Precursor to Fate (Please join!)

[Wine Marisinthe]

Feel rotten.

Damnit.

Too much to drink again. I know better.

please

No.

There's a song that runs again and again and again through this stupid carcass of my head. A song that always manages to find me when I feel like I might stand a chance at being simple again, willing to delve into the acceptable realms of higher cooking and rearing children who matter...

Instead of who I am.

Pitiful, party of one, your table is ready.

Here's to innovation.

...
..
.
.............!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So this is it, hunh? A shantytown dive full of blissfully ignorant nutria seeking only enough to feed until tomorrow...

I'd laugh. I would.

Where are you now, Tzerace?

Your laughter spreads across the systems in the way I thought your wisdom did...

At least, in my own head.

Now all I can do is watch the way the balls of poison giggle stupid liquid roll along the pisspoor senselessness of this bar--and then I catch myself and think about everything from slapping my wrist to cutting my throat to sleeping with the next wall of a guy who pushes through that door--resolve be damned, example be damned, all the years slipping away into the finite realms of futility and pathos...

And you whisper to me.

Whisper, and though I force you out of my mind my body cries for you.

Passion is a fickle beast.

I'd kick it in the gutter if it were alone.

The rotten bastard brought Sentimentality with it, though.

In all those years, I think we touched...

...sorry...

Another drink.

...touched on remorse a few times, really...but coming from the bottom, it's pretty much moot...

Until now.

Swirl. Swirl.

*Tunk.*

Glass on bar slides away, away--back againdon'tyouhaveanimagetouphold---

The glass in hand now, the 'tender approaches, leaning slowly in, picking at an edge of the bar with mock consternation.

"Miss...whatever it is, I budge for it. The liquid is a balm and nothing more,"

He meets her eyes of blue, contrast to the obsidian floe of silk which is

Pfft--

Exhalation. A lock flutters up and out and back again.

Gotta cut my stupid hair too--

The 'tender continued, a fingernail flicking away some dark detritus.

"--nothing more than water once you get below...but life..."

He met her gaze with

golden treasure

eyes, and held there, letting

me in..and you would reach me, wouldn't you, in the place I

her touch him for a time before the smirk which brought

me home, home, come in, come inside, please--please, it's warm, and.....oh blast it--

the fact of PUBLIC PERCEPTION clattering intrusively to the fore.

"...life is consistent."

I see you, Bartender. I see you, your eyes, your regret, your need for me and your thoughts of her and the discipline there, damnit, why can you stand there and I sit here and every year I've spent away from everythng to make me who I am dissolve under a rotting rag and polished crystal glass of--

A taken hand, rolling it, slipping over dell of skin and dale of scar, coaxing the palm to turn for his efforts, then tracing an insouciant finger along the breadth of crease and fold--

"I have a dughter myself, you know," he spoke in tone of alabaster poured into a gentle mould. "And her eyes hold such wonder, such amazement at the universe beyond her own little sphere."

Someone somewhere laughs aloud, staccato burst of rasp.

I--

Taken in, the torn fingernail is stroked but once, then left to heal unaddressed.

"She askes me questions that I know, and questions I can't understand. And sometimes, I feel like God--just sitting back, shaking my head, and wondering how a mind could find something so simple...so important--when all along it means about as much as yesterdays breath."

The place is flling slowly.

....who the hell...how the...nnnnnh, frell, I know better than to ask--

The 'tender releases me then, from his gossamer and silk of tone and touch, retreating to the stalwart call of servitude and duty, tugging at someplace deep inside.

"Let it go, Jedi. Let it go."

Swirling his face touches mine in only intimacy of commiseration---

and I reject him.

"...I'm no Jedi..."

Frell the tears, frell the years, frell the thoughts which bring me fears--

"I'm no one."

And I'll finish off that drink, damn you Tzerace, and maybe I'll laugh at something stupid later...

......................

[Garet Andrys]

Smoke, sweat. Bad music.

Correction: no band. Bad music in a can.

The smell of drink permeates the bar, mingling with the sweat in an altogether unpleasant fashion.

Nevermind.

Normally, he'd notice all the unusual goings-on: the group of cowled figures in the corner, the rowdy game of... something indecipherable next to the bar. The nervous... thing, with the flailing mandibles by the struggling environmental filter.

