George
Hyperlane Surfer
It wasn’t every day Xavari awoke in a cantina and had absolutely no idea where the kark he was at. It was a rare occurrence indeed, but it didn’t matter too much when the bed was comfortable and the breakfast they served bearable. A dim shimmer of sunlight shined through the small windows that lined the left wall of the old cantina, lighting up the cloud of dust particles that flew around in the air. It was an old place, wooden panels were attached to the walls in some sort of attempt to make the place seem luxurious. Heavy, decorated curtains was attached to every entrance, occasionally held open by a tight, pretend gold rope.
Despite the fact, it was early in the morning the small crowd that frequented the cantina at this time of the hour seemed a bit larger than usual, mainly because almost every one of them stood so close to each other, gathered around one of the poorly maintained wooden tables the customers sat at.
The reason for why people was gathered around the table on the other hand wasn’t simply because of this man’s looks. But, was instead linked to the rough sound that was made as he repeatedly poked the table with a long trench dagger, it held tightly in his hand, secured in his grip by the iron knuckles that guarded his fingers. “Careful! What if you miss?” One of the nearest girls whined excitedly, her eyes almost hungrily following the knife as it poked the gaps between the fingers of his other large hand which was placed flat on the table, it bearing marks of multiple healed failures and other old and hopefully forgotten wounds. The man grunted, turning the cigarette that hung in his lips to the corner of his mouth so he could talk.
“Well...” The stabbing continued: “The trick is not to, so I don’t.” He smirked somewhat. This trick, five finger fillet as it was called, always gathered attention and at times even won him a few credits.
Despite the fact, it was early in the morning the small crowd that frequented the cantina at this time of the hour seemed a bit larger than usual, mainly because almost every one of them stood so close to each other, gathered around one of the poorly maintained wooden tables the customers sat at.
Only one truly occupied the table however. A man in his thirties, his frame that of an ordinary working man. Poorly maintained stubble sprouted from his chin and cheeks while his brown hair was cut in an iconic looking slicked back undercut style. The sides shaved while the top grew long and got slicked back, as the name indicated, by a fair dose of bad quality wax. He was however dressed somewhat properly, wearing a blue rolled up dress shirt and a waistcoat to match, partly finishing off the image he was giving with an empty leather blaster holder. Despite all of this a reeking stench of alcohol and sweat hung in his clothes. It was probably unnoticeable however as the whole place stank of spilled and watered down corellian ale already. It didn’t make a huge difference in an environment such as this. It was homely almost.The reason for why people was gathered around the table on the other hand wasn’t simply because of this man’s looks. But, was instead linked to the rough sound that was made as he repeatedly poked the table with a long trench dagger, it held tightly in his hand, secured in his grip by the iron knuckles that guarded his fingers. “Careful! What if you miss?” One of the nearest girls whined excitedly, her eyes almost hungrily following the knife as it poked the gaps between the fingers of his other large hand which was placed flat on the table, it bearing marks of multiple healed failures and other old and hopefully forgotten wounds. The man grunted, turning the cigarette that hung in his lips to the corner of his mouth so he could talk.
“Well...” The stabbing continued: “The trick is not to, so I don’t.” He smirked somewhat. This trick, five finger fillet as it was called, always gathered attention and at times even won him a few credits.
The crunching stabbing noise continued its rapid pace. He just had to wait for someone who felt macho enough to challenge him… Also, he really had to figure out where the heck he was soon enough. He couldn’t stay on an anonymous planet forever. Could he now?
