Private Tending With the Competition

[Dash Vikal]

Dash pushed open the door to the bar; the familiar scent of polished wood and bitters greeting him. The low hum of conversation barely registered; his eyes swept the room automatically, tracing the usual contours, the familiar arrangements, the silent rhythm he had memorized over months.

He reached for the canteen slung at his side with the metal cool against his palm. Ice water swished inside as he took a careful sip, letting it slide down his throat and ease the scratch that had become a permanent companion. With a habitual glance toward the fridge behind the bar, he set the canteen down inside of it to store it for the day.

And then there was someone new. A man standing behind the counter, moving with ease but still carrying a cautiousness that spoke of unfamiliarity. Dash froze for a heartbeat, a quiet pang of something he couldn’t name twisting in his chest. Jealousy, maybe. Or territorial instinct. His gaze lingered on the man’s face, searching for a flicker of recognition. Another bartender, perhaps, from some previous posting, a past life he might remember. When nothing sparked, Dash tilted his head slightly, as if adjusting the focus of his own memory. Vaguely, he recalled overhearing his boss mention something to someone about a new bartender starting soon. And that small, incidental memory gave context to the scene, though it did little to ease the tight knot in his chest.

He approached with light footsteps, his hand brushing the counter as he came closer. “You… worked… before?” His voice rasped; a low, deliberate sound with each word measured and strained, carrying more effort than it seemed necessary. The question was simple, neutral, but his eyes that were both steady and searching, gave away the undercurrent: he needed to know who had claimed part of his world.

Tag: Darth Empyrean

 

[Darth Empyrean]

The Emperor took his time regaining his step. One could never be too careful in underselling their capacity. Sweat, salty on his lips, beaded on his face as he finished the last touches on the open flame grill. Order 12 - one Bantha Steak and two Imperial Whites. A toss of seasoning, a flash of cooking alcohol, and he plated it with a careful consideration, tossing rag over his shoulder. A few more deft moves of the hand, and he gave the customer their goods. They tipped him well for his service, and he took it.​

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Not that he needed it, he had more money stashed away than he cared to admit. He had helped start three galactic powers, tore down many more - between skimming the treasury to selling ill gotten war gains, the Emperor had come out from it all the better, even in spite of owning the IGBC. But, for his cover, he couldn't afford to raise suspicion because he didn't care for tips. Instead, he slipped them into his shirt pocket and moved to start cleaning a few glasses.​

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"You... worked... before?", came his coworkers rasped question.​

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Empyrean may not have the Force, but he was a man trained for much more than bartending. This man was unsure of him, possibly seeing rememberance in the face. Yet, the Dead God never smiled - so Empyrean showed the man a fresh grin of pearly white teeth. A grin wide enough to disarm anyone testing his identity.​

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"Of course. I actually used to own my own place, but sometimes things aren't meant to be."​

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He did, actually, find his long journey began with freedom from slavery, and the subsequent dip into hedonism that came with freedom. The Technicolor Beat, a massive vessel he had stolen from a government he infiltrated was repurposed into a mobile nightclub and casino - a ship he had enjoyed very well. It was even where he had began Jaeger.​

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"Owed the Hutts a bit too much money.", he didn't. They owed him - they were just lucky he didn't intend to collect.​

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"Owe, actually, but what can a guy do but keep working?", he said with a shrug as he turned back to continue washing the glass.​

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"What about yourself, long in the industry?"​

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Dash Vikal​

 

[Dash Vikal]

Dash listened without interrupting, his eyes following the man’s hands as they moved through the familiar motions of washing glassware. Efficient. Confident. Not the uncertain rhythm of someone learning the flow of a new place. The grin lingered in his mind a moment longer than it should have.

He reached beneath the counter and pulled up a small crate of bottles that had been delivered earlier, setting it beside the register. One by one he lifted them free, turning each slightly to read the labels before lining them up along the shelf behind the bar. The motions were slow and practiced, the kind that came from long habit rather than thought.

Hutts. Most beings who owed them carried the weight somewhere; tight shoulders, cautious glances, the quiet tension of someone who knew their shadow stretched across half the galaxy. This one smiled too easily.

Dash slid the last bottle into place and wiped a stray ring of moisture from the counter with the edge of his towel. His throat tightened before he spoke again. “Few… years.” The words came rough and deliberate, each one pushed carefully through the damage in his voice. His gaze drifted briefly toward the entrance, scanning the room out of instinct before settling back on the man beside him. A pause that was needed before he spoke quietly some more. “Hutts are… patient… these days?” The question carried no accusation, only quiet curiosity. But his eyes lingered now, studying the other bartender with a little more focus, as though the answer mattered more than the words themselves.

Darth Empyrean

 

[Darth Empyrean]

"No.", he sighed, exasperated at the thought.​

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"But, a pay pig is better than a dead man I imagine."​

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He waved off the comment and interrogation with a quick ease. The Hutts were not often friendly to their loanees, but it wasn't unheard of that they would keep someone around to pay the vig than just outright kill them. Like an underworld 'credit score' - they knew they'd pay, so they kept them around. Second they didn't, they caught a blaster between the eyes. It served as an alibi for the time being.​

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"Hate to ask but uh... What happened with the uh-", he said, grimacing a bit as he motioned to his own throat. If they were asking eachother questions, might as well ask this man his own set.​

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"Just not often I see bartenders struggle to speak - tends to be the opposite where I'm from."​

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Dash Vikal​

 

[Dash Vikal]

Dash didn’t answer right away. His hand drifted up to his throat, thumb pressing lightly against the scar hidden beneath his collar. The habit was unconscious now. For a moment the bar faded. Cold durasteel against his back. Invisible pressure closing around his throat. Air that wouldn’t come. His jaw tightened and the memory passed as quickly as it had come.

He picked up a glass and began polishing it slowly with a rag. “Wrong… person,” he rasped. The words were rough, dragged out of a voice that never quite cooperated. “Strong hands.” A faint smirk touched one corner of his mouth, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Didn’t… like my questions.”

The glass squeaked softly as he turned it beneath the cloth. Dash set it back on the shelf and shrugged one shoulder, dismissing the whole thing as if it were nothing more than a bar fight that had gotten out of hand. “Doctor says I’m lucky.”
A pause was given as he took hold of his canteen and had a sip of the ice water. “I can still talk.” He glanced over at the other bartender again. “Some days… I question that.” Then he tilted his head slightly toward the man. “Your turn.” A gravelly breath slipped through his nose. “Where’re you from… where bartenders are the talkative ones?”

Tag: Darth Empyrean

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Another man walking with a wound - how familiar. empyrean didn't have his throat slit, but he did have his body split, his heart carved from his chest, his entire body sundered. He could sympathize, if not hold a small disgust in his heart for someone letting such a thing hold them back without purpose. The thing's he did to rebuild his body amounted to sins the Galaxy was reeling from even now. The thing he'd do if someone cut his throat now.​

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"Originally? Not actually sure." Truth. The Emperor had been born a slave without a name - he didn't even remember his mother's voice.​

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"Most recently? Spent a bit of time on Corellia, Zeltros, Barbatos, Tatooine...", he said with a wave of his hand. It wasn't a lie, he had been in all those places - but not recently by any measure. The reality was more bland - he had been gone from the Galaxy proper in a mind palace of his own creation. Quiet considerations for the vulgarity of dark rituals.​

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"Spent some time on casino ships too. Know my way around a hyperlane or two."​

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"Since we're taking turns, now I want to know where you're from. Any place interesting?"​

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Dash Vikal​