Sentimental Value

[Fyl Terrano]

It was stupid to come back here after everything that had happened. Incredibly stupid. But Fyl Terrano found that he didn't care.

He'd returned to the same backwater planet, some rock between Outer Rim Coalition and Galactic Alliance space that had fallen beneath the notice of law, where the bounty hunter Koda Fett had captured him and dragged him off to one of the galaxy's nastiest prisons. He'd gone back to the same worthless little bar where he'd been shot through the leg and beaten with the butt of a carbine. He'd done it while he was still hurt, barely armed, and hunted by the arachnoid warden of the shattered moon. It was, by all metrics, an incredibly poor decision, and that was before anyone even factored in the reason that he had decided to risk his life by coming back here.

He was back to get his hat. And woe betide anyone who got in the way of that goal.

Fyl limped into the crummy little cantina, a crutch under his left arm to keep his weight off of his leg. Even beyond the metal walking aid, he looked like hell. His forehead and scalp were scabbed and bloody from where he'd been hit. His clothes didn't fit. He hadn't used a fresher in days, and reeked like a bantha. His facial expression was totally impassive, showing no emotion at all, but there was something burning in his eyes that made people get out of his way. Not that there were many. The cantina had yet to recover from the damage inflicted in the firefight, and didn't seem to be attracting many patrons. Carbon scoring marked the walls and fire damage scarred the bar.

Sitting at the few remaining tables and in the booths were a small and unsavory collection of humanoids. Their matching leatheris jackets marked them out as some kind of swoop gang. They looked up as Fyl entered, staring at his crutch, then his face, then at each other. Their expressions were easy to read - who is this idiot? Their unspoken dominance of the cantina had been threatened, and it was by someone who looked like he would keel over in a strong breeze. Fyl ignored those looks. His eyes were focused on the biggest ganger of all, a thickset Houk sitting at one of the tables - he took up an entire side to himself. Perched on fat brow was a battered, wide-brimmed tan hat.

Fyl limped over to him, crutch clicking against the floor with each step - it was the only sound in the sudden silence, the tap, tap, tap of the stranger's stride. He stopped at the other side of the table, regarding the alien coldly. "Doesn't belong to you," he said, his voice like ice. "Doesn't fit you, either. You're stretching the band." The Houk looked at him suspiciously, its beady little eyes staring at him from within their fat pockets of flesh. "What?" It finally asked, giving in to curious confusion. Fyl grunted. "Alright, then," he said, his tone shifting to condescending. "Let's try again using only one-syllable words, so that you can understand."

He wore a cold, false smile. "Give. Me. My. Hat." In one smooth motion he drew his gun and levelled it at the Houk's fleshy head. "Please."

All at once the stillness was broken. Half a dozen swoopers stood, reaching for their own blasters, and soon Fyl had a collection of weapons trained on his back. The Rodian bartender, already desperately trying to piece his half-shattered livelihood back together, gave a sound that was half moan and half sigh as he dove behind the bar, certain that a fight was imminent. It looked pretty one-sided from an outside perspective, but even the gangers seemed taken aback by the fearless force and fury of the stranger. There was violence in the air, needing only a instant's spark to set it off. But it seemed that the galaxy didn't always work that way. Sometimes it liked to defy expectations.

[member="Tiland Kortun"]​

 

[Tiland Kortun]

[member="Fyl Terrano"]

Something swirled in the Force, a spiral of emotion and tension. Tiland looked up from where he had taken a seat on the street-corner, staff lying against his shoulder. He stood, brushed some dirt form his robes and made his way in that direction, following the boiling tension until it led him outside the same cantina that he had been to a few days ago. A smile flickered across his face, twitching his beard and mustache, as he entered.

The staff in his hand echoed on the durasteel floor as he strode in. The sight brought him to a pause. A man, who clearly didn't look very good, was in the middle of a circle of gangsters and everyone had their guns raised. That explained the tension that he had sensed. The man was very familiar, however, and Tiland craned his neck until he could see his face.

The fugitive! While he certainly looked worse for wear, it was certainly the same man.

"My friend!" He called, raising his arms up so that his robes flapped awkwardly. "Good to see you in one peace." He hurried over to the bar and leaned over to where the Rodian was ducked for cover. "My dear sir, could you do me the favor of getting me a great big pot of hot water."

He nodded amicably and hurried back to where the others were clustered and waved his hands in dismissal.

"Put down your guns, friends. Today is a happy day. The Light surges within the Force and new friends are gathered here." He met each of them with a stare, that while gentle, blazed with the strength of a supernova in the ancient Jedi's gaze. "I shall make a special tea for all of us, so that we might share it and rejoice, for the Force has a way of bringing those that it wills together when it wills. Do, please take a seat while I prepare the ceremony."

He could sense the mistrust and confusion from the gangster's, as well as the threat of violence that lay in the twitch of their fingers. And yet, he breezed past it, forcing them to react to his terms rather than him reacting on theirs.

 

[Fyl Terrano]

A bead of sweat rolled down the Houk's fleshy cheek. There was no way Fyl could take the whole pack of swoopers, not with a bum leg and his back exposed, but he could certainly waste the one wearing his hat before any of his buddies could squeeze off a single shot, and the alien knew it. They were at a dangerous impasse if they all wanted to live. Fyl, driven as much by the frustration and desperation of the past week as by any actual plan or bit of common sense, wasn't entirely sure he cared how it ended. Maybe it was a stupid thing to stick up for, a stupid thing to die over. But it was the last piece of the friends he'd lost in the war. They'd died for him. This was the closest he could get to reciprocating.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound broke the tension like ripples on the surface of water as everyone craned their heads around to see what was happening. An old man had walked into the cantina, smiling and amicable. His words hit Fyl's ears, and for a moment he had no earthly idea why this man would claim to be his friend. After a moment, vague memories flooded back to him. He'd seen this man, heard his voice through a haze of pain and half-consciousness, the night the bounty hunter had dragged him out of here. He'd tried to intervene, offered healing and a safe place, but the Mandalorian had brushed past him in his haste to deliver the human cargo. He didn't seem to have gotten any less kind - or any less nutty.

All seven of them looked at each other as the newcomer encouraged them to put down their guns, staring from face to face uncertainly. "Look," Fyl said, trying to think on the spot. He could get himself killed through his own actions, but he didn't want this nice old man to get caught in the crossfire. "You'd better find a drink somewhere else, old timer. These sons of murglaks have something of mine, and I doubt they'll back down just because you..." And then his mouth dropped fully open and he shut up, because the thugs were lowering their guns. After a moment he was the only one standing there being threatening, and he felt pretty silly doing it, so he lowered his own weapon, shaking his head slowly.

"Maybe we're being all civilized now," he warned, "but I still don't aim to leave without what's mine." His hand remained near his holster, ready to draw again.

[member="Tiland Kortun"]​