Rixa Tern
Character
Red Halo Cantina
Upper Deck, Neon Sliver District, Nar Shaddaa
The air smelled like spice, burnt plasma coils, and wet synth-leather.
Rixa Tern slid a lowball glass across the scratched bar top, the amber liquid inside sloshing just shy of the rim. Her fingers, smudged with charcoal eyeliner and dried grease, drummed the counter absently as the Nikto patron grunted a thanks and slipped a few credits into the tip jar.
The cantina pulsed with sound—lowbeats thudding from ceiling panels, chittering laughter from the back booths, and the buzz of malfunctioning holoscreens that never got fixed. That's how she liked it. Broken, familiar, and always louder than the thoughts she didn't want to hear.
A Mirialan girl—new dancer—twirled midstage in slow spirals, catching attention from the outer rim of stools while the regulars kept to their vices.
Rixa lit a stimstick with a flick of her gloved thumb. "Hey, you gonna stare at the wall all night or order something stronger than regret?" she asked the hooded patron slouched two stools down.
He grunted, amused. "Just waiting. I heard someone might show up tonight."
"Romantic," she deadpanned. "We get a lot of ghosts in here."
That's when the other voice cut in from behind her—thin, nasal, and far too loud. "Swear on a Corellian debt, he looked just like him! Tall, dark coat, tribal ink on the hand, cocky walk. The guy carried himself like the stars owed him rent."
Rixa didn't turn, but the glass in her hand paused just long enough to show a crack in her cool.
She exhaled through her teeth. "...Say that again?"
The Rodian telling the story kept going. "Had this look, y'know? Like he already knew your secrets. Called himself something else though—'Kael,' or 'Kel'? Said he was looking for someone."
Rixa's lips pressed into a line.
Couldn't be.
The last time she saw
Kaelon Virex
, there had been shouting. Blaster scorch on her left wall. A slammed bottle. Something about trust. Something about leaving.
She hadn't spoken to him since.
She didn't miss him.
Much.
Rixa turned slowly, eyes narrowing under the neon flicker of the bar's overhead sign. "Did this guy happen to leave a message... or a mess?"
The Rodian blinked. "Just said he'd swing back around. Maybe."
Rixa snuffed the stim out in a cracked ashtray, voice flat but her pulse kicking up. "Yeah, well... next time he shows up, tell him the drinks are full price, the door's not unlocked, and he better have something worth saying."
She turned back to the bar, wiping at a spotless glass. Her voice dropped to a mutter no one was meant to hear.
"...and stars help me, if it's actually him."
Upper Deck, Neon Sliver District, Nar Shaddaa
The air smelled like spice, burnt plasma coils, and wet synth-leather.
Rixa Tern slid a lowball glass across the scratched bar top, the amber liquid inside sloshing just shy of the rim. Her fingers, smudged with charcoal eyeliner and dried grease, drummed the counter absently as the Nikto patron grunted a thanks and slipped a few credits into the tip jar.
The cantina pulsed with sound—lowbeats thudding from ceiling panels, chittering laughter from the back booths, and the buzz of malfunctioning holoscreens that never got fixed. That's how she liked it. Broken, familiar, and always louder than the thoughts she didn't want to hear.
A Mirialan girl—new dancer—twirled midstage in slow spirals, catching attention from the outer rim of stools while the regulars kept to their vices.
Rixa lit a stimstick with a flick of her gloved thumb. "Hey, you gonna stare at the wall all night or order something stronger than regret?" she asked the hooded patron slouched two stools down.
He grunted, amused. "Just waiting. I heard someone might show up tonight."
"Romantic," she deadpanned. "We get a lot of ghosts in here."
That's when the other voice cut in from behind her—thin, nasal, and far too loud. "Swear on a Corellian debt, he looked just like him! Tall, dark coat, tribal ink on the hand, cocky walk. The guy carried himself like the stars owed him rent."
Rixa didn't turn, but the glass in her hand paused just long enough to show a crack in her cool.
She exhaled through her teeth. "...Say that again?"
The Rodian telling the story kept going. "Had this look, y'know? Like he already knew your secrets. Called himself something else though—'Kael,' or 'Kel'? Said he was looking for someone."
Rixa's lips pressed into a line.
Couldn't be.
The last time she saw
Kaelon Virex
, there had been shouting. Blaster scorch on her left wall. A slammed bottle. Something about trust. Something about leaving.She hadn't spoken to him since.
She didn't miss him.
Much.
Rixa turned slowly, eyes narrowing under the neon flicker of the bar's overhead sign. "Did this guy happen to leave a message... or a mess?"
The Rodian blinked. "Just said he'd swing back around. Maybe."
Rixa snuffed the stim out in a cracked ashtray, voice flat but her pulse kicking up. "Yeah, well... next time he shows up, tell him the drinks are full price, the door's not unlocked, and he better have something worth saying."
She turned back to the bar, wiping at a spotless glass. Her voice dropped to a mutter no one was meant to hear.
"...and stars help me, if it's actually him."