Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Some kinda bargain

Location: Somewhere on Denon

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A pungent cocktail of aromas was nestled in the lukewarm air of the ramshackle diner, the scent of sweet meats and tobacco quenching whatever freshness slipped through the establishment's ovular windows. Garish was the interior, artificially dyed yellow tables and stained plasticast seats forming a kitschy altar to a grease splattered troop of stoves. Crudely cut slabs of meat sizzled next to a mountain of simmering acid-beets, the fragrant concoction of ingredients routinely tossed and flipped by the lone Besalisk who toiled away in the kitchen. Lumbering, was the grimacing chef's form, an oil stained apron draping the ash coloured skin that hung loose against rippling muscles. A barely eligible name tag was pinned to his breast, the smudged remnants of the name 'Ghoruk' visible to anyone who thought it fitting to stare at a Besalisk's tit.

He was the king of his little palace, a four armed connoisseur of all things grilled and deep fried. None would come in to question his skill in the diner and rarely would there be altercations among his hungry patrons. People came to eat, not to start drama. Alas, that evening, cooped up betwixt his steaks and his salads, was the four armed chef met with a particularly bothersome pest.

"You don't understand Ghoruk, all I need is twenty credits to take a shuttle to the next city!" A voice chimed over the cacophony of sizzling meat, tinkling cutlery and mechanical jazz.

Propped up on a stool, with arms gripping the beer stained counter, was a pale young woman garbed in an indigo robe and heels that were much too fancy for such a humble setting. Painted lips were curled into a sheepish grin, the sort that could only mean trouble to anyone with a shred of discernment. Mousy brown hair tumbled in a incoherent mess down the woman's neck, the stray hints of her perfume intermingling with the aroma of the diner.

"I said no so I mean no!" The creature grumbled, jabbing the flattened side of his spatula in the lady's direction before tossing several yams on to the humming stove.

"How could you say that? We go way back." She gasped, feigned pain flourishing upon her alabaster features as she offered the chef a pout.

"I've only known you for two weeks and you haven't even bought any food yet!" The Besalisk barked back, exasperated with the slender swindler perched on his counter.

​"Our relationship can't be held back by time or monetary exchange," The wide eyed woman sighed, clutching her left heart as she deliberately shook her head, "There's magic between us. You and I, two hard working battlers against the rest of the galaxy!" She grinned, fingers flourishing outwards as she leaned in closer to the less than impressed chef.

"You vomited all over my nice seats the first night you came stumbling in here and-"

"Okay, okay! No need to bring up the sins of the past, I have atoned for my misgivings by sharing my joy with the local children. I have paid my penance and have been humbled by my mistakes." She whispered, clasping her hands together and staring into the distance of where she assumed the local orphanage was. Children were always the soft spot for folks like this, or so she believed anyway.

"You speak too much poodoo." Ghoruk uttered, swatting her hands off of his counter with a damp towel and clicking a finger at the woman before she could slip a half cooked beet into her mouth.

"Oh c'com! What's twenty credits to a successful thing like you?!" She groaned, tossing the beet back onto the stove and wrinkling her nose.

"Enough to know it'll go wasted on a drunken harlot." The Besalisk muttered, shaking his head before relinquishing a heavy sigh. "No more words, get out. You'll scare the customers and tonight is Yams with Meat night." He snarled, glaring at the seemingly unflappable woman with his beady eyes.

"How about an excha-"

"OUT!" Ghoruk roared, flinging spittle and half cooked shrapnel of beets in the direction of his unwanted visitor. The level of his voice suited the girth of his frame and with an added huff and clearing of his bulbous throat, the four armed chef pointed at the door through which his little pest should exit. "Never come back here unless you have credits, Quinn!" He snarled, stabbing a sizzling steak with a pronged blade and angrily flipping it over.

Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, the creature known as Quinn granted a stream of air to filter through her teeth before she slowly recoiled off of the counter. Reaching downwards, the seemingly unfazed lady procured a large purse that lay dormant by the stool and clutched it against her bosom. The contents in the bag jingled a happy jingle, a sound that summoned the hint of a grin to pass over her alabaster visage. Pursing her lips, the heeled figure offered the tacky diner one final gaze before strolling into the wet streets that awaited her outside.

