Private The Uninvited.

[Karasu]

The small town ‘Duurhn’ on planet Orondi didn’t look so much as a town, but more like a junkyard; the rusting, broken remains of a decades-old star cruiser formed the core of the town. No one even knew the make of the ship, not anymore, though it must have been big. The wreckage had created a debris wall three miles long. In the single cantina, hadn’t been it’s usual bustling of patrons tonight, though it still had a significant slew of people milling about near the bars edge. 'The Slinky Loth Cat' Cantina on Orondia wasn’t typically a popular choice to house that many patrons anyway, but considering the time of night it was, Paxtruss Willil the cantina owner and the man behind the bar wiping down the tables still kept an eye on the few people sitting in his establishment. One of which was Krake, a gray faced Zabrak whom had only arrived two nights prior on Orondia in his dilapidated ship.

Krake was sitting firmly alone at one of the far tables of the cantina, milking his spotchka beverage for the past 30 minutes, it’s blue frothy haze casting a pale hue of light upon Krake’s face while his dull orange eyes passed over several strangers that remained in the cantina. There was no music, only the slight lull of voices from several paired patrons that also distanced themselves from others so they wouldn’t so easily be heard. The Zabrak paid no mind to them, but considered his remaining time he needed to reach Scarif for his important dealings he wanted to make. It wasn’t long after his wandering thoughts were interrupted when Paxtruss entered his field of vision.

“You gunna finished that drink, or did I make a bad batch?” Paxtruss asked his arms folded across his chest.

Looking down at his blue glowing drink, Krake shook his head, “No, no. I am just to busy going over something to drink my drink. I will keep at it, and possibly order another.” Krake said, a little perturbed after being bothered by the human cantina owner.

“Ah, very well.” Paxtruss added and wondered off to check on the other patrons across the cantina.

The Nomad

 

[The Nomad]

S I N N E R

Tag: Karasu

Orondia was certainly an eyesore of a planet, but it was far from the worst out of what the Nomad had seen in his days. Bare rock framed by a purple sky made for a desolate environment. The Slinky Loth Cat cantina was an attempt to try and alleviate the dismal surroundings with food and entertainment, and one that was only successful purely out of necessity. Orondia served as a depot and refueling platform in the Outer Rim Territories, and a hardly reputable one at that. Spacers came to Orondia only when they were desperate enough for the high prices and low grades of fuel. But in this part of the Outer Rim, so close to the constantly-tumultous Hutt Space, that was an occurrence that happened quite often, and so both the planet and its lone cantina enjoyed a healthy amount of traffic.

The cantina was filled with the worst scum and villainy that the galaxy had to offer. The Nomad's favorite type of people.

His entrance into the cantina was nondescript, and he seemed to seek the shadows, his eyes crinkling as he silently and ambiguously surveyed the bar and its patrons. Premonitions in the force. . . it had been long since that the Nomad had given up his life as a Jedi and become the man who he was today. But although his lightsaber no longer exist, nor did his name and titles that the Jedi had given to him, his connection to the Force was ever-present. And for some reason it had led him to this backwater refueling station.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed two patrons in a booth furtively talking over the drinks. He could see the identifying horns of a Zabrak, but the other person's back was turned to him, and he was unable to guess what they were beyond being humanoid. Suddenly, the one with their back turned stood and left towards the center of the bar, leaving the Zabrak to brood over their drink. The Nomad felt a nudge in the Force, and so slightly begrudgingly he stood and made his way over.

"This seat open?" he asked, more rhetorically than not as he slid uninvited into the side of the booth that the Zabrak's companion had just stood up from. If the Nomad had any doubts in what the Force was telling him, he certainly didn't show it, with his voice -- slightly warbled as it was with his respirator -- displaying his usual charisma. His eyes crinkled once more as he peered directly into the Zabrak's. "You got a name, brother?"
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[Karasu]

Krake wasn’t lying when he said he would be pacing himself in drinking his spotchka, and as he had been taking half sip of the tall clear glass he was drinking it from, another patron entered the cantina. The Zabrak pulled the glass away from him lips and placed in front of him with both hands clasped around the beverage as his dull orange eyes watched as the stranger drifted across ‘The Slinky Loth Cat’. He had appeared to be looking for something, or someone and as he watched this new unknown person shift directions he found the man locked into his own position. Krake gritted his teeth as the stranger closed the gap between them. He didn’t want to be hassled, harassed, or positioned for some scheme that would probably leave him credit-less.

