Private A Pirate And A Mechanic

[Sag'etare Baracco]

Spoiler: Music IC

In the Outer Rim, on an otherwise nameless space station named Palace Point, one that was anything but a palace when it came to wealth and prosperity but it did make one hell of a noise, there was a cantina named The Star Drifter whose patrons were namely drifters from the stars. Go figure.

Palace Point was an attraction as much as it wasn’t. It attracted simple civilians for its markets and as a detour for some rest and relaxation, perhaps even those in need of some immediate medical assistance. Yet it also harbored some darker elements and was in a perfect position for smugglers and others who might be the reason you needed the hospital to begin with after breaking your knees in the name of taxation.

Anyway, when it came to this drinking, eating and gambling establishment, conversation was the name of one patron’s game. He sat at the bar in a tan leather trench-coat and black pants, though his demeanor wasn’t any lighter or darker than other persons in his presence.

“So I said to him,” he said as he leaned in toward a pink-skinned Twi’lek chick sitting on the stool beside him. “You’d be a fool to offer me that treasure, sir.” The pirate parted his lips at her. “I only gamble with my life, never dice, beskar ingots, a Pyke's wives or women.”

At that, she rolled her eyes, left her seat and walked off. Sage shrugged at that, turned to face the viewscreen above the bar and sipped his whiskey. “Whatever. More fish in the ocean, I reckon.” Huttball was playing. Kriff. I hate Huttball.

Hubert Starhopper