Nevermind.

Today, he notices nothing but the empty seat at the bar.

He walks to the bar, sits down without comment. He glances up at the bartender, deep in conversation with someone else. None of his business.

He waits.

The conversation ends.

The bartender looks his way.

"Something unhealthy," he says. "And blue."

The bartender looks at him silently, hesitates, then pours him a drink. The color is suitably unnatural, the smell is potently rancid.

He takes the glass and drowns the drink. He winces slightly, then puts the glass down on the table. "Another. Thank you."


The bartender hesitates again. "No tab. Pay first."

He sighs, reaches into the inner lining in his jacket, and pulls out a chit. "This any good here?"

The bartender looks at it briefly, hands it back, and serves him another drink.

Good for something, at least.

The music swells. He continues his dance towards oblivion. A blue, rancid oblivion.

Nevermind. Whatever works.

[Maia Tharrinn]

Sensless... Sitting in this bar when I should be studying thinking of my failure's. Thinking of my family.

"Cant change them Maia. You can't make them be something they are not."

"Your a fool Maia!" Mikal's voice swirling in my head.

" Yes Mikal I know but it is out of love that I have to ask."

Swirling my Juice around with the tip of my finger, wishing had something stronger to drink. I cant I am a Jedi. Would do anything to have warm liquid rushing down my throat to dull my senses to mask my memories. I stick to the fruit juice.

From the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of a girl. Her eyes as red as mine were yesterday.

"Wonder what she is drinking."

"Maybe I should go over and ask if she needs help. I'm a Jedi after all. Then again what good can I do. I cant even help my family."

"Your a fool Maia, You cannot change what you don't understand," Mikal's voice throb's in my ear.

"Yes Mikal I know."

"What I would give for a strong drink and not this blasted juice."

"But I can't lose myself now, not when someone might need my help" Walking over to the young woman, her eyes as lost as mine....

[Wine Marisinthe]

The liquid is a lava floe.

Wince.

That was…hotter than I expected.

Glass drained it sits again amongst companions.

Cursory fingernail examination, light kneading of the webbing between index and forefinger, still oddly displaced from the ‘tenders soft skin.

Soft skin. Handles bottles all day, what do you expect—

Slight shifting in the seat. The world tilts but only mildly for that moment as training battles affectation and comes away the victor…but red and stinging.

Fingernail torn to the cuticle but no longer throbbing just annoying and who comes trip-trapping on my bridge

Stifled giggling.

This is bad. No wonder, Tzerace, no wonder you kept your little groundling spirited away, with temptations like these who needs anything anymore when you could just waste away and end up in the same place

stop

screw you I never had to grieve so I never drank. Let me have my firsts.

Straightening in the chair. Cracking of neck. Hair

Cut you gonna cut you

brushed behind ears. Rubbing of eyes and

I’m….being watched.

[Garet Andrys]

Bartenders come in two forms.

The first are your basic kindly after-work shrinks, dispensing medicine by the litre. The second are interested in keeping order, and don't care if you're happy as long as you pay.

Both generally keep blasters underneath the bar.

Garet is on his fifth glass, and the repetitive rhythms of the canned music theatre are starting meld together into one big cycling wash of noise.

He gestures for another glass, but the bartender shakes his head.

"No more. I'll make you some coffee."

Garet opens his mouth to protest, but the bartender moves off.

A woman sitting to his right starts laughing. Garet looks to see if he's being mocked, but no... she's lost in her own world.

"Everyone seems pissed off at something," he mutters. He looks mournfully at the five empty glasses sitting in front of him, then at the bartender, back turned, fixing coffee.

Garet sighs, reaches into his jacket pocket, and pulls out a small metallic disc. He starts spinning the disc across his knuckles -- right to left, left to right, right to left again. Despite his inebriation, he doesn't drop it once.

The bartender returns, pushing a steaming cup of coffee under his face. "Drink. Sober up before you start a fight, or someone decides you're an easy mark and starts one for you."

Garet puts the metal disk back in his pocket and grabs the warm cup, sipping reluctantly.

The bartender looks him over again. "New. Just arrived?"

Garet nods. This isn't just coffee -- the bartender put something in it. He's sobering up too fast.

