Post by 10Tickler on Feb 25, 2012 17:01:28 GMT -5
Begin Transmission
[ooc] This thread is intended for Pol and myself, however if someone else wants to join, Please PM Either Pol or myself and we'll see if we can't work something fun out, sound good?[/ooc]
End Transmission
Republic Day! That wonderful day when most of the Civilized galaxy decides to let their cares go to oblivion. Sith army obliterating everything in their path? Who cares?! The prices at most stores were half off, even on the backwater moon of Nar Shadaa, which made it a good time to be on the ground. In the spirit of Celebrations, fireworks were exploding near-constantly overhead, and the bars and taverns were packed with the drunken revelers.
It was from one of these fine, quality, establishments that a short woman stepped out onto the street, her short-cut hair hanging at a Jagged angle as she laughed at one of the jokes that someone had told before she'd left. The Republic was weak and full of pitiful cowards, but they knew how to party, and that was something that Celke shared with them. Now, after around 16 drinks of various strengths and flavors, she was feeling the mind-numbing effects of the high concentration of booze in her bloodstream.
Stumbling into the street, Celke Tarria giggled again, barely avoiding colliding with another person on the crowded back-alley. Hanging off of her belt at a low-slung angle, her blaster looked new and shiny, barely used, if ever. Then, finally, she began to move towards the spaceport. She wasn't going to pay the rates for a room tonight, no sir, not when her ship had itself a nice little bed in the back that was just calling her name right about now.
It was around that time that, between the alcohol and the effects of her body's adjusting to the local time, she turned the wrong way, heading into a darker alley, assuming that it was a shortcut. At this point, it's safe to assume that it wasn't, and to be precise, it wasn't that great of an idea either. Even on some of the most celebrated days in the Galaxy, work must still be done, and on planets such as Nar Shadaa, illicit jobs outnumber the legal and authorized ones at least three to one.
It was down this alley that a small gang of thieves liked to operate from, returning to pile up their illicitly-gained goods and divide them among themselves like slices of pie at a family dinner. Of course, with Celke's luck, they'd be in the process of doing so right as she meandered on through. While she wasn't in her armor, Celke looked about as threatening as a bag full of kittens, which didn't help either.
It was inevitable that they'd try to mug her, approaching and encircling the woman like a pack of wild mutts, eyeing her earring and blaster, wondering aloud how many credits she carried on her stick. When one of them tried to make the first move on the Drunken woman, they discovered their mistake quickly. Just because Celke was highly drunk didn't make her any less lethal.
It wasn't plain to see, but Celke Tarria was a Mandalorian, a Reservist in their military, who held a Chief Warrant Officer's rank, with a specialization in Close-quarters combat. When the first one, clearly a leader of the little gang, laid a hand on her shoulder, smugly telling her to just hand everything over and they'd let her be, he didn't expect to be flipped by the short woman, much less be experiencing the amount of pain that a broken wrist would cause.
Raising an elbow and settling into a loose stance, Celke grinned and licked her teeth, wishing once again that she could feel the Force...if only to know their fear right now.
Irate at their Boss' swift defeat, The rest of the gang attacked, some lashing out with fists that were deflected, with notably less skill than she'd possess while sober, some with weapons that were dodged by a margin of "Just barely." All the while, Celke simply laughed and joked with the men, comparing their size to insects and small legumes. She was enjoying herself, far more than they were right now, as one by one, they began to fall to her fists and flat-handed strikes.
Naturally, this sort of a commotion, loud, even during a celebration, would attract attention, and a small cluster of people formed on the opening of the Alley, watching the men trying to take down the woman, who in her height looked barely more than a teen, but in her skill looked far, far older. Some even cheered her on, raising drinks and making bets at the same time.
[ooc] This thread is intended for Pol and myself, however if someone else wants to join, Please PM Either Pol or myself and we'll see if we can't work something fun out, sound good?[/ooc]
End Transmission
Republic Day! That wonderful day when most of the Civilized galaxy decides to let their cares go to oblivion. Sith army obliterating everything in their path? Who cares?! The prices at most stores were half off, even on the backwater moon of Nar Shadaa, which made it a good time to be on the ground. In the spirit of Celebrations, fireworks were exploding near-constantly overhead, and the bars and taverns were packed with the drunken revelers.
It was from one of these fine, quality, establishments that a short woman stepped out onto the street, her short-cut hair hanging at a Jagged angle as she laughed at one of the jokes that someone had told before she'd left. The Republic was weak and full of pitiful cowards, but they knew how to party, and that was something that Celke shared with them. Now, after around 16 drinks of various strengths and flavors, she was feeling the mind-numbing effects of the high concentration of booze in her bloodstream.
Stumbling into the street, Celke Tarria giggled again, barely avoiding colliding with another person on the crowded back-alley. Hanging off of her belt at a low-slung angle, her blaster looked new and shiny, barely used, if ever. Then, finally, she began to move towards the spaceport. She wasn't going to pay the rates for a room tonight, no sir, not when her ship had itself a nice little bed in the back that was just calling her name right about now.
It was around that time that, between the alcohol and the effects of her body's adjusting to the local time, she turned the wrong way, heading into a darker alley, assuming that it was a shortcut. At this point, it's safe to assume that it wasn't, and to be precise, it wasn't that great of an idea either. Even on some of the most celebrated days in the Galaxy, work must still be done, and on planets such as Nar Shadaa, illicit jobs outnumber the legal and authorized ones at least three to one.
It was down this alley that a small gang of thieves liked to operate from, returning to pile up their illicitly-gained goods and divide them among themselves like slices of pie at a family dinner. Of course, with Celke's luck, they'd be in the process of doing so right as she meandered on through. While she wasn't in her armor, Celke looked about as threatening as a bag full of kittens, which didn't help either.
It was inevitable that they'd try to mug her, approaching and encircling the woman like a pack of wild mutts, eyeing her earring and blaster, wondering aloud how many credits she carried on her stick. When one of them tried to make the first move on the Drunken woman, they discovered their mistake quickly. Just because Celke was highly drunk didn't make her any less lethal.
It wasn't plain to see, but Celke Tarria was a Mandalorian, a Reservist in their military, who held a Chief Warrant Officer's rank, with a specialization in Close-quarters combat. When the first one, clearly a leader of the little gang, laid a hand on her shoulder, smugly telling her to just hand everything over and they'd let her be, he didn't expect to be flipped by the short woman, much less be experiencing the amount of pain that a broken wrist would cause.
Raising an elbow and settling into a loose stance, Celke grinned and licked her teeth, wishing once again that she could feel the Force...if only to know their fear right now.
Irate at their Boss' swift defeat, The rest of the gang attacked, some lashing out with fists that were deflected, with notably less skill than she'd possess while sober, some with weapons that were dodged by a margin of "Just barely." All the while, Celke simply laughed and joked with the men, comparing their size to insects and small legumes. She was enjoying herself, far more than they were right now, as one by one, they began to fall to her fists and flat-handed strikes.
Naturally, this sort of a commotion, loud, even during a celebration, would attract attention, and a small cluster of people formed on the opening of the Alley, watching the men trying to take down the woman, who in her height looked barely more than a teen, but in her skill looked far, far older. Some even cheered her on, raising drinks and making bets at the same time.
