Just another night in a smugglers den

[Lina Djo]

The credit chip rolled across the top of her fingers and back again as she stared unseeing into the chaos around her. The cozy little smuggler’s den was filled with the noise of gambling arguments, music and the occasional smash of a glass. A thick haze of smoke hung from the ceiling and it was filled with plenty of dark corners for private discussions. Mia was deaf and blind to it all, she just stared endlessly past the chip that rolled back and forth, across her knuckles. Her other hand was curled round a tumbler of dark liquid, that spread warmth throughout her with every sip, her boots rested on the corner of the table.

She enjoyed these moments of solitude amidst the chaos. Solitude on a ship with no one but a droid to keep you company was hardly appealing. She had considered recruiting a co-pilot but she had become too suspicious for that, so it was either solitude on a ship, or solitude in a bar with a heart-warming drink.

Something jolted her back from her daydream and she looked up in time to see a glass hurtling towards her face. She ducked in the nick of time closing her eyes in annoyance as she was showered with its fragments and whatever liquid it had contained. She slowly, removed her boots from the table and sat upright and opened her eyes. The man who had thrown the glass had obviously not intended it for her as he was in the middle of the latest brawl. She would have jumped intot he middle of it had it not been for the bartender’s well timed and clearly purposeful arrival at her table with a towel a fresh drink.

“Not tonight Monroe. I only finished repairs on the last fight you got involved in. Let it go this time, eh?”

Snatching the towel from his hand she dried herself before handing it back to him. “I’ll let this one go just for you Reaver. But only this one and more comes my way….”

Reaver raised a hand in defence “Okay, Okay. Fine whatever, you wanna fight you pay the bill.” Muttering under his breath he walked away leaving her to nurse her new drink and watch the brawl unfold.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

One of the individuals closer to the fight was a young man named Sarge (not his real name of course!), who had been given some free time by his boss to do as he saw fit where he saw fit and to who he saw fit. While he'd hoped for some relative sanity from those in the bar, that was quickly about to be proven too much to ask for.

Bar's like this were loud - filled with arguments and the like. But you knew it got serious when a table was overturned. The noise such an action generated attracted all attention from most of the occupants of the establishment. A large, burly tattooed brute of a man stood, roaring at another sabacc player in an incoherent stream of phlegm infused babbling. Glasses were thrown, more tables were knocked about...

... and that was about when he lost track of events as the area had already degenerated into a brawl. "Well..., gobshite." Sighing, Sarge looks around his corner booth and realizes he's being left alone. A blessing; although it wouldn't last long.

Standing quickly, he scans the scene and it's... 9 brawlers. It had been ten, but the instigator was down for the count. He wasn't much for fighting, but he was thirsting, and that meant going through the fight to the bar so he could, ya know, GET A DRINK. Scratching at his dark beard, the young man in battered plasteel armor quirks his lips as he considers what to do.

Well, nothing to lose. And with that, he simply walked right through the fight. Well, that was being a bit too optimistic. As he passed a few of the first combatants, a rather short and stout man with a glaze to his eyes walked right on up and socked Sarge in the gut hard enough to crack his armor.

The short assailant hardly seemed to notice his no doubt broken hand before Sarge's plasteel covered fist rocketed into his jaw and broke it with a sickening snap that drew attention from the rest of the fighters. With beady eyes now on him, Sarge simply continued on his way to the bar by stepping over the unconscious drunkard.

"Shot of whiskey. So I can forget that...", he rumbles with a hiked finger towards the still ongoing brawl which had forgotten him as quickly as he'd caught their attention.

Idiots.

 

[Erich Lor]

Erich punched another man in the face and the sound of bone shattering rung through the immediate area surrounding him. In the next instant the mercenary grabbed another man by the collar, headbutting him directly in the face and breaking his nose in a gush of blood and broken bones. He let out a loud and uproarious laugh as the man fell to the floor in a sudden heap. Erich seemed to be more than pleased in the midst of the bar fight, among the noise of broken bones and spilled blood he seemed entirely at home.

The Mercenary through another punch, this one connected with a mans ribcage and another crack could be heard. He laughed will glee, and then finally someone struck him. The Garhoon reared backwards as he received an elbow to the face.

Erich opened his eyes in a rage, his mouth slightly opening as his own blood filled his throat. He scowled, and then grabbed the man that had struck him. With a mighty wrench Erich grabbed him and threw him across the entire length of the Cantina. The man flew through separate wooden beams and then into a wall. The Garhoon scowled, and then punched another man in the face.

For a few more minutes of hard fighting Erich brawled his way through the group of fighters, eventually bringing an end to the fight. Erich stood, the sole victor of the fight. About a dozen or so unconscious men lay on the floor, blood covering most of them. For a few seconds Erich just stood there, panting as staring at the blood. He saw red, he wanted to feed and kill everyone in the bar.

Before that could happen however something snapped him out of it. The bartender placed a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his want to kill and bringing him back to reality. Erich turned and looked at the man, and then shook his head slightly.

