Hannibal Oryen
Slick Fondorian
BOTHAN SYSTEM, BOTHAWUI
DREV'STARN, FJORD'S BAR AND GRILL
@[member="Serock Hoath"]
"Another."
"I think you've had enough."
"I'm a cyborg. Robot liver. Give me another."
The bartender refilled Hannibal's glass, though he made no effort to hide his skepticism. That was fair. Hannibal had several cybernetic parts, but none of them were his liver. After participating in a Confederate incursion in the Chroma Zed system, he was hanging around their capital, whittling away his meager paycheck on the simpler things in life. Eventually they would call him back for another military strike against the Slaver's Guild, but that wasn't yet. Hannibal had also spent a decent amount of time looking out for potential sightings of that Jorus Merrill guy. Hard to do from the Bothan homeworld, but he had a few eyes and ears looking out at some backwater space stations. He suspected Merrill enjoyed those.
Hannibal's mask sat on the counter a short distance from the owner, the harsh red, trio of eyes glaring at anyone who happened to look at it. He liked his mask. It was almost his signature, considering he didn't have the expertise or the care to customize a blaster or something. No, BlasTech was good enough for him.
He sipped at his drink, redirecting his attention to the television blaring news at the bar's patrons.
DREV'STARN, FJORD'S BAR AND GRILL
@[member="Serock Hoath"]
"Another."
"I think you've had enough."
"I'm a cyborg. Robot liver. Give me another."
The bartender refilled Hannibal's glass, though he made no effort to hide his skepticism. That was fair. Hannibal had several cybernetic parts, but none of them were his liver. After participating in a Confederate incursion in the Chroma Zed system, he was hanging around their capital, whittling away his meager paycheck on the simpler things in life. Eventually they would call him back for another military strike against the Slaver's Guild, but that wasn't yet. Hannibal had also spent a decent amount of time looking out for potential sightings of that Jorus Merrill guy. Hard to do from the Bothan homeworld, but he had a few eyes and ears looking out at some backwater space stations. He suspected Merrill enjoyed those.
Hannibal's mask sat on the counter a short distance from the owner, the harsh red, trio of eyes glaring at anyone who happened to look at it. He liked his mask. It was almost his signature, considering he didn't have the expertise or the care to customize a blaster or something. No, BlasTech was good enough for him.
He sipped at his drink, redirecting his attention to the television blaring news at the bar's patrons.