Never Trust a Witch

[Cyrilla Ky'lik]

[SIZE=medium]The tavern was a cacophony of smells, and they assaulted the cathar’s senses far harder than she would have expected of the establishment. It wasn’t that the place reeked terribly or that the patrons’ body odor overpowered everything else. It was simply the sheer amount of smells that overwhelmed her. Having been stuck on a repaired ship and breathing nothing but stale, recycled atmosphere, she had forgotten what a watering hole could smell like. It was not unlike sampling a vintage wine. Except, well, replace the subtle hints of herbs and spices and woody undertones with the pungent sharpness of sweat and stale armpits.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Cyrilla Ky’lik poked her dish of deep-fried something with an extended claw and sighed at her companion. Nar Shadda, the Smuggler’s Moon, was not the planet (moon?) she wanted to be on, but the planetoid was where they had ended up after escaping from Drongar. The jury-rigged navicomputer had sent them on that course, even though Nar Shadda was nowhere close to that accursed death planet. And while the world wasn’t known for its legitimate hospitalities, it did possess food that wouldn’t kill you upon contact, fresh water, and an atmosphere that wasn’t full of parasitic spores that would consume any non-native biological being. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]She decided to give the fried whatever a try, taking a nibble, and decided the morsel wasn’t that revolting, especially considering the strict diet of survival rations she had been living off of for the past month or so. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]The cathar chewed, swallowed, took another bite, and glanced at her companion. The droid eyed her, as if aghast that she would eat the unidentifiable battered edible object, and Cyrilla shrugged. “What? You can’t judge. You didn’t have to live off of those centuries-old rations. You don’t even eat.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Lexon seemed to consider that but said nothing, so Cyrilla continued with her meal. After a few minutes, she cleared her mouth with a sip of the carbonated beverage she had ordered. “We’re only going to be here just long enough to make some credits and secure a ship. Something safer than that bucket of duct-taped parts that we got here in. And, yes, I know that it’s crazy to go on this quest, but holocrons don’t lie. Lady Istal got us off Drongar, right? She’s right about that cache of Force artifacts. We will find it.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Cyrilla saw the look of reluctance and disgust in Lexon’s face. (Actually, that was impossible because Lexon was a droid whose face could not express emotion, but she imagined he would have shown those expressions if he could.) The holocron he had found on Drongar had contained the data of an old Sith twi’lek by the name of Istal. Istal had taught the cathar some Force techniques that had been crucial to their getting off the planet. She had later promised to lead them to an ancient Sith tomb full of wonderful knowledge. And that had been a point of contention between the two.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]“Well, what is it?” Cyrilla asked. “What do you have to say now?” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium][member="LE-X1"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=medium][member="Asemir Lor'kora"][/SIZE]

 

[LE-X1]

Lexon looked down at the mystery food again, then back up at Cyrilla. "Based on this moon's immigration and emigration records, examinations of the rate of slum growth and tower construction for the annual increase in population density, with consideration of the probable birth rate under these conditions, the number of bodies of which the official method properly disposes, the probable rate of secret incinerations of corpses, and the probable rate of vaporization in combat, in order to maintain a zero-sum system, approximately three billion, one hundred thirty-five thousand-million, six hundred thirty-five million, six hundred sixty-five thousand, eight hundred twenty-seven bodies on this moon have no explained disappearance each year. Keeping that number in mind, and assuming that Cathars form approximately one-hundredth of a percent of the population, taking into account your species' general resilience and the respectability of this particular establishment, I calculate a three percent probability that your meal consists of a sentient life-form, and a small, but non-zero, probability that it is, in fact, another Cathar."

Cyrilla slowed her chewing and asked around a mouthful, "What's your point?" Lexon thought she looked uncertain as to whether she could trust his calculations; he thought the math plainly evident, and did not understand her doubt.

"My point, mistress, is that I am not certain we can trust your judgment. The pyramid-box contains a recording. No matter what you have learned from it, you owe it nothing. We each have marketable skills, and do not need to pursue a treasure hunt that may be simply a wild caranak chase, to turn a phrase. Even if there is something to find, it may be quite dangerous, as the Sith often are. Why not abandon the box, or turn it over to the Jedi, or even to the Sith? Either of those groups would pay for its recovery." He cocked his head to one side. "There is no need for us to subject ourselves to additional danger at this time." He suspected she would still have a counter-argument, invoking curiosity or ambition or some other emotional impetus, and he would follow her whatever she decided, but he would be remiss not to voice his objections, especially upon her asking.

