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Since Yer So Cocky [Closed] (Chupa Chups)

Triko

Purple Haze
Writer
A CITY SQUARE ON NO PLANET IN PARTICULAR
@[member="Chupa La'Roi"]​

masdar-city-square-rendering.jpg

Triko sat at a table in the strangely abandoned city square, warm air fluttering in from the sky, not at all questioning his presence in the I-don't-want-to-dwell-on-arbitrary-facts system, specifically the fourth moon, let's-just-get-on-with-it. Despite the seeming calmness, there was an eerie silence about the place, at least until the Jawa vomited up various different hallucinogens. Then it was quiet again, and then he was bored.

In his hip-mounted holsters sat two fully loaded six-shot blasters, a scattergun strapped to his back by means of a leather binding, his body protected only by his poncho and fourteen layers of kevlar his deep brown cloth robes, bandoliers of grenades clanking as he shuffled about the table in such away that he half-expected them to blow him to bits. He was relaxed, however, with the knowledge that his writer was far superior to that of the character he was surely about to meet.

Surely nothing bad would happen here.

Def-o.
 

Chupa La'Roi

#RealSpaceViking
Character
Far above the battleground Jawa death-site empty city square, a simple passenger ship was zooming down in a dive bomb towards it. The pilot, a true lunatic idiot ace at the helm, was screaming in glee as he sped down, pulling up at the last moment and zooming off as a large object fell from the top.

The object fell to the ground on the opposite side from Triko, and once the dust had cleared, it stood up and started brushing itself off.

"SILLY PILOT, I TOLD HIM TO AIM FOR THE TARGET, BUT NO, HE HAD TO CHICKEN OUT OF IT. I SWEAR..."

Chupa looked over at the Jawa on the other side of the planet Amura Sith archives city centre and grinned.

"THIS IS MY OPPONENT? HAH! PERHAPS I SHOULD JUST SELL YOU A DROID INSTEAD OF FIGHTING YOU?"
@[member="Triko"]
 

Triko

Purple Haze
Writer
@[member="Chupa La'Roi"]

His feet still resting atop the table, Triko leaned forwards slightly to adjust a leather bootstrap and leaned back in his chair, taking a mystical glass of some expensive drink from the table beside his and downing it before placing the glass back in its original position.

"Not bad plan!" The Jawa called back, still posing the facade of nonchalance, when really he was feeing desperately-- nonchalant, actually. Come to think of it, there wasn't much urgency in his motions, or speech. "Droid good money!"

"You look like need money!" He grinned, leaning forwards even further to prepare himself for combat.

"Maybe you buy house instead of box!"
 
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