Session export: The Shame Corner: 008

A VT-49 Decimator angled in to land, gaining clearance and being identified as the Caliburnus. As the ship landed, the pilot deftly began shutting down the engines and other systems before she was ready to leave. Outside the ship’s crests of a raven in flight over crossed lightning bolts were as much an identifier of the pilot as the name of the ship was. Rasilvenaira Stormraven had arrived at the Shame Corner. Whispers probably proceeded her, but she had long since given up caring what conversations she might spark with her presence.

She exited ship, leaving her assassin droid on board to prevent any misunderstandings, he could guard the ship just fine from the inside, despite his complaints. She locked the ship behind her and headed down the corridor to the main hub. Though she’d not been here before, she’d heard plenty about it from friends. And if people she trusted said it was trustworthy, she’d believe them for now. She wanted to see it for herself.

She was dressed in her usual black leather boots, black pants tucked into the tops of her boots, a dark grey tunic style shirt, and a black jacket, and her slightly greying brown hair was pulled back in a pony tail to keep it out of her face. Once she reached the interior of the hub, she smiled. Somehow, it actually matched every description she’d heard of the place. Well, that just meant it was time to check out the bar while her ship was refueled.

It hadn’t been cheap to secure a parking spot for a 150-meter-long Raider-II corvette, but it had been worth it. While other starships had to wait in turn to find somewhere to dock, Aphotis’s Osasdii’s Scythe touched down without delay. And what point would such wealth be if you did not show it off now and then?

Towering heels click, clacked down the ramp as her long, matted, midnight-blue silk frock coat flowed with a gust produced from the massive ion-engines. Her shimmering black second skin was only barely visible from under her coat—that had intricate lace details on it and was further decorated by silver buttons. There was a different air about the tall Sith today—who seemed even taller than normal due to her apparel—there were no souls to offload and she did not wear her signature mask this time.

Aphotis had ordered Zag to stay on the corvette and had her prepare the newly minted star-fighters in the expanded hangar, while she herself would be on the lookout for new pilots that displayed potential.

The tall woman appeared more approachable with her jet-black hair loose, letting it reach all the way down to the middle of her thighs—while the shiny straight hair was evenly parted to contrast with her dark sclera and electric-blue eyes. The thickness of the heavier isoprene strands meant that it did not sway as her lighter silk jacket did. There was no black on her lips today, merely a friendlier peach tone.

Despite the formal look she still had mischief written all over her face and the flicking of her tail did nothing to hide that.

A hulking, glistening black form in a dark red singlet and matching boots walked gingerly through the entryway of the Shame Corner, a stack of papers clutched in one of his massive hands. Vako moved with the careful and controlled motions of someone who knew all too keenly the struggles of being too large in a world not built for somebody his size. He slowly approached the customer service counter, making sure he could be seen coming so as to not startle the attendant. Surprisingly soft footfalls for one so massive carried him to the counter where he had to hunch over a little to ensure he could make eye contact with the person he addressed.

“Excuse me,” a deep, gravelly voice rumbled forth though with clear effort to try to soften the edge on it, “was wonderin’ if there was a manager or somebody I could speak to about somethin’.” He waved the bundle of flyers once, the normal-sized printouts looking like so much as scraps in his grip. “My promotion has an event comin’ up that we’re trying to get folks to, and the boss man wants us to get the word out. These have the info and a holonet code for 50% off a ticket, and I’m just wonderin’ if there’s somewhere around here I could put some that folks might find ‘em.”

Rasilvenaira found her way to the bar and walked inside. It was busy but thankfully not uncomfortably crowded. She walked up to the bar, waving to the bartender.

“I’d like a bottle of your best rum and a glass, please.”

She planned to relax for a while and she had noticed an empty table near the back of the room that would be perfect to watch the room and enjoy some good rum. After all, if the rum was good, why bother rushing to drink it. As long as no one bothered her, she could enjoy the bottle at a leisurely pace.

“I’ll cover the cost of that one.” Appearing out of nowhere, the Emissary wrapped the Stormraven in a bear hug from behind, grinning. “Long time no see, old lady. How’ve you been?”

<@142754576863330304>

Thankfully she recognized the voice before she was enveloped in a bear hug. She huffed slightly.

“Who you calling old, hm? And you know full well I don’t need you buying my rum for me, unless you want something in return? Care to join me for a drink or three? There’s a nice table in the back that hasn’t been claimed yet. Nice chance to do some people watching, and we can catch up a bit. I’ve been doing quite well lately.”

“Oh, erm…” He awkwardly glanced down at the outfit he was wearing, so used to being in that world that it never even occurred to him that people may not recognize it for what it was. “It’s ‘Outer Rim Wrestling Presents Spring Slamtacular.’” The words came slowly to him as he tried to remember exactly what he was supposed to say. He handed over one of the flyers as he continued. “It is an exhilarating display of high-flying action, thrilling conflicts, and feats of monstrous strength. Guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your seat as you witness the greatest fighters this side of the galaxy put it all on the line for their chance at the glory of the belt.” Shoulders which had been slowly creeping upward as he spoke finally loosened and relaxed as a heavy puff of air left him, signaling the speech was done.

He glanced down at the stack of flyers in his hand again, narrowing his eyes in deep thought. He could probably put some up on the board, and it seemed like he might be able to hand out a few more to the folks currently around the station. It seemed like he had a bit of a long day ahead of him, being Killer Whale.

“Need me to? No. But I have an expense account and a job that lets me charge booze to it.” She fished a credit chit out of a pocket and handed it across to the bartender. She liked the Shame Corner too much to attempt to run a tab, and the bartender was cute. “How are you, Ira?”

<@244244163002892288>

“Old friend and co-worker. Office flings get messy.” Erinyes handed the credit chit to Ira. “You should join us when you’re off.”

She paused before walking anywhere, clearly comfortable with Ira overhearing whatever conversation she and Ras might have, but not wanting to pressure Ras into doing the same.

<@142754576863330304>

Rasilvenaira rolled her eyes at Erinyes. “You’re incorrigible, you know that? Stop your flirting. I’m here to drink rum.”

She took the bottle of rum, nodding appreciatively at the label. Fine rum indeed. Then grabbed the two pourd glasses off the bar, and headed over to the table in the back that she’d spotted earlier. It was still empty thankfully. She settled into her seat and took a sip of hers as she waited for the Zeltron to join her.

“So what brings you to this happy little port of call?”

“Thank you for the advice,” Vako took back the flier and stared quizzically at the snack before tentatively placing one in his mouth as he turned away from the counter. It was good, but a quick look at the nutrition facts on the bag told him he couldn’t indulge too much. He tried to keep his sugar intake down most days, unless it was a match day and he could burn off the extra energy. Today wasn’t even a training day, though, having been sent out to do promotion for the upcoming event. He might only get in four or five hours of working out today, so the extra fuel wasn’t really needed.

Heading toward the bar, he made a brief stop at the bulletin board as he passed to stick up one of the fliers. As he approached, he noticed a few other folks that had taken up position in various spots around the bar. Approaching a pair at a table in the back, intending to then sweep around the bar and hit the other denizens before making his way to the counter itself, he again ducked himself down a bit to appear less overwhelmingly large and extended a pair of fliers toward the Human and Zeltron that had not yet started in on what were clearly fresh glasses of rum.

“Beggin’ yer pardon,” the rumbling voice clearly came from somewhere deep in the Herglic’s chest, “but I just wanted to offer these to you. If you are interested,” his brow furrowed as he again tried to recall the words he had been provided, “in the finest display of sports combat entertainment this side of the Maw, please check the HoloNet code on these for a special offer on ‘Outer Rim Wrestling Presents Spring Slamtacular’, the biggest wrestling event of the season.” Sweat beaded down his slick, glossy forehead though it was hard to tell if it was from concentration or discomfort. <@645466919415054357> <@142754576863330304>

Rasilvenaira paused mid-sip and slowly lowered her glass back to the table as she looked up at the towering being. Still, she wasn’t entirely without some sense of diplomacy. She reached out and took one of the offered flyers.

“Sure thing, big guy. I’ll pass it on to my friend. Her husband and sons might enjoy it. Thank you.”

“Oh, sure.” Erinyes took one of the flyers and scanned it as she sipped her rum. “Are you a new outfit?”

<@142754576863330304>

Vako considered for a moment, his large head tilting slowly to the side as he thought.

“We’ve been around for a little while. Not the oldest or most established promotion, but there’re some others that are newer’n us. I think the boss man is looking to expand our territory and roster, though, since a couple other companies recently shut down,” he nodded to himself as he spoke, clearly pleased with the conclusions he had arrived at. “Lotta fellas out there lookin’ to make their pay and some good folks lookin’ for a show that are gonna be left lookin’ unless some folks like us step in.” A wide smile spread across his face at that, showing off a row of serrated teeth.

