wide of mouth. Behind that ominous muzzle was Romeo's face, contorted in fury. "You know what happened to the last person who told me no?" he said, in a reasonable tone. Before the barkeep could reply, though, the assassin pulled the trigger; the man's head disolved in an enormous shower of super-heated magnesium shards and napalm-like zirconium.
The blast continued on, as the barkeep's body went up in flames, and the back of the bar ignited as well, bottles exploding nicely. Taking no notice, Romeo turned and seemed to notice the rest of the bar for the first time. "Damnit," he muttered, as another shotgun matching the first one appeared from somewhere in his coat. He jumped up on the bar, guns in hand, appearing like some sort of apocalyptic messenger with his armored coat flapping around him and the flames roaring up behind him.
He spoke no words; the only sound he made was a guttural roar as he opened fire indiscriminately on everyone in the cantina. The air filled with white-hot fragments and liquified metal, instantly lighting up anything they came in contact with. One might wonder where this well-armed and crazy psycho had come from, and what he had done with the harmless wreck of a man that had been dozing at the bar mere moments earlier.
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.:Falcon:.
Lvl. 38 Gum Bandit
486 posts
0 likes
*Insert catchy title here*
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last online Dec 31, 2015 10:49:17 GMT -5
Knight
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Oct 26, 2009 17:44:28 GMT -5
Post by .:Falcon:. on Oct 26, 2009 17:44:28 GMT -5
The minute the shooting started, Larrine jumped into action. Despite the drinks of very intoxicating stuff she had had, she instantly brought her hand into contact with her blaster. Or rather, one of her blasters. It helped to have more than one, just in case, as usual.
After the barkeep was shot, Larrine smoothly slipped off her stool and crouched under the ledge made by the bar. The wreck who had been sitting next to her just moments before was transformed into a shooting maniac. Larrine pulled her blaster out and watched as people around her were hewn down by the ancient weapons. It was quite effective. She might have to consider getting one.
If she got out of this alive. Hopefully, she would. She had a shipment to make. She made sure her blaster had an active powerpack. Just jumping up and threatening him wasn't going to work, she could tell. No. The best thing to do would be to just wait...
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Ashi
The Site ?sshole
501 posts
0 likes
The Herpes Sore on SWU
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last online Sept 23, 2014 18:13:59 GMT -5
Knight
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Oct 26, 2009 18:15:33 GMT -5
Post by Ashi on Oct 26, 2009 18:15:33 GMT -5
Miran and Darren, both properly armed and armored, slowly walked down the ramp of the Cuyir. "Know where we're headed yet?" Miran asked Darren. "Nope. But there's been a call into the local police, such as they are, of a very large disturbance with multiple shots fired." He said, looking up from his datapad, "How much you want to bet that's where we'll find her?" Miran chuckled softly. "Doesn't sound like the MO of someone named Melody, unless you consider the bark of a finely tuned blaster to be a metronome." Darren grinned invisibly behind his helm, "We just need a place to start looking. Besides, how many smugglers you know that run from a good fight?" Miran shook her helmeted head, "Fine. But if we loose this bounty because you wanted to start shooting too early, don't come crying to me.'
The pair grabbed a rental speeder at the front of the spaceport with a deposit of 1,000 credits, twice the usual deposit due to their insistence upon insuring the speeder against "all kinds of arms". They had no need to hide their profession after all. Miran drove to the cantina in question during their six minute journey while Darren navigated, all the while pondering what would be happening inside.
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Kella
Fire and Blood
4,089 posts
5 likes
Fire cannot kill a dragon.
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last online Oct 30, 2014 9:41:46 GMT -5
Master
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Oct 27, 2009 0:21:13 GMT -5
Post by Kella on Oct 27, 2009 0:21:13 GMT -5
It happened all the time. The Drunkards got, well, drunk, and started to make a fuss. Really, how they expected anyone to take them seriously, with their foul breath, their slurred words, and their dim wit, Glem didn't know. It was like being mentally intimidated by a Shaak. Usually, all Drunkards had at their disposal was bad judgment, and a reckless disposition.
