Public The Galactic Refuge

[Gary The Barkeep]

This weekend marks the opening of The Galactic Refuge.

Gary's rolled in, set up shop, and decided it's time to see what the galaxy's been getting itself into.

Doors are open. Lights are low. The taps are full.

Whether you're running from debts, deals, ghosts, or just a long hyperspace jump — there's a stool waiting.

Drinks will be flowing. Stories will be traded.
No contracts. No weapons. No trouble.

Just a bar at the edge of everything.

Welcome to the Refuge.

 

[Gary The Barkeep]

Gary settles into his usual spot behind the bar, polishing a glass that doesn't really need it, eyes lifted to the flickering HoloNet display overhead.

Repulsor engines scream through tinny speakers as the local pod race tears across salt flats and canyon spines. Gary leans forward slightly, elbows on the counter, tracking each racer with practiced calm. Every near-miss gets a quiet inhale. Every clean pass earns a soft, approving hum.

He sets the glass down, taps the counter once.

"Come on, kid… take the inside line," he murmurs to no one in particular.

Around him, the Refuge breathes for the first time—chairs scraping, boots on durasteel, the low murmur of fresh conversations finding their rhythm. A couple of patrons glance up at the race. Someone cheers. Someone groans as a pod clips a pylon and spirals out in a shower of sparks.

Gary doesn't raise his voice.
He just reaches under the bar, lines up a few fresh drinks, and slides them out to waiting hands—never taking his eyes off the screen.
Opening night.
First race on the HoloNet.
Galaxy still spinning.

Gary smiles faintly and keeps watching.

 

[Meri Vale]

Meri slipped in quietly, as if the Refuge might startle if she entered too loudly.

The door hissed shut behind her, and she paused just inside, taking it in the way she always did with new places. Not judging. Just observing. Low lights, the soft clink of glasses, the layered hum of voices settling into something comfortable instead of sharp. It felt… intentionally calm. Like a space that had decided not to ask too many questions.

Her eyes drifted to the HoloNet display almost by accident, catching the blur of engines and color, the roar of a crowd half a galaxy away bleeding through tinny speakers. She didn't cheer or groan like some of the others. She just watched for a moment, head tilted slightly, noticing how Gary never looked away as he worked.

Eventuall,y she made her way to the bar, choosing a seat that didn't feel like it was in anyone's way. She folded her hands together on the counter, posture careful but not tense.

"Hi," she said softly, once there was a natural pause, as if she were afraid of interrupting the rhythm of the place. "This is… new, right?"

Her gaze flicked up toward the race again, then back to Gary, a faint, tentative smile forming.

"It feels like somewhere people come when they need to breathe," she added, not quite a question, more an observation. "That's nice."

She waited then, patient, content to let the bar keep breathing around her.

Gary The Barkeep

 

[Gary The Barkeep]

Gary lifts one finger gently without turning his head from the HoloNet.

"Shhh—race is on," he murmurs, already leaning closer to the screen. "Jax is about to take first…"

He scoots a half-step down the bar so he's got a cleaner angle on the holo, eyes narrowing as the pods scream through a canyon bend. His free hand keeps working on instinct—wiping the counter, lining up a fresh glass—while his attention stays locked on the race.

"Inside line, kid… inside—yes, yes—"

There's a soft thunk as he sets the glass down, then a quiet, satisfied hum when Jax surges ahead.

"Ha. There it is," Gary says, pleased but restrained. "That's good piloting."

Only then does he glance over at Meri, the intensity easing from his face into something warmer.

"Yeah," he answers her softly, voice low so it doesn't compete with the broadcast. "Brand new. Figured Chaos could use a place that doesn't demand anything from you."

He gives her a small, welcoming nod.

"And you're not wrong. People come here to breathe. That's kind of the point."

Gary reaches for a clean glass and sets it in front of her.

"Welcome to the Refuge," he adds gently. "First drink's on the house. You tell me what helps you exhale."

 

[Meri Vale]

Meri glanced back up at the holo at the name, her brow knitting just a little as the pod tore ahead on the inside line.

"Jax…?" she echoed quietly, then hesitated, clearly unsure if she should even ask. After a beat, she added, softer, "Jax Thio?"

The question wasn't nosy so much as curious, the way she approached most things. She looked back at Gary when he set the glass down, the welcome landing a little deeper than she expected. Her shoulders eased, just a fraction.

"Thank you," she said, meaning more than just the drink.

