Like That
ATRISIA
"If you see my glass on the precipice of desolation...Do not pause and inquire the state of my satisfaction. Simply assume and refill." Drystan pointed the tip of his gloved finger onto the rim of his near-empty sake cup. A beep from the server droid followed with the clear liquid flowing. The liquid that poured into his cup, which granted him an overblown sense of articulation, flowed to his will, like a synchronized machine.
Despite the claimed heritage, Drystan's boots felt foreign on it's maiden trudge upon Atrisia's soil. Or was it the second time he's been here? The liquid passing through his lips didn't help much in retrospection. But even it could not obstruct the fact that the past was only a ghost, and the present, however blurred and nauseous, was of higher priority.
The inn, or ryokan as the locals called it, housed a layout foreign to the usual bars and dives frequented by the Shadow in the underbelly of Coruscant. But the divergence of culture could only do so much to stem the tide of common anatomy.
A chair was still a chair. A table a table, and a drink was still a drink. The inconvenience of adjusting to the minor deviations of Atrisian furniture was tolerable enough to endure, so long as the similarities lay within the fine taste of their drink. Having gone through three glasses already, Drystan supposed it satisfactory, but he required more to confirm his theories, glass now empty having been sapped during his musings.
"I said do not wait. Pour. When. Empty." Word's fell on deaf auditory receptors as the liquid he desired filled the cup once more to the brim.
Niijima Izumi