Red Rancor, Coruscant
The Red Rancor was far from an upstanding establishment, you wouldn’t find the top of the top coming to a literal hole in the wall such as this. Named after a vicious predator with crimson lighting that put one more in the headspace of a Sith Lord than a warm faced barkeep, the place itself seemed to be trying to push away any potential business, at least from those that weren’t already regulars to the establishment. To some, that was a profitable business goal. Regulars were less keen to call in reports of blaster fights and missing patrons, regulars were less likely to call in on the strange going-ons that made such a place boom with irrefutable work. Bounty Hunters, scummers, spacers, and various other members of the bottom dredges of society came to float to the surface in this bar. At the edge of civilized society, right on the eclipse of the normalized levels of Coruscant, and right on the brim of the industrial sector, the Red Rancor was nothing that anyone, ever, would want out of a cantina.
That being, unless you happened to be a Hutt named Borou, who made his best efforts to visit this little pub every last chance he got when he was on the planet.
It was the sight of his first job on the world, a simple slither in, pull a blaster, talk big, and drag in some spice runner to someone somewhere that claimed that he ruined their life. All in all, it was an easy job, something that he slept just as easily on when the nights came. That’s how he liked them, when he had to pick up bounty work. Simple, black-and-white jobs. Someone in the wrong, and someone that was wronged. Of course, it was always up to the credits offered that let Borou know exactly how wrong the wrong was.
It was a miracle that he didn’t blast the man right there at the bar. But he supposed that was while the bartender took such a liking to him during his brief stay.
He pushed open the doors to the cantina and that signature red light bled onto his skin, filled his eyes, and poured out onto the street as he moved into the establishment.
“Achuta!” He exclaimed as he entered the room, causing eyes to turn to him, unfamiliar faces simply judging the Hutt for interrupting their drinks, but a handful of regulars raised their cups and let out small cheers as he made his way to the bar edge. The Twi’lek running the establishment already slinging over a Tatooine Sunset to the Hutt.
“Borou! Happy to see you, you fat slime-covered slug!”
This, of course, got a hearty laugh from the Hutt, who settled into the void between two seats. Taking the alcoholic tea into his meaty grasp and slinging it down.
The Red Rancor was far from an upstanding establishment, you wouldn’t find the top of the top coming to a literal hole in the wall such as this. Named after a vicious predator with crimson lighting that put one more in the headspace of a Sith Lord than a warm faced barkeep, the place itself seemed to be trying to push away any potential business, at least from those that weren’t already regulars to the establishment. To some, that was a profitable business goal. Regulars were less keen to call in reports of blaster fights and missing patrons, regulars were less likely to call in on the strange going-ons that made such a place boom with irrefutable work. Bounty Hunters, scummers, spacers, and various other members of the bottom dredges of society came to float to the surface in this bar. At the edge of civilized society, right on the eclipse of the normalized levels of Coruscant, and right on the brim of the industrial sector, the Red Rancor was nothing that anyone, ever, would want out of a cantina.
That being, unless you happened to be a Hutt named Borou, who made his best efforts to visit this little pub every last chance he got when he was on the planet.
It was the sight of his first job on the world, a simple slither in, pull a blaster, talk big, and drag in some spice runner to someone somewhere that claimed that he ruined their life. All in all, it was an easy job, something that he slept just as easily on when the nights came. That’s how he liked them, when he had to pick up bounty work. Simple, black-and-white jobs. Someone in the wrong, and someone that was wronged. Of course, it was always up to the credits offered that let Borou know exactly how wrong the wrong was.
It was a miracle that he didn’t blast the man right there at the bar. But he supposed that was while the bartender took such a liking to him during his brief stay.
He pushed open the doors to the cantina and that signature red light bled onto his skin, filled his eyes, and poured out onto the street as he moved into the establishment.
“Achuta!” He exclaimed as he entered the room, causing eyes to turn to him, unfamiliar faces simply judging the Hutt for interrupting their drinks, but a handful of regulars raised their cups and let out small cheers as he made his way to the bar edge. The Twi’lek running the establishment already slinging over a Tatooine Sunset to the Hutt.
“Borou! Happy to see you, you fat slime-covered slug!”
This, of course, got a hearty laugh from the Hutt, who settled into the void between two seats. Taking the alcoholic tea into his meaty grasp and slinging it down.
