Henry Chinko
Poet, Pretender
[member="Eire Saf'Voak"] was an up-and-coming reporter of all things noteworthy. Rumor had it that he was working on stories ranging from The Freighter King, James Justice to candidates for the Galactic Republic's next Supreme Chancellor--or whatever they were calling their highest elected official now.
And then, for whatever reason, he had requested an interview with the once-infamous, always-inebriated Hank Chinko.
When Hank was an author of some acclaim, he had gotten a bad reputation with the media because he didn't like to answer questions about himself. He didn't take interviews and appearances very seriously, and when he showed up--if he showed up at all--he was rarely of much use to anyone making an attempt at coherence.
But dammit if running out of money won't make you do some strange things.
Hank was holed up in a dive bar on Nar Shaadda, savoring the last puff of a cigarette. If he had allowed Saf'Voak to determine the location of the interview, he most certainly would not have made it on time. But as it was Hank could be at a bar like this any time of day. Better than that, here he knew the bartender--a young Zeltron woman by the name of Mia.
Years of good tipping and better compliments had ingratiated Hank to Mia, so she let him smoke at the bar and sometimes poured him free drinks.
Not like the bar was hurting for his patronage by any stretch of the imagination.
Strangely, Hank was nervous to be interviewed for the first time in his life. Maybe it was the fact that he had descended into a state of decay, or maybe it was the fact that he was coming to grips with his dwindling inspiration and ability.
Either way, he had agreed to do it, so feth it.
And then, for whatever reason, he had requested an interview with the once-infamous, always-inebriated Hank Chinko.
When Hank was an author of some acclaim, he had gotten a bad reputation with the media because he didn't like to answer questions about himself. He didn't take interviews and appearances very seriously, and when he showed up--if he showed up at all--he was rarely of much use to anyone making an attempt at coherence.
But dammit if running out of money won't make you do some strange things.
Hank was holed up in a dive bar on Nar Shaadda, savoring the last puff of a cigarette. If he had allowed Saf'Voak to determine the location of the interview, he most certainly would not have made it on time. But as it was Hank could be at a bar like this any time of day. Better than that, here he knew the bartender--a young Zeltron woman by the name of Mia.
Years of good tipping and better compliments had ingratiated Hank to Mia, so she let him smoke at the bar and sometimes poured him free drinks.
Not like the bar was hurting for his patronage by any stretch of the imagination.
Strangely, Hank was nervous to be interviewed for the first time in his life. Maybe it was the fact that he had descended into a state of decay, or maybe it was the fact that he was coming to grips with his dwindling inspiration and ability.
Either way, he had agreed to do it, so feth it.