“I hope you can enjoy the show. I always do my best to make sure the crowd gets their credit’s worth.” <@142754576863330304>

“Sounds like a good time. I’ll give it a watch when it airs.”

“Thank you both, and again sorry for interruptin’.” With another slow nod of his head the whaleman began to turn and begin his sweep of the rest of the bar. “I’ll let ya get back to your own business now.”

A ponderously paced sweep of the bar commenced, finding a not-too-disruptive moment to approach the various denizens and offer flyers. Some were refused, some accepted out of politeness, and a few even seemed genuinely eager and interested in the event. By the time Vako’s wide gait carried him all the way to the bar counter, he had definitely become more confident in his spiel but also seemed to be significantly less energetic than when he had first entered the bar area. He leaned against the bar, eliciting a groaning creak from the furniture as his weight settled against it.

“I don’t suppose I would be able to get a bucket of beer?” Any attempt at softening the natural rumble of his voice had long since been abandoned. “If that ain’t in the cards, I can do with a glass but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to refill it mighty often…” <@142754576863330304> <@244244163002892288>

Rasilvenaira watched the large wrestler head to the bar, then she chuckled to herself as she neatly tucked the flyer into a pocket. Then a small creature poked its fluffy little head out of another pocket. Ras gently rubbed one ear, then the other on the little fluffball, cooing softly to it before it finally nestled back down into its pocket.

“Shadow’s family will probably enjoy the wrestling event. Personally, I’m not a fan though I’ll probably get dragged along since I’m the favorite ‘Auntie’. Anyway, as I was saying before our big friend there came over- what brings you here this trip? I assume from the familiarity with the bartender that you’re a regular here?” <@645466919415054357>

“Would you like our premium package, ma'am?” the disinterested, monotone voice of the station’s dispatcher rang out through the ship’s intercom as the red alarm lights flashed on and off incessantly. Sparks burst from every control surface, alarms blared for early every subsystem but the thrusters, and even the klaxon had died down after Morgan ripped it out of its wall socket for annoying her so much.

“Just give me a drukkin dock to land!” Morgan’s aggravated cursing only added to the cacophony of sounds already spreading through the Irae, her personal Fury-class interceptor.

“The attitude will not make this go any faster, ma'am.” The reply was infuriatingly slow, enunciating every word as if to spite her. She could feel the bubbling cauldron of rage in the pit of her stomach, but she had no time for it.

“Fine! Premium package. Hurry the hell up!” Her reply was swift, forceful, even threatening. It took the dispatcher several seconds to reply and Morgan thought she could hear the eyes rolling on the other side of the call.

“Excellent choice, ma'am. Hangar bay 2 is ready to receive you.” The connection abruptly ended, the tractor beam activated and dragged the Irae towards the station, and Morgan’s pocketbook got just a bit smaller.

“Five thousand credits for "premium” service. Gods, if I had the Warmonger crew with me…“ The implication of a pirate crew on a small, barely noticeable station ripping things apart for a quick buck quickly faded. She sighed and relaxed in her chair for but a moment as the ship was being dragged through the energy field separating the hangar from hard vacuum. She calmed down enough to stand up, grab her purse and walk over to her quarters on the port side of the bridge. Spartan, empty, barely a bed there, let alone a change of clothes. Same for the crew quarters and the cargo. The limo speeder was there, sure enough, but nothing in it apart from expensive, already opened champagne.

The Irae was new, she hadn’t yet moved into it at all, figuring that if she had to travel to an underground casino party with a high stakes Sabacc game, she might as well do it in a well armed and armored ship. If anyone tried anything she’d have more than enough firepower to reciprocate. She didn’t quite count on the sleemo Black Sun Vigo present at said party recognizing her and, even worse, having a whole gunship and a squadron of fighters at hand just for such occasions. The panel on the side of the bridge closes to her sparked open as if to punctuate her thoughts. Wires sparked from the opening as Morgan rubbed her temples in frustration.

As if on cue, LE-GA1,her repair and mechanic droid, walked out of his storage space with the ship’s final touchdown in the hangar. He scanned the damaged systems and looked at Morgan with indifference — though she was sure there was silent contempt in that robotic expression — and proceeded to its long and arduous task of fixing the ship.

Morgan simply shook her head, looked at herself in the mirror once more — formal gown, gold and glistening with glitz and glamour, perfectly manufactured black leather purse, red high heel shoes, jewelry as expensive as that station outside, and an eyepatch that seemed to draw too much attention even in the wrong moments. her fists closed as she squeezed the handle of the purse, that familiar and comforting anger bubbling up again…but she exhaled another held breath, pulled her hand through her hair, and walked out of her room, down the ramp and into the station, hoping at least to buy a change of clothes, and maybe some Severian Malt…or a nap.

A grin split Vako’s face as a bit of sparkle returned to his eyes. Promotional work was always tiring, and you could only spend so much time and energy trying to build interest from people who were just trying to go about their day. But this? This was interacting with a fan, somebody who was already bought in and was ready and willing to match the energy. This he was good at.

“Well heck, get out the holocamera and a pen,” he took up a pose as he spoke, flexing hard enough that the singlet he wore audibly strained, “and let’s get you a shot with the Lord of the Ocean of Pain!”

The barstool creaked more than usual as Doon lowered himself onto it. It was in part due to his recent training. The last few months have been a climax of busy work that came to a sudden halt. With nothing to do, and only a single goal in mind, the Shistavanen busied himself with his training. What little muscle loss he suffered while working as Aedile was recovered and then some.

The second part of the new weight, was the high quality heavy armor he wore under a bulky cloak. His usual wear was much more casual than this, and his armor was reserved for times when he felt he would need it. Regardless, heavy metal bracers met the bar top as he settled in. His lone eye focused on the bare paw pads that gently followed the wooden grain.

Here, without meaning, his mind began wandering on the source of this wood. Where it may have come from, who carved - it if not a machine. A thumb traced over a small nick in the wood, evidence of his presence here prior. Silently he remained sat hunched slightly forward, absorbed by the wood under his claw tips until someone shook him free.

Miho stepped through the entrance of the Shame Corner. It probably said something that this was becoming one of her usual hangouts outside the Kiast system. Ah well, there were worse places she could be.

Looking around, she closed her eyes and took in the now familiar scents of fresh food, jerky, boiling fudge waiting to be made into delicious bricks, roasted nuts of some kind.

Maybe she should get some fudge to take home. But, first it was time to explore the bar and turned towards Seven Sins, humming softly.

“Aww, who’s your little friend?”

“Regular and sometime supplier. I have a distillery now, something I started in after retiring from Consul of Taldryan. Doing all of the quality control myself, of course.” She grinned and took a sip of her rum. “It was meant to keep me quiet and out of trouble, but then Dacien decided the Council needed a bit of Zeltron-style diplomacy and made me Emissary.”

Rasilvenaira chuckled and then took a sip of her rum. She reached up and gently tapped her pocked and the little furry creature peeked out at her again. She clicked her tongue and held her hand still. A moment passed, then the little Voorpak finally climbed from the pocket and onto Ras’ hand. It was a poofy ball of reddish brown fur. Then she smiled and held her hand out for Erinyes.

“This is Tiska, a sneaky little Voorpak who doesn’t believe me when I say sometimes my trips are dangerous. As you can see, he loves my pockets and can usually be found in one pocket or another.”

Apparently having had enough attention, little Tiska popped up on eight long spindly legs and skittered back up Ras’ arm and then climbed back into her pocket.

“He’s a little shy around people he doesn’t know.” Ras tipped her head to one side, then continued. “So, Emissary, hm? Well congratulations. I’m sure its a job right up your alley. You’ll have to send me a catalog of what you produce at the distillery. Even if it isn’t rum, I might still be interested.”

“Aw, Tiska’s a cutie.”

“Thanks, and funny you should mention that.” Erinyes produced a pocket holoprojector and fired it up, containing a full list of offerings. “They even carry them all here, because Ira is a gem. We’re always looking to expand our offerings. I’ll add rum to the list.”

Doon’s paw closed instinctively as someone broke his meandering mental walk. The metal claws nicked another line into the wood, parallel to the first. His eye focused on the now two imperfections he’s caused, remaining there before his head shifted upwards. His golden eye slowly drifted to the Zabrak next to him. His lip twitched, curling into a snarl for a moment in a lazy attempt to dissuade engagement with the hulking Shistavanen. A low rumble followed the expression, and faded as quickly as well.

