Star Wars RP

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A Literal Arse-Kicking


Despite the fact that it was easily one of the more famous and immaculate cities in the Galaxy, Coronet City, as was the case with most urban environments, had a seedy part of town. It was here that the young "Heir" known as Jacques Cavill had found himself, wandering about with the hood of his cloak pulled over his head. For what seemed like hours, he wandered about the darker, shadier areas of the shining city, and ultimately ducked within an establishment that, by far, had the most ridiculous name he had ever heard. In fact, it was so humorous that Jacques could not help but see what was behind its soiled door. The moment he stepped within the establishment, he was greeted with a stench that caused his stomach to somersault...something like grease fying fat with a side of nasty.

The smell alone was enough to make the young Heir want to depart the building and heave up his lunch upon the pavement, yet he was warmly greeted by a portly man standing behind the frontmost counter. Ah, manners, the bane of his existence. Jacques was waved over and he seated himself at one of the many available stools, before being inquired about something he'd like to eat. The young Heir had to admit, for one who worked in such a lowly establishment, the cook-slash-bartender was quite the nice individual. He offered Jacques a beverage from a selection of mediocre alcohols, and the young man found himself politely accepting a "taste" of a drink he could not even pronounce. In just a moment's time, he was slid a glass filled to the brim with what could only be described as...slop...yet manners dictated that he at least take a swig.

So, bottom's up.

It was a terrible fact that it was Jacques' first time at a bar and first time consuming alcohol, so the moment the beverage slid down his throat his "lightweightness" was revealed to the world. The "slop" burned and had the consistancy of tar, yet also had a sweet twang to it. After coughing a few times, the Heir couldn't help but take another sip...and another...and another...before the glass was empty on the counter. Jacques was not yet completely gone, yet the filter in his mind that prevented him from saying stupid things was long since deactivated at this point. So, having placed an order for another glass of slop, he slid in his stool to face the six patrons of the restaurant and said a rather nasty insult in ancient Sith. There was no power to his words, but the meaning was clear.

He was saying something rather nasty about their mothers.

@[member="Sarge Potteiger"].