She considered his question seriously, eyes flicking to the rows of bottles and then away again, as if aware of her own limits.

"Um. Something warm would be nice," Meri said. "But…virgin. Please." The request came with a small, apologetic smile that suggested this wasn't her first time having to clarify that. "I'm fifteen."

She rested her hands lightly on the counter, fingers relaxed.

"Anything sweet is good," she added after a moment. "Something that feels…steady."

Jax Thio Gary The Barkeep

 

[Gary The Barkeep]

Gary finally tears his eyes off the holo long enough to really look at her—and that soft, grandfatherly smile settles in right away.

"Oh," he says gently, waving one hand in a small, dismissive arc. "You're just a young one."

He follows her glance back to the race and gives a quiet chuckle.

"No, little lady. Not Jax Thio. Jax Rences," Gary corrects, tapping the bar once for emphasis before nodding toward the screen. "He's the best pod racer this side of Nar Shaddaa. Clean lines, steady throttle, doesn't panic in the turns. That's rare."

He reaches for a kettle, already moving on instinct.

"Warm and sweet, virgin—got it," he says, setting a mug on the counter. "Steady is something we specialize in."

As the liquid starts to steam, Gary peers past the bar toward the back of the Refuge, craning his neck just a little.

"Anyways…" he mutters fondly, "…maybe I can find Ellie around here somewhere."

He raises his voice just enough to carry.

"Ell? You hiding again?"

Then back to Meri, lowering his tone conspiratorially.

"She always knows what the young kids like. Says she's hip or something like that." He snorts softly at himself. "I don't know what that means, but she insists."

Gary slides the warm mug toward Meri once it's ready, setting it down carefully in front of her.

"There you go," he says kindly. "Sweet, steady, and zero bad decisions in a cup."

He gives her an easy nod.

"And don't worry. You're safe here. Race or no race."

 

[Gillem]

GILLEM

Gillem looked up and down the street as the rolled paper on his lips curled with sweet smoke. A smooth inhale followed by an exhale breathed out from his lips and lungs. His eyes settled on the sign outside of a bar.

The Refuge

He plucked the cigarette from his lips and flicked it to the side onto the street, crushing it down with his boot.

Then he walked inside, a sign greeting him with Leave Weapons at the Door

His mechanical eye traced over faces in the bar labeling names and possible bounties he would not collect for now. Now was the time to relax.

His gaze flicked to the pod race on the screen and then at the sign by the door once again. He looked down at his belt, decorated with bullet casings and his Morellian Ranger’s star, then the two revolvers that clung to his belt. By the sign he noticed several bins that contained various weapons.

He didn’t like being unarmed, but this was not his space, and not his rules.

He let out a deep exhale as he clicked off the belt buckle and set his guns into one of the bins. His gaze stopped at a young girl sitting at the bar.

<.....analyzing……>
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<Match Found>
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Name: Merindai Tiravel
Age: 15
Title: N/A
Status: Living
Bounty: 0.00​

His eye then moved to the barkeep.

Name: Gary
Age: ???
Title: Barkeep
Status: Living
Bounty: 0.00​

He slowly walked up to the bar as they conversed, sitting in a stool a couple chairs down. He set his hat on the bar right by him and tapped his mechanical hand on the bar.

“Evenin’”

Meri Vale | Gary The Barkeep​

 

[Meri Vale]

Meri curled her fingers more firmly around the mug as the warmth soaked into her palms, the steam fogging her vision just a little. Whatever Gary had made smelled comforting in a way that felt intentional, like it had been crafted for exactly this moment. She took a careful sip, eyes softening immediately.

"Oh," she said quietly, almost relieved. "That is steady." A small smile followed, shy but real. "Thank you."

At the sound of the door and the movement nearby, her attention drifted just enough to notice the newcomer settling a few stools down. The way he disarmed before sitting didn't go unnoticed, nor did the weight he carried even without the guns. Meri didn't stare. She never did. But she did offer a polite glance and a nod, the kind that acknowledged presence without demanding anything from it.

"Evening," she echoed softly, voice gentle and unobtrusive.

She turned back toward the bar, lifting the mug again, then hesitated and glanced up at Gary and the holo in tandem.

"He really is good," she added, nodding faintly toward the race. "The way he doesn't rush the turns. It feels…thoughtful."

Another small sip. She exhaled, shoulders easing.

"I like it here," Meri said after a moment, not loudly, not to anyone in particular. "It's quiet in the right way."