His ear twitched, flicking then laying flat. His tail was motionless, hanging off the back of the stool. The growl returned from the center of his chest, a muffled engine as he spoke. “Too much to be bothered.” He stated simply, fist curling on the bar. He cast a glance around the room, taking quick mental note of the others present. The weight that followed him nipped at his ear, but he silenced it with another growl, this one louder than the last.

“What do you want?” His shining eye glared down at her as he sat straight.

“What a drukhole,” she taught to herself as the doors opened and she entered the establishment. She passed a smaller woman on the way in but paid her no mind as the quick click-clack of heels echoed through the space. Morgan struggled with the dress, it’s tight cut leaving far too little room to maneuver in any sort of normal, non-distinguished manner. Hell with her irked state she was inclined to simply tear a new slit down the leg. But, she steadied herself. It was an expensive dress, after all.

She walked towards the Seven Sins as soon as she saw the bar. There was a heavy need for something alcoholic brewing in her. Not noticing several steps that lead down into a depressed area of the station, she tripped, the long heel on her left shoe breaking at the pitch. She nearly tumbled but managed to catch herself with a swift twirl, sadly the maneuver came with a tearing sound. As she straightened and looked down, her gown now had a five inch long tear on the side. Morgan growled loud enough to draw attention.

Without missing a beat, tired, annoyed, and at the edge of her nerves she grabbed the gown and angrily tore it in two along the left leg. “Fark!” She exhaled through flared nostrils, like a enraged rancor, teeth gritted and grinding. It took a few moments to center herself again, to push the rage down where it belonged, but she did. Drawing her palm thorough her salt-and-pepper locks once again, she reached down, took her heels in one hand and tiptoed into the bar.

“Three glasses of the best malt you have.” She said as she found her seat two places down from, what appeared to be, an overly drunk Shistavanen and overly interested Zabrak. “And leave the bottle.” She needed a doshing drink after all this kark.

Reiden stepped off his ship and glanced around. He hadn’t been in this area before, but the person guiding him in had said it was where animals could roam around and be fed. It seemed like a good idea since Orion was aboard with his anooba Koga. The pair were napping, but at least this way they could rest and then get out when they wanted to without needing to find the space.

Creatures of all sorts were gathered, making use of the space afforded to them. He smiled as he crossed through it, grateful that the station seemed to have accommodations for nearly everything one could think of when traveling. He gave a friendly wave to patrons and employees alike as he walked along, angling for the exit and finally stepping into the station proper.

Much to his surprise, the Seven Sins bar was off to one side. He was glad that he didn’t have to pass by all the tempting snacks and treats on his way in. Then again, he was almost surely going to get some anyway before departing from the station.

“You’re on!” Sliding fully into his ring persona, Killer Whale turned slightly so that his back was mostly toward the camera and curled both arms up at shoulder level into a rear double bicep pose. Muscle and sinew rippled beneath black skin as everything tightened up and the definition of his musculature could be clearly seen. “We’re on your home turf, but don’t think I’m gonna take it easy on ya!” He knew how to play the game, throwing a pose here, a flex there, letting the anticipation build. He didn’t want to distract Ira for too long - it was clear she still had a job to do as more people had begun filing into the bar - but he wanted to at least give her a chance to show off and flex with him. He could hold out for one, maybe two flexes before he would unleash his finishing pose, the spread arms and head tilting back that everyone knew signaled he was about to hit the devastating Killer Krush.

His lip twitched again as her hand raised, mimicking a patting. His eye followed it much as one would someone reaching for a blade. He seemed to bristle for a moment, but settled down as her hand lowered. “What?” He said rhetorically, not expecting an answer as she slid a drink to him.

A stranger, admitting to wanting to rob him, now handing him a drink. A mysterious drink. From who knows where. Any sane person would be skeptical, and Doon was. But he wasn’t going to turn down a drink, especially if it was as terribly strong as it looked.

Or it was water.

Doon rumbled as he collected the drink and tossed it back, muscles in his throat tensed for the potential of a burn. That rumble ripped into a bone shaking growl as the liquid scorched its way down his throat. His snarl returned with much more oomph this time, his golden eye now glaring down at the woman. He set the empty glass down with a thunk infront of her.

“Is that all?”

Morgan nodded at the swift and efficient way the muscled bartender — who just so happened to remind her of a redhead she had spent far too many nights with — handled her order. No muss, no fuss. She downed all three in quick succession — one to take the edge off, one to help her relax, and one to start the buzz — and poured three more as she inspected her ruined dress. One muscular, tattooed leg poked out to the side, a stylized Poi fish on the thigh, skull and snake motif on the shin, the face of a beautiful woman with a theater mask on the calf, and a coiled serpent on the foot.

The fabric was ruined. Several thousand credits worth of glam couture ruined because she was a dumbass.

She sighed as she turned to whoever was there, “Here’s to all your health. Hope you have a better day than I did.” There was enough cynicism in those words to power a Star Destroyer for a day. She took another drink and leaned against the bar, wallowing in her own thoughts for a while.

Reiden stepped into the bar, letting the now familiar scene set in. He spotted the hulking form of a Herglic caught his attention, proof that all types passed through these halls and anyone was welcome, which was as it should be. Home away from home, a safe haven for people that needed one, or simply a pit stop to refuel and get some snacks, the Shame Corner had it all. But the bar? That was always an interesting stop, for a number of reasons.

He decided to give the gathered patrons their space. Instead, he made his way to the other end of the bar. He spotted Ira behind the counter and grinned.

“Hey, Ira. Always good to see you.” <@244244163002892288>

Doon’s eye narrowed, the black shape that clung to his shoulders whispered to him again. His focus was drawn about the woman, certain things began to stand out to him. He shifted in his seat, eye drifting from the new glasses to her and back. He showed nothing until he noticed her own shadow, deep and sparse with holes. Sharp and mangled, but only outwardly. It drew a frown from him as his back straightened again.

He grabbed the shot, lifting it between two claws. He wasn’t careful enough however, and the glass thunked back down against the bar, sloshing a drop over the side. He stared at it, as if willing the glass to crack for disobeying his hand. When it started to wobble he stopped, eye widening. He quickly grabbed it, more firmly this time as he raised it to his nose. To the woman across the room with the torn dress showing her thigh that had snagged his attention twice so far, he raised the glass and growled out in Shistavanen “The trees cast plenty of shade today.”

With that, he made eye contact with the Zabrak again and tossed back the shot. He wanted to see just how she kept up.

<@690640377262243843>

Doon watched her with some caution, but her want to hear him speak his language was… new. It took some effort to focus on lifting the next glass, holding it in a firm grip. “Priceless?” He scoffed, nose twitching in an effort to learn anything more about this person.

“If it is priceless, you cannot afford to hear more.” He paused, glancing down at the shot. “Is this how you will pay for it? Drinks?”

“I have a feeling you’re gonna pay with your pocketbook, your ship, or your life, depending on how enamored with you the young lady is.” Morgan snorted through the whiskey shot, not sparing the couple a second glance. “I ain’t in the mood to chase pickpockets across this…fine establishment…especially seeing as I’m the next obvious mark after wolf-man here dries up.”

<@160141735354171394> <@244244163002892288>

“She will not gain anything of use. Not from my pockets. And I am much harder to dry up than I might appear.” He rumbled out with a low growl, eye still warily on the Zabrak. He followed her lead, and took the shot. It burned, again, but he was prepared enough to suppress most reactions to it. His lip twitched, flashing a sharp set of teeth. “Next.”

<@244244163002892288>

A growl ripped through his throat again, bothered by the audacity of this Zabrat. “You came to me. You say you want to rob me. You conjure unknown drink that I have been kindly accepting. Your challenge, accepted. Your jokes and games, accepted. I have been kind you as of yet, do not make me regret it.” His paw closed around another drink, he tossed it back with a continued engine like rumble

“You can call me Doon, ||cunt.||”

As Rasilvenaira studied KED&V’s drink offerings, Erinyes sipped from her rum and watched the scene unfolding between the buff, bitchy woman, the tiny Zabrak, and the Shistavanen. She also noted Reiden’s arrival and gave him a wave, but stopped short of interrupting his conversation with Ira.

“So what’ve you been up to all these years?” she asked Ras.

<@142754576863330304> <@232396983854301187>

Miho stopped in the doorway of the bar, taking in the surrounding atmosphere for a moment before walking over to the bar and finding an open stool.

Normally, she didn’t spend much time in places like this but sometimes it could be interesting to be places one usually is not. Now to wait for the bartender, patient and calm.

