Post by Dire Wolf on Mar 5, 2019 0:00:22 GMT -5
Where was that thrice damned Corellian?
Rhissai pressed her back up against the cold duracrete wall, her synth jacket both keeping her heat close and harboring her three lightsabers within its soft inlay. Slender fingers brushed a stray lock of hair behind her pointed ear; an annoyed gesture. Punctuality had been the basis of galactic civilization, or so she believed. Someone far more intelligent than her had also said that it was the virtue of the bored. How accurate that was. A deep sigh rushed from her throat in a vain attempt at dispelling her frustration. The Jedi's contact was over half an hour late by then, so it was safe to say that he was either dead or not coming.
Yet the notion that he may yet show was still too strong, or at least not quite dead. Rather than shrug and make her way back home, or search for the wayward contact, Rhiss finally entered the restaurant for a bite to eat. Or a drink. Probably both. Though, really, probably just drink. Too many years had passed since she'd sampled Corellian Whiskey. However, what she'd seen upon entering gave her some pause; random nick-nacks on the walls, some jokes others random bits of... random. It had been unlike anything else the Jedi Master had seen on Corellia. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
A nod was quickly followed by a smile and a half chuckle; she'd been waiting too long to really care if the place where she drank was goofy, or was some dive nestled into a dank alley. Once her coat had found its place on the back of a chair, and her rump in it's cushion, her back arched like some kind of cat so that she could stretch her tense muscles; forty minutes of leaning and glowering had taken its toll. A wordless motion to the barkeep followed her elbows resting against the smooth surface; her contact had wanted to meet at about eleven in the morning, and thanks to her current assignment that had been awful early. Lurking through the shadows was difficult to do on a diurnal schedule, after all.
She spoke with the melodic accent of someone born far away, "corellian Whiskey, please. Tall, and the greasiest thing you have on the menu," Rhiss slid a credit chit big enough to handle the order towards the employee side of the table. In her experience one was best just keeping the tab closed. If some fight broke out, the situation was immensely awkward to return to. Tips could come later. Every quick look around brought some other object of curios into focus. "Do any of these have a story?" Finally, the woman's inquisitive eyes rested on the barkeep.
Rhissai pressed her back up against the cold duracrete wall, her synth jacket both keeping her heat close and harboring her three lightsabers within its soft inlay. Slender fingers brushed a stray lock of hair behind her pointed ear; an annoyed gesture. Punctuality had been the basis of galactic civilization, or so she believed. Someone far more intelligent than her had also said that it was the virtue of the bored. How accurate that was. A deep sigh rushed from her throat in a vain attempt at dispelling her frustration. The Jedi's contact was over half an hour late by then, so it was safe to say that he was either dead or not coming.
Yet the notion that he may yet show was still too strong, or at least not quite dead. Rather than shrug and make her way back home, or search for the wayward contact, Rhiss finally entered the restaurant for a bite to eat. Or a drink. Probably both. Though, really, probably just drink. Too many years had passed since she'd sampled Corellian Whiskey. However, what she'd seen upon entering gave her some pause; random nick-nacks on the walls, some jokes others random bits of... random. It had been unlike anything else the Jedi Master had seen on Corellia. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
A nod was quickly followed by a smile and a half chuckle; she'd been waiting too long to really care if the place where she drank was goofy, or was some dive nestled into a dank alley. Once her coat had found its place on the back of a chair, and her rump in it's cushion, her back arched like some kind of cat so that she could stretch her tense muscles; forty minutes of leaning and glowering had taken its toll. A wordless motion to the barkeep followed her elbows resting against the smooth surface; her contact had wanted to meet at about eleven in the morning, and thanks to her current assignment that had been awful early. Lurking through the shadows was difficult to do on a diurnal schedule, after all.
She spoke with the melodic accent of someone born far away, "corellian Whiskey, please. Tall, and the greasiest thing you have on the menu," Rhiss slid a credit chit big enough to handle the order towards the employee side of the table. In her experience one was best just keeping the tab closed. If some fight broke out, the situation was immensely awkward to return to. Tips could come later. Every quick look around brought some other object of curios into focus. "Do any of these have a story?" Finally, the woman's inquisitive eyes rested on the barkeep.