Usually. What did not happen all the time, however, was a drunkard pulling two ancient shotguns, and turning an entire cantina into a bloody mess in mere seconds.
Well isn't this just great, Glem thought, as she dove beneath the table, grimacing as her face came within inches of the dusty, grimy floor. From her angle, she could see the Rodian from earlier as well. However, he featured a bloodied, oozing chest, while Glem did not. She was rather thankful for that.
A few fleeting possibilities raced through her mind. She could remain where she was, wait for the commotion to pass, and be on her merry way. Actually, that was quite an attractive possi--
The yelp cut into the air, meaning nothing but random noise, to everyone but Glem. That singular shriek was enough to make her deaf to the din of the firing shotguns, the cacophony of yelling patrons and clattering chairs, the stampede of running feet. It was a sound Gizka rarely made, a sound of pure and utter agony, and it was one of the few things in the world that could snap through Glem's rocky shell.
Greek, who she'd rescued from slavery, Greek who'd been with her through thick and thin, Greek who gave her company on all those lonely journeys...
Greek who had stolen her dinner on innumerable occasions, Greek who was just clever enough to get himself into sorts of trouble, but to daft to get himself out again, Greek who she'd risked her tail for far more than was prudent.
Damn that Gizka.
Of all the pets, Narglatch and Sanddragons, I ended up with a -Gizka-, she muttered to herself, grasping firmly the mottled white and brown wood of her staff. It would be of little use against those shotguns, unfortunately.
Waiting for an opportune moment, Glem dove out from under the table, ducking through the service entrance and behind the counter of the bar. The Drunkard's attention was focused entirely on the rest of the Cantina, and Glem went unnoticed. She tightened her grip on her staff, looking at his form from behind. One well-placed whack to the base of the neck, and he'd bee out-of-commission. Glem could save the day. Yippe.
Oh, what a laugh. Heroes were insane; why risk your life for people you don't even know? Glem was no idiot. Survival of the fittest. She wasn't going to deny the other patrons that challenge. How very kind of her.
She was jolted by the feeling of something hot and sticky against her foot, Glancing down, Glem observed the pool of blood around her. She'd taken to crouching next to the dead bartender...
Oh that's just -disgusting-.
Glem's face contorted into an expression of revulsion as she stepped past the body, leaving bloody footprints on the tiled floor. The wet fluid served as a cement, and dust and grime clung to her feet, scratching against her skin. Oh this just kept getting better and better, didn't it...
Glem crossed around the other end of the bar, slipping again through a service door, now mere feet from the body of the dead Rodian. She observed the tangle of fleet and weapons now amassing in the center of the Cantina. If Greek was caught in all that... Glem's heart sunk. There was no way he'd make it out alive. She might as well just do her best to sneak out, and consider herself freed of a liability...
Suddenly, she heard a pitiful coo, and her head whipped around, Haillu flying. There was Greek, sprawled between two bar stools, only two chairs down from where he'd been taunting the Blonde. Relatively sheltered, out-of-the-way, but she couldn't tell where he'd been hurt...
An abrupt pain flared in her ribcage as something hard collided with her light frame, sending her sprawling on the floor from her crouch. Glem looked up to see a Human towering over her, and she knew she'd met the blunt end of his boot. Complete and utter chaos had erupted, and Glem had no idea whether the insult had been intentional or not. She really didn't care. The muscles of her legs rippled as she spring to her feet, Staff swinging upwards to catch the man on the base of the jaw, snapping his head backwards with a terrible crunch, and knocking him to the ground unconscious. She probably hadn't broken his neck, but she might have. The thought made her sneer.
Glem immediately crouched again and surveyed the Cantina, trying to decide whether the greater danger was going to be a sudden bar-fight, or simply the fleeing of a million frightened patrons... For now, Greek was safe, sheltered by the columnic legs of the Bar Stools, and she was provided some protection from the crazed drunkard, due to the angle of her position. Exits she had already mapped out in her head, and she planned for them, clutching her staff tightly and watching, waiting, allowing herself only the barest moment of hesitation...