He scowls. "Do you do this to all your customers? Sober 'em up? Seems counterproductive."

"No." The bartender looks around. "But I don't know you. And that chit makes me nervous."

Grimace. "Fair enough." He rubs his temples. "I won't start any trouble." He sees the look on the bartender's face. "Honest. I'm just trying to unwind... oh, nevermind."

He drinks the rest of his coffee in silence.

[Garrett Blade]

ooc: This is something I'm going to try - more of a first person perspective. Bear in mind what you kow about Garrett - his insanity has changed his perception of the world. Be warned.

ic:

I dragged my feet across the seat, and jumped out the passengers side. The cab threw me out as it ran away. I crawled up the lamp post and looked into the bar. I'm not drunk. I haven't slept in weeks. Weeks. Years. What? Yes weeks! I said years. Weeks?

In the middle of the road, I look on. Half way from coal, half way to diamond. Braving the oncoming traffic I joust my way through to the doors. I bang into it and fall inside on my legs. Did anyone look? Who cares? I don't. Does she? Who cares?

Avoiding the mines on the floor, disguised as coasters - sly buggers - I reach the bar and address Betty.....

"Two glasses of the old 'hijklmno' please..."

I wonder if he'll get it right tonight...Oh, a girl. She looks down. Say something nice, if you think you can...

"Is now greater than the whole of the past?"

Sit down, fool!

[Sladggrlok]

The shadow sat, almost entirely unnoticed, on a chair at an empty table across from the bar.

He was short, this shadow.
Barely more than a meter, actually.
But nearly as wide as he was tall, with broad shoulders, and wide, three fingered hands and feet, with three jointed fingers and an opposable thumb that ended in quite sharp claws.

He was grinning in a feral sort of matter.
Which would have been unsurprising to anyone capable of making his form out in any kind of detail, considering the nature of his head.
It was long and his 'muzzle' was pointed, like a hunting animals. His teeth also bore out the predatory ancestry.

However, all of this was entirely lost on those in the bar who's vision was restricted to the normal sight bandwidth, i.e. Mr. Roy G. Biv.

For those who could only see with such colors, he was a blot of darkness seated on a chair, for he absorbed nearly all light in that spectrum. Only the glint of his black goggles (to cover the red glow of his eyes under 'normal' lighting) and utility belt shone out of his matte darkness, and then only faintly in the dim bar.

To those who could see across the UV bandwidth, the shadow was a light toned beast with stripes on his shaggy fur, dark pads on his hands, and perfect teeth.
He was quite a handsome Defel.

He was here on Coruscant on business, and he was slumming.
Well, not truly slumming.
He did have some class.
This bar was about as low as he would go, for now.
Here, at least, if someone noticed him, the first thing they would do wouldn't be to shoot him.

Quite honestly, he didn't feel like killing anyone.
He rather doubted that the people around here were worth much of anything, anyhow, though that girl at the bar seemed famaliar somehow.

Regardless, he was just killing some time and reducing his boredom with his lodgings before he met with someone on business.
Important business, as opposed to all of his business on Coruscant thus far, which had been, shall we say, 'unproductive'.

So, for the moment, he sat in the bar, and watched the 'people' drink themselves into a stupor.

Maybe someone would get in a fight, or something.

It was always interesting for him to watch how other cultures handle the process of challenge and conflict.
Most of them did it rather poorly, in his opinion. Lack of proper upbringing, most likely.

This fellow who just stumbled in, and then ever so carefully evaded the fallen drink coasters, smiling quite broadly to himself in satisfaction as he managed to avoid stepping on a single one, seemed like a good canidate to get beaten completely senseless.

So, Sladggrlok grinned his feral grin and tapped his claws idly on the table.

[Garet Andrys]

Maybe it's the coffee.

He's noticing more of the goings-on in the bar now... apparently not a moment too soon. Garet sighs heavily and waits.

The canned music plays another generic tune. A man far more drunk than Garet could ever hope to be stumbles in from the street. Someone or something watches them all.

Nevermind.

He waits.

One, two, three...

Now.

Movement, a cry of alarm, a grunt, a thud. Buzzing.

