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

 

[Hubert Starhopper]

Objective: Grab A Drink



Tags: Sag'etare Baracco

Gear: Tool-kit, Custom low-caliber blaster



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Hubert wanders into the cantina, a dejected look already plaguing his face before a drop of alcohol even touches his lips. A smuggling run he had taken on for the Hutts had gone to hell. It was a complete and total bust, pirates were on him before he could even calculate his jump. They had boarded his ship, seized the cargo, and to add insult to injury, recorded a ransom to Jabba, that they simply just dropped, when they realized Jabba couldn't care less about their prisoner.

Hubert makes his way over to the bar, ordering a pint of spicebrew. The credits slide from him as the glass slides to him. He nods to the barkeep in thanks, and takes a look around the room. Lots of different faces, all mingling, and be it for dubious intent, or not was beyond him. Or rather, he was beyond caring. He just wants to enjoy what little credits he has before scamming his way onto the next cargo ship back to Tatooine, and facing the music Jabba has orchestrated.

"Jebb... I fucked up again." He says softly, his voice hoarse and dry, amply fixed with a sip of his drink during his pause. "If you saw me now you'd be rollin' in your grave." He looks up to the screens above him, a long drawn sigh parting from him as he loses his train of thought in whatever game is playing. He knows practically nothing about sports, and at this point cares little about ever doing so, but a distraction is a distraction.

He pulls a cigarette from his bantha-leather jacket, reaching back in for the lighter after the smoke is rested between his lips. With a flick of the flint, the end of the cigarette glows a bright orange for a good few seconds as he takes a deep drag, his eyes hanging shut as he blows the smoke through his nose.

"Gimme' somethin' strong too, bud." He orders, getting a nod in response from the bartender.

 

[Sag'etare Baracco]

Onscreen, Red Team was winning against Blue Team. A Mandalorian suplexed a Trandoshan hunter something or other. Then again, in a game like Huttball, the score could change any moment. Though, perhaps that was the same for just about any sport. Not that Sage gave six shits and a dead buckethead for them.

Taking another sip of his whiskey, he licked spice spirit from his lips, craning his neck. Something popped. Much better. Maybe he was sore from last night’s mission with two women in his arms. Maybe it was just from his posture at this bar.

He sniffed just then, picking up a scent. Turning to another customer, Sage lifted his glass but it wasn’t to raise his hand in a toast. It was just to help get the guy’s attention over the game, music and conversation.

“Hey,” he added. “Mind if I borrow one of those?” Surely the smoker had other cigarettes in a pack and, if given, didn't expect the Zabrak to hand it back when he was finished with it.

Hubert Starhopper

 

[Hubert Starhopper]

Objective: Get A Drink



Tags: Sag'etare Baracco

Gear: Tool-kit, Custom Low-Caliber Blaster



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Hubert is lost in thought, blankly staring at the screen overhead in a fixated trance, his eyes seeming to stare through their point of focus. It wasn't until the man next to him began to beckon for his attention that Hubert snapped back into the fabric of reality. His train of thought broken, all for a question that made no sense to him, his scowl now shifting directions and meeting head-on with the man.

"Gonna' give it back?" He asks, taking a long drag and exhaling the smoke through his nostrils, eyeing the guy up and down in a quick size-up. Not in any means of aggression, but in pure calculation. Though they seem to be around the same height, this one appears to have a bit more muscle to him than Hubert. If things were to escalate, it's likely Hubert's day will turn from bad, to worse...

The scowl lightens, and a short huff of defeat escapes with another cloud of smoke through his nose as he reaches into his coat and places a cigarette, and a lighter onto the bar, sliding them in front of the stranger. "Take it. Likely a dead man anyways." He slumps forward slowly, resting his head on the surface of the bar, propped up onto his folded arms.

"Either that, or spend the rest of my life on the run..."