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Dire Wolf
So who's ready to help me sock ol Adolf on the jaw?!
2,894 posts
49 likes
Have dakka will travel
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last online May 6, 2020 18:55:51 GMT -5
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Oct 28, 2009 12:59:49 GMT -5
Post by Dire Wolf on Oct 28, 2009 12:59:49 GMT -5
In the dark corner of the cantina sat a woman, a woman that just gone through some of the most interesting days of her life not too long ago. A woman that had just assisted heavily in stealing from a hutt, held off his goons in a simply epic last stand to allow her crew to get the hell outta Dodge City. Or, in this case, get the hell outta Anchorhead. Or wherever in Chaos the city was called.
This woman hadn't particularly cared about the other patrons, that, and she never really took notice of those around her. (she got like that when she was drunk. Normally she was very attentive.) If she had it'd be likely that she would be dead, seeing as she'd no doubt be next to one of her old crewmates, Melody, and would have been drinking like mad when the wreck of a man went psycho. From there, she would have gotten some heroic thought in her head and wholloped the living hell out of him, either that or just shoot him in face and go back to drinking. That would have lead in her death, seeing as this wretch was a super assassin... not that she knew that of course.
So, instead, she sat her pretty brunette bum right in that dark corner of the bar. Lanara had been casually paying attention to the man shooting up the bar, enough to know when to duck down when the gaping maw of the barrel passed over her. Even then, there was a little droid sitting on her table that had a nice little deflector shield that would protect her from the projectiles that the man was spewing from his weapons. "Lady Lanara, I do believe that we stop that man," the little seagull like droid spoke, his monotone voice nearly plagued with a knightly concern. Blue eyes shifted from the bottle to the little white knightly droid, "Ector, ya know the funny thing about heroics," she paused for dramatic effect, "they tend ta getcha shot. Not that I'm scared a gettin' shot ur nothin', just prefer to sit here an-" the bottle that she'd just set outside of the shield shattered into a thousand tiny shards.
A motley ocean of firey red and midnight black washed over her eyes, the red dancing with the black to almost make it look as if there was a fire dancing about charred wood in a campfire. Those inferno colored eyes shifted from the wretch back to Ector, "yaknowwhat, Ector? I think you're right. Lets shoot the livin' osik outta this wretch." The AER droid tilted his head slightly, as if he were trying to figure out why the woman had such a sudden change of heart.
Without warning, Lanara kicked the table down to provide cover... making Ector flare up his repulsor jets and fly back to her side. That energy sheild was only good for so long, and she never fully trusted technology to protect her anyways, there was nothing like a good, solid durasteel table to protect her from steel shot. Or whatever that wretch was shooting. From there, the woman picked up a bar stool and hurled it at the man, aiming for his legs to send him sprawling down on the floor, and ducked behind the table. She ducked down behind the table just in time for Ector to look up at her click his jaw once or twice. "Lady Lanara," AER 08 asked in an inquisitive tone, just as Lan was about to pop up and take a few expertly aimed magnetic accelerator pistol shots at the man. "Why did you change your mind" She looked at the droid with an "really? NOW?" look written about her face before turning her attention back to the wretch.
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last online Jun 4, 2023 4:58:38 GMT -5
Master
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Oct 28, 2009 17:49:10 GMT -5
Post by Talau the Ever-Lurking on Oct 28, 2009 17:49:10 GMT -5
((Rem: "dire....do not want!" .....dont mind the blond *shoves rem back into his box*...))