He raised the glass to her and smiled as he took a sip, laying some credits on the bar. “You always know just what to say. I’ve been good. Keeping busy, helping my friend with a little protection work.” He shook his head, laughing. “Some people just don’t have any self-preservation instincts, it seems. But at least this time it wasn’t more mercenaries or pirates. A team or archeologists or something similar wanted to go explore Mataou, an old Hutt world. Not much there beyond sand, ancient security droids, and ro hypas. They got really curious about those snakes but we had to stop them from getting too close. Luckily it meant I was also in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d stop by.”

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned a bit and waved back to Erinyes, only to be surprised to see Ras sitting with her.

“Well I need a reason to come back, don’t I?” Another grin, then a nod. “Yeah, in a way. An old friend, only recently returned. I promise that this meeting won’t end in any fights though. I know the rules and I wouldn’t do that to this place.”

The small Odanite wasted a smile on the bartender and placed a small hand on the counter. “Corellian Whiskey, please.”

Seemingly oblivious to any rudeness, Miho looked around at the different patrons. Reiden and Erinyes were talking to someone who seemed like a friend. The other patrons were in varying stages of what seemed to be heavy drinking.

“Is it always so busy?” She wondered more to herself than to anyone in particular.

He raised a brow, caught off guard by the forwardness. He knew it was sort of her thing, but even so. A moment of thought as he gauged her words, how she said them. His sharp eyes taking her in. A small smirk appeared, quickly covered by a sip from his glass, keeping his voice low. “No need to rush things…or invent reasons to see me.” He reached into a pocket and placed a small piece of flimsi with his comms on the bar top, sliding it across. “So you know how to find me.”

Ten shots down even Morgan’s synthetic liver started pulling far too much weight for its size, but by that point Morgan’s worries had lightly floated away, all that was left was the familiar, warm embrace of alcohol. The Zabrak and Shistavanen faded into the background of murmuring voices and soothing music. She felt at home, just for a while.

Doon stared at her hard, only breaking the glare as yet more people entered. He let out another growl, clinking the glasses together without much bravado. As the empty glass was set down he leaned towards the bar, resting an elbow on it carefully so it didn’t creak too loudly.

“I have lead. It is your turn.” He speaks with not a small amount of distance to his voice. He was trying to not slur his words around his tongue and teeth.

Well, stuck as he was, there was no reason not to find some enjoyment. Even if he was just on a “walkabout”. A drink would start the visit right. Not just that, eavesdropping at a cantina always brought the most results.

Rumour mills, gossip, and secrets flowed freely when the taps were open. So, Thane adjusted his cuffs and strode with an even gait into the cantina.

Glasses clinked together as Morgan moved them aside, finally taking the bottle and taking a good long sip. Whiskey dribbled down her chin, chest, legs and floor, but she didn’t care. The feelings of home brought with them the ever present, painful memories of The Fifth Day, her Nau'ur-class shuttle, burning above Coruscant. Everything she owned, all her hard-earned possessions. They mattered not one bit. The image of her daughter’s smiling face, of her baby boy’s reaching hands. They were burned into her right eye after she lost it that day. Now it only ever saw them.

One fist squeezed around the bottle’s neck, the other pushed fingernails into hard thigh muscle and dragged just to feel something. The recent events with the Black Sun only made her situation more desperate. Her limits were being reached, her money was running out, and her leads were drying up.

She suppressed a sob. Hell no, she wouldn’t do this in a random cantina on the edge of space. There was a time and place for wallowing. She was too drunk, too dejected, too damn exposed here.

It was then than she sensed a familiar presence, cold and somehow welcoming. Like cold fingers moving across the scalp, or the comfortable chill after a good sauna. She turned to face the source, her expression flat. “Deputy Grand Master.” She enunciated as she leaned against the bar, back turned to Ira and the new girl. Legs crossed, perhaps revealing just a bit too much, though she didn’t care one bit. “This day just keeps getting better and better. First I get knocked down, and now the execution squad is here to kill all of my dignity.”

<@185936112441622529>

Thane stood there in silence as he took in Morgan. She had been through…a lot. That much was obvious. There was a time when he would just say whatever, oblivious to the societal niceties. For the most part, that time was still now. But sometimes, for some people, he used his brain for more than just analyzing everything around him searching for some sort of advantage.

His friends, few as they were, counted as ‘some people’.

He tilted his head and looked Morgan down, then up. He could see the impact time had had on her more readily than through a hologram. The silence continued, somehow comfortable despite all the barbs the pair were known to toss back and forth. After what felt like a lifetime, the Deputy Grand Master allowed a sigh to slip between his lips before he closed the distance and claimed a seat next to Morgan.

“No execution squad here, just a friend,” he remarked with his lilting accent, motioning to the bartender and gesturing towards the whiskey, pointing at himself after. “Your dignity is not so easily killed.”

<@690640377262243843> <@244244163002892288>

She had expected a verbal jab, some sarcastic dig on the state of her appearence or, well, her state in general. She half thought he was patronizing her, but she knew better than that. He was sincere, for once. A rare beast to find in the wild. So she sighed and took another sip.

“Don’t pity me, Ventus.” She used that name mockingly in the past, not so much this time. This time it felt more like a woman regressing back five or ten years, to a time when things felt just a bit simpler, people’s names were just a bit faker, and her problems usually included looking behind her back for a knife. And now here she was, in a packed cantina, drunk as a Zelosian on a sugar high, and no one even cared. No knives, no coups. Just a hot bartender, a bottle and the bottom of the barrel.

“What’re you doing here, anyway? -hic- I’ve seen our busty Emissary already, now you. Two Councillors in one place, at the edge of nowhere? What’s so special about this place, anyway?”

<@185936112441622529> <@244244163002892288>

Doon quickly followed, snarling at her as he set the empty glasses down. “So what is your plan? Get me drunk and happy, then rob me? Or is this an excuse to quell pain of your own?”

He scratches down her jaw, sharp claws raking through the slightly greying fur. “You are not the only one here who bears inner pain. I do not mean the mental sense. Drink will ebb physical ailments, but if they are not handled, they will grow worse from the drink.”

Having finally gotten a drink of his own, Thane brought it to his lips and let it sit there as he pondered. The burning aroma made his nostrils flair unbidden, but he welcomed it. “No idea. Was a scheduled stop,” he replied without looking over at Morgan.

He threw the drink back down his throat in a single gulp, emptying the neat glass. The burn worked its way down his throat and spread through his chest. That’s how you knew it was strong.

“Worth it though,” Thane continued, now glancing over his shoulder at Morgan. “The ‘down on my luck, not giving a frak’ look is working for you, but I know this great tailor. ” A smirk tugged at his pale lips. He couldn’t help it, he had missed trading barbs with the former Deputy Grand Master. Besides, it was her tailor after all.

<@690640377262243843>

Morgan let out a sincere laugh as she rubbed her good eye. “You’re an ass.” She looked for her own glass but found it had already been taken away. Irked, she reached over the counter, grabbed the first dirty glass she could — a tall glass of clear liquid which she immediately drank and frowned, expecting alcohol but drinking water — poured her whiskey into both their glasses and clinked them together. “You know, I haven’t seen him in a while, guess his client list expanded since then.” She motioned for a toast as they both downed their drinks. “I miss that little Anzellan bastard.” She poured them another.

As the glass reached her lips again, eye squinting, she gave a passing glance towards the dark corner. There the Assassin and the Emissary made their little private nest, away from the crowd and from prying eyes. She knew of both women by reputation — one was one of the best assassins in the Brotherhood, and the other the most dangerous party girl this side of the Maw — which drew her curiosity and interest.

“What do think one of the Brotherhoods most successful assassins is doing in a place like this? Strange place for someone like that. Do they even have R&R?” She leaned into Thane again, whispering softly, one arm stretching across his shoulders.

<@185936112441622529>

Thane followed Morgan’s gaze, which—admittedly—was a full body experience. He tried to turn just his head but quickly found himself at the edge of his range of motion, so then the torso got involved. Overall, not the most subtle but he wasn’t exactly a subtle person. Turning back, he enjoyed his second drink and shrugging. “Everyone does, I suspect,” he replied, paying no mind to her conspiratorial whispering. Nor did he flinch at the contact for that matter. Talk about personal growth.

“What they’re doing together, however…” Another swallow finished off his second drink. “Intriguing.”

The Firrerreo affixed Morgan with what she would recall was his ‘wanna mess with them?’ expression. His eyebrows flicked upward twice and his smirk was firmly in place.

<@690640377262243843>

She feigned innocence as she dragged her finger across the rim of her glass and licked it with a wide, devilish smile that said ‘Hell yeah. This’ll be fun.’ She stood up on tiptoes, twirled with glass and bottle in hand and motioned for him to follow her as she walked towards the secretive duo in the corner.

