Ret'yc jate'kara.

[Nyraen Mirhage]

“Frak’s sake...the two-ten coil goes on the left of the brace, you fething idiot, not the right...” the crimson headed mechanic kept up the tirade of colorful curses, short fangs glittering in the light as she snarled at the engine block. The knuckles of her left hand whitened as she just barely resisted the urge to fling the spanner across the garage bay. While she knew well that Ralize would have flung the offending tool clear across the space, the girl didn’t have the strength that Nyraen did.

No one did, really...save for others of her species and Force users who could augment their natural abilities.

So control was maintained, and the karking coil was replaced...on the proper side the second time around. At which point the speeder, which had been vexing her for the last four hours purred to life with a touch of the controls. Much as she knew it was because of the coil, she briefly entertained the notion that the damnable thing had started because she’d been cussing at it all evening.

Glancing at the holoscreen nearby, she frowned at the rest of the maintenance that needed doing and bit her lower lip in thought. The engine was the big project, and as she’d just tackled that, the other trifling issues could be dealt with in the morning, before it was due to be picked up. The woman decided she’d seen enough of engines and machines for at least one day, and that a nice quiet booth down at the Mad Strill was calling her name.

It didn’t take long to wash off the grime and grease of an honest day’s work...mostly because Nyraen was fastidiously neat when she worked, and as Ralize did before her, kept the garage bays spotless. She dressed quickly and pulled her crimson locks into a ponytail before she deemed herself ready. While some of the vod had ink, she knew well that the amount of it she bore on her flesh was sometimes off-putting. Truthfully, she delighted in that and wore sleeveless shirts as often as possible to show off the brightly colored tattoos that covered her arms from shoulder to wrist.

The mechanic locked up and slipped into her jacket as she walked, the worn black leather warding off the slight chill in the air. It was a longer walk to the Mad Strill than it was to the Oyubaat, but she found the latter just as pleasant a place to be and didn’t mind the five extra minutes it took. Nodding by way of greeting to those leaving, she thanked the last of them for holding the door for her as she stepped inside. A little atypical, perhaps, for someone with her reputation and mien...but hey, she had manners.

Occasionally.

Nyaren tossed her jacket into her favorite booth before sliding into it herself, pleased to find it empty at this late hour. Dinner, she mused, would be a fine idea, but “Ne’tra gal, vor’e.” is what came out of her mouth instead. It had been a damn long day.

| [member="Ijaat Akun"] |​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Sitting at the bar, Ijaat was, frankly, a mess. He held it together well, to most appearances. But to anyone paying attention who knew him, there was a spark gone in his eyes. Some memory or the other haunted his smile, and nothing he could do seemed to make it go away. What he had done on Coruscant still bothered him... Bothered him a lot more than it should have.

The guards he had killed didn't stand a chance... And with his haymaker he could have easily just stunned them. Instead he had slaughtered them all like sheep and left the floor slick with blood. There had even been enjoyment, a rush at the opportunity and in viewing his work. It was as if he were no better than they were. And that thought sickened him to his very core.

Shaking his head, he downed another shot of tihaar, and nearly dropped the bottle. Either he was drunker than he thought, or the woman who had just walked in could damn near be a dead ringer for... But no... His wife was dead. He had heard her screams when the Sith caught her, and no one lived after making those sorts of noises. It just didn't happen, Ijaat was sure of it. As the woman ordered, Ijaat stood, brushing his clothes a bit of wrinkles and adjusting the sword belt of his saber, grabbing the drink from the server and winking.

Walking over, he sat the mug down on the table in front of Nyraen, and smiled as a small pint of tihaar and two heavy shotglasses followed. He let them sit a moment before responding.

"Nice ink... Mind a bit of company? If nothing else, my sitting here will keep the lechers over at the pazaak table thinking long enough for you to not have to break their noses when they try their luck with a daughter of Mandalore, poor Coreilian fools... And it'll keep me from still trying to run this place even after I sold it."

[member="Nyraen Mirhage"]

 

[Nyraen Mirhage]

Lost in her thoughts for a few moments, she'd taken little notice of the Corellians upon entering, and paid them even less attention now. The fingers of one hand toyed with the end of her long crimson ponytail, the other simply resting on the table in front of her. Thoughts turned to speeder she'd left at the shop half finished, forming a plan for the work left to be completed in the morning and tucking it away in her mind.

A sigh escaped her lips as inevitable thoughts turned to her ex-husband. The mother-karking useless pile of osik had ruined everything good in her life, and attempted to ruin her in the process. Nyraen was tougher than that, however, and simply walked away after she'd delivered his battered form to the baar'ur. It didn't soothe the ache entirely, though. She wasn't certain that would ever go away. Wasn't such a bad thing though...it served as a reminder. To prevent her from making the same mistake.