There was something else, it hadn’t struck him before, but it had certainly done it then as the man walked closer. A tug at something that caused Krake to flutter his eyes lids several times, as though wind had caught them all to suddenly, a pull in the force. The horned humanoid tried to resolve this feeling; perhaps a warning, or a hint to further announce who this was that was approaching him. Even still, Krake remained calm and collected, his dull blueish-green tinted hand clasped firmly around his beverage.

“This seat open?’ he heard the man ask, which Krake replied with a slight gesture with a small wave of his hand which had motioned it was open. The stranger whether he took the seat or not followed with another question shortly after; “You got a name, brother?”

The Zabrak’s dull orange eyes squinted slightly at the question, but he didn’t seemed as bothered by the inquiry as he might had thought, but more to the purpose to the upcoming conversation that was about to follow. Krake let the moment of silence between them sit for far longer than was needed but replied, “I am called Krake. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” he stated, though that didn’t say much to how long Krake had been on Planet Orondi, even if it had only been for three days, but he had seen the same patrons return day after day. It was reflex, but if the Nomad would notice, Krake had only one hand resting around his beverage and the other hand, unseen.

The Nomad

 

[The Nomad]

S I N N E R

Tag: Karasu
Word Count: 456

At his words, the Zabrak looked up with red-rimmed eyes, unfocused. From the slur of his speech to the way that he couldn't quite hold a gaze, to the way he had been staring at his drink, the Nomad guessed that the man was heavily intoxicated. He couldn't blame him, though; a heavy night of drinking on such a forsaken world as Orondia was enough to inebriate anyone, and the Nomad was not excluded from that list.

A pause in the conversation, a moment devoid of any sound, except for that of silence, hung heavy between the too as the Zabrak neglected any response. That did not last long forever, nor did it throw the Nomad off his guard. He had seen all the 'tactics' used by beings to intimidate their prey, and as the years had turned into decades, they had all began to bounce off of him. But, he considered himself an optimistic fellow, and didn't want to assume that the Zabrak was being hostile; at least, intentionally hostile.

At long last, the Zabrak spoke. "I am called Krake. I don't think I've seen you here before," he said by means of a statement. As he talked, the Nomad watched as one hand was lay rested on the drink, but the other moved surreptitiously under the table, unseen. Most likely to draw some sort of weapon. But the Nomad wasn't too surprised or fearful for his life. He wasn't heard to confront or perform any enforcer business.

But if he were? He was confident he could beat a drunk Zabrak to the draw.

Fortunately, he wasn't, and if everyone kept a cool head, no one would be leaving with a blaster bolt in their head. A rather poor phrase, as if one had a blaster bolt in their head, they would definitely not be left of their own volition at any rate. "I've been around many parts, and I've seen a lot of things. Beings I know, and even more that I don't," the Nomad said in reply. "They call me the Nomad," he added, remembering to introduce himself.

His dark eyes peered intently into the Zabrak's red ones. "Thing is, I'm pretty good with people. And you look like you're in a bit of a spot yourself," he said, a statement that was really more of a question. Before the Zabrak had a chance to respond, however, the Nomad stopped a passing server droid. "Two snorts of Spotchka," the Nomad ordered, tossing a couple of credits towards the droid's way. "One for me and one for my friend here."

"Right away, sir," the droid replied mechanically, leaving the two once more. Satisfied, the Nomad turned back towards Krake, intent on getting an answer.
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[Karasu]

Krake blinked his dull orange eyes as though trying to understand what the stranger was explaining to him, this ‘Nomad’ was seemingly very casual to the odd situation he was in, or to what Krake figured he was in. Slowly he brought his other hand back up to the top of the table and held both aground his glass of Spotchka. The droid that had taken the Nomad’s order had already exited their table when Krake finally felt he could reply.

