Dravis Rosilla
By Candlelight
CORUSCANT
GRENADIER'S POCKETBOOK CANTINA
Dravis had called Coruscant his home for thirty-odd years. He had never left the planet until he had been nudged down the path of the Dark Side. For this reason alone, he found the ecumenopolis slightly claustrophobic. He felt confined to the duracrete buildings and transparisteel windows. He yearned to feel the freedom of fresh air, the sky, anything that might remind him he wasn't a slave.
The next best thing was a cantina.
The darkly-clothed Bith sat at the bar of the Grenadier's Pocketbook, and ordered a shot of their strongest. He was sure there was some history behind the name, but didn't much care. What he did know was that he was thirsty, and wished he was somewhere else.
Sadly, he was here.
He had been negotiating with a few crime lords in the lower city, looking for deals on troops and rations. He had been met at every turn by demands of money, or favors he would rather not do. He had acquired a small army already, but it was not enough. He had been in negotiations with Gisela the Righteous for a while, and it had finally payed off; 1,000 Geonosian Warriors, with more on the way.
He wanted more. He wanted droids. He wanted thugs. He wanted personal mercenaries.
But for now, bugs would do.
The bartender, a sly-looking Rodian, handed him a small glass. "Here you go, man. Anything else for ya?"
"Yeah, actually." Dravis downed the shot, immediately feeling the pulse of alcohol in his system. "I need you to tell me where I can find No-Eye Harry."
When one was looking for a criminal, one need only ask a barkeep.
- [member="Brooklyn Justice"] -