Remiel growled slightly as he made his way through the city, following the draw of the force toward that insufferable woman. She just couldn't lay low for a while could she? No. She couldn't make things easy on him, could she? No. She just couldn't sit still and keep herself out of trouble could she? No, of course not. The tall blond that walked down the dark and dusty streets of the city was far from happy, his blue eyes laced through with an eerie orange. As if it weren't enough that she'd picked up some odd little bird droid, she'd gone and snuck off while he was out gathering items for them to be better prepared to move on from this rock. Abel would have given him a good swift smack if he'd heard the irritable man think that way about his home, but...luckily for Rem...his former master wasn't here. Instead, the 30 year old former knight found himself repressing a limp as he searched out his quarry.
If the former knight were honest with himself he'd have realized that he was acting in the fashion of an over protective guard dog, but he'd managed to water it down a bit for himself and see it only as being a temporary body guard. That was bad enough…but the fact that she was a truly tiresome ward when she KNEW they were being hunted…it made things just so much worse. How was he supposed to protect the woman if she slunk off every five minutes?! It was a good thing, for her at least, that he had the ability to use the force or she might have ended up knocked out long enough to wake up and find herself fitted with a tracking collar.
Alright, well…that was just a bit extreme, even for Remiel’s current mood, but he would have seriously considered it and possibly even threatened her with the idea in hopes of keeping her in line.
…Woman’s more trouble than she’s worth…
As he drew closer to her he could feel the ripples through the force, the warning of danger that was oh so familiar to him after 25 years of training to feel the dratted thing. It did, however, have the effect of spurring him onward at a far faster pace…so much so that the world blurred around him as he drew in the force to hurry him onward.
A mixture of “damned woman, what’s she gotten herself into NOW” and “I pray to the force she’s alright” flooded the man’s mind and emotions as he slowed before the small building.
Fire. Blood. Burning flesh…
All of these scents bombarded him as the occupants of the building scrambled out of there as fast as they could…some injured, other not. A dangerous mixture of reds and yellows flooded his eyes as Remiel called upon the energies of the force to shield and protect his body. In an instant he was inside, the beginning of the inferno glinting off of the golden sheen of the force protection imbuing his body. Deadly gaze shifted about the bar, the occupants within, and up to the offending person standing atop the bar. His mind barely registered the faces of Melody and Arc, but he did register them….where, however, was Lanara?
He didn’t have time to think about that, however, as he moved to stand in the way of the shot the seeming insane man atop the bar had fired at Melody. With a circular motion of his hand the projectile collided with a solid shield of seemingly nothing, sending the shards of magnesium and zirconium (as well as the death that would have been sure to follow) scattering in all directions BUT into its target. That invisible shield flamed up for a moment, a mixture of fire from the shotgun round and the blue glow of his force ability. Growling deeply, Remiel had to resist the urge to set the man himself aflame…the sight of the bodies scattered about and burning fueling his anger.
--Lanara answer me if you can!--
He shot the thought along that growing bond they had and into her mind, hopefully she was conscious…he wouldn’t allow himself to think past that state of being.
Melody, Arc, are you two alright?
His voice was a low growl, deep in his throat, resonating through his chest as he concentrated on keeping his own protection up as well as that shield of force power. No sooner than he got his respective answers than he lowered his own protection, still keeping that shield up. It was obvious, now, what his priorities were…protect, then retribution for the dead.
Long, red-brown, duster swayed lightly around his feet as Remiel moved, bracing himself as he glared daggers at the man atop the bar through red and black, hellish, eyes. The ripples of the force around him shimmered angrily as he drew them in and radiated them outward…senses expanding with them, looping around those weapons, tethering to them as he prepared swiftly for his next action. It took no longer than two heartbeats for him to be ready. For a moment the world around him seemed to go still, only the whispering of the dead calling for retribution heard over the deafening silence. His right arm flickered outward before him, palm up, the air seemed to shimmer blue around it in thick vines and in that instant those senses of his that had tethered to the man’s weapons collided with those tentacles of force power and recoiled back toward him with speed comparable to a maglift train. If the fool tried to hold on to his weapons he’d likely find himself with dislocated arms…or at the least, injured hands…as that wrenching pull strove for mastery over those destructive and life taking firearms.
