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The reality of what lies beneath the scars.

Nyraen Mirhage

Guest
N
The mechanic was elbow-deep in the engine of an old landspeeder, a decidedly colorful stream of invective falling past her lips. This archaic model, from a Force-be-damned bygone era, was the current bane of her existence. The list of what wasn't wrong with it was shorter by two klicks than the list of what needed to be rebuilt and replaced. For the fortieth time that hour alone, she berated herself for taking on the project in addition to the other work waiting nearby.

Two speeder bikes needing routine maintenance and inspection were in the second bay, and in the third, was a broken down luxury model that had been towed in just before closing time. Nyraen sighed heavily as she rose from her crouched position, joints popping audibly as she stretched and stared down at her dirty clothing and filthy hands. A clean mechanic wasn't a good mechanic, in her estimation, but this was getting a bit ridiculous even for her.

A glance up at the holoscreen on the nearby wall told her it was getting late, and she had no desire to spend all night in the shop yet again. It took time for her to straighten things up and lock down each bay, and then flip the security system on. Weary steps carried the tall redhead upstairs to the spacious apartment above, where she debated the merit of taking a bath and relaxing, or taking a shower and going out for a change.

Staying in meant lingering on old memories again, and she didn't want to do that. Not tonight.

Nyraen changed and showered in a decent amount of time, finding clean clothes to wear even as she ran a comb through her mane of crimson curls. Clad in a t-shirt and slightly torn jeans, she grabbed her leather jacket and soon had the door locked behind her. The cool night air was welcome as she walked through the outskirts of the city she'd called home since the end of the purges.

All that time she'd been forced into hiding, using every last ounce of her ability so she wouldn't be hunted down and slaughtered for the accident of her birth. Hunted and slaughtered by her own brethren. By Mandalorians.

It left a vile, bitter taste in her mouth, and she still found herself looking over her shoulder at almost every turn. Nyraen turned her back on those that remained and still called themselves Mandalorian, so many of them remnants from those who had banded together to purge the Force users from their ranks. To kill loyal Mandalorians for...

The redhead forced herself to stop thinking in circles. It happened often and only left her upset and closer to the edge of losing her control over herself. She needed to feed tonight, and she did not need to be careless about it. A drink or two at the cantina would take the edge off, and she could use the quiet relaxation of her favorite spot for a while.

The Broken Compass was lit warmly from within, the open door beckoning her forward. It wasn't a particularly rowdy cantina, but it was lively enough to provide ample entertainment through observation. The bartender nodded as she entered, her favorite ale ready by the time she got to the bar and perched on a stool, jacket draped across the back. Silver eyes passed over those regulars she recognized, and absently coursed over the newcomers.

[member="Daymon Vale"]​
 
Keepin Corellia Weird
Writer
The place didn't matter really. The name over the door and on the window read 'The Broken Compass, but he barely registered it. The fighting had been intense this time, and he had actually taken a few this time. They had gone in under-manned and outgunned. But the mission had been a success. They had lost two men out of twelve, and both of them were green and overly cocky. Daymon had gotten them in and helped watch the teams six as they had performed a light bit of corporate espionage. Who the target was had barely registered, the employer had good credits. It felt dirty, but he needed to keep flying and keep fed. Jobs like this one were not his personal favorite, but they paid.

Walking in, Daymon shook off the sudden downpour that had popped up on the way here and hailed the bartender, though his left arm didn't rise as high as it could have. Body armor or not, a full scattergun to the ribs made you sore for a while. grey-green eyes had rain-slicked auburn hair brushed from them, as out of habit everyone in the room got a risk profile. All he was carrying was a knife in his boot and a hold-out blaster, but still, the years in the Alliance forces had such things almost by habit. Taking a seat at the bar, he draped his coat over the chair-stool like hybrid and relaxed. Black fatigue pants bloused into boots with a black buckled leather belt of the same color, and a white undershirt. The jacket itself was black bantha hide, having several old patches both sentimental and representing his service history.

The 'tender nodded and slid him his order. It was an old drink he had grown fond of and usually drank after a mission where comrades were lost. Even though he didn't serve in any sort of outfit full time now. Tracing a hand across a jaw broken once or twice but still maintaining a hard set, he lifted the shot of whiskey and dropped it into the pilsner beer and tilted back the tall glass after a glance upward in parting to the lost two. As if by magic, a small mug of darker beer followed, and the tender nodded to his left arm where the Infantry tattoo was on the fore, with the chevrons of his rank. A subtle twist outward of the bar keeps right arm showed a similar tattoo, and a moment of shared knowledge was present before he went off to others needing orders filled and left Daymon to nurse his beer in silence.