The Bartender just stared at him, saying nothing. One did not yell at the man who had just taken down a Dozen men all on his own, or at least a smart man did not. It was at times like this that Erich was more than glad of his heritage.

 

[Lina Djo]

As the fight intensified, Mia became more and more twitchy. Her finger drummed endlessly on the side of her glass as she watched every punch thrown, assessing every fighter for his ability. Most of them were little more than drunkards with alcohol fuelled arrogance and strength. There were one or two though that had a little more than alcohol behind their eyes. She smirked as one man merely fought his way through to reach the bar and decided that it was time to move from the shadows, knocking back her drink she slunk from behind her table.

Her close proximity to the bar meant she avoided the bulk of the fight and merely had to dodge the occasional sailing object. “No amount of alcohol will help you forget this.” She said with a sly smile, tapping on the bar for another drink. Reaver clicked his tongue irritably serving up both their drinks. “Sure you don’t want me to play?” she asked him. The look he gave her would have melted a comet. She laughed and turned her back on him leaning on the bar to watch the last few minutes of the fight.

A stunned silence settled over the bar as the fight ended and Reaver moved in to ‘deal’ with the last man standing. There was something in the assailants eyes that she didn’t like, something that made her blood run cold. A free hand dropped to the blaster at her hip. She was fond of Reaver, the last thing she wanted was for him to become another victim. To her surprise however the mercenary did nothing, he just shook his head.

“There’s a man who knows nothing but the fight.” She muttered to companion at the bar, knocking back her drink once more, she set the glass on the bar top with a definitive thunk. “Reaver, get the man a drink, don’t just stare at him.”

 

[Zef Halo]

It was rare for such occassions to happen while he was forcefully enlisted in the Mandalorians a year ago. Zef missed his freedom as a smuggler but something within held him in the clutch of the Mandalorians. Maybe it wasn't that bad after all. A year ago since the name Zef Halo was marked as dead by the underworld due to his sudden disappearance, the former smuggler heard every sort of rumors about him. In the end he was one of the famous smugglers in the galaxy's underworld. Zef had forged that reputation because he got the job done, an amazing ace and a formidable gunslinger, he had numerous dangerous smuggling runs through even the roughest places in space but he succeded always. He wished he would get in the bar without his Mandalorian armor and get the crowd in this smuggler's haven on their feet and their drinks raised in the air, everyone respected Zef yet he also had enemies too, of course. The reason he couldn't get in the bar without his Mandalorian armor was that he did not want people tracking him down again at least not until he left the Mandalorians which was not yet decided, Zef neither wanted to reveal his identity with the Mandalorian armor as if he someday decided to become a smuggler again the crime lords would hesitate to give jobs to him as he had dropped his neutrality and thus severly hinder his reputation.

The Mandalorian opened the door to the well-known bar which he had numerously visited and the typical commotion within brought back nostalgic memories to him. He felt like home. Drunk sentients yelling and singing and drinking till their blood turned to Corellian ale. Tipsy and easily angered patrons that were provoked by the slightest touch of someone unknown. The furious faces of people losing in Sabaac and the glorious faces of those who won in those games. Flying furniture from time to time. Right now it seemed a fight had just finished seeing the well known bartender - Revear - calming down the apparent victor of the bar brawl, the victor was quite intimidating by his looks and obviously by his battle skills. Zef had not seen him before here. For a year a lot of new faces had spawned although the classical veterans also had remained with some missing. Zef wondered a bit about the missing veterans' fate. He was so busy wondering that he finally realized he was standing on the threshold of the bar and the commotion was nearly gone and all eyes were on him. The former smuggler noticed the patrons were having itchy fingers on their holsters but Zef knew how to act in such occassions.

"I really hate this armor sometimes..." He muttered in his helmet without having anyone hear him. The Mandalorian then proceeded towards the bar with a confident step. His armor and especially helmet brought intimidation to most people around the galaxy and add a pile of confidence in your step and posture and no one in this bar was going to assault you if he cherished his life.

The former smuggler walked down towards the bar passing by the intimadting victor of the bar brawl not even turning his head at him although Zef analyzed him from head to toes thanks to his 360 degrees vision (Sponsored by this amazing Mandalorian helmet. Please order on e-bay.com). Zef quickly figured out that he was a warrior or at least someone who's prime talent was fighting. The Mandalorian gestured at the bartender and spoke with the typical voice that the Mandalorian helmets emitted:

"Black Ale." The former smuggler was about to go for Corellian one but he had to commit to his new identity and ordering an uncommon to the Galaxy but common to the Mandalorians drink was a good first step. Zef had tasted the ale in this particular bar before he was "enlisted" in the Mandalorian machine and he actually quite liked it although he preferred the Corellian one more. The former smuggler took an empty seat next to an armored man who was next to a woman that was ordering Reaver to get the victor of the bar brawl a drink. Zef analyzed her without turning his head towards her and he found her quite familiar. He didn't know her but he had seen her here before at least once. The former smuggler remained silent next to the man while waiting for his drink to come and still feeling gazes upon his armor.