“Ladies,” she spoke up as she stepped up into their space, but not yet around their table. She had to be polite and respectful, after all. Wouldn’t want a blade in her ribs just yet. “We bring whiskey and fun, may we join you?”

<@185936112441622529> <@142754576863330304> <@645466919415054357>

“Because you are not right. Take it from someone who bears similar scars.” He then growls out in Zabraki “You push yourself beyond your means, Gatherer.”

He shifts on the stool, adjusting how his armor weighed on him so it would be a little less of a nuisance. “I do not trust easy. You have given no need for me trust. Cross that threshold first.” He advised, lips still curling to show his teeth.

Doon made a sound between groan, growl, and whine. He clawed at his face lightly as she finished speaking, eye eventually landing on the menu. He blinked slowly, claws digging softly into his cheek. Finally he mumbled “Meat.”

He tightened his jaw and set his paws down on the bar, now eyeing her with more (drunken) scrutiny. In Zabraki he spoke again. “What Zabrak doesn’t speak Zabraki?”

Doon rolled his eye and exhaled through his nose. He didn’t know how to handle this. He didn’t know if he wanted to. He barely knew why he was there. He once more turned and slumped forward, leaning into the bar with sagged shoulders. He didn’t bother mentioning the Zabraki. There was much about this person that he didn’t trust, the Zabraki was not high on the list of issues he dwelled on in silence.

“I’ve been known to carry some contact cards on me for work, sure,” he replied, pausing for a moment to allow himself a smile. “As luck would have it, I gave out my last one back on Mataou. I was on the way here and thought to myself, ‘but what if I see Ira?’ I didn’t want to be empty handed and I wanted to make sure you had it. You know, in case anyone passing through is in need of some help.” His gaze moved from her face to her hand and back again. “Of course, I would also welcome a personal call.”

Rasilvenaira looked up as the two came their way. She sighed sofly, knowing she wasn’t going to be able to finish her rum in peace. She downed her third glass of rum, and poured another before glancing back up to the pair.

“I personally prefer rum, but you’re welcome to join us.” She put on a polite, diplomatic smile. She was a Quaestor after all and that meant she had to play nice with others instead of sticking knives in them.

“The more the merrier they say.”

With a groan his large head raised so he could mutter “Why the kark do you care how I start or end?” His lone eye focused on her for a few moments, ear twitching against his head. “You are at least interesting. To a degree.”

Doon hung his head for a moment before raising it quickly after he processed something. With a frown, he reached down to gently cup Aconite’s chin with his massive paw. His claws gently squeezed her cheeks as he lifted her face and slowly maneuvered it around as he inspected her. Was he just drunk? “Why.. are you?”

He laughed as he sipped his drink. “Who’s to say I wasn’t doomed already? Although my hours aren’t great at times either. Used to be quite the night owl. And these days orders can come in at any moment. When that happens, I don’t always have the luxury of putting it off. Then again, you might be right.”

He noted the people that had gathered at the bar simce he got in. “Don’t let me keep you too long if you need to get back to it, though.”

His eye narrowed, he gently wiggled his paw back and forth as her teeth held him, drawing her head to follow. He rumbled back, growling in return with little effort out towards the terrible sound. He used this hold to examine her further, the way she was shifting and reacting. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking at but it made enough sense to his muddled mind. “That is why. You do not speak Zabraki. You are not one, are you?” He wiggled his paw up and down, not quite pulling away but just to see if she held the bite.

He continued his growl, growing louder as hers did. He gently tugged on his paw, testing to see if she would release if he pulled away. His narrowed he remained on hers, full on ear back and snarl mode activated

Morgan smile betrayed elation at the mention of rum. On the small table she set down her bottle and glass before twirling on her toes and rushing off to the bar again, grabbing her bag and motioning to brusque bartender and exchanging a few words. Momentarily, the Gundark mating ritual the Shistavanen and the Zabrak were performing drew her curiosity. To each their own, she thought as the bartender returned. Credits were passed, a bottle of rum was snagged, and she tiptoed right back and plopped her barely-clothed behind on the comfy sofa.

“You are a woman after my own heart, Ms. Stormraven. I prefer whiskey for its melancholy, but rum is a party drink. That’s why we pirates enjoy it so much.” She chugged on the remaining whiskey in her glass before flicking the cap on the bottle of rum and pouring. “You know, I may be a bit tipsy, but an assassin and a Councilor spending their time together in a dark corner of a bar in the middle of nowhere…scandalous. Imagine the rumors.” She turned a faux shocked expression toward Thane.

<@645466919415054357> <@142754576863330304> <@185936112441622529>

Erinyes wasn’t shy about drinking in the view that was Morgan—not just her physicality, but her aura of brusque self-possession. It was enough to make her heart flutter a little as she reached for her glass of rum.

“It’s two Councilors now,” she said, nodding to Thane. “And a queen of the criminal underworld. We might’ve just upgraded from a scandal to a full-on conspiracy.”

<@185936112441622529> <@142754576863330304>

“Or a court…or murder,” Thane remarked, thinking of certain flocks of birds.

The Deputy Grand Master took his own seat and helped himself to a glass. It always made it easier to suffer fools. Not to say present company included any. Just a general remark.

“Still, kinda sus, as they say,” he said while settling in with Morgan. His cloak did a good job hiding his features.

<@690640377262243843> <@645466919415054357> <@142754576863330304>

“A murder of Councillors…I know a few people who’d pay to see that.” Morgan laughed. Unlike Thane, Morgan had no intention of hiding anything. In fact, her torn dress left little to the imagination, muscle, skin, tattoos and all. There may have been a moment during the ‘night’ where she’d have cared, but she was past that, the rum and whiskey taking their toll. “Queen, did you say?” She turned to Erinyes. “My, my Thane, you sure can pick your diplomats. Easy on the eyes, and with that devilish tongue of hers. So tell me, is this a social visit between you and Ms. Stormraven, or do I have to prepare for some shocking truths?”

“Strictly social. I’m afraid there’s no juicy scandal to worry about.” Rasilvenaira answered. “We used to work together several years ago and were catching up. If it were business, you wouldn’t have found us so easily. I stopped in to get my ship refueled. Been out on a long trip and heading home from here.”

Her slight emphasis on the word ‘business’ made it perfectly clear what she meant, since all three knew what she did for a living.

She smirked at Morgan. “Yes, Rum does tend to be the drink of choice among pirates, at least most that I’ve known over the years. Always an excellent choice I think.”

Thane shrugged and finished his portion of the whiskey. He always preferred a good whiskey sour, but the pirates he had dealings with certainly preferred rum. Must be a cultural thing.

“Unfortunate,” he remarked instead, regarding the social nature of the rendezvous. “Won’t stop the rumours, though.”

“No, it won’t.” Morgan giggled as she drank her rum and crossed her legs again. “In fact, me an dear Thane sitting down with you will just make them all the more interesting. Can you imagine? Coucillors, assassins and pirates meeting privately in colorful hovels?” Her arm extended across the sofa’s headrest as she relaxed into it. “Oh the scandal! But, we can always make a game out of it. We can start the rumors. That way we can make ourselves look however we like.”

His golden eye flashed towards Ira in an annoyed manner but he did lessen the animal sounds coming from their side of the bar significantly. With a flick of his ear, the rumbling stopped all together from him. He still glared down at the shifter, drunk mind trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “Why are you changing?” He questioned much softer than his previous growling

A saucer shaped spacecraft approached The Shame Corner and landed. The Lancer-Class Pursuit Craft known as The Bastion made landfall. The landing gears hissed as they extended and touched ground. The red and gold paint that once shined on the armor panels have almost completely worn off, leaving it with carbon scorching and the base material color underlying. The landing ram extended a minute later and out walked the towering armored figure known as Koda Kendis, with his recently polished dark grey and blue armor, etched with gold. Behind him followed a feminine figure with a wide-brimmed hat with knee-high brown boots and a heavy leather jacket. The two entered the store area, browsing food and any general pharmacy goods.

Doon watched the display with some confusion, some interest, and a hearty amout of some concern. He wanted to ask what she was, but it struck him as a bad idea. So Instead he pinched a wing between metal claws and asked “Can you mimic.. everything?” before popping the entire thing into his mouth and biting down with a bony Crunch

Reiden turned and saw the familiar small woman. He raised his glass in greeting and took a sip, smiling. “It’s good to see you again, Miho. How have you been?” <@227653769842655233>

Doon’s fur bristled at the mimicry of his voice. He paused the crunchy chewing just long enough to mumble. “I do not like that.” He them resumed crunching.