Garet stands over the form of some... creature (like I have the time to memorize the name of every sentient race in the galaxy... I'll leave that to scholars, Jedi, and all the other professionals with no life) with flipper-ears, arm pulled painfully around its back, face pressed gasping into the bartop. In Garet's right hand is a small, previously unnoticed weapon that hums dangerously against back of the creature's neck.

It's a vibro-knife. The cutting edge is wafer-thin, vibrating at a rate of 850 times per second. Very illegal. Very good at cutting through almost anything, given time.

A little pressure, and the VK hums a bit louder. The creature with the flipper-ears whimpers slightly. Garet eases off, letting it stand.

"A drink for my friend," he says to the bartender. "He obviously thought I was someone else."

Flipper-ears grunts in agreement.

A flick of the wrist and the VK disappears from sight. Garet sits back down on the barstool, looking at the bartender.

"I'd like something a little stronger than coffee," he says. "Maybe something green, this time."

[Telaki Olus]

Telaki Olus laughed despite the pain it caused him. The man who just spun the creature with the funny ears was quicker and stronger than Telaki thought. He had been watching the man and waiting, assuming that he was an easy target, however he was obviously not.

A jedi?

Maybe.

Telaki rose from his seat then, his eyes never leaving the mans back, and made his way to the fresher. Inside he washed his hands and found himslef staring at the mirror, his reflection glaring back.

Telaki frowned. His eyes. They were glowing too much. Another attack?

It was the disease. The disease that tore at his flesh, that scarred his eyes and weakened his mind. Nothing was regular with it. He had been counting on the pattern, but this was much to quick. Not another attack. No...

Beaches. He loved beaches. White sand with clear blue waters. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen a beach.

Her face, oh how it was perfect. He saw her. She was so real.

Stepping. Walking stumbling down he fell the tile floor coming much to quick, couldn't move. Wet slap as his face connected. His stomach burned. Clawing scarapping his way to the door. Push open, stronger now. Stand. You can stand. Not again. He fell again. Harder this time.

Empty. it was empty. No one. Not the man or the tender. Empty.

He screamed. And with his scream the world went black.

Around him the patrons of the bar simply watched.

[Wine Marisinthe]

Eyes focus.

So this is what the other side looks like…

…how very stupid.

Exhalation. Eyes now glazing and

Surprising how easy it is to pretend to let go…but doesn’t last very long. What a waste of time. Really stupid waste of time and people LIVE like this…unbelievable.

A pinch is deftly nailed and pinned to the counter by a gritty looking man across the bar—he’s whispering something and

well that’s subtle

wields a weapon which by all accounts could have him incinerated on the spot if anyone of legal import should take a fancy to doing so—and of course, none of those types are here, or if they are, they obviously have issues of their own…

breathe

Miraculously,

(He obviously thought I was someone else.)

the guy shows a streak of mercy instead of dicing the offender, slipping the blade away and sliding back to his perch at the bar under the eyes of several patrons who make no move upon him. One man might

no

but heads off to the back instead, still keeping his eyes on the now-introspective

(Maybe something green this time)

barfly.

Sigh.

Eyes open.

Glitterblue past black strands soon to die blink away the heavy lids eyes wide then narrow.

Alright, this is old now.

Used to stares and glares. Used to attentions of wandering lusts and hunger. Used to the

whole damn thing—let’s just get on with this already

waiting.

Waiting.

Odd…

Turning lightly in the seat, short pang of healing in the left thigh still tender but better, steadily better

Anticipation in the air…something about to happen…

The door at the back opens, the wary man who’d left the room re-enters in the manner of a hobbled calf, bracing himself against the doorframe, there but not there

(nothing)

and in one step releasing a shriek that cuts above the dull rumble of patronspeak to draw new attentions to himself—then pitches to the floor with a violent and final thud.

The ‘tender speaks into a small comlink.

A portion of the crowd erupts into laughter. Applause. Perhaps they think he might stand and take a bow.

Unbelievable.

A couple of largish beings lumber from different areas of the room toward the crumpled pile of once-was-upright-now-is-prone.

Nak, let’s get the show on the road here…

Hair brushed behind ear again.

ow

New cognizance of still-healing scalp beneath, the four inch line of crust hidden but still quite raw.

Sigh.

