Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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After A Long Day...

Moosic

The bar was almost looked closed, though the cloaked man knew it only seemed that way because he'd rolled in on a weekday.

It wasn't like him to actually drink, but the atmosphere was comforting. It reminded him of his days under Master Sedaire's tutelage; days long since passed. He was content to sit back and let the galaxy move on without him for the time being. Gods knew he'd spent enough time out and about this past month.

The glass of strawberry milk was placed before him. The man gave the bartender a grateful nod and a handful of credit chips. The place was quiet, save for the dull buzz of a sportshow on the holovision and the howl of a snowstorm outside. Most of the locals had opted to huddle up in their homes for the night. Tourists and those passing through stayed in their hotels to enjoy the activities that went on within.

The cowled man? He just wanted the bar to himself.

[member="Astrid"]
 
There was little to do, as of late, and all had gone stale. Stale was the taste of adventure. Stale was the taste of the day-to-day routine in which she had maintained. Stale was the taste of the alcohol as it wet her tongue, burning her senses as if she had ingested coals from an open fire. Even through the burning sensation, the woman did not taste the flavor of the spiced shot. It was the coughing that snapped her from the false reality that had clouded the edges of her vision and dulled her senses. Clearing her throat in a not so lady-like manner, the woman settled down the crystal vial back atop the bar with awkwardness. One finger hooked the hem of the ebon fabric that coiled around her neck so that she could elevate it back over the bridge of her nose. With half of her face obscured, she felt comfort in the barricade that barred her pale features from stray eyes. The cloak the cast shadows over her brow did well to mask the distinguishable dyes azure hues in her raven hair. She had risked greatly by removing the fabric from her face, but the need to dissipate the stale numbness from her extremities had been too grand of a temptation. As the fire of the alcohol warmed her from the inside out, for the first time in a long while could she feel the soft leather that covered her fingertips.

Rhythmically, she began to tap them upon the surface as she drew herself to the edge of her perch. Intelligence gleamed in the eyes of the strange woman as she took a moment to observe the occupants around her. None drew her immediate attention, but that was viewed as a good thing. There was no recognition in the faces that she did see, nor any in the clothing and armor upon the few that shared her occupied space. She could count the other patrons upon one hand, not including the scant staffing. Flickers upon the holovision distracted her for a moment, drawing her attention away from the others. The game featured was one unknown to her, but she had never been one to find an interest, for the most part. She'd always found herself preferring to busy herself with other things. Things and items that her father had never approved of.

A faint shake of her head, in tune with a sharp inhale through her nose, preceded the slouching of her shoulders as she lowered her chin down upon her arms. They had come to settle over the bar top, bringing her face close to the emptied glass. Whimsically, the woman hummed.

"I think I'll have another," she mused, purposefully.


[member="Darius Sedaire"]
 
"Think so?" Came the question.

The cowled man tilted his head toward the similarly secluded woman. Most folks in places like these went out of their way to hide their features. It made the coming and going easier; no one really went out of their way to talk to you, and no one cared enough to remember you when you were gone.

No one except the Voidwalker anyway.

"The swill around here will kill you if you drink too much. It's not well made swill. Burns out your liver, but folks come and go so much that it doesn't really get a reputation." The Voidewalker's voice was pointedly low. He'd ended up seated alongside her, though when he'd moved down across the bar was anyone's guess. Leatherbound hands pulled at his own glass, which seemed to seep into the shadows of his cowl when he brought it up to his lips. When it came back down, the glass almost seemed to rematerialize.

The glass thudded as it was set back on the table. "Not that you should ask the owner about that. Wouldn't go well."

[member="Astrid"]
 
"Is not the point to relinquish oneself from having to think in the first place," came the woman's reply as she cocked a brow. Rolling her chin over her arm so that she could tilt her head to better view what she could of the stranger that had moved to seat beside her. While normally she would have called to question the sudden alteration in his location, she paid it little mind as she was more intrigued by his attempt at conversation. Most people stuck to themselves, particularly those that took the pains to keep their identities unidentified. It was peculiar.

"Be that as it may though," she continued. "Reputation is an inflated, fickle thing. It is not all that is cracked up to be. It's far more hassle than it is worth."

Reputation.

That had been one of the driving key-points of focus when she was growing up. Her father, being what he was, held an image that said a vast amount with a single glance. He was a man of power. Influence. Wealth. He had striven to mold his daughter to be what he was. Her mother had gotten to her first. Suspicious of her mother's untimely death, the woman had cast aside her heritage and fled to the stars. She had taken pains to avoid amassing a reputation throughout the galaxy, knowing full well what good would come of it. To the shrouded woman, it was as true to her as the words she had spoken.

Briefly and with the flick of her gaze, she shot the crystal glass a look of disapproval. Perhaps she did not need refill, after all. The first had done what she'd needed, in any case. All the same, it had been the first thing to brush back the haze that had fogged her as of late.

"Very well. You've convinced me. What instead, my friend, should I drink?" She asked, lifting her head from her arms, straightening her back as she did.
 
"Depends on what you're here for." The cowled man responded. He held up his own glass, the pink liquid sloshing about as he shook his arm back and forth. Oddly enough, no matter which way he tilted his head, it seemed the shadows followed him. The area within the cowl was dark as midnight, and it didn't fall back when it logically should have. "This place reminds me of my teacher. Of my father. I come by when I'm in the area to be nostalgic. Not really much of a drinker though; not in the traditional sense."

