Public Sand in Boot | Tatooine

[0-7]

Sand in Boot
Tatooine
Tags: Open

NK-Witell-class Freighter, 0A-155, Songbird (lightsaber)
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A sputtering sound echoed out from Seven's speeder bike as she crossed the desert. In a matter of moments a small explosion emitted from the engine, all but ending her journey. A groan escaped her chest as she came to the quick recognition that the bike was dead. A small settlement named Slope-Side lay before her, a good quarter-hour's walk out. Unfortunately she had left her ship all the way in Anchorhead. On speeder that trip was about a day. Walking? Forget about it.

So into town Seven walked. The Evereni shuffled her way through the dunes and into the small settlement. It wasn't a long journey, but that hardly mattered in the blistering heat. That wasn't even mentioning the sand that had somehow snuck its way into her shoes. She had only the internal whirring of her cold fusion heart to keep her cool as she trekked, though finally she was within the modest walls of the desert town. The first place she went, naturally, was the cantina. She needed to find herself a replacement transport, or at least figure out what the public transit options were to get to Anchorhead. As she sat a Nikto bartender was quick to address her for her order.

"Whatcha buyin?" he grumbled.

"A water, please," Seven requested. A glass was quickly procured and given over, so she went to speak again and inquire on her need for transit. "If you have a-"

But the bartender was already gone, her words not even processing in his mind as he went about his business. The Evereni let out a huff and pulled her hood up, running her finger around the rim of her cup as her posture sank. Cantinas were the worst. Then again, Seven hated most places with more than five people in them. Unfortunately to get herself a ride to Anchorhead she would need to be social...

Lucky her.

Maybe she'd tend to her water before she started that task.

 

[Gavin Restur]

Equipment: Dual Blaster Pistols, Forcepike, Rocket Boots, Rebreather, Misc.
TAGS: 0-7 , OPEN

Oh, Tatooine. Full of that damned, coarse sand...
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And full of the most despicable people in the galaxy, even with it being in High Republic territory.

Off in the corner of the cantina in Slope-Side, a group of three people sat together around a table. A Devaronian, a Twi'lek, and a Zabrak. They were discussing some random matters, something something credits, something something debt...and that someone was going to get a blaster bolt to the skull.

From across the cantina, a man with a wide-brimmed hat made his way towards the trio. As he approached, they all pretty quickly noticed him, and hushed up as he closed in. He took ahold of one of the seats at the end of the table, on the opposite side of the trio.

" 'xcuse me, boys. This seat taken?"

Before any of the three had an opportunity to say anything, he had already slid the seat out. Helping himself to sitting down on the chair, and propping his feet up on the table. Crossing his legs, and making himself comfortable.

Eventually, the Twi'lek spoke up. "And who are you."

"I ain't nobody important." He crossed his arms over his stomach, relaxed. "All I am is someone who needs information."

"And what makes you think we're ones who provide it?" The Devaronian piped up, snarling a bit in his tone. No one likes getting interrupted in the middle of an important 'business' conversation.

There was a reach into his coat for a moment, which caused the Twi'lek and Devaronian to reach towards their waists, where holstered blasters were. However, there was a bag that was thrown onto the table. The clacking sound inside the bag meant one thing, and one thing clearly: credits. Upon the sight and sound of the bag, the two slowly eased up. Returning their gazes to the man.

"I just need help findin' one particular person. Rumor has it they're on Tatooine."

"We know plenty of people, friend. You got a name?" The Zabrak finally decided to speak up. He put his arms on the shoulders of the other two, signaling for them to calm down.

Anyone willing to give them credits was a friend in their eyes.

 

[0-7]

Tatooine
Tags: Gavin Restur

NK-Witell-class Freighter, 0A-155, Songbird (lightsaber)
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"I just need help findin' one particular person. Rumor has it they're on Tatooine."

Seven paused her brooding as she heard someone behind her. That... surely wasn't related to her. She didn't have any form of identification, let alone a known name. Sure, there were Sith artifacts on her that she had pried off of dead darksiders on her travels...