[member="Cyrilla Ky'lik"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

Right. Nar Shaddaa. It was inevitable, Gen supposed, that she would somehow, someway find herself in this Hutt playpen at one point in her existence. Check Coruscant and Tatooine off the list as well. All that remained of the galactic superfecta was Corellia. Give it time.

The Chandrilan heiress was nothing less than out-of-place in this sort of joint. But lately, she had been frequenting establishments the likes of this hole, scribbling away in the little black book she had on her at all times these days. Her recent near-death experience was still nagging at her mind, poking at long-subdued worries and yanking at her sense of humanity. She had been lucky--no doubts there. Death was on her mind now, something she had managed to ignore for years but was now eating at her inside. What is the difference between bravery and irrationality?

Sitting at a booth and furiously utilizing the 'obsolete' method of pen against paper, Geneviève Lasedri proceeded to compose the manifesto she had been working on for the past few weeks as she fled most of life in general. The secret leader of the Rebel Alliance had her future to worry about, and the future of the galaxy as she saw it. Not like the peculiar duo sitting just across from her. The Cathar seemed to be deliberating over whether or not she should be more annoyed by the lack of quality in her meal or the excessive sputtering of obscure jargon emanating from the accompanying droid's speakers.

Gen picked up her glass of now-lukewarm whiskey and raised it just a few centimeters above the tabletop, gesturing at the odd couple. "There's a reason they only advertize drinks." That was about as friendly as Gen's advice ever got.

[member="Cyrilla Ky'lik"], [member="LE-X1"], [member="Asemir Lor'kora"]

 

[Cyrilla Ky'lik]

The cathar's ears flattened against her head in annoyance when she heard the woman's comment. She sniffed at the food again, doubt creeping into her mind, and finally decided against finishing the meal. It wasn't that she feared the possibility of eating a (former) sentient. She knew from both her medical training and the instinctiveness that came from the Force that she would be perfectly fine after committing cannibalism. It was simple revulsion that made her turn away. She pushed away the offending plate and sighed.

Cyrilla turned and gave the woman a glare. "Thanks for ruining my meal, as gross as it was already. You and the droid need to try living on survival rations for a month. They are disgusting. And they do horrible things to your digestive tract. No fiber and the all. At least this --" she pointed at her fried mystery meat "-- stuff has flavor. So, try the rations, and you'll change your tune."

She took a sip from a glass of water and swished the liquid in her mouth, trying to clear it of that oily after taste. "Since you're keen on killing my appetite," Cyrilla said to the woman at the bar, "why don't you join us? Maybe you can explain to the droid why there's more to life than living safely and making a living. Adventure, the unknown, and all that."

[member="LE-X1"]
[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Hadraas]

In the back of the Tavern Hadraas would lean back in his booth observing the scene Nar Shaddaa was by far his favorite planet to visit a Coruscant for the scum and villainy of the galaxy- he had doubt he would find a more wretched hive.

He put his metallic boots on the table kicking the fallen head of the man who had taken permanent rest just minutes before, still holding his neck until he was fully swepped off the table and onto the floor, the thud muffled under the sounds Cantina's living patrons. Now in full recline Hadraas counted his 'earnings' from the corpse.

"Enough to buy a drink or so I suppose..." But He wasn't at all interested in dinning tonight, nor making anymore credits after all he had quite the inheritance from his master's death, but nowhere to direct it, his path to power was not yet forged, as to get what you want- you do have to want something. From his training he was taught to always pursue power and its perks, but he did not know enough about this galaxy for that...yet.

Hadraas lets himself relax meditating for a next move, closing his eyes if any other force users were around his presence would be of a candle frozen in Hoth's ice, not whole sith but a light soaked in darkness, a common tragedy for Dark Jedi... but Hadraas himself was far from any Jedi.

 

[Vanir]

Now this was a bar. It was in the middle of a slum, had glitzy lights, and served drinks that could kill most large animals. My wings swept through the doorway, and I saw around fifteen crowded tables, and a very small number of Force Sensitives.

"Aurum, you can see the three strongest Force Sensitives, right? Lead me to them."

