Landon
Not a kid!
"But why do they call it that?" Max looked at Landon as he fixed his bowtie. The puzzled pinch of his brow genuine.
Landon took a shallow drag of the spice stick perched precariously between his lips. Stars, they were stuck in the middle of Devaron at some fancy-arsed space wizard gala where mooks with a kriff ton of credits to burn came to gawk at nature while eating things called amuse-bouche. Landon tugged at the crisp collar of his waiter get-up.
What a lousy job.
On top of playing waiter-boy, he had to put up with Max. At least on this job he wasn't the youngest. By a cycle. Look at that? Something Max was useful for already.
The smoke of his death stick puffed out and curled lazily in front of Max's expectant face.
"Max, you're asking all the wrong questions. These mooks need fancy words to eat fancy food." Landon took a step and leaned in closer, whispering in Max's ear. "You should be asking yourself what the big boss is after here. What do we get outta this job?" Max blinked as Landon pulled back, grabbing a tray of Chandrilan squig amuse-bouche. With a shuffle, he lined up with the other staff. Some were organics, like him. Some were also in the gang, like himself and Max. And some were plain ol' droids.
"Kid, put that out before you go in." The one in charge of the wait staff with the oiled moustache pointed at Landon. Landon made sure to take his sweet time taking a final drag, eyes rolling. "Not a kid, ol' man." With a lazy flick of his fingers, the drug disappeared. The doors opened and he followed the other line of waiters out to the gala beyond.
Landon took a shallow drag of the spice stick perched precariously between his lips. Stars, they were stuck in the middle of Devaron at some fancy-arsed space wizard gala where mooks with a kriff ton of credits to burn came to gawk at nature while eating things called amuse-bouche. Landon tugged at the crisp collar of his waiter get-up.
What a lousy job.
On top of playing waiter-boy, he had to put up with Max. At least on this job he wasn't the youngest. By a cycle. Look at that? Something Max was useful for already.
The smoke of his death stick puffed out and curled lazily in front of Max's expectant face.
"Max, you're asking all the wrong questions. These mooks need fancy words to eat fancy food." Landon took a step and leaned in closer, whispering in Max's ear. "You should be asking yourself what the big boss is after here. What do we get outta this job?" Max blinked as Landon pulled back, grabbing a tray of Chandrilan squig amuse-bouche. With a shuffle, he lined up with the other staff. Some were organics, like him. Some were also in the gang, like himself and Max. And some were plain ol' droids.
"Kid, put that out before you go in." The one in charge of the wait staff with the oiled moustache pointed at Landon. Landon made sure to take his sweet time taking a final drag, eyes rolling. "Not a kid, ol' man." With a lazy flick of his fingers, the drug disappeared. The doors opened and he followed the other line of waiters out to the gala beyond.