In spite of herself, she smiled when the man approached and spoke. "Thank you...and I'd love some company. Please, join me." Nyr motioned with her head to the bench opposite her. She shifted slightly, sitting up a bit straighter as her free hand trailed fingers along the rim of the mug he'd set in front of her. Silver eyes trailed over him before glancing over to the table of rowdy Corellians. She snorted in contempt and shook her head, giving them no more thought.

"Name's Nyraen. And you are?" the woman leaned slightly forward, elbows on the edge of the table, a hand under her chin as she took a moment to study him.

| [member="Ijaat Akun"] |​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Running a hand through his hair, Ijaat poured the drinks for them both, a shot of tihaar he himself made on occasion for the bar. An old clan receipe, and strong enough, according to his father, to clean dried blood off a knife. Though he had never tested that theory yet. There were always better uses for tihaar than just cleaning a knife. Many uses, and most of them much more diverting and amusing. Besides, there were actual cleaners for just that.

There would be a moment where he caught her glance as he poured, and noticed her gaze almost appraising like at him. There was little response from Ijaat. Such things as women didn't tend to cause him much want or worry anymore ever since his wife passed. Dressed in almost a relaxed cut of coat in green with goldenrod piping and trim, almost a mimic of a relaxed dress uniform for a military. The rich leather of his beskad belt rested just on his hip, and his DE-10 pistol rested on his other in a nice holster that was almost at the waist as well, in what was called a cross-draw holster, really.

Eyes shone with a faint bit of amusement in their golden-brown hue as he took his shot rather suddenly and knocked it back as one of the young Coreillians disengaged from the group and sauntered over, blood stripes proudly displayed on his pants to account for the swagger in his step and cocky look in his eyes. Ijaat merely eyed his new made friend and nodded to the approaching man as if to question if she'd like to take care of him or if he should, then went back to speaking.

"I'm Ijaat Akun... Used to own this place, but gave it over to the Protectors to use as an off-duty bar and it has grown ever since. I mostly stay off the coast now, own an island where I run a little beskar forge and make custom gear... How about you, what is it you do for a living, Nyraen?"

As he spoke the obviously very drunk young Coreilian leaned his fists on the table and began a slightly slurred attempt at a pick up line to Nyraen, utterly ignoring Ijaat for the moment, which merely made him smile at her from behind the young man and shake his head.

[member="Nyraen Mirhage"]

 

[Nyraen Mirhage]

A sculpted brow was lofted in response to Ijaat’s unspoken question, her attention remaining on him for the time it took him to speak. The way he’d down the shot of tihaar hadn’t escaped her, her own slender fingers reaching for the heavy shot glass meant for her. She did not down it with the same speed he had, she savored the burn and the flavor as it cascaded past her heightened senses. A smile curled her lips as she tilted her head to the side and clasped both hands around her ne’tra gal.

“Distilled from varos fruit, unless I miss my guess...” Nyraen began, and would have continued, had the stupid Corellian not made his unwelcome presence suddenly impossible to ignore. Silver eyes flashed with energy as a faint growl emanated from her throat...an unmistakably predatory sound that made his drunken pick-up line stop in mid-slur.

Punching him would be foolish considering her strength, but her temper and lack of control just at that moment would have sent him to Keldabe’s emergency medcenter. He was karking lucky Nyraen was feeling particularly civilized.

But she was not feeling nice.

A wicked smile saw her plump lips parted and her teeth visible as she leaned towards the young idiot. Her canines elongated into a pair of glittering, sharp fangs as her silver eyes narrowed, energy flickering visibly within them. The tip of her tongue caressed the length of one fang before she spoke, her voice dangerously soft. “I suggest you take yourself back to your table before I decide I want to take a sip from the vein pulsing in your neck instead of the mug in my hands.”

Words were punctuated by another faint growl, and a tendril of her mind reached out to drain a measure of his energy as he stumbled backwards. It was enough to send him crashing to the floor, which elicited a measure of laughter from the woman as she withdrew the tendril and turned to face Ijaat once more. Her fangs receded back into mostly normal canines once more, aside from looking decidedly sharper than they should, and the energy in her eyes dissipated after another moment.

