Private Closest to Twenty-Three

[Devin Virell]

Diarch Reign

​

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.

 

[Diarch Reign]

​

Location: Cantina | Middle of Nowhere
Tags: Devin Virell

---

It wasn't often that Reign found himself in cantinas anymore. Though a stiff drink and good company were some of his favorite ways to pass the time. War was coming, he had just televised a public execution of his enemies to the galaxy.. He needed a drink..

But it would not do to go to his own back yard, nor anywhere his potential enemies may find him. So here he was, in the middle of nowhere, cloaked and hooded. Although, it may be easier to remain unrecognized now that his long hair had been cut short.

As he entered the cantina, he took a moment to appreciate the sights and smells. Spilled liquor, disgusting yet somehow delicious food, sweat and misery. All smells that brought him back to simpler times, and the sights? They were no less incredible. The twi'lek haggling with the bartender, the sabaac players guarding their cards, two old drunks arguing over what speeder was superior.

And at the bar, a young man in a flight suit.

one of these things is not like the others

Reign thought to himself as he approached the bartop.

"Corellian Whiskey, neat."

He told the bartender. This was his go to drink when out and about.

He noticed the man staring in the direction of the sabaac table and asked him..

"You any good?"

 

[Devin Virell]

Diarch Reign

​

He’d taken the drink in hand, cradling it like something fragile, a thumb tracing circles around the rim like it was the only coin he owned. Devin continued cataloguing details like debts he would never collect: every flick of card, every time a body twitched. Among the different planets he found himself on, it was the only real wealth he could claim.

The scent of blasters and bad decisions was ever-strong.

But it wasn’t just this cantina on New Cov, it was a memory too..

For a second, Devin was back on Coruscant, before the academy pressed him into a uniform, before the Empire had stolen the world he knew and dressed it in different banners.

He remembered the lower levels, where every alley smelled like a bad mistake.

It was ugly.. dangerous, but it always made him feel alive. This was the closest thing to home he’d tasted since joining The Hidden Path.

From the corner of his vision, he caught the shift, another slipping through the cantina's haze. He didn't look closely. These days, it didn't take much to spark trouble.

But then the voice was heard, aimed at him.

Devin didn’t look up right away. He let the question hang.. swirling what was left in his glass. Then he turned, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Depends who’s asking. Some folks call me lucky, others call me trouble. Either way, you won’t be bored.”

He tipped his head toward the sabaac table.

“If you’re looking for someone to bleed dry..”

His pouch was light, and he knew better than walking into a game without the means of walking out.

That was a fool’s errand.

But the itch was there.

And he was still a fool at times.

“.. I’m still your best bet. But you’ll have to buy the next round.”

​

 

[Diarch Reign]

​

Location: New Cov | Cantina
Tags: Devin Virell

---

Reign let a slight smile escape, he liked the young man so far. Equal parts grit and fire.

"I don't think there's any trouble you can cause I can't handle my new friend"

He eyed the table, Reign had never been much of a gambler, but he was always up to learning something new.
Plus he had credits to spend and a galaxy of worry to forget about for just a moment.

"I've got more credits than I know what to do with currently.."

Reign turned to the bartender and said

"Whatever he wants, it's on me, and please, no more of this jet fuel.. get him something that won't make him go blind"

Motioning over to the Sabaac table, Reign smiled fully at the young man.

"You teach me how to play, I'll keep you in the game and with your drinks. Sound like a deal?"

 

[Devin Virell]

Diarch Reign

​

The sabacc players were laughing louder; Devin found himself wanting in on whatever the joke was. But the man’s words cut through it all, smooth, so smooth that he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if to dislodge their weight. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“Careful saying that in a place like this,” he said, voice dry as the drink burned his throat. “Trouble’s got a way of multiplying when you invite it.”

Leaning back on the stool, one boot hooked the rung, shoulders loose, but the ember eyes stayed sharp. The mention of credits drew his gaze, unconsciously flicking briefly to the figures belt before returning to his face. An old habit perhaps, enough to start a brawl in some systems.

“Must be nice. Me, I’ve got more debts than I know what to do with. Guess that makes us a good match.”

A pause.

“Deal.”

There was no need to bother with the menu. Leaning on an elbow, voice low, it was like he’d said it a thousand times before. “Tihaar. Clean pour."

Tapping two fingers on the counter, that was the rhythm of someone who knew exactly what they wanted,.. or like a pilot waiting for clearance out of the hangar.

When the glass came, he lifted it without need for ceremony; better to let the burn do the talking.

“Sabacc doesn’t test your hand, it tests your nerve, and most people fold long before the cards shift.”

With that, Devin pushed off the stool. The same two fingers now gestured toward the glowing table.

“Come on, rich man. Let’s see if your credits can keep up with my luck.”

Another slow sip was taken.

“Name’s Devin.”