Public A Besalisk and a Nautolan walk into a bar…

[Damaaris Huwe]

Dam snorted in the Yvara air as he set one foot on the landing pad. Like memory warned him, the place still reeked of mouldy mushrooms and burning engines, two scents that never mixed well together if you were planning on keeping your food inside your stomach. His right foot landed, metal met metal and rang like a bell to announce his arrival. With decades of habit up his sleeve, his fingers began to go through the regular motions of lighting an old cigarra. His one good eye was still adjusting to the light, as his right cybernetic made up for the difference for the time being. Stations were always the same, regardless of where you pull out your landing gear. There was a pair of squabbling mercs in the back and a shifty beggar on the look-out. Puffing out a blast of smoke, Dam made note to stay clear from a rabble of kids that were currently harassing an elderly trader that had just pulled his cart through the main gate. The Besalisk doubted the man would go home with any profit by the end of the day, seeing as one of the lads was already off to turn in his daily findings.

"Are you going to come out at some point? Or is this going to be one of those solo-runs for me?" The Besalisk would ask through the ship's rear hatch. Mild agitation, clearly audible in his rumbling voice. Over time, Dam had begun to realize he was no longer as spry as he used to be. In an effort to make up for time lost travelling on foot, he'd make sure to start his journey on time. Inhaling another round of smoke, he rolled his tongue around in thought. Savouring the taste in a vain attempt to draw out the fungal smells of Yvara. Their business here ought to be short. Just a quick stop on their way to their next job, a supply run so to speak. Though, Dam was already trying to recall where exactly the local pubs were. And more importantly, which ones he was still welcome in. He did not believe himself to have any sort of problem with holding his liquor. It was others that started having issues with him when he was enjoying the universe's finest gifts. There was only one thing to remember in the end, and that was the mission. The rest he was allowed to forget.

"C'mon kiddo! I haven't got all day." Without wasting any more energy in raising his voice, the large Besalisk started to stomp his way through the crowd. He passed his credentials to a clerk desk on his way out, whilst simultaneously waving off any meddling engineer looking for a quick way to earn some credits. Dam knew his ship was in perfect condition, he didn't need anyone meddling with his baby. By the time he had reached the exit, he was already puffing smoke like a Coruscanti factory line. The door screeched open and another waft of strong fungal smells overwhelmed flaring nostrils. Ah. Market day. In a place like this, it wasn't hard to guess what was going to be the main product sold by just about anyone here… Dam shook his head as he turned the corner and made north, stalling his already slow pace in case the boy decided to follow him after all.

 

[Teq Zel]

It didn't take a genius to know that a ship docked planetside. Usually, the quiet thrum of the engines and Dam's clanking leg was all there was to keep Teq company while out in the depths of the blackest sea that was space. However, there was no soft hum, only the noisy bustling of a spaceport. Onloading crates, offloading crates, vendors screaming for attention. It was the same dog and pony show everywhere in the Outer Rim. Teq Zel lounged rather ungracefully in his small bunk, with an arm and a leg flipped over the edge of the hard mat and even harder durasteel plates underneath. The Nautolan's eyes fluttered as he was slowly pulled out of his slumber by the smell of what can only be described as rot mixed with body odor. Teq's mouth opened and closed as he tried to pull the taste off of his tongue before the sound of a familiar gruff voice echoed through the hull of the Backwoods Ravinak.

A groan escaped his lips as words quickly followed after, "No - Just - Wait - Give me a sec!" The man called out in response. Peeling himself out of the bunk was probably the most challenging thing he would have to do today because it was as if he had partially melted into the bunk—all the while grumbling about the horrid smell that seeped into the air like oil through water. It took Teq a great deal of willpower to keep himself from retching at the putrid smell, and however, thankfully, there was no gagging nor vomit. Another call from Dam out on the gangway sent the Nautolan to a completely upright position.

"Yeah, yeah, We got all the time we need, oh Captain my Captain." The earthy-toned man quickly pulled his open-fronted Jacket over his shoulders, which he only wore so he could show off the brightly colored tattoos that are scattered across his torso, while he stepped out of the rear hatch and into the mushroom-tinged air of Yvara. "So, Dam. What's the plan for today? Find a gig, grab a drink, talk to some ladies?" The man's face lit up at the idea, and he raised a brow while nudging the large Besalisk right next to him. "If I say so myself, that seems like the only fun you could have on a backwoods like this. While we are at it, maybe we could find some noseplugs..." With that final statement, Teq made his final steps off of the Backwoods Ravinak and into the port proper. "So, lead the way old man."

 

[Damaaris Huwe]

"How about all of those things." Dam answered in a matter-of-fact tone without looking at the boy. A boy that had grown into a young man with the blink of an eye. The Besalisk cleared his throat with another puff of smoke. "But yes. A bar sounds nice. Fuel up a bit, get comfortable." Dam turned around a corner and circled the bustling market. "Same drill, different day." The world was getting louder and brighter, his mind getting muddled with clear thoughts. The Besalisk groaned as he rubbed his head, his cigar still balancing between a set of thick fleshy digits. He needed another drink or two, and he needed them fast. Before his own conscience started playing tricks on him again. There was no room for thinking in this business, at least none beyond what was required for the mission. The galaxy went on and on, following the flow of uncountable lives. Dam realized long ago he was meant to just play ball and roll along with the current. This required him to survive.

