A pub in the Underlevels

[Ashelia Solidor]

For too long she had walked around the galaxy doing errands for her father and criminals. If there was any difference between them both. The Primarch had made her go to Korriban to fetch those damn terentateks and tuk’atas for InGen, and there was the Holocron, that dark holocron from Dathka Graush she had to get it for the Enclave in Kaikielius.

The pain she felt while learning magic with the witch Janick in Utapau, and the business with that small ‘sith’ acolyte in Felucia, while running from a bull rancor in a old Consortium compound. When she went to bed, she could still see those big blue eyes the boy had, and feel the sadness they carried, followed by the howls of the Vornskr in to the night.

“Hit me with another one.”, she asked the Ithorian bartender. Ashelia was in Coruscant doing her job for Popara, murdering a member of some local rival gang that was in her territory. The Solidor did not considered herself a murderer, but money was always handy, especially if she had any hopes of escaping.

 

[Drogh]

Drogh staggered about, the low hum of Coruscant wept, billions of souls going about their daily lives, Drogh could feel them all. He had opened him self to the force, and the force is a great destructive maw, gnawing and gnashing with rapid teeth, tearing away at sanity bite by bite. Drogh had taken to numbing this feeling, these countless billions, screaming in pain, moaning in lust, yelling in rage, these emotions choked out his own. To escape this, he took spice, he drank excessively, to fill his head with something else, to forget what he could feel. A local bar was enough, a place to stumble too, Drogh had his last few credits, what ever remnants of a job he could muster. He opened the door with a sluggish slam, looking around at grimace faces that glared at him. The stink of heavy beer and sharp spirit hanged in the air, the entire bar was run down and ruined, yet it had a certain charm to it. The seats were all chipped and torn, the tables of weary round wood, as several individuals that certainly did not look friendly. A few figures shrouded in the darkness playing pool in the corner of his eye, he took no interest in such things. He staggered to the counter, where a rather unimpressed bartender gave him a slightly annoyed and dismissive look.

It was all poorly lit, a few flickering dull lights hanged overhead, yet darkness flooded in the constant cracks of light in this place, shrouding in the corners. The counter was as in poor condition as the rest of the bar, beaten and broken, worn and torn, and in no place to pay for repairs. Drogh deiced that perhaps it would be best to place his mask to one side, laying it down flat on the counter. Sitting down on one of the old stools that gave an unwelcoming creek, that suggested collapse at any given moment. Another look at the bartender, whom looked noticeably more annoyed. "Your cheapest," Drogh said, his voice weary and unfocused.

[member="Princess Ashelia Solidor"]

 

[Ashelia Solidor]

This planet was doomed. When the Sith Empire was not conquering and destroying democracy, or when the First Order was not sacking the planet, or when outlaw and pirate gangs were not burning and killing for pleasure, the whole planet still had to rebuild. She heard the Anjiliac were buying land, lot of land from those that suffered with those situations with the planet. While the gangs, techlords, lunatics and crime bosses fought for control over territories, it was a great place to make money for criminals. The republicans were dead, the Sith had given up, law and order were no more. Chaos was what the real ruler of Coruscant, and all were his mere subjects.

Slowly she raised her head to look up her own shoulder, both her big, pointy ears moving in a swift gesture, up and down, when the door to the pub opened, that meant only one thing, that meant anxiety, although she was using the Art of Small to blend in with all other common citizens of that filthy place, Ashelia could still feel those around her, especially a strange sensitivity from someone not far from her.

With eyes back to her drink and the bartender, the Solidor waited, what if he was someone that was send by her father to take her back? Or was after the artifacts she obtained for her father? Her feet began to tap in the floor, as the woman nodded for the bartender, pointing at the new guy that arrived in the pub. Marking him as one that meant trouble.

[member="Drogh"]​