First Reply Smuggler's Moon, Meet Smuggler

[Ben Thano]

NAR SHADDAA, SPACEPORT DISTRICT
The Slag Pit

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Nar Shaddaa, what a miserable, loathsome planet.

Ben had been to the Smuggler's moon only once before, but he'd known it was a regular haunt of his recently-deceased mentor, Rylan. For those who worked in the underground, making their living in the most unsavory corners of the galaxy, there were few better places to find work. Of course, Rylan had spent years building contacts and connections across Nar Shaddaa, and indeed, across the syndicates. Ben was a nobody, he'd helped Rylan on a few jobs, but in truth he'd rarely left the confines of his homeworld, and now that he was free of Corellia and had a ship of his own - a ship that had more of a history and reputation than even he did, to boot - he knew that reputation would be the deciding factor of whether he managed to sink or swim in the galaxy.

After he'd landed on Nar Shaddaa, he'd made a point of sending out messages to some of the more impressive-looking contacts that Rylan had made and filed on The Sojourner's computers, both to advise them that Rylan was dead - in the hopes that would settle any debts he might have had with them - and to advise that someone new was piloting his ship, and was open to work. Whether or not he got a taker on that, he'd just have to wait and see...

For now, he took to the kind of hive of scum and villainy he imagined he'd be most likely to find work in, a cantina. The Slag Pit had drawn his attention for its proximity to the landing pad he'd taken, after all, he figured that this was the sort of dive that those passing through with news might frequent, or those looking to hire spacers might come to, expecting to find those looking for work. It was a shot in the dark, but it was just about all he had.

"Get me a glass of Spotchka, will you?" Ben flashed a smile to the bartender as he approached, settling down some credits which were snatched up with a grumble by the large Besalisk who turned to find a bottle to pour a glass from, while the young smuggler turned to look over the sea of other patrons.​

 

[Oshin Jantu]

Spoiler: Music IC

Glass in hand, the fingers that cradled it were as smooth as the liquid inside it. They were able to move this way, that way, as beckoned by the mind behind the eyes, themselves veiled by the hood of a black leather trench coat pulled over her head, hiding her countenance.

For a moment, she just studied the contents of her beverage, head bowed, gazing down at the way the liquid tilted that way, this way, whenever her grip shifted. The spirit was a kind of fluorescent cyan, ice blue even, and was just as crisp.

It was tequila, after a fashion, given the variants were certainly different between planets. Words were just words, however, and one woman’s tequila was another man’s spotchka. That man and woman? Ignorant to each other, as oblivious of one another’s existence as that tequila was to that spotchka, except for the fact of sharing their presence at the bar on a moon whose stars were indifferent.

“Good pick.” Those feminine words escaped her lips, curved with genuine expression if unconcerned. Sat on a stool, both arms propped on the bartop, visage hidden within the rim of her coat’s hood, head bowed, she didn’t look around at the other fools in her midst. The Besalisk bartender proceeded to pour a glass for that masculine patron as requested.

“Usually,” she admitted. “Except in this establishment the spotchka tastes like piss.” At that, Oshin lifted the rim of her glass to her lips, took a sip, licked her lips and returned the liquid to her gaze, listening to whatever her fellow patron may say.

Ben Thano