Aurum flew ahead to the table that seemed to host a couple of Jedi, a droid in a robe, and a guy who was dressed like a Sith.

Hello. Who are you guys?

[member='Hadraas'] [member='Cyrilla Ky'lik'] [member="Geneviève Lasedri"] [member="LE-X1"]

 

[Hadraas]

After being awakened by a random bird fluttering pass his table Hadraas opened his eyes, following the creature to it's Master... hard to miss a winged woman arriving annoyed to 'politely ask' her to tame it fore it was caged in the ground.

His attitude changed, immediately upon realizing [member="Morrigan"] 's beauty.

This side of the bar felt strange in his mind, the force making him comfortable, not what he's used to...but back to the Attention grabbing female, who in a classic attempt to charm he would take her hand and kiss it softly.

"Hello...and who might you be?" his imperial accent adding more pleasantness and form to the gesture.

 

[Vanir]

"I'm Morrigan. The bird, there, is my baby brother Aurum. If you heard an unusual voice in your head, it was probably him saying hi... He likes to make my entrances dramatic."

It was cute to see this oddly-accented man kiss my hand. He was pretty good-looking, too.

"So, who're you, Mister Romantic?"

[member="Hadraas"]

 

[Hadraas]

He looked over at the Large bird... He's heard of beings calling there pets their children, but Brother? He didn't think much on it her wings shutting up his thought to a dismiss quickly. And what would he know? Hes as new to this galaxy as an fresh born babe.

"Hadraas, heir and destroyer of House Velos" he he lifted her hand back to her own control, he noticed others in the Cantina seemed to be as new to her species as he was, glancing to and from her obviously distracted.

[member="Morrigan"]

 

[Vanir]

"Never heard of House Velos... Alderaan?"

Who knew with the multitude of Alderaanian royal houses? This guy could be talking about the richest house of all, but the Thuls or the Organas would've had them under their thumb.

[member="Hadraas"]

 

[Hadraas]

"Korriban." He was very open, and why shouldn't he be... how many can say they willingly destroyed the house they were an heir to? -He was proud.

"And you, where do you hail from?"


[member="Morrigan"]

 

[Vanir]

"Just some nameless planet that got burned to the ground by the Republic. The usual suspects, y'know?"

I decided to add a little bit.

"I was worshipped as a goddess there, cause I made this giant bird stop attacking their main city."


[member="Hadraas"]

 

[Hadraas]

Is taken aback. In monotone he asked.. "That small thing...-a whole city.." he sounded unimpressed.

"Goddess huh? Well you've got the looks for it..." he finally leaned on the bar.. not acting as flirtatious as if he was just stating fact, contributing to a casual conversation.

 

[Vanir]

"Aww... You're cute."

I grinned evily.

"But you've gotta outdrink me if you want to hang out with me. Six scotches to start, bartender."

[member="Hadraas"]

 

[Hadraas]

"Please."

He waited silently for the drinks to arrive.

"-m not cute", he said in a lower voice as if it slipped out.

[member="Morrigan"]

 

[Vanir]

"You are... But it's okay, I won't tell anybody."

I grabbed the first two pints of scotch.

"Bottoms up, [member='Hadraas']."

 

[Hadraas]

Takes the first, two together one right after the other in hand each.

His eye widen at the kick and he gives his head a one shake, to shake it off.

"Easy.." he says a small cough, but his mouth doesn't open for it.

[member="Morrigan"]

 

[Vanir]

My eyes widened a bit. I was concerned about this guy... I'd only just met him, but I was concerned my little drinking contest was gonna get him knocked out.

"I was kidding. If you can't drink it, I'd understand. But, just understand, that's about the weakest stuff I drink most of the time."

[member="Hadraas"]

 

[Hadraas]

Chuckles, "You're tough... I like you." He consumes the rest of his side at his own time and leisure. "I didn't drink much on Korriban is all.."

"What others are you interested in? Wines? Stouts?"

He was quite versed in this particular culture then his actual drinking would suggest.

He eye'd the bird as he took his fourth glass. "Does he drink perhaps?" he chuckles again.

[member="Morrigan"]

 

[Vanir]

"Cognac's good... So are some of the tarter wines, but I don't drink them much."

I looked at Aurum, and he fluttered his wings excitedly. I looked back at @Hadraas.

"Looks like he wants to."