Devin Virell
Redline Echo
Devin pushed through the cantina doors, met with a wave of muggy air that clung to him. The humidity wrapped smothered any sense of escape, swallowed by the foreign sounds. The clatter of mugs against tables, the laughter that felt too loud, all blended into a symphony of debauchery.
It was a life he'd supposedly left behind years ago, buried in the lower levels.
He immediately claimed a stool near the bar, still clad in his flight suit, the collar loose, as though he had never shed his duty. In truth, it had been just another uneventful day, and perhaps this would make the last few hours before sleep a little more tolerable.
It wasn’t long before a glass already sat before him. This one was sharp, local, and carried a bitter edge that clung to the back of his throat. It wasn’t good. In fact, it was quite terrible. But it was something to hold, something to keep his hands busy while eyes roamed.
In the corner, a holoprojector flickered, casting a light over a sabaac table. The players leaned in, cards clutched. Devin felt the tug of temptation, the itch to sit down and lose himself in the smooth rhythm of the game. The hustle. But the credits were thin. They always had been. Still, he debated if the risk was something he could afford tonight.
But for now, he leaned back and observed with both longing and envy, knowing he didn't belong among them. Though, there were two mechanics, standing out clearly in grease stained clothes. They were probably swapping tales of ships if he had to guess. Then there was a Twi'lek haggling with the bartender, their lekku twitching with irritation. It made the atmosphere more diverse.
Through it all, he felt the same thing he always did, being an outsider looking in on someone else's world. The enclave wasn’t much different. Jedi moving with purpose, united by something he didn’t even understand.
The drink continued to burn. He just let the noise wash over him.