No, she couldn't get paranoid now. That would just cause her more trouble.

The Evereni finally took a sip of her water. It was rejuvenating, letting her perk back up just a bit. It was a good distraction from whatever was going on at the table directly behind her, at least for the time being. It wouldn't last, of course. Her hearing was far too good for her to ignore that sort of thing. All she could really do was sit there and hope that it didn't become an issue. Well, that and find a ride to Anchorhead.

Although... if finding this person didn't relate to her, maybe she could trade favors to guarantee passage back to her ship...

 

[Signy Bralor]

SIGNY BRALOR
CANTINA | TATTOOINE
TAG: Gavin Restur 0-7 OPEN for direct
GEAR: In bio
VISIBLY PRESENTING: Male

Tatooine wasn't what it once was, sure it was still largely self governed and fairly lawless, but not quite. As the teen had walked down the streets with a pistol on each hip she had imagined herself as the protagonist in some vigilante western. But there was just this feeling with the Republic here that a gun fight in the street would have consequences beyond the risk of getting shot. Maybe that was something that could stay in the stories for now.

Now she was sat in the bar, drinking with her helmet on and just watching the room as her father had taught her. She overheard Gavin Restur asking after a bounty, and watched the look of concern on the faces of the various scum and villainy in the room. Was it them? Perhaps, perhaps not. She subconsciously checked her blaster on her leg as she nursed her drink. She knew it was there, but she liked the feel of it in her hand. "Seats taken" she said to a givin salesman who was about to block her view and he quickly moved on.

She lifted the base of her helmet up and took another drink before leaning backwards into the seat.
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[Gavin Restur]

Equipment: Dual Blaster Pistols, Forcepike, Rocket Boots, Rebreather, Misc.
TAGS: 0-7 , Signy Bralor
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Fortunately for the Evereni, her hopes that this was unrelated to her rang true.

"His name is Va'ron Kly."

Both the Twi'lek and Devaronian visibly reacted, shifting uncomfortably. Neither could help themselves from looking over towards the Zabrak, who had furrowed his brows. After a few moments of silence, where the tension had only grew, the Zabrak eventually spoke up.

"...Can't say I heard of them-"

Before the man could finish his sentence, a holoprojector was chucked onto the table. Its display crackled for a few moments, before an image displayed clearly: the Zabrak's face. The display held for a few moments, before the holoprojector turned off.

Silence.

"So. What's it gonna be."

The Twi'lek slowly shifted to put his hand on his holstered blaster once more, ready to draw at a moments notice. Though, the Zabrak put his hand on the Twi'leks arm, as a light smile appeared on his face. "Sure. Of course, friend. I will, gladly indulge in your request. But for all your effort in coming out here, let me show you some...'hospitality'."

The Devaronian and Twi'lek shifted. Hands lifted off their blasters, as they instead cracked their knuckles. Lifting up from their seats. Seems like they had a different meaning of "hospitality" than the rest of the galaxy.

"If you two walk away, I won't kill you."

While the pair did momentarily halt at the statement, taking a moment to glance at each other, it didn't seem to be enough to deter them from what they had in mind.

Those closest to the corner started looking over at the obvious scuffle about to happen, even some from other parts of the cantina.

 

[0-7]

Tatooine
Tags: Gavin Restur , Signy Bralor

NK-Witell-class Freighter, 0A-155, Songbird (lightsaber), Vibrosword
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Seven let out a quiet exhale of relief. It wasn't her. It wouldn't have been anyways. Nobody knew who she was, no government or nothing. She may as well have been a ghost... but that paranoia never really left her. Now the problem was that some morons were about to be making it all loud in here. More unwanted drama...

She probably shouldn't get involved, right? If some hot-headed fools got themselves killed who cared.

Her hand twitched. She had considered, for a moment, drawing her pistol and hitting the lot of them with stun rounds. But she restrained herself and took a sip of her drink. Just let the bounty hunter do his thing and then no more problems...

Hopefully.

