Pugno Ergo Sum
EPICA
His visible comfort with parting with that many credits for so little made him stand out.
Even his outfit drew attention. He'd gone for something casual—deliberately casual. A tropical-themed shirt, unbuttoned over a plain white undershirt, paired with cargo pants that matched his white socks and sandals. A yellow straw hat sat atop his head, and a pair of sunglasses hung from the collar of his shirt.
Overpriced was the first word that came to mind as he watched the bartender serve his drink. Coruscanti whiskey—single malt, on the rocks. He could've gotten the same pour for a quarter of the price back home in the Underworld. The picture formed in his mind: Eddie's, a dive he frequented after missions to unwind and think—cheap drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other. He'd trade the fine leather stool and lacquered wooden bar for that place any day, especially with prices like these. He wouldn't be surprised if the vending machines here had even more exorbitant markups—and those things were already overpriced by design.
But he supposed this was the norm. Epica was a place of luxury and wealth, and the businesses there were keen to take advantage of that fact. Well, he'd just charge it to the Order—or snag it during a mission. He had his methods, and they consistently kept the credits flowing. That said, even a stable flow wouldn't support overpriced whiskey like this for more than a few months.
Still… he had to admit—the place was nice. And nice places attracted the rich and powerful. But the rich and powerful weren't where the best fights were. He'd heard whispers about deathmatches hosted by the affluent, but hadn't bothered to chase down the rumors. Effort wasn't something he was looking to spend. Not today.
He was on vacation, after all.