Master Sedaire had always been one of the more social types. He got around off of his people skills alone. Darius had sought to emulate the older man, but there were stark differences in the way they carried themselves. Julius disliked structure. Darius craved it. Julius liked to make a show. Darius liked to pull the strings. Though their personalities had converged at a certain point, their methods of operation had started to differ significantly.

And Darius as he had once been was gone. Perhaps that was why they now patrolled opposites ends of the galaxy; as far away from one another as possible, lest their personalities cause another cataclysm.

The Voidwalker smiled at the thought. "Personally? I usually get the strawberry milk. It's made pretty well." Once again, he waved the glass at the woman. "This isn't the sort of place to lose your wits, especially in this weather. Tonight's the kind of night where people disappear."

[member="Astrid"]
 
"What sort of barbarian comes to a bar and drinks strawberry milk?" The woman retorted, disbelief tainting her elevated tone. As absurd as it sounded, the pink liquid within the stranger's glass did little to counter what it was. The consistency, at a glanced, seemed accurate enough. It solidified the statement that the stranger was not much of a drinker. There was doubt that she felt, initially. Though, she could not deny that there were people across the galaxy that did not partake. With a shrug of her shoulders and a twitch of a brow, the woman accepted the words shared with her.

"Reasonable, I suppose, if the swill is as in-reputable as you claim. I believe I would rather keep my liver in working order, so thanks for that."


One had done the trick, at least for the time being. The grogginess had been evaporated and she could focus keenly upon the shadowed figure. For the barest moment, the woman took her visage from her odd companion and turned it upon the empty glass. Picking it up, she replaced it back atop the bar a full arms length away on the opposite side. "I'm convinced," she began as she drew back her arm. She began to rest it back down, but seemed to change her mind and instead offered the gloved hand to her opposite.

"You can call me Highlights. What should I call you, savior of my liver?"
 
"An educated one." The cowled man snickered. His thoughts traveled back to Master Sedaire and his many escapades within the bars throughout GA space. The man had developed quite the reputation for being a messy drunk, and the Voidwalker had developed a similar one as his caretaker in such situations.

The memory made him crack a grin.

"Highlights?" He gave her an incredulous look beneath the cowl. His head tilted as he peered at her, though getting anything akin to facial features were rather difficult with her mask. After a few seconds or staring, his shoulders bunched up in a slight shrug. "S'pose it works. You passing through?"

A hand was offered. He stared down at it as if it were the living incarnation of death itself. Fortunately enough, Highlights couldn't see his face either. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out and took her hand into his own, giving it a good shake.

"People around here call me the Voidwalker," he snorted, "It's a little ridiculous for my tastes, but I figure it makes me sound mysterious."

[member="Astrid"]
 
"How ominous of a name. I must wonder if I should find some foreboding concern within our conversation?" Highlights pipped with an obscured grin of her own sparking to life. She withdrew her hand from his and made a hapless gesture. She was always a passerbyer; never in one place for too long. Although her current station was one she had adopted for longer than most.

"Absolutely. I won't be around for too much longer. Job's all most done, so I'll be taking my leave," she continued. "Unless something happens, naturally. Which has a tendency to happen, lately."

She fell silent for a moment to turn her head and cast a lingering glance upon the holovision. The same game was still featured and it did not serve to hold her attention for long.

"Mysterious, eh? The name suits your getup, that's for sure. At least they don't call you something as cringy as 'Grim Reaper'."
 
"Most folks don't stick around." His attentions shifted from the woman to that of the greater bar. There was little going on, to his pleasure. He'd often chosen this place because of the lack of people, and when there were people around, for the lack of notable events. It was a nice little nothing bar in the middle of nowhere; it suited him perfectly. "Hopefully not here. I like this place pristine. It's my secret little oasis from the work folks. Rather it not change myself."

With that, he turned bodily toward the woman, the chair beneath him creaking as it span about.

"That sort of name wouldn't fit with what I do anyway," the glass was drained. It thudded as it was pressed back onto the bar. "I don't kill unless I have to. I don't really do any kind of harm unless it's neccesarry. That's the thing that keeps me from meshing with these people," he gestured all about.

"I've got a code. Morals. Most of these men don't care for such trivialities."

A pause.

"Yourself?"

[member="Astrid"]
 
"It's a good thing that most people don't stick around if these men are as you say, and suggest," the woman replied, frankly.

So, the hood had morals and didn't harm unless necessary. Peculiar, and equally intriguing. With the barest glance at the emptied glass that had previously contained strawberry milk, she rotated upon her perch so that she could lean her side against the edge of the bar. Propping her chin in her palm, elbow to the surface, she eyed the Voidwalker with piercing interest. Here was an individual cloaked in, perhaps, one of the most ominous choice of attire; an individual whom drank strawberry milk and only inflicted harm when it was necessary, with a name such as Voidwalker, enshrouded in shadows.

The magnitude of questions that danced upon the tip of her tongue where barely held in check, mostly contained in part due to her upbringing. Her mother had taught her well, and she did well to remember the lessons she'd endured. Even though it was tempting, she restrained herself and simply murmured, "A code? Most have a code. Be it selfish or selfless."

"'Trivialities', as you put it, may just be different opinions of what is important. For one, it might be trivial to pass up a deal of a life time. For another, it might be trivial to harm without reason," she went on, shrugging her left shoulder dismissively.
 

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