Pretty Women

[Steph Zenima]

The Triple Titted Tauntaun, Corellia

Well hey, look at this, this a shade classier than the usual haunt, even if the name doesn't quite seem like it.

A far cry from the slums of Nar Shaddaa, the spice huts of Tattooine or even the undercity of Coruscant, yes, Corellia was much more of an upper-class joint, at least in comparison (but don't say that to the locals, they're really sensitive about reputation). However, despite this fact, the walking contraceptive commercial Stephanie 'FRAK, WHAT'S THAT SMELL!?” Zenima had managed to come across the dingiest den possible.

Filled to the brim with mercenaries both above and below the law, some with two eyes, some with one and one inexplicably with none. Every mouth here was equipped to sailor and Zenima here was no exception.

The Princess of Piss staggered into the Tauntaun, head of her sledgehammer dragging upon the ground behind her, stone grating upon dubiously stained tile.

“HOY MIN! FA DIV AH HAUV TAE SHUG TAE GET A BEV AROON' 'ERE!?”

The extremely eloquent request was met with a chorus of cheers.

“G-get....dat...Ga...GET DAT GAMORREAN A DRINK!” demanded the man at the bar with no eyes. Wrong species, same smell.

“WAAAAAAY! YE HERD 'IM!” cheered Zenima in absolutely triumph, happy days were here again.

[member="Mao"]

 

[Mao]

The Triple Titted Tauntaun, Corellia
[member="Steph Zenima"]

A cheer would rip through the crowd, the band making merry as said drink came pouring into a large pint for the redheaded lass. Granted, it appeared all were in a mighty fine state. All, save one particular blue and black haired tart sitting at the back. We'll enter some cliche nonsense that she was half hidden at the far end of the bar.

Smoke would rise from the thick cigar she'd hold between two gold fingers, and her eyes would narrow upon that thick gutted slaughter of an accent.

It had been a long, long, long while since she heard that kind of churned up scat. That voice. That accent. That same bloody karkin' tuff of hair.

The blasted hammer she towed around like a babe to their bottle sealed the bloody cruding deal. Really, she shouldn't have been surprised -- if one Popsicle could span the length of time, so could another.

Only this one was a might bit more of the twaunt type. Who cared? Might as well make the most of it.

"Well well well -- 'ello poppet."

 

[Steph Zenima]

[member="Mao"]

With pint in hand all seemed right and well with the galaxy once more. For the next three minutes, Stephanie Zenima would be moderately sated. Okay, it's not 'stim or sticks but it's something. Bringing the beverage to her lips she sampled the tar-like substance with all the grace and beauty of diarrhoea-ridden rancor. Lo and behold, it tasted like tar too.

Can tar kill you if ingested? More importantly, can it get you a buzz? A mildly toxic high even? Inwardly Zenima shrugged and took a second taste, this time more of a greedy gulp.

Then she heard it.

Poppet.

Only one person in Steph Zenima's galaxy used that word. Eyes narrowed. Pint glass to her lips. That head turned slowly to look upon that blue, that golden hue that almost summoned flashbacks of cranial damage, I say almost but there was still definitely lingering memory loss from the last time. However, the very sight of that woman's face summoned nout but instant rage.

“WHIT ARE YE' SAYIN' TAE ME, YE ABSOLUTE GROWLER!?!” Zenima roared (as per standard) approaching the witch at the back of the bar, still dragging that sledgehammer across the floor.

“YE STARTIN' SOMETHIN' 'EN?”