Ember to Ash
Ord Thoden was somehow almost identical yet entirely alien when compared to Stewjon. The mined instead of farmed but the faces wore the same expressions, and the same stagnant atmosphere hung over the people of the world. Most of them would never leave the planet, nor had their parents before them, or would their children after them. If it weren't for the extent of the mining operations that had sustained the planet for centuries Miles wondered if they'd even know there was life beyond the planet. Not that they cared much about life here.
No man or woman rose in uproar as Miles Jast stood in the aisle between the bar and the booths against the wall of the establishment, blaster smoking in his hands. The whole of the interior was dim, the lights overhead yellowing and dull, the walls made from faded brick and the furniture from what he imagined was salvaged metals. Only a few of them had even looked up from their drinks to give Miles a look of confusion.
They didn't care, he'd killed a man right in front of them, perhaps a man they had known for all their lives, and they didn't even flinch. When Miles had drawn on the man he'd expected worse, expected a brawl, but instead all he'd gotten was a brief silence before they went back to their conversations. He nearly cried out to question why none of them had even asked what the man had done, but instead he slid the gun back into its holster and let out a sigh.
Miles decided he would turn in the chain code for the man later, and if some other patron didn't take the blaster he'd tried to draw on him first, Miles might even get around to selling that. His ship needed a few things fixed up, nothing dire but he wanted to stay on top of it at least. His mother had given him that habit.
"Somethin' strong, if you'd please." He gave the nearest woman behind the bar a credit chit, which she took without so much as looking at him. Wordlessly she poured him a glass of something dark, and handed it to him before turning away. He thought of saying something clever, but realized that for all the indifference of the locals he doubted anyone anywhere wanted to have a gunman try sweet talking them right after the fact.
Miles took back the booth he and his quarry had occupied before the man tried to run, and let out a long sigh. This was how he'd do it, how he'd make his mark, bounty hunters had status once they rose high enough, he just had to start at the bottom like everyone else. The gunslinger pressed the glass to his lips, and kept his eyes on the door.
Emberlyn Rekali
No man or woman rose in uproar as Miles Jast stood in the aisle between the bar and the booths against the wall of the establishment, blaster smoking in his hands. The whole of the interior was dim, the lights overhead yellowing and dull, the walls made from faded brick and the furniture from what he imagined was salvaged metals. Only a few of them had even looked up from their drinks to give Miles a look of confusion.
They didn't care, he'd killed a man right in front of them, perhaps a man they had known for all their lives, and they didn't even flinch. When Miles had drawn on the man he'd expected worse, expected a brawl, but instead all he'd gotten was a brief silence before they went back to their conversations. He nearly cried out to question why none of them had even asked what the man had done, but instead he slid the gun back into its holster and let out a sigh.
Miles decided he would turn in the chain code for the man later, and if some other patron didn't take the blaster he'd tried to draw on him first, Miles might even get around to selling that. His ship needed a few things fixed up, nothing dire but he wanted to stay on top of it at least. His mother had given him that habit.
"Somethin' strong, if you'd please." He gave the nearest woman behind the bar a credit chit, which she took without so much as looking at him. Wordlessly she poured him a glass of something dark, and handed it to him before turning away. He thought of saying something clever, but realized that for all the indifference of the locals he doubted anyone anywhere wanted to have a gunman try sweet talking them right after the fact.
Miles took back the booth he and his quarry had occupied before the man tried to run, and let out a long sigh. This was how he'd do it, how he'd make his mark, bounty hunters had status once they rose high enough, he just had to start at the bottom like everyone else. The gunslinger pressed the glass to his lips, and kept his eyes on the door.
Emberlyn Rekali
