Countess Anétresya
Mommy Sangnir
Another night and another late shift at The Tavern. The woman was tired, but money had to be made if she were to keep up with the bills, the nanny-nurse biot subscription and clinic invoices. Just another 2 more hours. The slim holo tablet strapped on her arm buzzed, alerting her to a new order underlined in gold. It wasn't often when she was selected to attend to an Elite patron - as the title implied, were usually the most affluent patrons, the tips almost always in generous multiples when she ever tended to one of their tables. It was also mandated that the table had somewhat of her exclusive attention - and it meant fewer exhausting customers for her to attend to. It was quite a surprise, to say the least.
From the bar, she collected the drink, swerving past droids and other busy alleys of waitstaff towards table 27. The emerald-haired waitress paused at a distance, she knew an Elite member when she saw one and this young man, likely not much older than she was, did not fit the description on the tab - but the surveillance would pick faults up eventually and usually fairly quickly. Nevertheless, with a smile she approached, setting down the round-short stemmed snifter glass swirling with amber liquid. "Single malt Corellian whiskey for Skrol Murgjon." The tone conveyed her scepticism as crisply as the vowels of the name were enunciated in an accent thick and foreign. It was her job to serve and entertain, maintaining the security around here was not on the payroll. She quite liked getting to know her customers, especially those without an entourage - they usually had the most stories to tell.
"And what brings you here to the 297th floor of Qena, Skrol Murgjon?" She began the small talk, again, repeating the name to emphasise but this time in a tone that had shifted more amicably with an almost flirty air - the usual on the job.
Damian A. Drake
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