The golden man seemed, at the moment, to be a mixture of heaven and hell…an angel fallen, yet still striving to protect as it once had. Barely restrained fire and brimstone flickering behind red eyes laced with black, but using that power to shield those he could. Unfortunately for this being, who’s wings were still veiled beneath straining muscle and within dense bone, his forte was protection of himself and others and amplification of his own body and movements…not the telekinetics his former order were well known for. His attention had to remain focused on his target and application of that pull…while emotion fueled his powers, strengthening them, he was still only average in such things and it drained him far faster than bending the force to protect. The shield was still steady, but he would only be able to hold that strong pull for so long.
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Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
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last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
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Nov 2, 2009 0:18:13 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Nov 2, 2009 0:18:13 GMT -5
Melody continued to pet the gizka, her eyes tracing the space between Arc and the little critter crouched by her feet. Her finger rubbed the top of the gizka’s head, making the little animal coo slightly at her. Whatever it was doing here, it liked attention. Melody almost thought about trying to pick it up but quickly dismissed the idea of going too far. One can never know the reactions a non-sentient animal. They were too unpredictable and tended to have irrational fears toward the world. While the critter seemed to enjoy the pets, it may not like being held. And Melody wasn’t willing to risk her drink, her head that she could lose if the gizka jumped into the wreck off to the side of Arc, or possibly face the angry side of Arc’s ruby eyes.
"Melody. I'll be completely straight with you. If i had wanted you, you would be bagged and tagged by now. In complete honesty, i had no idea you were marked. However..."
“Well, hell, Melody. Yer a damn fool.” Melody couldn’t keep the startle out from her expression. The hurry to cover up the surprise that he hadn’t known she was marked was shown in the way she plucked up her shot glass and downed the whiskey in sharp movements. Staring at fingers and glass, Melody pulled the bottle across her arm and poured another shot. She swallowed visibly, feeling tense. “Didn’t even know you were tagged. Idiot. I’mma foolish blonde idiot.
"Not interested. Purely recreation Miss Prance. Though i must say if i was interested in turning your pretty head in, you make it easy. No offense of course.”
A tiny budding of a nail picked at the edge of the shot glass. Melody slanted her head to the side, looking at Arc around the edge of a yellow lock of hair. She was taking a leap of faith trusting those words now. Melody wasn’t completely at ease after her questioning, especially finding out that he didn’t know she was marked. If he had known before that she was a wanted little blondie and was saying what he was saying now, she would have been more relaxed and not quite as tensed.
“Easy?” Melody spoke suddenly, lifting the shot glass to her lips and peacefully, rather than sharply, swallowing the amber. As the glass lowered, Melody tossed her hair across her shoulder. Her tongue tip poked out between her pinked lips, pressing to the top, as she poured more whiskey from the main bottle. She was beginning to hear the low drone of noise thrum at the base of her skull. Yep, it was the start of a nice buzz. Some people got agitated by the buzz. Not Melody. She loved it.
“I would like to beg to differ. I’ve been marked for a couple of years now. Haven’t been caught an’… quite frankly don’ plan to be. Would not be so good for me. I think, if I really wanted to, Arc, I could twist your buttons and send you spinnin’.” Melody flashed a brief, teeth filled grin. “I’m very good at runnin’.” She wasn’t giving off a “no-you-can’t-catch-me-no-matter-what-the-heck-you-say-na-na-na-na-na” attitude about it, but she said her words with a careful, deliberate sureness.
And then the ruckus began, almost cutting off Melody’s last statement. Sapphire stars switched to the mess who had been huddled in the corner. She didn’t stare so much as just watch the situation begin to roll downhill. The barkeep out rightly refused to serve the blond man another drink, even gesturing at the sign. The man acted like a two-year-old in reply, until the shotguns came out. The size of Melody’s eyes almost instantly doubled and she reeled backward some and raising a nonthreatening hand up, palm facing the anonymous man.