There were many thoughts burning through his mind, and no small amount of them were existential in nature. His attention drifted between Aconite and the wings, he took a moment to pop a second into his mouth. It joined the first in getting subsequently shattered and munched before he swallowed. “How.. do you know you are accurate? If you mimic my fur, would you guess on the shade of the fur you cannot see?”

A brief soft growl resounded past bone shrapnel as she mimed at his tail. “You get that sauce in my fur and you’ll be washing it out.” he warned, waving a wing at her threateningly before it too was popped into his mouth. A

After a few snaps, it too was swallowed. His ear flicked, finally registering her joke. He paused, thinking. Now he had more questions. “How…” He stopped.

“Does it..” He stopped once more.

With a frusrated growl he snaped back anoher wing.

Miho turned and smiled at Reiden and lifted her own drink in greeting before taking a small sip. It never was a good idea to just pound back the drinks. “I’m well, Reiden. It’s a pleasure to see you again as well.”

She gestured to his drinking companions. “I know Erinyes, but who is your other friend?” Violet eyes sized Rasilvenaira up slightly, more curious than anything. “She looks like fun.”

“No. They don’t.” He turned to the bar, head tilting down towards it as he lifted one of the cleaned bones to stare at it. He was actively keeping his body up, so he wouldn’t slump and sag more than he already was. It was quite the weight, and her less than pleasant explanations weren’t helping.

He set the bone down. The cracking of its bone reminding him of the sounds she was just making when adjusting her snout. “I do not know what to say.”

“I’ve got it,” Morgan exclaimed as she shot up, replacing the glass on the table, one hand landing on Thane’s thigh, the other on Erin’s. “Just imagine it, whispers in the underworld say a Zeltron seductress known for her "diplomatic” skills has an ongoing affair with a Sith Lord—" she turned to Thane abruptly, “or was it Force Lord, dear? Anyway, this Lord leaves her love notes in the form of mysteriously vanished rivals. No one dares ask her if it’s true, but those who cross her seem to disappear all too conveniently. Enter the professional assassin and the pirate who seem to be sighted whenever one of these rivals goes missing.”

She took a sip from her rum again, her hand leaving Thane’s thigh to grasp the glass. “Or maybe, this ruthless and infamous assassin claims she’s "not interested in attachments,” but it’s said she has an open invitation to the private chambers of a Pirate warlord. Some say she keeps her captain’s hat as a trophy—or a souvenir from a particularly heated encounter.“ She winked at Ras and laughed. In her playful mood, as opposed to the norm, her hands flew out touching everyone she was talking to. Soft caresses mostly, unintentional, automatic, meaningless and yet somehow drawing attention and emphasis to what she was saying.

<@185936112441622529> <@645466919415054357> <@142754576863330304>

He glanced back. It was certainly a sight to behold, seeing the assassin with such well known and powerful figures of the Brotherhood. He could only imagine what people in the know might think of such a gathering.

“That’s my old friend, Ras,” he started, before correcting himself. “Rasilvenaira. She and I have known each other for years now, although she has been away until recently. I wasn’t expecting to run into her here.”

Raslivenaira’s brows furrowed and she gently but firmly brushed Morgan’s hand off of her arm. “Would never be believed by anyone who actually knows me, but who cares about rumors, hm? Anyway, I’m retired, and I’ve never done work for anyone in the brotherhood outside of my own clan. I leave Council matters to themselves, so I suppose the rumors are your problems.”

She downed another glass of rum, then rose to her feet, extricating herself from the table and any further touchiness from Morgan. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s someone else I’d like to speak to.”

She walked over to the bar, taking note of the smaller woman Reiden was speaking with. She moved to Reiden’s free side, then glanced over at them both with a friendly smile. “Mine if I join you? Who’s your friend Rei?” <@232396983854301187>

Erinyes watched Ras go for a moment, making a mental note to get in touch with her later about rum and good old days. Then, her attention was firmly back on the vivacious pirate queen. Morgan’s fleeting touches were distracting, to say the least, and Erinyes knocked back another glass of rum as though it would help her composure.

“I’ve heard another one. A pirate queen and a privateer turned diplomat happen to cross paths in front of a Sith Lord. Sparks fly in more ways than anyone expected. Those who refuse to bend to the Sith Lord’s whims through diplomacy are bled dry by pirate incursions—sometimes joined by a starfighter with the privateer’s old IFF.”

Erinyes turned to Thane, in an attempt to include him in the conversation before letting Morgan monopolise her attention. “That sounds like exactly the kind of plotting that happens at the Dark Ascent, doesn’t it?” There was a twinkle in her eye as she said it; they both knew full well that the only plotting that happened at the Dark Ascent involved Thran, Kamjin, and lizards.

<@185936112441622529> <@690640377262243843>

Reiden had taken a moment to watch the group in the back but then turned his attention back to Miho, finishing the dregs from his glass. Then upon hearing the familiar voice, he turned to see Ras and smiled. “There you are. Ras, this is my friend Mihoshi. Miho, this is Rasilvenaira.” <@227653769842655233>

Rasilvenaira nodded in greeting, “A pleasure to meet you, Miho.”

Then she turned to the bartender. “I’d like another bottle of that top shelf rum, please.” She laid the credits on the bar, and glass please.“

When she was by herself on board her ship or at home she never bothered with glasses, but in polite company she figured it best to behave and use a glass for her drinks. Though she’d already had five, she wasn’t showing any sign of being drunk. But it was why no one dared to challenge her to a drinking contest anymore.

The small Odanite smiled at Rasilvenaira. “A pleasure indeed. I’m always haply to meet another friend of Reiden’s. He’s a good sort himself.”

She took another small sip from her drink and set the glass back down on the counter before her.

Somehow, he had been making more and more friends lately, or seeing old ones again. First it was Korvyn at Rayne’s party to celebrate her becoming Empress, someone he hadn’t seen in over a decade. Now Ras was back again. It was nice, and reminded him of his early days with the clan. Not all of his memories from that period were good, but some were, and the people had been good allies, or at least as close as someone could get when dealing with mostly a group of Sith. And then meeting new people was fun as well. New friends were always welcome, and you never knew when that might come in handy one day.

Miho’s words made him smile as he set his empty glass down on the counter. “It’s always good to run into familiar faces, especially when it’s unexpected like this.”

“Honestly, V, I doubt any of the music here would be any good.”

The less than optimistic voice came from a blue and orange spotted Rodian teenager wearing dark clothes, baggy pants and a crude sweatshirt displaying some kind of band symbol on the front. He tugged his headphones the rest of the way down and around his neck after pulling out one muff in order to hear the older man accompanying him. He shrugged, conceding. “I guess it probably has more galactic hits, even if archaic. The kind of stuff you listen to, dad music I guess. Those physical disks would be good for mixing, or collecting.”

AJ stuck his tongue out at Vincent, indicating he’s poking fun at the human, and not in the ‘brushing off’ or ‘putting up walls’ aloof way like he does with strangers – a defense mechanism to protect himself. Vincent was cool, enough said even if AJ has only admitted that sentiment like twice, but that’s two credits for it.

“Ok, I’m gonna go look at the music section. Go find some, I don’t know, peers to talk to, old man. Meet up in a bit?”

<@227960499948486666>

His ear twitched at her strange laughter, the sound drawing his gaze away from the basket of bones. “Jerky? Dried meat. Ive had dried meat. Persevered for travel.” He grumbled and turned back to the bar. He was finding it difficult to focus on much of anything. It made avoiding certain thoughts easier, as long as there was something else to focus on at least.

“Why?”

His head hung further, both paws raising to cover his face. He groaned softly, but with sagging shoulders relented. “Ok. We can try the meat wall.” He didn’t bother to ask which one of them was going to pay, and only faintly registered that she may have been trying to get something from him still, but concern didn’t find a place to stick. He couldn’t care less if she did at this point.

Doon looked down at her, his face weary, exhausted. He wasn’t going to bother asking further questions on her whole… thing. With some effort, he turned on his stool and stood, groaning as his back straightened with soft crackles of his own. He adjusted the cloak that covered some of his arm, taking a moment to adjust the armor itself as he walked to the door. He closed the distance in a few steps, then paused as he remembered he was being followed by a shortling. He’d have to measure his movement patterns so as not to loose her.

Morgan was now partially turned towards Erinyes, the Zeltron grabbing nearly all of her attention. Seeing the Emissary’s reaction to her teasing, and in her boozed state, she couldn’t help but tease further. She twirled one of Erin’s scarlet locks between her fingers as she turned back to Thane with a devious smile. “What do you think? That rumor could work just fine, no? The Sith Lord with henchmen like these…” she left the implication in the air and, still twirling the scarlet lock, poured herself more rum.

