Blood Covered Sand

[Llkt'tudrin'wyshd]

Tatooine, A Random Cantina​

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Ydrin sat in a shadowed corner of a seedy cantina, attempting to not draw attention to himself. The harsh sound of out of tune jazz flowed through catina, grating at Ydrin's ears. As a lover of jazz, as someone who enjoyed the soothing tones of jazz and let it appeal to him in numerous ways, the sound was almost painful to Ydrin. A haze of smoke drifted along the low hung ceiling of the structure, flowing through the murky and lowly illuminated room. It carried with it the smell of numerous unwashed bodies of varying biologies and smells, a smell that stung at Ydrin's nose and made him seriously wish that his current job that had brought him to the dust ball of a planet that was Tatooine was over.

The blond man was dressed in a sandy, heavy looking duster coat which was pulled over a leather jacket. The jacket itself was pulled over a skin tight, grey t-shirt. And the t-shirt was tucked into a pair of old looking, navy coloured jeans. The jeans were tucked into a worn pain of black combat boots. Boots that were propped up on the table before Ydrin. In his hands he held a glass of some amber coloured drink as well as an old fashioned, silver timepiece which was popped open, with Ydrin lazily staring at the slowly rotating around the surface of the timepiece. Ydrin's mannerism and clothing helped him blend into the crowd of scruffy and dark looking pirates, smugglers and outlaws.

Sighing, Ydrin snapped the timepiece closed and slipped it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and drained the drink that he held, slamming the glass down onto the table with a soft thud. With slow actions, with an annoyed air surrounding him, Ydrin reached into one of the other pockets of his jacket and removed two silver cases. The first, a thin case, he flipped open and removed a cigarette from within. Placing the cigarette at the corner of his lips, Ydrin returned the thin case before turning his attention to the second case. Flipping the more stout case open with practiced ease, Ydrin span the small wheel causing a small flame to ignite. Holding the zippo lighter up to the cigarette, the flame illuminated Ydrin in a vicious looking light as deep shadows were cast over half of his face. Flipping the lighter closed, he replaced that case in the pocket he had removed it form.

Taking a deep breathe, Ydrin inhaled a mouthful of smoke which he released in a deep sigh. The smoke curled around his features, raising to join the mist of smoke that flowed along the ceiling. Pushing himself to his feet, Ydrin weaved his way between scruffy outlaws and dented, stained tables. As he did so, his oddly mismatched eyes (while both pupils a deep purple his left sclera was stained a milky black that completely covered the white) flickered over the beings that gathered before him. Stepping out of the cantina, Ydrin settled against the side of the building, letting the rays of the binary suns wash across his skin.


[member="Krest"]

 

[Dezoti]

Krest, too, was in this cantina. The Templar sat at the bar, a glass of whisky in his hand. He was simply relaxing the day away, knowing that he no longer mattered in the planets inner workings. Like a fairy, he had become nothing more than a tale, and the Templars a folklore. Of course, he was bored. A frown took over his features as he sipped his drink. This wasn't the most entertaining thing he could be doing. He slammed down his drink after finishing it, and moved his way outside. Only to find [member="Ydrin"] there smoking. A brow raised as the red man stepped over, nodding once to the death stick.

"You really, really, shouldn't be smoking that." Krest was dressed in his usual leather clothing, used to protect himself from the heat and the sand. On his hip was his sword, the Templars Edge. He had made no move for the weapon of course, but it wasn't a hidden weapon of his. Blue eyes glanced over the other man, a smile on his face. "It might kill ya one day." Small talk. He just wanted to chat with someone, and at least this person was someone he could try.

 

[Llkt'tudrin'wyshd]

Ydrin sighed, exhaling a stream of smoke as he did so, when his quiet time, time relaxing in the bright sunlight. Reaching up, he removed the cigarette from where it rested between his lips, letting the still smoldering cigarette hang loosely between his fingers. Ignoring the voice that had disturbed him for a short while, Ydrin focused his mismatched gaze on the sight of the dual suns slowly dipping down bellow the artificial horizon comprised of the rooftops of the building that surrounded the streets. Ydrin shifted to face the source of the voice that had broken the silence he had surrounded himself with. As he turned, Ydrin's boots scrapped across the loose grains of sand, sending the different grains dancing over each other.

Cocking his head to the side slightly, Ydrin lifted his right eyebrow slightly. "You do realise that I might just know that?" Ydrin's voice had a soft lit to it, his accent betraying his past as a former highborn, during which time he had been the son and Heir of a noble family. A soft chuckle accompanied his voice, providing additional depth to his voice. "But then, what can potentially kill, maim or harm us tends to be the most rewarding in the end. Especially when those aspects are applied to the fairer gender, aye?"

Casting his eyes over the man that had disturbed him, Ydrin made notes on the different aspects of the man, attempting to compile a profile on him. Taking in the man's species, Zabrak from his red skin and the black tattoos that weaved their way across the scarlet skin, Ydrin made the guess that the man would be something fierce to fight, the man's heritage influencing his skills. However, despite the vicious nature of the species, the man's body language was relaxed and no confrontational. The only weapon visible on the man's person was the sword strapped to his waist.

Turning back to his view of the sun, Ydrin replaced the cigarette within his mouth while, at the same time, subtly shifting his duster coat to conceal the short sword strapped to his waist and the holstered pistols on his right thigh and against the left side of his torso. "So, what's the name of the man who decided to care about my health, enough so to warn me of the harmful nature of my cigarette? My name's Ydrin, by the way. No last name."


[member="Krest"]

 

[Dezoti]

"Ydrin eh? Names Krest. No last name, just like you I suppose. And I can tell you right now, those won't make you stronger. They'll make ya a lot weaker in the long run, y'know?" Krest offered [member="Ydrin"] a shrug before he leaned against the wall, both hands crossed over his chest. His blue eyes glanced over the city landscape, relatively unfocused. Perhaps a bit intoxicated from the whiskey he was drinking, but if he was it would probably only be buzzed. The Zabrak was simply put calm, and trying for a simple conversation.