All that was left now was to while the night away in conversation and maybe play one of the battered bar games. And his eyes began to search out a compatriot for such a venture.

[member="Nyraen Mirhage"]
 

Nyraen Mirhage

Guest
N
The redhead sipped at her drink, crossing her legs as she shifted a bit in her seat. It was even more quiet than usual in the Broken Compass that night, but it wasn't entirely usual. Likely had something to do with the sudden downpour she could hear begin outside, the rain almost soothingly rhythmic as it fell against the building's exterior. Someone entered the door with a bit of haste because of it, shaking the water from his form and brushing damp locks from his features.

She studied him for a moment, admiring the chisel of his jaw and the set of his shoulders, before he hailed the bartender Armand and made his way through the cantina to the bar. He wasn't a regular, of that Nyraen was certain...she'd have seen him before if he had been, and if nothing else, would have remember those shoulders. She realized she was staring however, and simply offered a nod as he sat a stool away from her own perch.

Her attention shifted, focusing on the slightly raised voice from one of the back corners. It wouldn't have registered to most, but with her enhanced senses, she caught onto the sound itself in addition to the discomfort inherent within it. She shifted with alacrity as a clear refusal echoed again, head whipping around to focus on the trouble brewing. One of the servers, a young woman named Eva, had a pair of troublesome customers who weren't taking no for an answer. She was out of her seat the moment one of them grabbed the girl's wrist.

"Quickly and quietly, Rae...and have Eva head into the back for a while, Mela will tend to her."

Nyraen nodded as Armand spoke and allowed her preternatural speed to carry her to the back of the cantina in very short order. The two men looked slightly surprised but did their best to cover their expressions, but Eva looked relieved even on the edge of tears as she was. "Gentlemen, you have five seconds to remove your hands from the lady before I remove them for you." she said quietly, her silver gaze glittering as it shifted sharply, energy flaring within.

Eva shook and tried to pull away from the one who had hold of her wrist, and whimpered when his grip tightened. Nyraen didn't give them a chance to reply, taking the offenders wrist in a crushing grip until he let go. "Eva, why don't you go give Mela a hand while I show these gentlemen the door."

She darted off and soon disappeared, while the redhead grabbed each of them by the back of their collars. With seemingly little effort, she dragged them out of the booth and soon threw them literally out into the street, nodding at the regular who rose to hold the door open for her. She stood there glaring for several moments, a predatory smile curling her lips before she reigned it in and returned to her seat at the bar. Armand nodded by way of thanks and refilled her dark ale, returning to tending to the rest of his duties.

Canting her head after taking a lingering sip, she turned her attention to the newcomer. "Sorry about that...it's unusual in here. Pretty tame most of the time. Never seen you in here before...I'm Nyraen. You are?" she asked with a faint rolling sound to her accent.


[member="Daymon Vale"]​
 
Keepin Corellia Weird
Writer
To most, the happenings passed without a flicker from the newcomer. Studiously ignored. But to those with a more trained eye, the hold-out blaster was eased in it's holster when he put the small of his back to the bar and leaned back to stretch and watch finally as Nyraen threw down in a most spectacular fashion. Who he would have shot wasn't clear, but if things had gotten a little crazier he would have stepped in. Whether or not he was working for Hutts and doing questionable things, there was still a streak of morals in him that kept him from going too far. Not that you would call Daymon a hero, or even a good man, but he was not a villain either. Just a man.

As the lass rolled back to him and canted her head to talk to him, he sat back down on the barstool, leaving the pistol un-strapped and eased. After that display, he wasn't terribly sure being this womans focus was good for his future or his health really. But, without being rude there was little he could do for it. So he sipped the dark beer in his hand and nodded thoughtfully before he answered, voice weary and exhausted, and his eyes mirroring it. Soon he'd need to board somewhere until he could get paid in full. Get a ship, or book passage on one and be on his way.

"Trust me darlin, that was tame compared to a hutt's palace. I'm Daymon, and i'm just passing through between jobs. Needed a drink, rough day at the office, yeah?"