"Well that was a karkin mess." Quinn grimaced, knowing full well the night could very well get slightly more troublesome.

[member="Miko Hearth"]
 
Yams'n meat.

Sounded good enough for a night like this. There'd been a little too much time spent in the space between Denon and Kashyyyk, and Miko was just happy to stretch his creeky legs. The Tart-Cart was a big ship, but you could only walk from one end of a cage to another so many times before it started to eat away at your sanity. Landing on the city-world had been about as lovely as the coming of the rapture for most religious folk - only the planet was the rapture, and trade was Miko's religion.

Leather boots slapped against heat soaked pavement as he swayed this way and that toward the diner. Winny had opted to stay on the ship and run through his charts for the umpteenth time. Unlike the Duros, Miko had a need for basic social interaction - a hot meal was a good start.

"Look lady, I don't want your spice." The words fell from smiling lips as Miko regarded his temporary companion. She was a shriveled old thing, all loose dark skin and messy gray hair. She peered up at him from sunken sockets with the fervor of an addict in her eyes.

"I got the best on the block!" She waved a hand about enthusiastically. Mikoron waved just as enthusiastically - toward the adjacent alley. "Not interested lady. I'm not that kinda guy. Sure there are other folks that would be though."

The woman made a grumbling noise and tore off, evidently rather unperturbed by her failure. Miko gave her a shrug and turned to continue on his way. The smell of perfume hit him first; put on just enough to draw his attentions. Then came the body.

She was about a head shorter than him and about as mousy looking. He looked down just in time to catch a look of her before they collided, his body steeping back by the sudden blow. Blinking, Miko affixed the lady with a rather dazed look. He wasn't normally clumsy.

"Oh, eh," he reached up to scratch the back of his head, "Sorry about that."

[member="Quinn Silk"]
 
The streets were laden with hungry travelers, chattering tourists and venerable vagrants of all shapes and sizes. It was sweaty cacophony of movement, little crowds dispersing into leisurely groups that filled up the sidewalks like crusted feces in a toilet. Still, there remained some charm to it all. The tide of people was an invigorating scene to the seemingly untroubled young woman, one whose eyes flitted from every passing face that came her way.

Was she looking for anyone in particular?

Quinn wasn't too sure herself.

Pursing her lips and rolling her slender shoulders back, the porcelain skinned scoundrel found herself baptized by the evening rain and the heavy smog of her surroundings. The night had only just begun and the woes that lingered in the back of her mind did little to sway her confident stride and the self satisfied grin that etched its way onto her face. She would find a way out of the city, even if it required some dirty talk.

Alas, Quinn's attempt at traversing the bustling streets was quickly neutered when she collided with something warm, dry and stinking of engine grease. In her strut, the woman witnessed the incoming man's trajectory towards her, his eyes staring into the aether. He was distracted and she...well, she was an opportunist. Clicking her tongue, the doe eyed thief inhaled the musty scent of evening air before relinquishing herself to the forces of gravity and luck. It was just like every other collision, an obnoxious tap, a silly giggle and a slip of fingers into places unseen. None could be the wiser, especially not on a cold and dreary night such as this.

Glancing up at the man, with her surprisingly sleek finding firmly clasped within dainty hands behind her back, Quinn granted him something resembling an innocent gasp. She was all wide eyes, pouted lips and messy hair. It was a look that tickled most.

"No, no! My fault, silly me got distracted by - oh it doesn't matter" Another silly giggle, another shimmy of her hips. "You have a nice night, don't go bumping into more ladies." Quinn winked, blowing a strand of hair off of her face as she slowly arced around the stranger. Her find was still within her grasp, veiled by the purse and the sleek robe that left little to the imagination.

Offering the man a fingery wave, Quinn spun on her heels before setting off into the night. Pellets of weak rain and pale smog enveloped her getaway, the amorphous crowd of mumbling tourists pulling her into their safety. Once she was certain he was out of eyesight, the young woman glanced down at her hand. It was an easy steal, nothing too difficult considering the setting.

There, cloistered within porcelain palms was a sleek commlink, blinking up at her like some sort of mechanical invalid.

It should be enough for twenty credits, maybe a little extra if she sweetened the deal with some choice words.

[member="Miko Hearth"]
 

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