“Woah, hey there. I don’ think this calls for that. ‘Tender, git me a glass of what he had since you can serve me an’ –“ The next word was lost in a shrill “EEP!” departing Melody’s lips. Melody had been speaking when the blond man had, talking swiftly to try and avoid turmoil. Her night was so far going fairly decent, with the signs of drunkenness curling like wrapping paper around the edges of her consciousness. She didn’t get through her proposal to keep the peace. The bartender’s head suddenly went poof. One second it was there, and a bang later, it was gone, with little shreds of what was left scattered on her face and arm. She suddenly shook the arm, fear striking her heart and setting off a race between action and words. “Okaythennevermindyoujustshootthingsokaybye.” And as the blond man was hopping onto the counting, Melody was falling down
Melody’s survival reactions were kicking in. She dropped to the ground and pressed herself into the tight space beneath the counter top. She was already beginning to hyperventilate, and the pupils of her eyes were enlarged with her fear. Pressed under the counter top, Melody began to crawl backward. If the crazy man had seen her action, he would likely assume she had crawled forward. Melody had to think outside the box for her own damn life. And so she scrambled backward, leaving Arc to fend for himself, and hissed a prayer of thanks to whatever Creator of the universe that people simply ran for their life when things began to get hectic. The space beneath the counter was clear of legs and feet, making Melody’s progress all the more faster.
There was a tiny coo as she further backward she went. Melody paused for a moment, seeing the gizka who had approached her minutes before. Something made her pause longer than she wanted and, taking a risk of being seen, Melody stretched a hand to the critter, making a small croon of herself to it. “I don’ know if you have an owner or not. But, common, let’s get you outta here…” Gently, Melody picked up the animal and held it against her chest. Then did she continue her backing trajectory on two knees and a hand. There was a moment’s pause around the curve of the counter, where Melody stopped and observed the fleeing scene.
And then she crept out from under the counter and along the wall in hurried footsteps, crouching beside a now vacant table with the gizka in her arms. Melody’s hand stroked the small critter, holding it gingerly so as not the squish smaller body. Eyes darted around, taking in the mayhem with a slightly intoxicated gaze. And then Melody saw one… no, two familiar forms. Was that Lana? And… Melody groaned, that witch doctor Remiel. Just as the thought left her brain, something shimmered about her, causing the running smuggler woman to start. There was a brief flash of blue and Melody was sure there’s was some kind of bizarre energy surrounding her. Remiel. The Force. Well, Force damn that man. She didn’t need his help. Her face was contorted into a mild scowl at the man several paces away.
Where had Arc gone?
No matter, she had plans to escape out of here. Death had possessed that man on the counter, who was now beginning to receive opposition, and Melody was renewing that feeling of defiance. She was shoving Death’s offer right back into his face. Gizka draped over her arm, Melody kept to the wall of the bar. When in doubt, run the opposite direction everyone was in, especially when there were psychopaths like that shooting up the place. Heading into the higher concentration herded one like a dumb animal directly into the slaughter.
Ah, yes, Melody was thinking, she was indeed a runner.
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last online Apr 8, 2020 19:14:54 GMT -5
Guardian
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Nov 2, 2009 2:46:04 GMT -5
Post by Grawn on Nov 2, 2009 2:46:04 GMT -5
Slightly "hindered" would be his precise wording of how the alcohol was working in his system. While he was by no means a light-weight, what the bartender had given might have been half strength and with a delayed reaction...or something. He couldnt think as clear as he wanted at the moment.
Deep inside as he sat next to Melody awaiting her replies, Arc started to feel a tiny sense of what he would guess would be dread. Another emotion the girl had unknowingly unwedged from his hiding place. A sense of dread of that he possibily could've offended her with how he went about saying his last few comments. It was completely unjustified for she showed no signs but the feeling was still there and he didn't like it.