<@185936112441622529> <@645466919415054357>

And off Doon went, blindly following the direction indicated without considering if it was correct. Again, it didn’t seem to matter to him at the current moment. So he marched, careful to not drag his new companion after him. Unfortunately, with how concentrated he was on her directions and keeping her near him, the brain power to avoid things just wasn’t present. A metal rack clattered as his shoulder clipped it, sending a few bags of chips scattering over Aconite as Doon corrected course - directly into a shelf. He bounced off it, the impact tilting the entire shelf towards the ground and straightening his path. More items, plushies and rolled shirt this time, rained down upon the small figure holding his cloak.

Doon didn’t seem to notice, his gaze now fixed on the labeled “WALL O’ MEAT”.

It took a concentrated effort of will for the Deputy Grand Master not to pout as Ras thwarted their efforts and departed. Damnit. There goes the entertainment. Thane’s black-gold eyes then flit between Erinyes and Morgan. Then, they settled on the pale fingers twirling the Zeltron’s hair.

Yeah, that’s a thing that was happening.

Having finished the whiskey, Thane sighed and tried his hand at the rum. The liquid crashed against the bottom of the glass and swirled around. Lifting it for a sip, even as the liquid still moved, he blinked slowly then raised a brow at Morgan.

“Certainly you can find more entertaining rumours.”

<@690640377262243843> <@645466919415054357>

“Hey, when those bands come back for a revival, those discs are going to be worth something,” Vince replied as his blue cybernetic oculars scanned the shelves as they passed. “I mean, they’re already worth something. It’s good music!” His tone was just a bit defensive, though playful as well.

The middle-aged Human seemed hesitant to leave the Rodian at first, eyeing the bar and the chatter there. He didn’t know anyone there, but AJ had insisted time and again he should find more ‘friends his age’. Who knew that making friends as an adult was so hard?

He put his hands in the pockets of his worn jacket and sighed. “Yeah, I’ll meet you at the, uhh…” He glanced between signs, trying to orient himself. “The Diner. Gonna grab, uh, a quick drink, first.” Though he had attempted the sober life, albeit briefly and unsuccessfully, one drink couldn’t hurt to lessen his nerves a bit. Perhaps he’d find someone interesting to talk to. He gathered himself and wandered over to the bar.

Another drink of rum down. “Y'know?” Morgan turned to Erin suddenly, under the influence her head began bobbing slightly from in a circle, “‘E’s absolutely right. Who cares about the rumors about us 'ere. Not us, right? And th’ rest can go fark th'mselves.” She took another sip from the glass. “But I tell ya, here’s got ta be more int'resting ones about th’ rest o’ th’ Council.” Her speech became quicker with every drink she downed, and slowly the thick, old Nar Shaddaan accent started floating up again. She looked at both of them in turn. “I’‘vnt been in th’ loop much. What sweet secrets’re you guys hiding, hm?”

<@185936112441622529> <@645466919415054357>

Rasilvenaira nodded, “Old friends and new ones, are always a welcome sight these days.”

When the bartender brought her rum, she poured a glass and downed it, then pour her sixth to sip more slowly.

“I don’t usually come by here, but I’ve heard a lot about it from people, and figured I’d check it out since I was out this way and the Caliburnus needed refueling. I guess I did too since the rum is pretty damned good here. Suppose I’ll pick up some food on the way back to the ship, I saw some good smelling fudge and jerky out there. Are either of you regulars here?” <@227653769842655233>

Miho looked at Reiden, her violet eyes showing her thinking. Were they regulars? Perhaps she was, how long had it been since she first found this stop with the Twins? Had to be months now. And she supposed she had seen Reiden here more than a few times.

She wasted a smile on the Assassin and nodded. “I suppose I could be called a regular. I stop in when I’m coming through this way. The jerky is a good treat for a long trip home and the Twins always liked the breakfast plates and a caf to go.”

She turned back to Reiden, still smiling. “What about you, Reiden? Do you have any favorites?”

<@232396983854301187>

Reiden thought for a moment before answering. “Yeah, I’ve probably stopped by enough to be considered a regular. Sometimes I’m in the area, other times I make a point to come here. It’s a little out of the way, sure, but I know that when I’m here, I won’t need to worry about anyone hassling me. A benefit of the station’s backers,” he explained, hinting at the Envoy Corps. He smiled. “I’ve been able to get some presents for Shadow’s boys here. The caf is good, decent prices all around, good bar, good service. Not sure if I have a favorite yet, though.” <@142754576863330304> <@227653769842655233>

Rasilvenaira listened to both Reiden and Miho, then nodded. “I can see how someone could become a regular here. The rum is good, and I’m sure the rest is too. I just haven’t explored enough of the station yet. I’ll make a point of it though since I’m here and it comes so highly recommended.”

She smiled, then glanced at their glasses and held up the bottle of rum, “Care to share the rum with me? Wouldn’t want to be selfish having the whole bottle all to myself.” <@227653769842655233>

Doon was staring up at the wall and the array of choices. He didn’t know what most of them meant, only able to gauge the vague idea of flavors from the little graphics of variously colored tailrings. They wore different hats, were surrounded by sweets, or lit aflame depending on the pack of jerky. A series of them drew Doon attention, a spread of packages that varied in levels of fire surrounding the Tailring, the final step being a cartoonish pile of ash with eyeballs.

He picked one from the middle of the row and sniffed at the package. He didn’t pick anything up. So he bit the corner of it and tore it half open, then stuck his nose into the tear. Still, nothing. With an annoyed growl and a growing sense of dulled frustration, he snapped up a few pieces into his mouth and started chewing. He pulled his snout out of the bag as he waiting for his tongue to pass information to his brain. In the meanwhile, he offered the open bag down to Aconite.

<@244244163002892288>

Reiden glanced from the bottle to his empty glass, pausing to think. He was only one drink in, so having another shouldn’t be an issue. And he couldn’t fly anyway so that wasn’t a concern either. Orion or the droid brain could handle that. He liked to keep his wits about him, but a couple drinks was usually fine, as he learned from experience. He shrugged and slid his glass over. “Well I shouldn’t let any go to waste and I can’t say no when offered like that. I’ll take a glass.”

“If we told you, they wouldn’t be secrets, would they?” Erinyes gave Morgan a wink. The alcohol was making her restless, and she’d started bouncing one leg absent-mindedly.

“Come on, Thane, let’s throw her a bone. What can we tell her that isn’t too serious?”

<@185936112441622529>

After giving Vince an affirmative thumbs up on the diner later, AJ lobcated the coveted music section. He was mid shifting through some old album chips of the Bonely Hearts and newer stuff of Pulse, when a sudden shouted ‘kark!’ somewhere in the store. The Rodian teenager paused and stared over his shoulder as he listened, trying to determine if it was anything he should be concerned with or not. After a moment, he shrugged, reached up and pulled his headphones back on – leaving one ear free.

Thane paused mid sip, looking at Erinyes over the lip of the glass, then at Morgan. “Kamjin is a Hutt,” he deadpanned, his position never wavering. Without waiting for a response, he finished his drink.

Bored.

That was the word to describe the state of being the Firrerreo was driving towards with reckless abandon, consequences be damned. Even worse, he still hadn’t figured out why he was scheduled to be there.

<@690640377262243843>

There was a moment of raised brows, open mouth, confusion before… “What?!” Her expression was less ‘are you kidding me?’ and more ‘are you farking kidding me?’. Morgan took the drink from Thane’s hand and sniffed it, suddenly just a bit more sober. It wasn’t the drink. “I fought that man, saw his nice, firm booty myself. That wasn’t no slug’s ass, I can tell you that.” She laughed, throwing in the towel to the absurdity. “What does that even mean?!”

<@185936112441622529>

Miho smiled and touched the rim of her still mostly full glass of whiskey. “I appreciate it, but I still have plenty to go myself.”

She lifted her glass in a small salute and took another small drink from it before setting it back down on the bar. “I don’t normally drink too often, but sometimes it’s quite enjoyable.”

While Reiden didn’t think he drank a lot, or at least too much, there were certain times when he would indulge. Luckily the Force could help move things along to the point that it wasn’t problematic in situations where it normally would be, like when on a job and following a target or gathering information. Sometimes you needed to fit in, and that might mean having a drink or two. He nodded and smiled in agreement. “Sometimes a good drink is what you need. I especially enjoy it when among friends.”

Almost home. Just a quick stop.