Gillem Gary The Barkeep

 

[Gary The Barkeep]

Gary clocks the door opening even before the chime finishes—old habit. He glances up just long enough to register the newcomer disarming at the bins, gives a small approving nod, then turns his head toward the back hallway.

He cups one hand to his mouth and calls out in his gravel-soft barkeep voice:
"Hey, Elli— we're gettin' a pop at the door. More people comin' in!"

The words echo gently through the Refuge, not sharp—just informative, like calling weather.
He turns back to the bar, already reaching for another clean glass.

"Good on him," Gary murmurs, half to himself as he watches Gillem take a seat. "Rules matter."
At Meri's comment about the race, Gary smiles without looking away from the holo.

"That's exactly it," he says warmly. "He thinks before he flies. Pods reward patience."

He slides a coaster under her mug with quiet care.
"And I'm glad you like it here," Gary adds, voice low and sincere. "Quiet in the right way is what we aim for."

His eyes flick briefly to Gillem, then back to Meri.

"Anyone who walks in, leaves their weapons, and sits down instead of starting trouble?" Gary shrugs lightly. "That's already a good evening in my book."

From the back, the faint sounds of kitchen movement start up—Ell answering the call.
Gary keeps working, the bar breathing steadily around him as the race roars on overhead.

 

[Meri Vale]

Meri nodded along as he spoke, small motions, attentive in the way of someone who listened more than she talked. She drew her mug a little closer, palms wrapped around the warmth as if anchoring herself there.

"I like places with rules that make sense," she said softly. "Not loud ones. Just…clear ones." Her eyes flicked briefly toward the door where Gillem had come in, then back to the holo as the racers screamed past another turn. "It feels safer when people agree on how to be in a space together."

At the mention of patience, her mouth curved into a faint smile.

"That's what I was thinking," Meri added. "He doesn't rush. It's like he's listening to where the pod wants to go instead of forcing it." She paused, then admitted, a little shy, "I think I'd be terrible at racing. I'd overthink every turn."

She glanced back at Gary then, earnest and unguarded.

"Thank you," she said quietly, meaning more than just the drink. "For making a place like this. It's… easy to breathe here."

Her gaze drifted once more around the Refuge, taking in the low lights, the hum of conversation, the way no one seemed in a hurry to be anywhere else.

"And I think you're right," Meri finished. "Anyone who chooses to sit down instead of starting trouble probably has a story worth letting unfold."

Gary The Barkeep Gillem

 

[Gillem]

GILLEM

Gillem watched the race as a drink came his way, the cold liquid sloshed inside the cup as foam spilled over the edge. He gripped the cup and took a slow deep sip, the cool liquid was refreshing as it washed down his gullet.

He looked over to Meri and Gary, then over to the race.

He took out a cigarette from his pack and his mechanical thumb flicked backwards revealing a small lighter, lighting the edge of the rolled paper. Sweet tabac scents filled the air around him as he took a deep drag and slowly exhaled it with a sigh.

“One of the deadliest sports in the galaxy, pod racing.”

He stuffed the pack back into his coat and flicked the ash into a nearby tray.

“A lot more is involved than most realise, it ain’t just driving around dodging racers. It takes concentration and knowing your vehicle inside and out completely. You have to know its sounds that signals to you what could be wrong with it.”

He didn’t see it too differently from piloting a fighter or the iron that held onto his hip.

“The pod becomes a part of you, no different to an arm or a leg, sometimes the heart too.”

He took another small drag.

“Sometimes after a bad crash, the driver even after surviving the crash, doesn’t come back the same. You will never see another sport where it’s players hold such passion for the event itself than pod racers.”

He picked up the cup again and took another sip of his drink.

“How are you fine folk doing tonight?”

He looked at the two of them as he swiveled his stool to look at them more directly.

Gary The Barkeep | Meri Vale​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"The first step toward regaining your soul is discovering that it was never truly lost."

Gary The Barkeep , Meri Vale , Gillem

"Pod racing makes a good allegory for life," came a refined yet unmistakably mechanized voice from behind them.

A wash of faint violet preceded the obsidian bulk of the Tyrant's Embrace as it crossed the threshold, the armor moving with unhurried precision. She stopped beside the table rather than taking a seat. Virelia's gaze passed over the room with measured indifference, the kind that came from habit. Command clung to her whether she wished it to or not—an old gravity, impossible to fully shed.

The sort of presence that made requests feel pre-empted.

