Asemir
Null Prime
It was a nice change, Asemir Lor'kora decided. The place didn't stink of unwashed bodies or alcohol-stained clothes or regurgitated body fluids. There were no clouds of greasy smoke from all of the cigars and other burning volatile hallucinogens. Hidden air scrubbers took care of that problem. The dim lighting added a soothing atmosphere. There was even a live band playing some neo-retro-classic-jazz piece originating from some distant sector of the galaxy.
Yes, it was quite nice. Certainly a very good change from the various dive bars or hidden taverns that he was forced to frequent because of his trade. It really wasn't a habit he had intended to pick up, of course, but the nature of his targets meant that they typically did not hang out in such classy joints as the Federal Lounge. That or they owned such places, but that was pretty rare. And often times extracting the target left the establishment a mess.
Asemir wasn't really a big fan of alcohol and drinks and all that entailed, but he did enjoy the taste of some of the better poisons in the galaxy. And, since he wasn't on a job and his last job had netted a decent payout, he thought he was due a little treat.
The tumbler of muted blue liquor's ethanol was nearly masked by a hint of something that reminded Asemir of his childhood. He couldn't place it, and wasn't sure if it was some food or drink he had tried decades ago in the Temple. Or maybe it was something he had found during his numerous deployments. He couldn't quite remember, but it was nostalgic and calming, and that was good.
The ingr'nysk took a sip, savoring that memory, and sighed. His body ached, a familiar and yet strange sensation. It was a sign that he was getting old, at least it felt that way, even though he had not even reached the median age of his people. Perhaps it was just the effect of having seen so much during his seven decades. Or maybe it was just weariness. He wasn't sure.
One thing he was sure of, as he straightened his back and felt the vertebrae cracking, was that it was good to take a break. Too much running, too much gunning, too much ducking. The calm of the Federal Lounge was nice. That music he couldn't recognize but knew fit this place like a custom tailored glove was also nice. The drink was nice. Letting his apprentice take a break was nice. Not having to worry about getting killed was nice.
He raised his glass slightly in a toast to no one. Life was nice today. For once.
Yes, it was quite nice. Certainly a very good change from the various dive bars or hidden taverns that he was forced to frequent because of his trade. It really wasn't a habit he had intended to pick up, of course, but the nature of his targets meant that they typically did not hang out in such classy joints as the Federal Lounge. That or they owned such places, but that was pretty rare. And often times extracting the target left the establishment a mess.
Asemir wasn't really a big fan of alcohol and drinks and all that entailed, but he did enjoy the taste of some of the better poisons in the galaxy. And, since he wasn't on a job and his last job had netted a decent payout, he thought he was due a little treat.
The tumbler of muted blue liquor's ethanol was nearly masked by a hint of something that reminded Asemir of his childhood. He couldn't place it, and wasn't sure if it was some food or drink he had tried decades ago in the Temple. Or maybe it was something he had found during his numerous deployments. He couldn't quite remember, but it was nostalgic and calming, and that was good.
The ingr'nysk took a sip, savoring that memory, and sighed. His body ached, a familiar and yet strange sensation. It was a sign that he was getting old, at least it felt that way, even though he had not even reached the median age of his people. Perhaps it was just the effect of having seen so much during his seven decades. Or maybe it was just weariness. He wasn't sure.
One thing he was sure of, as he straightened his back and felt the vertebrae cracking, was that it was good to take a break. Too much running, too much gunning, too much ducking. The calm of the Federal Lounge was nice. That music he couldn't recognize but knew fit this place like a custom tailored glove was also nice. The drink was nice. Letting his apprentice take a break was nice. Not having to worry about getting killed was nice.
He raised his glass slightly in a toast to no one. Life was nice today. For once.