How did this happen again?
I ponder on that thought while I pound in the face of one of my attackers; a young man trying to look spacer tough, yet his hair reminded me of a frilly peacock. It was obvious that him and his gang came into the cantina looking for a fight, and who was I to turn down the opportunity? But really? The long brightly coloured hair just made it all the easier for me to hold his head in place while I punched it repeatedly.
Already the others lay in heaps on the sticky floor, unconscious or at least pretending to be. The ring leaders I tend to save for last. I love to freak them out as I drop my illusion and make my eyes disappear, leaving people to see the empty eye sockets that was well known to my species. It gives me that moment's hesitation to make my move and get them right where I want them.
Now how did this brawl start, you might ask? Well it began as they usually do; with me sitting at the bar with my drink. I don't know if people just don't like my trenchcoat or my orange hair, but regardless, they tend to assume that I'd be an easy target to mug. My soft voice and sarcastic wit probably doesn't help much either. My choice of words have often started a fight as well.
But who says that we can't have a little excitement in our lives? Right? I pride myself on being a hermit, living alone on small backwater planets like this. These kinds of interactions are about all that I get these days. The Galaxy feels to be all tensed up, with random acts of violence serving as a means to relieve the pressure. Maybe that's why I look forward to my visits to the cantina. I get to blow off some steam.
I let go of Mr. Peacock , shaking out my hand that I used to break his nose and give him a couple of shiners, then return to my stool and carry on with my whiskey as though nothing had happened at all. I rekindled the illusion that gave me the appearance of having eyes. "I'm going to need some ice, I think." As the bartender fetched it and I pulled a hankerchief out of my pocket, the holo news came on with a special bulletin:
~Breaking Weather Alert! A rain storm is forming fast and will hit the district in roughly ten minutes! This could be another terra-forming event, so remain indoors! I repeat remain indoors!~
Distant sirens were heard, as if announcing an incoming air raid. But this was much, much worse. I love backwater planets because they were largely left alone. But the drawbacks were that they didn't have the attention of the good people of the Galaxy. So the bad guys could come and get away with anything; slave raids, sentient experimentations, target practice, and the development of new terra-forming processes. In this case it was the latter.
The people here feared the rain. And for good reason.
The rain brought death.
I ponder on that thought while I pound in the face of one of my attackers; a young man trying to look spacer tough, yet his hair reminded me of a frilly peacock. It was obvious that him and his gang came into the cantina looking for a fight, and who was I to turn down the opportunity? But really? The long brightly coloured hair just made it all the easier for me to hold his head in place while I punched it repeatedly.
Already the others lay in heaps on the sticky floor, unconscious or at least pretending to be. The ring leaders I tend to save for last. I love to freak them out as I drop my illusion and make my eyes disappear, leaving people to see the empty eye sockets that was well known to my species. It gives me that moment's hesitation to make my move and get them right where I want them.
Now how did this brawl start, you might ask? Well it began as they usually do; with me sitting at the bar with my drink. I don't know if people just don't like my trenchcoat or my orange hair, but regardless, they tend to assume that I'd be an easy target to mug. My soft voice and sarcastic wit probably doesn't help much either. My choice of words have often started a fight as well.
But who says that we can't have a little excitement in our lives? Right? I pride myself on being a hermit, living alone on small backwater planets like this. These kinds of interactions are about all that I get these days. The Galaxy feels to be all tensed up, with random acts of violence serving as a means to relieve the pressure. Maybe that's why I look forward to my visits to the cantina. I get to blow off some steam.
I let go of Mr. Peacock , shaking out my hand that I used to break his nose and give him a couple of shiners, then return to my stool and carry on with my whiskey as though nothing had happened at all. I rekindled the illusion that gave me the appearance of having eyes. "I'm going to need some ice, I think." As the bartender fetched it and I pulled a hankerchief out of my pocket, the holo news came on with a special bulletin:
~Breaking Weather Alert! A rain storm is forming fast and will hit the district in roughly ten minutes! This could be another terra-forming event, so remain indoors! I repeat remain indoors!~
Distant sirens were heard, as if announcing an incoming air raid. But this was much, much worse. I love backwater planets because they were largely left alone. But the drawbacks were that they didn't have the attention of the good people of the Galaxy. So the bad guys could come and get away with anything; slave raids, sentient experimentations, target practice, and the development of new terra-forming processes. In this case it was the latter.
The people here feared the rain. And for good reason.
The rain brought death.