[member="Nyraen Mirhage"]
 

Nyraen Mirhage

Guest
N
"Everything is tame compared to a hutt's palace...especially on this planet. I don't think anything that could be called remotely exciting has happened here in years." Nyraen added with a smile, glancing briefly toward Armand as he stepped back behind the bar. The man nodded, a brief, efficient gesture that told her what she needed to know without asking. Eva was alright, otherwise, his expression would have been far darker, and she'd have been outside taking payment out of a pair of spacers.

"Those happen. Here's to hoping tomorrow turns out a fair sight better, then." she lifted her glass and drained what was left, thanking Armand as he placed a fresh glass in front of her shortly after. This one, she curled her fingers around and savored the cool sensation of before taking a sip. Her hands hadn't gotten to the trembling stage yet, which was a plus, otherwise Daymon's instincts would have pulled his deceptively relaxed posture into sharper clarity.

Soldiers like him...ones that had seen what he likely had and lived to tell about it, knew more thanks to their battle honed instincts and senses than most. They knew danger when they saw it, whether or not they understood what it was. When it came down to it, she was a predator, and he recognized that to some degree. Her free hand rose to tuck her crimson curls behind her ear as she sighed internally. It was what it was, she mused, and with any luck, would improve given some measure of time.

The cozy corner booth emptied out of the regulars within it, the chatty bunch calling out goodbyes and making their way out of the door. Nyraen waved as they did, rising from her seat and absently stretching as she did. Drink and jacket in hand, she sauntered in that direction, pausing to glance at Daymon over her shoulder. "Wanna join me? Best booth in the place. Complete with holo terminal and bar games." She added a smile before casting her gaze back to the booth and sliding into it, proud of herself for at least not staring. But she would if given the opportunity to watch him stride across the bar.


[member="Daymon Vale"]​
 
Keepin Corellia Weird
Writer
Instinct said to be cautious, but the cocky snark the alcohol gave him had muted it slightly, if not wholly. So for now, he stood and stretched, slapping down a few chits as he gathered his things and drink, and joined the other at her recently acquired booth. There wasn't much of a saunter or walk that spoke of anything but a stiff favoring to his side he couldn't hide no matter how tough he projected, accompanied by a walk that was too casual to be casual. As he rose there was a flicker of annoyance across his face that was almost a grimace of pain but not quite.

Nodding to the tender, two fingers were held up as he walked and pointed at the booth to indicate the next round was on him. As he sat down in the booth he smiled, nodding with a polite inclination of his head to Nyraen. With a flick of his arm the jacket was tossed in next to him and he sighed, grumbling a bit good-naturedly as he adjusted, clear his mobility was a bit hampered but entirely possible that was exaggerated to deceive his actual capacity. That was the trick with a good operative. You never knew how far the game went.

"Thank you for the invitation. The others don't look like they care for off-worlders much, and given i'm stuck here for a minute or two until my pay clears and I get a ship, best make nice and not make my presence a burden. And I suggest the next round be to a fairer tomorrow, because if I take another slug thrower mag to the ribs tomorrow I may be pretty upset"

[member="Nyraen Mirhage"]
 

Nyraen Mirhage

Guest
N
At least something was going right this evening, she mused, gaze sliding across the sight he presented as he sauntered across the bar. He was cocky, that much was obvious, and she could appreciate what it lent to his persona as he crossed the space, weaving around a number of tables before arriving at the booth. A smile curled her lips, and she dipped her head to hide her expression and her fangs as she sipped the last of her drink.

Head canted to the side, Nyraen took careful stock of him as he slid into the bench seat opposite her. Part of it was senses honed through training, years of fighting and being on the run, and another part of it were the senses of the predator that she was. They told her much, and she thought she might have a decent read on him, aside from the obvious of how damn fine he looked. The Force would have told her more, but she had a code of conduct about using it to invade people’s privacy, and now was not the time for such a thing.

“They really don’t. I’m technically an off-worlder too, but I guess I’ve gained some acceptance since I’ve been here a handful of years. Well, that and it generally pays not to annoy one of the only local mechanics.” The redhead grinned as she settled into the booth, feeling free to stare at her companion and take in his rugged, handsome features in from close-up.

“But you are welcome. If you need a recommendation for a place to stay, let me know. I’ve got some contacts I can set you up with. Even a medic, because slugthrower mags and ribs do not mix well.”