Sanguis Caldiren sighed and combed his fingers through his long, silky, ebony locks as he sat in the cockpit of his wife’s ARC-170. The Sith had barely reached the refuel station before the starfighter was out of juice. Normally, he traveled in the family shuttle, but the ship was out of commission and in the shop with only the 170 as his means of transportation. He’d never admit it to Shadow, but he enjoyed every chance he had to take the starfighter out for a spin.

However, he was tired from the long flight returning home from Nagi, glad to make a stop and have a chance to rest. Opening the hatch, he forced himself out and paid for the ship to be refueled before heading down a hall. He had heard mention of The Shame Corner a few times during House meetings, but he had never really given the place much thought. However, he was here now, and there was no harm in taking advantage of whatever the station had to offer before he continued home to Seraph.

Adorned in black pants, boots, and a black sash around his neck accompanied by black wrappings around his forearms, the bare-chested and tattoo-covered Nagai walked down the hall towards the station’s hub ready to enjoy an hour of rest and possible refreshment.

Doon paused his chewing as she recoiled and scrambled away. He watched her disappear into the clothes, not immediately realizing why she acted like that. After a few beats, he went back to chewing.

He did however, stop to grab a different bag. This one was marked with a hatted Ringtail stuck in a dollop of golden sticky honey. He tore it open, only loose a single piece to the floor as he hobbled over to the rack. He crouched somewhat, extending the newly opened jerky packet towards the area she disappeared. “Here. Sweet.” He growled.

Esen rounded the corner, her boots clicking onto the floor, looking slightly disheveled. Her hair thrown into a loose bun, tufts of hair poking out in slight bumps. Wearing her usual public attire, consisting of a white tee, and dark green tactical pants. Entering through the door, she quickly scanned the edges of the store, getting a general layout once again, before retrieving a basket. Continuing with her faster pace, she bee lined her way to the shelved snack items. Snaking her way through the aisles, hardly stopping to look at what she was getting, she just started dumping many of the items into the basket. She had ensured she grabbed many of the flavors of jerky, basic chips, as well as the spicy editions of them, not too worried about the flavors however.

Happy with her pile of snacks, she moved on to the drink fridges, grabbing many different flavors, making sure to grab the common favorites. She moved the snacks around in the basket, making room for the drinks, attempting not to squish with the weight of the bottles.

Satisfied with her horde. She made her way to the registers, pausing as she passed by the chocolate truffles, grabbing and placing two on the ever growing tower. She waddled her way up to a register, before placing the heavy basket down, upon the counter. Releasing a huff which turned into a slight giggle.

“Hopefully got everything.” She said to the cashier, giving a smile and nodding as a greeting.

She huffed another laugh, while rubbing the back of her neck where it meets the shoulder. Carefully watching the bagging process. Not so much as to judge the quality of work, but more of making mental notes and making sure all she set out to buy, was accounted for.

“Ha yeah… sleepovers. Haven’t had one since I was 14. Can’t remember much about what goes on, but I remember that snacks are an important part.” Another laugh.

“I only know what one other person attending likes, well, and myself, might as well get a variety for the others.”

She peered at the newly added items, her face brightens,

“Oh my stars, I forgotten about Truth or dare! Ha a classic! Thank you.”

“That does give me an idea…”

She taps her fingers in a rhythm on the counter pondering for a moment,

“Do you have any suggestions for music? Something upbeat and dancing worthy.”

A confused rumble intermixed by the chewing of jerky came from the wolf. His large head tilted to the side, inspecting the gap between the clothes. After a few seconds he leaned forward, his large snout plugging the hole. He continued pushing however, and the giant fluffy head just wasn’t going to fit. It was getting caught on clothes, and the metal bar that supported the entire rack.

With the effort to stick his head into the mystery cavern that Aconite had crawled into, he started pushing the entire rack. With constant effort, it scooted across the floor with a soft scrreeeee as he leaned more and more into it in an attempt to enter.

Doon blinked.

He stared at the person that crawled out of the rack for a long few moments.

He quickly turned, head tilted so he could peer into the rack. He had expected to see Aconite, somewhere, trying to hide while this other person had crawled out.

But there was nothing.

He turned back to the girl, blinking silently.

“You… young.”

“Oh my stars, that’ll be perfect. This is going to be so fun.” She states giddily.

She continued to watch the bagging process until it was complete, and the items all loaded. She paid the tab, offering a little nod to the Echani, and murmured a slight, “thank you once again, uh- er, have a good rest of your day!”

Taking a deep breath in, bracing herself before hefting up the bags, and waddling out.

Doon continued staring, but it wasn’t due to any offsetting appearance, or the fact that she changed. He’d had gotten over that. “Y… yer. Karked. I’m karked.” He dropped a paw onto his face, covering his eye and part of his snout. “I let.. a kid get me sloshed.” he whined out in Shistavanen.

Doon narrowed his eye at the cotton candy colored booze fairy that he wasn’t certain was a manifestation of his own making or an actual little gremlin that had appeared to pester him. Either way, it didn’t much matter to the black wolf, as long as the booze was real.

He plucked the flask between claws and tilted it back. It wasn’t easy to drink from it, his physiology being what it was. He shook the flask a bit, trying to get more out of it faster so the taste wouldn’t singe what little tastebuds he had. When there was about a swig left, he handed the flask back to the newly named Idun “Are you real?” he grumbled out in Shista, leaning one way slowly but surely, as if he was nearing falling over.

The massive wolf righted himself as Idun grabbed him. Her presence under him made him cognizant of not falling and smushing her under his weight and armor. The way she spoke, the demeanor and appearance. It all started to set off strange alarms in the distant primordial mind.

Was he real?

“I don’t know…” he responded to the question Idun wasn’t aware she asked. He stumbled forward, not sure where he was going. Was he hallucinating the little helper? Was it -

He choked a growl down, teeth flashing for a moment.

Hell would be more preferable than that.

He stumbled forward again, now lurching as if he was trying to escape a lumbering beast

Doon barely registered the hit, physically, but it did catch his attention. He turned, starting to slow his pace. Unfortunately, the turning wasn’t accounted for as he started backing up. His path curved to the side until his back slammed against a shelf of caramelized fried dough balls. His ear twitched, as if he heard the commotion far away, as the bags of sweets clattered to the ground around him.

A snarl ripped from the wolf in response, his claws flexing and teeth flashing. “You don’t own Kark. You ate of my paw. Fur, flesh, blood and all. Then ate jerky I offered.” He growled again, hunching slightly as if in a defensive pose.

“You will not touch.” He rumbled out, snarl fading from his strained voice.

A few tense moments passed, the wolf only slightly swaying. His eye roamed over her, flicking around rapidly. Slowly, his paw shifted forward. He growled at it, as if it was acting on its own, but it didn’t stop slowly reaching out to her own scarred hand. The other clenched into a fist as he curled inwards slightly more, the wolf almost hunched into a ball against the shelves.

In most places, Rheia Starcross would have stood out like a sore thumb in a queue for ship repairs. Hair white as snow, more windswept than it had any right to be with a parted fringe that barely reached her eyes, traditional robes of the Jedi that had been through more wars than she was old enough to have taken part in… and two lightsabers, one hanging at each hip.

Yet here, in the Shame Corner, barely anyone bat an eyelash - not even at the battered, antique Jedi starfighter she had arrived in. Likewise, she bore no attention to those around her. A shapeshifter and a drunken wolf? Par for the course on the Shame Corner.

A bump at her shoulder, a Zabrak double her size brushed past her, the sheer weight of him pushing her out of the way as he cut in the queue.

Rheia grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply, and stared into his eyes, her other hand hovering above a lightsaber. “Pick a direction, back or down.”

The giant Zabrak huffed indignantly and joined the back of the queue, sheepishly rubbing his wrist. The line stayed orderly.

He caught Rheia on a good day.

Doon took a few slow breaths, finding the tightening in his chest fading enough for him to breathe. He focused his eye on the ground infront of him, then his gaze drifted to the small one curled upon themselves. He stared for a few moments longer, then growled softly and pushed away from the wall. “I.. need to go. Have.. to move on ship. Schedule.” He rambled a bit nonsensical.

“Do you have place?” He took in her drunk shape again, and felt he could scoop her up in one paw if he needed.

He rumbled again, watching her sway and ready to softly nudge her back into place if she went too far one way. He nodded slowly, still frowning. “Then, I know who I will call. If I need a.. Cotton Candy Booze Fairy.” He finally looked around at the mess around them, ear twitching.

“I.. should go. Take care of yourself. I will be through more, usually. I will pay for..” he gestures widely to the mess before taking a step back away from it. How had this little thing gotten him so sloshed?