“Sorry about that, I just can’t resist sometimes.” Nyraen began with a smile, pausing briefly to lift her mug for a sip of the ne’tra gal. “I’m a mechanic...took over Ralize’s shop for her while she’s taking time off to have her babies. When and if she comes back, I’ll see to opening my own place.”

| [member="Ijaat Akun"] |​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Watching the man stumble then scramble, Ijaat laughed heartily and just shook his head. The woman's ability seemed to not bother him much in the slightest. Given the company he had kept across the galaxy, he hardly doubted it would be much of an issue if truth be told. So she was some sort of vampire, of some kind. Battle notes seemed to whirl through his mind, and only a conscious effort stopped his hand from easing his saber in it's scabbard. He didn't know what the woman's intentions were, and they could just as easily be innocent as not.

"You are right on the distillation, impressive.. I add a few spices not normally seen in the harsher vintages. And a slight syruped sugar to help smooth it. Makes it go down a bit slower, but for some that burn time is well worth it. "

Speaking slowly, he rolled the now empty shot glass in his fingers, resisting the urge to down another shot in rapid fire. There wasn't a need to hide in the liquor. There was a perfectly good woman right in front of him willing to talk, and for once it wasn't about business or war. No need what so ever to get blindingly drunk and start a fight. No need at all. To that end, he actually put the shot glass down, top side on the table, as if to indicate to not pour for him for the moment, even though he could feel the thirst for the burn in his belly.

"As for the lad you just scared the osik out of, no need to apologize... My way would have been a bit more bloody and abrupt... A punch to the face with my fist wouldn't have done him much good at all in the looks department. Feth, maybe it would have actually, who knows... Anyway, you're a mechanic? Mighty useful skill... I can fiddle with weapons, but when it gets to engines it just doesn't make sense anymore... My father could never understand me being able to field strip rifles blindfolded, but not being able to fix a speeder engine even. Please to meet you, Nyraen... Welcome to the rowdiest little cantina in Keldabe."

[member="Nyraen Mirhage"]

 

[Nyraen Mirhage]

The movement of his hand had not gone unnoticed, but she paid it no mind. It was a visceral reaction most sentients had to the revelation of a predator, and it had been decidedly slight. She'd gotten accustomed to it as a child, and had learned over time to not react to it. Most of the time, it wasn't meant as an insult after all.

"I grew up in Kyrimorut...that's almost all we distill tihaar from up there." Nyr said with a smile, pouring herself a second shot and recapping the bottle as he turned his glass over. Silver eyes fell half closed as she savored the shot this time, the alcohol warming her mouth and trailing slowly down her throat. "Stars, that's good."

"There are times when punching them is so much more satisfying than scaring them..." she grinned, casting a sidelong glance at the Corellians who were laughing at their babbling comrade, before licking a stray drop of tihaar from the rim of her shotglass and setting it down. "...but I'm stronger than I look and it just isn't fair to the poor bastards. As for being a mechanic, it's a gift. I've yet to meet a machine or an electronic I can't handle."

Nyr lifted her mug in a manner of salute and sipped from it. "The pleasure is mine, Ijaat. Tell me about this island forge of yours...always wanted to learn about making beskar'gam and weapons."

 

[Julius Sedaire]

"Beskar'yaim.... I found a small volcanic island chain just off the coast and decided to claim it... I used the magma tunnels, both new and old, to help found the complex, so it's all underground with a nice tropical island up top. The forges are powered by the magma, and I use either oil quench distilled from some components on the Island, or distill or straight use ocean water for a water quench... There's meditation rooms, beaches, replicae machines, a room or two for making blasters, and a kark ton of firing range space. Even a hangar bay or two. Five or size people could easily live on it self sufficiently for indefinite amount of time. I made it to be my home from war, because frankly I had seen enough... More than enough I need a bottle of tihaar to put me to sleep and a few shots to wake up... Now I seem to just stop their in between contracts to make more weapons so I can wage more war...Funny how things end up for an old soldier"

Ijaat sighed and stretched a bit, rolling his shoulders with a faint pop as he eyed the red head in front of him. There was something odd to her. A familiar comfort, almost. He hadn't told anyone why he had made beskar'yaim... Or that he was weary of the horrors of the wars he had fought. Or that, for that matter, he couldn't sleep unless he drank himself into a stupor... After Coruscant, he realized he was in trouble... The constant shedding of blood was finally wearing his resolve. Even when for the right reasons, the slaughter he was capable of haunted him.

But really, what else was there? He had tried other things, and war had just hunted him down and took them. Dead or gone so far as to make no matter how much blood he spilled searching for his boys and wife. There were possibly still sith that remembered him for what he had done to some of their sacred places and people, all in the name of vengeance. But he had never found out a thing... All that blood, and they were still as ghosts to him.

[member="Nyraen Mirhage"]