Philosopher's Stone
Phyla liked going to bars.
Not to drink. After all, she was a sentient rock inside of a droid replicant body. Drinking things in a place like this would be ridiculous. No, what she really enjoyed was the atmosphere. Dim lights, synth-y music, the soft curve of a worn seat cushion. Maybe she was particularly amused by the things folks with flesh had when they were intoxicated. It was also a good place to sit and draw as well. She often found herself sketching all of the curious characters that came through establishments like this, thinking of all the ways she might redesign their outfits for herself. Or maybe somebody of particular interest just caught her attention.
Of course, here she was being pestered by the same wait staff, who kept returning to her booth to ask her the same question.
"Are you certain you don't want to order anything?" the spindly Rodian asked once more. "I-it is happy hour, so drinks are-"
Phy let out a mechanical whir of a groan as she raised her hand to shoo the man away again.
"I already said no," she insisted. "My answer hasn't changed the last three times you've asked."
The man shuffled off looking a bit perplexed. Guy was clearly trying too hard though, must've had his head on the chopping block for layoffs. Phy recalled him muttering about losing his job earlier. She didn't want to be too rude, but it was starting to get on her nerves. The shard turned her attention back to her sketch pad as she assessed it. A blank page, huh? Well that certainly wouldn't do. What sort of artist would she be if she left a page unfilled? So Phyla's mechanical eyes drifted back up to search for a new subject to draw.
Maybe somebody interesting would walk by...