Surviving was only accomplished by sticking with your own business, not meddling with the affairs of others… too much. You found yourself something that paid well in the end, and then saw it through. Honest pay for honest work. The fact that some would deem his profession as 'illegal' was simply a wrong perspective. In his eyes, the world didn't have to make things harder by restricting trade, the concept of commerce or dangerous goods falling into the wrong people's hands completely passing by his addled mind. The world was simple, if you kept it simple. His hand waved past a motion sensor of the front entrance. He hadn't taken the effort to read the name of the joint they were about to enter. The fluorescent decorations, as well as the loud cries inside, gave him all the clues he needed to know he found the right place. No one built their bars too far off the space docks or the markets. You could always count on spacefarers and helpless spouses that wanted to escape their daily grocery shopping.

"You know what to do. Find yourself some nice people to acquaint us with. Don't stick around the lovely ones too much. I'll be tackling the owner of the establishment. I'm sure we won't be the only ones that want to get off this stink hole as fast as possible."

 

[Nerd Wizard]

Damaaris Huwe Teq Zel

The cigarra's tip flared briefly in the dark corner of the bar's corner, revealing the tan-furred, bearded chin of a youthful Bothan, demure, athletic and tomboyish as she rested against the grimy cushion of a rather well-frequented cantina. The flare on the bent cigarra's tip revealed her youthful visage to the unusual purple Gamorrean that was seated across from her, and the porcine alien, composed of nigh-viscous rolls that seemed to be equal parts fat and muscle, leaned his blubbery form across the table towards the black-hooded youth, his gargantuan body covered only by a leather vest and tan, dirtied breeches beneath their lonely table.

Snorting softly and grunting out a few words at the young female, the Gamorrean - a single-tusked male - extended a sweat-laced hand towards the lithe Bothan, his orange eyes nonetheless alight with (what some would call lasciviousness) affection for the lanky and scrawny little Bothan that rested before him.

Beneath her hood, one of the tan-furred girl's ears twitched as one of her hands deftly retrieved the item that the Gamorrean had offered, three fingers covering the retrieved code cylinder while the other two offered three alien, intricately-carved hundred-credit chips into the Gamorrean's waiting, sausage-like digits. Giving a brief nod, the turquoise-eyed Bothan's scrawny frame quickly got to her feet and walked to the Porcine's side. Leaning over the taller alien's shoulder, Riskyr smiled left-sidedly, even as she nodded at the Gamorrean, one eye winking swiftly, "Follow my lead, Mr. Skull."

Casting a shrewd smile as she turned back towards the bustling cantina all around the two of them, the Bothan's gaze easily determined that, for now, nobody else seemed to think anything was amiss. Behind the Bothan, the Gamorrean, rose to his thick, trunk-like legs, the rippling along his arms revealing the thickly-wrought bulges of muscle that extended along his frame, concentrated along his limbs and torso. In the cantina's full light, the single-tusked, massive Porcine alien was a frightening sight, and a laughable contrast to the wiry, boyishly-flat Bothan girl in Duros-and-Corellian-derived clothing that was perhaps a size too large for her. To one side, a Bith took a trembling step back as the burn-scarred half of the Gamorrean's face caught sight of him. The Bith stumbled when the repulsively-scarred pig-man, one Cortosis Skull (few knew his real name) snapped his single-tusked jaw at him.

With careful, dexterous strides that enabled her to gracefully (practically sinuously) make her way past a chattering, paranoid-looking group of Blood Carvers one one side and a drunk, singing Rodian on the other, Riskyr took a moment to squeeze the code cylinder in her hoodie pocket, as if to reassure herself that it was still there, even as Mr. Skull less gracefully made his way behind her, his rotund, hulking frame making shuddering stomps behind the lithe Bothan girl as she took in the sight of a blond-furred Wookiee harshly snarling at a service droid. Heedless as to where she was walking, the gawky Bothan bumped into the side of someone. Her hood falling off her head as she stumbled a step back, the Bothan yelped in surprise, even as she saw two arms on one side of a body. Shaking her head to clear her vision as a single forelock of scarlet hair obscured an eye, the Bothan caught sight of a Besalisk and proceeded to flush with embarrassment as her turquoise eyes traveled up and down over the multi-armed alien's form, trying to ascertain whether he would be a threat. "Crap! Uhhh..." Her voice, Chandrilan-accented and wracked with nervousness, betrayed her unease.

The girl swallowed, even as the reassuring hand of Mr. Skull cupped her shoulder in an almost comedic fashion due to their size difference, her muzzle parted in a nervous smile, "...Sorry... I'm not underage, I swear..." She gestured to the quivering mass of flesh behind her, Mr. Skull's free hand clenching at his side as his orange eyes focused on the Besalisk, "My guardian just needed a Dianoga Slice-Wrap and I'm the idiot who followed him inside..." Realizing that the cigarra between her lips didn't do much to help her white lie, the Bothan spat the half-spent cancer stick from her thin lips, then offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "...Nothing to see here."