 

[Erich Lor]

A switch seemed to flip inside of Erich as he heard the voice of the woman from across the bar. His expression softened almost instantly, an the blood lust emptied from his eyes as if they were a gentle flowing river. He relaxed, and his entire body relaxed with him. The Mercenary looked about the room, studying all the bodies that lay about them. They were all still alive, which was good to see. Keeping someone alive during a fight was actually far more difficult than one would think, human bodies specifically were actually very easy to break.

These men however would be perfectly fine...well after a week or two in the bacta chamber anyway. A slight smirk appeared on Erich's face as he began to step over, and in one case on the bodies of his still living assailants. After a few minutes he reached the bar, sitting down next to the woman who had spoken to the bar tender.

From his rear pack he pulled out a small stack of credits, Erich was by no means a rich man, he had given up his parents fortune long ago. He did however make a nice amount of money doing what he did, that being a professional soldier. The Stack of credits clapped against the bar, and with a smirk the mercenary looked at the bartender. “Sorry about that, I get carried away.”

Hopefully the stack would be enough to pay for any damages, if not he had a few more...although he kind of needed that to get home. He shrugged slightly, although only to himself. Then he turned to the woman that had spoken him about getting a drink, his smirk grew even larger and his ego entirely bled through as he talked to her with the lamest pick up line imaginable “So, come here often?”

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

(Posting from phone at airport. Excuse any errors.)

With everyone eyeing everyone else, Sarge was more than happy to see a full glass of whiskey set in front of him as opposed to what he'd ordered. He really needed it, all things considered, and he set the appropriate payment on the bar top before looking to the woman who'd spoken to him.

Raising a brow as he slipped his gaze up and down the length of her body in apparent curiosity, he chuckled a bit. "I think you're right. Gonna be hard to forget. Care to help me out?" Smirking a bit as his attention shifts to his drink, he downs a large gulp before sighing contently and frowning. "No. He loses himself in the fight - there's a difference."

Perking up a bit as the man in question moved over to them, Sarge kept his attention solely on his drink. It was obvious he wasn't the most social and thus he'd not be speaking up too much if more people would keep joining the conversation.

At the pick up line, he blatantly snorted and downed more of his drink. "I think he wants you, miss. Just a hunch."

 

[Emperor Xhinx]

Suddenly a door bursts open with a shadowy figure with his long inhuman fingers around a mans neck, the prisoners neck. The figure threw the prisoner on a table and sat down, only to tie the prisoner down, the figure noticed there were some eyes on him, he immediately stared back, and the civilians nervously continued to their drinks.

 

[Lina Djo]

"I think you're right. Gonna be hard to forget. Care to help me out?"
Mia gave the man who had pushed through the fight an overly sweet smile, “I can hit you over the head?” she suggested.

Mia lost interest in the victor of the fight as a mandalorian appeared in the door way. Seeing his armour caused a pang in her heart. She had always loved seeing Jaxx in his armour and had been the happiest girl in the world when he helped her get her own. She only wore hers for missions though, preferring not to stand out in a den like this one. She raised a fresh glass to the armoured mandalorian and inclined her head in silent greeting. He might not be looking at her but she knew he would see, the helmet he wore would make sure of that.

Returning her attention to the victor she raise an eyebrow at his poor pick up line and the man who snorted into his drink at it. “He ain’t the only one.” She shot back with a smirk, half in defence of the victor’s poor attempt at flirting and also to remind him that only moment earlier he had made a, somewhat more stylish attempt at flirting. Reaver piped up before Mia could add anything else, his eyes not meeting Mia’s. “Neither of you want this one. Miss Monroe here has a reputation for putting males like you down and making damn sure they don’t get back up again.”

Mia smiled at his words “What can I say, my old man would turn in his grave if he thought I had any interest in a criminal.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the door swing open and someone enter with a prisoner. She turned to watch as the dark figure secured his prisoner and the tried to stare down those who were showing interest. Mia on the other hand was not so easily dissuaded. “The hell is this?” she muttered to her companions, nodding in their direction.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"I'd prefer to remain conscious." Pausing momentarily as he considers what she'd said, he chuckles to himself as he realizes she was right. He had flirted with her. Although he'd not meant it that way, he could easily see how it was interpreted as such, and just seemed to shrug as if to say 'what can ya do?'.

Using his drink to gesture to her momentarily, he shakes his head. "You win this time. It wasn't what I was aiming for, but eh, I see where you drew the conclusion." Likely, that might confuse her, but to him it made perfect sense. Settling back down into his seat and taking another gulp of the whiskey, he smiles at the bartender. "Same for half the women in the galaxy, I'm afraid."

Looking backwards from the corner of his eye, Sarge's brow darkens a little. If you had a prisoner, the general procedure was to take that prisoner to where you'd be keeping him immediately, not stopping at the bar for a drink. This guy was either an idiot, or thought he was strong enough no one would question him.

"The hell is that? A retard at work."

 

[Emperor Xhinx]

Hearing insults being thrown at him, Xhinx casually continued to sit in silence, and eyed his prisoner.