Shifting slightly, she paused, nodding to Armand as he brought their next round over himself, setting the drinks in front of each of them. In front of Nyraen, he also settled a small bottle of dark glass, with a faded label bearing an old, stylized mythosaur skull. Nudging that aside as he left, she picked up her glass and nodded at Daymon.

“To a very pleasant evening, and to a fairer tomorrow.”


[member="Daymon Vale"]
 
Keepin Corellia Weird
Writer
"I could use the recommendation... I don't really know the lay of the land, and I doubt my employer is altruistic enough to put me up somewhere. Hutts are uniquely self-serving. But they pay well."

Eyes flickered over the symbol, and for a brief moment a look of either hatred or disgust crossed his rugged features at the sight of the faded skull. Memories flooded in his mind, and he shook his head, then snorted, nodding to it.

"Bucket-head booze, eh? Too good for Corellian whiskey?"

The tone was playful, but there was almost too much of a casual joke to it. A little overly much of ease and tease. Something in him didn't outright hate the Mandalorians, but it wasn't a welcome sight obviously.

[member="Nyraen Mirhage"]
 

Nyraen Mirhage

Guest
N
"Fair enough...hold on a sec." she grinned, rummaging in her jacket's pockets for a few moments, until she came up with a small flimsi. There was an address and a holo communicator number printed neatly on it, which she slid across the table to him. "Edric Tannen. He's a good sort and helpful to people new to the place. If you need anything while you're here, between he and I, we'll be able to hook you up."

Subtlety, she mused, was not exactly her strong point, and some day she'd learn to edit the words before they came out of her mouth. That day, however, was clearly not today. A faint smile curled her lips for a brief moment, but it wasn't long before the expression hardened and her silver gaze fell flat. She gingerly moved the bottle aside, tucking it behind her jacked on the seat beside her.

"I was one, once. Not that you ever stop being one, but...times change. Armand was nice enough to track down a bottle from my home town. Been years since I've been able to get my hands on the stuff." There was so much left unsaid, and her gaze reluctantly left his features and focused instead on the glass before her. Fingertips traced the rim as she tried to gather her suddenly scattered thoughts, before they raised her glass for a long, lingering sip.

[member="Daymon Vale"]
 
Keepin Corellia Weird
Writer
He nodded in thanks, and smiled as the bar keep sat a dusty green bottle down for him, which he opened and sniffed happily, pouring the rare Corellian brandy slowly. Whiskey and ale were famed products, but most off-world of Corellia hadn't developed a taste for Corellian Brandy like natives had. Years ago a case had gotten 'lost' during a smuggling run, and he had acquired said taste. A fine cigar and a good brandy were his idea of heavenly relaxation, and he savored the smell as he raised his glass to his nose, slowly swirling the dark amber liquid around in the glass, the bouquet teasing his senses.

Turning eyes to her as he swallowed the first sip, he raised his glass, and perhaps surprisingly uttered a bit of twangy Mando'a

"Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore... One of the few bits I remember from running with the Clans on and off.. Hope I said it right!"

[member="Nyraen Mirhage"]
 

Nyraen Mirhage

Guest
N
Her head canted to the side, and the long ponytail of crimson locks slipped over her shoulder as she watched him intently. She was many things, but she prided herself on being able to read people without resorting to the Force, and this ability was failing her at every turn this evening. Daymon presented a fascinating puzzle, and she very much enjoyed a challenge.

Pondering his savoring of brandy and half wondering if he was about to produce a proper cigar, Nyraen wasn't prepared for the sweet syllables of Mando'a to slip out of his mouth, his accent wrapped snugly around them. Silver eyes widened as took a sip of her own drink in automated response to the toast, and she regarded him with a great deal more interest as she floundered for a response.

Of course, that involved speaking and her voice wasn't willing to cooperate just at that moment.

It was enough that she'd heard her mother-tongue only in anger and rage the last few years, but to hear it uttered in a casual conversation and to not find herself with a blaster aimed at her was a shock to her system. It took another sip and several long, silent moments for her brain to kick back into gear, averting her gaze as she realized she had been staring at him for what felt like a blasted millennium.

"Wayii...Mando'a was not on the list of things I thought I'd hear today...vor'entye. And for the record, you said it just fine." she relaxed back into the booth as she spoke, much more at ease than she had been before. Her expression warmed as she met his gaze once more, his accent wrapping around the Mando'a still lingering in her ears.

"I wonder what other surprises lurk under that surface..."


[member="Daymon Vale"]
 
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