“I am in a little of a predicament, yes. You seem to be able to read people pretty well. I was just having a drink here by myself trying to come up with a plan. If you know anyone that’s will to forfeit over a ships power core to next to nothing in credits, that would set things well for me.” Krake said, still keeping his voice low and collective, but the Spotchka was helping him with that, mostly.

The Zabrak turned his gaze back around the cantina, and back towards the ‘Nomad’, still trying to read what this fellow was about.




Tag : The Nomad

 

[The Nomad]

S I N N E R

Tag: Karasu
Word Count: 498

The Zabrak -- Krake -- blinked his dull orange eyes and stared at the Nomad dubiously as if trying to comprehend what he was saying. He seemed somewhat taken aback by the Nomad's casual and friendly tone, and if he had to guess, this poor man had seen a lot more enemies than friends. It was the typical run of living a life in the underworld, but you had to have compatriots if you weren't to lose yourself, or at least some sort of ally. The Force was no ally for the Nomad, it was just a tool.

Come to think of it, the Nomad actually had no compatriots or friends himself. Ah, it didn't matter. He had lost it a long time ago anyway.

“I am in a little of a predicament, yes," the Zabrak, Krake admitted finally. His speech was still slightly slurred, but he seemed to be a tad more focused overall. "You seem to be able to read people pretty well. I was just having a drink here by myself trying to come up with a plan. If you know anyone that’s will to forfeit over a ship's power core to next to nothing in credits, that would set things well for me.” Zabrak's tone was surprisingly insightful, especially the mark about the Nomad being able to read people well. Sure, it was an attribute he accredited himself with having, but the Force had as much to do with it as anything else.

"A power core from a starship, eh?" The nomad asked, tilting his head to the side and swaying slightly in his seat in an oddly charismatic way, leaning back into the torn and stained cushion of the bench, spreading out his arms behind the headrest in a relaxed position. He chuckled softly before continuing in his signature raspy voice. "You in some sorta predicament, brother? What got you looking for that kinda hardware?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

Just then, the server droid reappeared. It was an older model, with a feminine shape and vocabulator, that rolled through the cantina on a single treaded wheel, supported and balanced out by extremely low-level repuslsorlifts. One upraised mechanical hand sat a concentric metal tray on which drinks of all types and sizes sat. She wheeled back to the seats that the Nomad and Krake sat at, setting down the small glasses of bright blue colored liquid in front of the Nomad and Krake respectively. "Two snorts of spotchka!" the droid called, her vocabulator apparently lacking a volume modifier.

"Mighty appreciated," the Nomad said with a wave of the hand. He picked up the beverage in one hand and took a long sip, throwing his head back in his reclined position, before setting it down with a bit of force on the table. He lifted himself up from his reclined position, leaning forward now on the table with both elbows resting on it, intent on hearing what Krake was up to.
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[Karasu]

After a rather long moment after the Nomad downed one of his spotchka’s in one fell swoop off the table, Krake’s longing gaze appeared to return to the table, almost lost in thought, or even far more intoxicated that anyone would originally thought; but he wasn’t no, he was simply drifting away from what was the problem at hand. Krake was stranded, and had been for some time, and no matter how many times he would try and take the upper hand in getting himself so sort of escape from this rock on Orondi he would fail and some how start back at square one. Luck was not on his side, and certainly hadn’t been for some time.

Krake watched as the still very unfamiliar stranger drank his drink, though uncertain to what this ‘Nomad’ wanted from him. “Yes, a power core is needed on this end of the table. As for why, that business is my own. Shouldn’t really seem that questionable.It’s obvious, I don’t have one, I need one, end of story.” Krake stated, his words shot a little offensiveness to them, and a little slurred as while, the Nomad was not wrong in this assumption.


Still twirling the very little remnants of his spotchka, a slight film of blue frothy film towards the bottom of his glass. Quickly Krake downed what was left in his glass, possibly three drips of liquid but it had truly emptied the glass. One of the service droids would notice again make their way towards the two patrons, as the facility, ‘The Slinky Loth Cat’ Cantina has very minimal customers at this time of day.

The Zabrak closely looked at the Nomad in very curious dull orange eyes, “What make’s a fella such as you, so curious? Can’t you see that I am a man in need of such an offering?”

@ The Nomad