Private Sand

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Surprise surprise, Tatooine was still a shithole.

Not for the first time, Carter found himself questioning his own sanity. In times like these there was no end of jobs to be found, and yet he'd chosen the assignment on this scum infested dustball. Admittedly the extra zeroes at the end of the reward statement had been enticing, though now Carter was beginning to wonder whether the assignment was worth it. One could only wiggle the sand out from between their buttcheeks so many times before it became a tiresome affair.

He had few ties to this Alliance that had elected to employ him, but then that was the point. He had no idea why they wanted him to gather information here other than it had something to do with the Confederacy. Wasn't relevant anyway. As soon as the credits were transferred into his account he'd be on his way to the next op.

The wind whipped at his trench coat as he marched his way out of the sandstorm. The doors to the cantina hissed open as he drew near, allowing a billow of sand to flow in behind him as they eased shut. He ran a hand over his face to wipe away some of the sand as he made his way to the sparsely populated bar, sliding a credit chit across to the bartender as he spoke. "Balmoraan Bluesky."

The bartender obliged. Carter turned as the neon blue drink was handed to him, eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out if his contact had made it here yet or not. A cursory scan told him no. All he could do was wait now.

 

[Damsy Callat]

S A N D F I S H​

Tag: P Placeholder 0132​

Wearing: This​

Form: Humanoid​

The very moment she had finished setting up her homestead in the Jundland Wastes, Damsy - who had signed the asset acquisition papers with the name Risha Upasi - had basically speed straight into Mos Eisley. From there, she hopped off at the doorstep of the first cantina she came across, barely pausing to power and lock down her bike.

"Something salty," Damsy told the robotic waiter that made its way over to her table as she still nestled her way into its darkened corner. If any of her Confederate friends - if they still called themselves that, because tides knew she no longer did - deigned to visit, sweeping territory that was indeed theirs for a familiar face, she wanted a good vantage point from which to slip away. The deserted state of the bar might have made that hard for her before whatever had taken root in her on Atrisia, but not now. She had just enough mastery of the Force to draw on present shadows to cover her escape should she need to make it.

The bot whizzed off with only an affirming beep, a small grace Damsy was thankful for. A salted beverage? Who drank that, just in general, but specifically on a desert world. Wasn't the point of moisture farming to purify water? Sure, but underneath her human appearance she was a saltwater sithspawn; all bets were off.