Arc could feel those gem eyes of hers on him now as he tried his best to avoid contact with them. He continued to look forward, unwilling to let his red eyes meet the blue ones that he was sure was trying to understand what he had said. Was she afraid now that he would want to turn her in? It was the last thing in the galaxy he would want to do and he wish he could display that to her, but he felt helpless. Something else he didn't care for!
For the first time in years, this girl was the first person Arc didnt mind actually having to listen talk. As he pondered on this further, her voice judo-choped his thoughts in half.
"Easy?" she said before taking a drink, the only reason that the bounty hunter knew this was from his peripheral vision. He still refused to look at her. The drink went down and words continued to come "I would like to beg to differ. I’ve been marked for a couple of years now. Haven’t been caught an’… quite frankly don’ plan to be. Would not be so good for me. I think, if I really wanted to, Arc, I could twist your buttons and send you spinnin’"
Years? It was the first word that echoed in his mind. Smugglers were typically in a different catergory then what he was interested in. Not that he had never hunted one or a dozen but those had been when he was a rookie, while he was still learning. He eventually moved on to harder, more criminal and deadly bounties. Melody's words near the end of her comment should have brought a smirk to his face but oddly enough it was the complete opposite.
In a corner of his mind, he was glad she him as he was now. For if they had met before the fiasco with Ocelot...and she was his mark...He shook the thoughts away. That Arc was put away for now.
Then recent events as of NOW suggested he might need to come out and play. The wreck of a man that had sat next to him had demanded more drink, which from what his appearences showed was the last thing he needed. Luckily the bartender was wise and declined. Then a moment later, Arc withdrew that remark as he watched with a surprised concern on his face as the barkeep lost his head to a shotgun the wreck produced from his coat.
"God dammit it was my day off!" growled Arc as he dove from his chair as the air became alive with live ammo as the man pulled out another gun and began to blast at anyone and anything. What had been a quiet drone of music and dialect turned into mass chaos as shells found hosts to impale and blood splattered against walls.
Tables were blown apart and chairs were shattered as the guns blazed in the man's grip as Arc unceremoniously crawled on the floor until he found what he hoped to be a sturdy wall that wouldnt give in to the fiery rounds those guns were popping freely every which way. His own pistols, Integra and Onyx were in his hands now and he was loading the armor piercing rounds into them as he tried to block out the screams of those torn down by the crazy sononaughty naughty!undark. The face that may have been able to hold a smile was gone, his features turned to that of apathy and lacked any sense of emotion.
That was Arc Laud the Bounty Hunter. The man who had been responsible for the downfall of one of Coruscants greatest criminal organizations and undoubtly a widowmaker of women and children whoms spouses found themselves on the bad end of the Hunter's Net. Since a young age, Arc had known nothing but the hunt and cared for little else. If his prey could fight back, they were all the better, for he was in the deadly game for no other reason but to enjoy the sound of gunfire wiss about him and anticipate the time one of those rounds would enter him. Such was the mad song his life had been tuned to for so many years.
In bluntest terms...if Arc was a coin, this would be the side that you would pray to whatever god you believed in would never look anywhere but down. But he was so much more then just a switch of a face expression. In this stage, he didnt even hear the voice of the Force sensitive he had known on Ocelot's crew. Nor did he care. He didnt give a damn about any smugglers or bounties or anything. All he wanted to hear was the sound of slugs tearing through flesh.
It was killing time.
His brow furrowed and his mouth a frown, Arc slide his back up the wall from the little room he was in. It had most likely been a sort of alcove for more private parties that didnt care to partake in the open range of the main area of the cantina. He cared little for that other then the fact the alcove provided a sort of cover as his silver and black pistols were raised to point upward, his elbows bent. One foot steped out into the open and his torso twisted, leaving one foot to anchor him behind the wall incase he needed to hide behind it as his slugthrower's barrels pointed at the lunatic. Gunfire soon followed as his red eyes aimed in remorseless determination.