 

[KkT'or'R'R'R]

O B J E C T I V E
GET A DRINK
Tags: 0-7 Gavin Restur Signy Bralor
Ship: TYE-wing
Weapons: Gaderffii, MR-90 "Covert Causality" Proton Rifle

Ah, Tattooine, his home world. What a beautiful place. The desert had a way of speaking to him that only locals of the planet would understand. to outsiders, it was hot and miserable. To Tor, it represented the resilience of its inhabitants to survive in such harsh climates. A nomad for his entire life, he finally saved up enough money to put together his own ship to see the outside world. To his knowledge he was one of if not the first Tusken to venture outside of his home planet.
The credits that he had saved jingling in his pouch as he walked down the dusty streets of Slope-Side. Time to take a load off for once. Tor spent so much time out working and getting what credits he could, he rarely had time for himself.
He walked into the cantina and stepped up to the bar. Taking a seat, he waved down the bartender. The Nikto walked over somewhat cautiously to him. The Tusken race at large had a reputation that far preceded Tor's arrival to the cantina. Though he had learned to deal with this judgement, it still bothered him from time to time. "Oh don't give me that hesitance would you. My money is just as good as anyone else's." The Nikto nodded, but didn't say anything. "Give me something smooth, would you? I'm not trying to flatten myself. The Nikto quickly got the drink together and slid it over to Tor. He got up and walked over near the sections where Gavin Restur happened to be sitting at. He overheard his conversation asking about bounties and it piqued his interest. Hopefully no one was looking for him but it wouldn't be surprising is they were. An empty booth caught his eye and he took his seat, listening in on what was happening nearby.

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[Neryn Ka]

Objective: Waste money
Equipment: Sword/Shotgun
Tags: OPEN​

Neryn laid his cards down with a chuckle, prompting a chorus of groans and curses from the five other individuals at the table. He gleefully scooped a sizeable pile of shiny tokens from all corners, collecting them in front of himself.

"I must say, I rather enjoy this game. What did you say it was called again?" He inquired of the surly-looking Gran to his immediate left.

"Sabacc." Grunted the hulking thug in a thoroughly unenthused tone. Indeed, all of the other players present seemed intensely unhappy with the strange, chipper little masked fellow who shared the game with them.

He'd won six straight hands, despite professing to know nothing of the game itself. Whether beginner's luck, or something rather more sinister was up for debate.

"Oh, don't look so glum, Teebok." Oozed the masked creature, patting the elephantine thug on one shoulder. "Your luck is certain to turn any time, I'm sure of it. Another round? Come on, double or nothing. Winner take all!"

This suggestion was met by five looks of disgust, and at least one promise to beat Neryn senseless in an undisclosed location at some later time. The other individuals filed out, leaving Neryn alone with a mound of credits he had no way of carrying out of the establishment.

Of course, Neryn was lying through his teeth. It was true that (when he'd first entered, at least) he not only didn't know the rules of Sabacc, but had never heard of the incredibly-widespread and popular game. Such gaps in one's knowledge were an unfortunate fact of life when one was grown in a tank as a living weapon.

Unfortunately, Neryn tended toward being as lazy as he was dishonest, and his little sightseeing trip through the galaxy had rapidly degenerated into a bar crawl. He'd visited a truly dizzying variety of cantinas, gambling dens, and illegal pit fights in recent days, and had no intention of stopping the fun anytime in the near future. The ability to see the other players' hands had greatly improved his odds of success, that much was certain, and he'd abused this little secret to no end.

As his forbear had taught him, he had no regard whatsoever for such ephemeral, far-off concepts as "honesty" or "fair play". These were things he understood only in a hazy, distant academic way. In theory, this trip had been intended to pick up a little life experience and perspective on the wider galaxy, in order to more efficiently serve as his Creator's murderous right hand. In practice, well. Neryn was Neryn.

In any case, lacking the means to feasibly transport his winnings, he decided to simply recycle them back into the cantina until they approached a quantity he could fit into his bag.

Striding up to the bar with his pack visibly overflowing with credit chits, he placed half a dozen or so on the dusty countertop. "I'd like the most expensive and poisonous drink you have available, please."