"Many crash. They come out different," she said softly, the words carried with careful restraint. Experience sat beneath them, old and unwelcome. Her fingers settled on the table, tapping in sequence, slow and deliberate, as if counting things best left unspoken.

She exhaled slowly, and whatever weight pressed at the edge of her presence receded, even if only by degrees.

"Hail," she said evenly. "How do we fare?"

 

[Gary The Barkeep]

Gary blinks once, then twice, as he takes in the room—the stools filling, the doorway still breathing people in, voices stacking gently instead of colliding.
"Well I'll be—" he mutters, then lets out a soft, amused laugh.

"Alright, alright," Gary says, raising both hands just enough to be seen, voice warm but carrying. "Looks like we've got ourselves a full house tonight."
He gives the bar a quick once-over, already counting mugs in his head.

"Everyone can grab a seat where they can," he adds reassuringly. "Nobody's in trouble, nobody's late—just gonna be a moment."

Gary slides a glance toward the taps, then nods to himself.

"I've gotta go wrestle a keg," he announces, half-apologetic, half-proud. "Old friend of mine, heavy as bad decisions."

He waddles a step back, pointing lightly at the bar as if it will behave in his absence.

"Don't go anywhere," he says to no one and everyone. "Ell's nearby, IG's got the door, and the race'll keep you company."

Then, with a fond shake of his head and a quiet chuckle, Gary disappears toward the back, already muttering to himself about poor timing and perfect crowds—leaving the Refuge buzzing, seated, and breathing together while the engines roar on the holo.

Gillem Meri Vale Darth Virelia

 

[Meri Vale]

Meri had been listening quietly the entire time, both hands wrapped around her mug as if it were something precious rather than just a drink. The warmth seeped into her fingers while Gillem spoke, her pale eyes following the flicker of the race on the holo and then drifting back to him, attentive in the way she always was when someone talked about something they truly cared about.

She nodded a little at his words, thoughtful.

"I think…that makes sense," Meri said softly. "Knowing something so well that you can hear when it is hurting. Or when it is about to." Her gaze lingered on the racing pods for a moment. "That feels…important. Not just for machines."

When Virelia's voice joined the conversation, Meri startled only slightly, straightening in her seat before offering the armored woman a small, polite smile. There was no fear in it, only a quiet respect for someone who clearly carried a great deal of history with her.

"Hello," she said gently. "We are doing…Alright, I think. It is busy, but nice."

Her attention shifted briefly toward the back hallway where Gary had disappeared, then returned to the others.

"I like that people can just…sit together here," she added after a moment, glancing between Gillem and Virelia. "Even if they are very different. It feels safe."

She took a small sip of her drink, then looked back to the holo as another racer tore past a canyon wall in a blur of light.

"And…I think you are right," Meri said quietly, returning to Gillem's earlier thought. "About it being like life. You try very hard not to crash. But sometimes you still do." Her shoulders lifted in a faint, almost shy shrug. "I guess what matters is…whether you keep going after."

She offered them both a small, sincere smile, still a little reserved, but warmer now.

"I am glad I came tonight."

Gary The Barkeep Gillem Darth Virelia

 

[Gillem]

GILLEM

Gillem’s eyes tore from the screen to the now armored and imposing figure that stepped into the room. Instinctively his hand reached for his revolver that was not there, fingers wrapping around nothing as a frustrated quiet grunt left him. His eye scanned her over, jotting down her details and directly feeding them back to him.

He listened to the response Meri gave her at her greeting and watched as Gary went to the back of the bar.

Hopefully this Sith was not the type to just lash out like some that he had seen.

He slowly brought his hand back to his glass, slowly sipping as Meri spoke to her.

“It’s a quiet night.”

No not quiet in the sense of noise, or in the sense of inactivity. More of a non active warzone.

“Sometimes you have to sit down and enjoy a drink. Care to join us Ma’am?”

He spoke softly to her, though his voice still carried. He showed no signs of hostility but his defense was still high.

He kept his eye on her, but he responded to Meri after she spoke to him.

“Not only that, but how much does the crash change you.”

He gave her a slow nod as he kept watch over her too. Something seemed a bit tense for a moment after the Sith walked in and with such a yungin nearby.

He gave a slow sigh before taking another sip, the smoke from his cigarette curling and wisping into the air, the sweet grounded smell of his personal grown tabac reaching the far corners of the bar.

Darth Virelia | Meri Vale | Gary The Barkeep​