((OOC: TF2 makes me violent :3))
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sparrow
The Night is Dark and Full of Onions
2,999 posts
145 likes
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last online Dec 26, 2019 3:11:06 GMT -5
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Nov 3, 2009 4:21:07 GMT -5
Post by sparrow on Nov 3, 2009 4:21:07 GMT -5
As soon as the shooting started, Zarene grabbed her plate and flipped the table on its side, ducking behind the makeshift shelter. Can't a girl have a nice piece of pie without being shot at? Seriously! Fortunately she was in the back corner of the room, about as far from the bar area as it was possible while still actually being in the room. And while those flaming shells were quite deadly at close range, fortunately relatively little of it actually made it to her corner. Unfortunately, if she was going to leave, she'd have to pass within range of the fire zone.
When she had originally noticed the outline of what appeared to be a short-barreled rifle under the cloak of that decrepit-looking man, she had assumed him to be some sort of assassin. She changed her mind now. Not an assassin, a total psycho was what he was. At least assassins had certain standards...
From behind the table, Zarene stabbed her fork into the pie and took another bite. No need to get mad just yet, she told herself, though she could already feel the anger rising within her breast, and did her best to repress it, for now. She was currently in no immediate danger, and she had paid good credits for her food, so she was going to finish it! Every last bite. If luck was on her side, that maniac would either get taken down or run out of ammo before she was done.
And if luck wasn't on her side,... Well, then she'd just have to draw her blasters and kill anyone who was foolish or stupid enough to get between her and the exit.
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Karl the Unfettered
Magnificent Bastard
1,010 posts
57 likes
(a+ bn)/n = x, therefore God exists
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last online Feb 26, 2022 22:36:25 GMT -5
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Nov 6, 2009 14:37:48 GMT -5
Post by Karl the Unfettered on Nov 6, 2009 14:37:48 GMT -5
Ahh, the thrill of the kill... or in this case, kills. Not only were people dying, running, burning, screaming as the very flesh on their bones turned to so much charred ash, the cantina itself was becoming quite the hot spot; wood simply flared up, plastic melted, clothing smoked and burned. And the smells... it was what Romeo lived for nowadays, without Green Meadows to guide his ultra-honed capabilities. His face was lit up by a ghastly grinning sneer even as he screamed incoherently, lighting it all up.
Best of all, there was resistance.
Some arrogant Jedi waltzed in, the air shimmering as he shielded himself; another flappy-eared alien thing scuttled around, bashing at the fleeing or dying patrons in her attempts to find cover; one or two others, no doubt quite capable in their own rights, had ducked behind random cover and were preparing their own contributions to the fracas. All to the good, then, all to the good.
He had four shots left between his guns when they suddenly became oddly heavy. Pausing in his wrath, Romeo glanced around, gaze zeroing in on that Jedi. "Meddlesome git," he growled, resisting the pull; doubtless another, lesser person would have suffered broken bones or whatever, but Romeo not only had extreme physical might but reinforced skeletal structures, especially in his arms, hands and shoulders. Snarling his defiance he blasted the shielded Jedi twice, shield or no shield; then he shot directly at the partition Arc had jumped behind, setting it afire; with his final shot he turned and blew out the circuit breaker behind the bar, immediately killing the lights and igniting electrical fires at random as the slightly antiquated system was overloaded.
His guns were empty, so he put them back in their holsters beneath his coat and jumped down behind the bar. "We ain't done yet," he muttered gleefully, reaching into his coat again. He stood back up, several round objects in his hands, which he threw at random across the room; they were grenades, a mixture of incendiery, sonic, ion/flash (flash grenades with an ionic effect, useful for blinding foes and disabling their blasters and other electric gadgets; especially useful on lightsabers), and concussion.
Without waiting he whirled around and ran into the kitchen, which had also been evacuated when the chaos began. Hurriedly he threw his pack on a table and began removing several components; the pieces of his primary shotgun, they were, a fully automatic engine of death few could effectively wield. He usually carried it disassembled due to the bulk and the weight of the thing once put together and fully loaded; you couldn't conceal a weapon like that beneath your coat, no matter how awesome said coat was.
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