Stars and Bars

[Alexander Tur'enne]

Xander hunched over the bar. He had no idea where he was; the bar's name had been in Bothan, and he hadn't learned enough of their language to do much more than work out which 'fresher was for guys, and which was for gals. The place was awkwardly scaled too: designed for a species with a shorter stature than many humanoids, the bar itself was lower, giving Xander the oddest sensation of feeling a little too tall.

There had been some adaptions, of course - concessions to the massive influx of offworlders that had descended upon the planet in recent months. A few tables dotted around the place sported more human-friendly scales of furnature; and someone had managed to find a bulky music box that was currently pumping out tunes from across the various worlds that contributed their men and women to the Alliance.

Half an ear paid attention to the song currently on - something about moonlight, that he vaguely remembered from back on Corellia, but couldn't think of a name for.

A hand tipped another mouthful from the bottle into his mouth. A recent cargo run had managed to provide several of the bars closest to the starport with various offworld ales that were a little more accomodating to the pallate and sensibilities of the non canines about the place. It tasted a little flat, and a touch too sweet for his liking, but the alcohol content was high, and really that was what mattered.

Emptying the last, he let the bottle land against the bar a little more loudly than he'd intended, and gestured to the barman for another.

[Maxx Elgrin]

The door to the bar was shoved opened by a hard hitting shoulder. Boots hit the floor twice and paused as the human who entered surveyed the scene. Standing close to six feet tall, his posture was anything other then crisp. Most of the weight was in his right hip as he pulled gloves off one finger at a time as the full length grey coat came to a halt, just touching the ankles of his boots.

Half his face was pulled up in a serendipitous smirk as feet quickly scaled down the few steps that brought him onto the main floor. It was clear his target was the bar and the small stools didn't bother him in the least. He pulled the back of his coat away with a fluid motion and sat down as if royalty.

"All right," he shook out his arms before resting them against the counter and waited patiently for the Bothan bartender to come on over. Teeth as white as snow shined when he did. It was clear the two knew each other.

"Do I want to know?"

"What?" chimed Maxx innocently.

"You're in a good mood. That's usually worse then when you're not." Already the Bothan had grabbed a clean glass and poured Maxx a healthy drink of their best whiskey.

"Well, yes," he said, chin protruding forward as if hurt by the accusation. "Had a good run and figured I stop in to old haunts before shipping out. I like this planet, but ..." he grinned over the glass in his hand now and chuckled, "You know."

The Bothan snorted. "Yeah. I do. Just stay out of trouble."

He paused and then added, "For once."

Maxx laughed and drank deeply as he turned the stool around into the most adorable image he had seen in recent weeks. His grin melted into an appreciative smile at the human male sitting three stools away and hoped that trouble was already found.

[Alexander Tur'enne]

That was the trouble with bars: there was always a guy.

Okay, so there were lots of guys, with lots of personality types. In Rebel bars especially, you had your jock pilots; your jarhead troopers; your grubby techs who just wanted a beer and a bitch before they went home. And then you got your cocky son-bitches. You got the full-on fighter jocks from the more presigious units, all on a high from their latest mission, trying to show off to the buddies and babes by waving their arms around, demonstrating the aledgedly mind-blowing stunts they'd pulled last combat. You got your agents and operatives from Intel, and the elite units, who wandered around with that swagger that made out they could get any girl in the damn place; unfortunately, their egos were stroked by the fact that women went for that crap, so they generally succeeded.

This guy, though. This guy was something different. He had the brash of a fighter jock, mixed with the suave of a spy; his face was too good looking and unmarred to have seen much in the way of combat action, which narrowed down the options. Xander laughed into his bottle of beer. Probably some generic Joe smuggler, just stopping by, he mused, wishing the guy would stop looking at him.

A swig of beer gave him a spark of courage. "Can I help you?" he asked, turning in his seat to face Smuggler Joe.

[Maxx Elgrin]

Maxx shook his head with heavy eyelids, keeping the object of his attentions within view. "Just enjoying the scenery."

Finding a pretty face to go with an exceptionally sturdy frame made Maxx a happy boy. But would he be disheartened or be deliciously surprised that one of the Rebel boys liked something close to perfection that was Maxx Elgrin.

When the bartender came back with his whiskey, he slide his face closer to the Bothan and indicated with a slight pull of his head towards mystery man that another drink was to be had.

"His bottle's looking almost dry. I think he needs another," he grinned and the Bothan rolled his eyes.

"You're incorrigible."

Bottom lip puckered out in agreement, "Yes, but I don't think anyone minds a free drink."

His attention was focused solely on beautiful three stools down. "Right?"

[Alexander Tur'enne]

Xander shrugged, the last of his beer poured into his mouth. "I wont say no," he offered, non-committal, settling the empty bottle down on the bar and scooting it across the moisture-slicked surface into the waiting hands of the barkeep.

As he waited for his drink to be recharged, he allowed himself to size up Smuggler Joe, paying careful attention to the manner in which he was apparently being eyed up. It was hardly the first time someone had tried to pick him up in a bar. There were times when he even let it work, no matter how dismal the efforts were. Normally though, he'd make a guy work for it; despite appearences to the contrary, he was an old fashioned kinda gal, as the saying went.

He offered a slightly theatrical sigh, turning enough on his stool to directly face his new 'friend'. "So," he offered, his tone remaining skeptical, and guarded, "You've already bought me a drink. Assuming you're working through a list of standard clichés, I'm guessing you're gonna crack out some sort of cheesy line on me now, huh?" He folded his arms across his chest, but there was the faintest hint of playfulness that he couldn't quite keep out of his smile. "C'mon then. Lets hear what you've got."