Waiting.

Waiting.

[Telaki Olus]

The blackness fell away all at once and the rush of air filled Telaki's lungs quickly. He coughed and then breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive. Another brush up against the sad face of death, and he was still alive.

Around him two large creatures attempted to lift Telaki, but instead were dropped to the floor in a series of kicks and jabs. Telaki stood now over the creatures, curses emitting from their faces. He was strong now. Stronger than before. It was always like this with the disease. It always made him stronger.

Suddenly a wave of realization swept over him. He was being watched. By everyone. He spun on his heel and glared back at the patrons. He smiled.

"Who wants a piece of me?"

[Garet Andrys]

A shriek cuts through the air.

He's aware now -- no way around it. Regretfully, any thoughts of slipping into blissful, alchohol-induced stupidity melt away as someone staggers out of the refresher, screams in agony, and collapses on the floor.

The reaction is typical -- suffering met with jeers, catcalls, and brusque dismissal. Only three or four people in the bar seem to show any concern at all. The bartender talks into a commlink, and Garet knows what that means.

Badges.

He shakes his head, half-eyeing the still-twitching figure with a mixture of concern, wariness, and annoyance. Then it all kicked in -- he saw the place for the first time, and frowned.

Not fair.

Usual mix of thugs, villains, lowlifes -- the cardboard cutouts found in every dive in every city near every starport on every planet in every system in the known universe. The "bit players," he called them, playing their limited roles with all the false bravado they could muster.

But...

Not your normal bar.

There were more than bit players here. There were people who had significant roles to play, lines to memorize,

probably a few monologues thrown in for good measure

and that always meant the same thing.

TROUBLE.

He sighs, turns back to the bar, noticing for the first time how the sick man, the talking shadow, the drunken lunatic, the compassionate teetotaller and the pretty girl drowning her ghosts all seemed to fit together in some kind of strange, dancing pattern.

He reached for the glass, now full of emerald-green poison. He drank automatically, wishing he were somewhere else.

Stupid. Just leave.

He did not move.

Nevermind.

[Garet Andrys]

"Who wants a piece of me?"

He got better.

The "victim" was a victim no longer, face twisted into an exultant smile.

Looking for a fight.

And suddenly it seemed as though the weave began to tighten, ever so slightly.

Don't want to fight.

Garet looks at the strange one (powerful, yes) and turns back to the bartender, who seems a bit tense.

Understandible.

Garet drinks again. And waits.

[Telaki Olus]

"who wants a piece of me?"

To Telaki's right a burly man more neck than anything stood up and withdrew a vibroblade. He smiled.

"I will take you actor."

The man stepped around his table and approached Telaki. Holding the blade in an attack position he moved closer and closer to a seemingly uninterested Telaki. Then with a quick flick of a wrist, the blade was swept at Telaki's stomach. Telaki evaded, and used the mans momentum to send him crashing to the floor. He pounced on the man, and grabbed at his thick greasy hair. He then proceeded to smash his face into the hard stone floor. Blood poured profusely from the wound. Dazed and confused the man was then lifted to his feet by Telaki who then, the man's vibroblade in hand, slashed across his belly. With a splash the mans organs poured out and onto the floor.

With a casual push the man was heaved on the stone.

"waste."

[NeuroMortis]

http://home.earthlink.net/~serotonin/nakadai1a.gif


"Who wants a piece of me?"


“If it’s the piece you left outside, no thanks. I already stepped in it and ruined my Mynoks.”

The voice came from just inside the doorway; nearby beings turned or craned their necks to measure the newcomer and lay their bets.

He stood, grinning.

“Just kidding.”

Nakadai, at 5’8”, did not cut an imposing figure.

A well dressed figure—that was another matter entirely.

First impression:

Well dressed. Well groomed. Well off. Early thirties. (And what we here on earth would call ‘Asian.’)

Second and third impressions:

Carries himself with an air of confidence befitting only those who know the exact cog they provide in a much larger wheel, those who understand their purpose and adhere to it unfailingly.

And

Knows that said purpose is absolutely essential to something much, much larger than is visible on the surface.

And now, sauntering forward, hands in pockets, he nods disarmingly at the barkeep, who’s leveling an impressive carbine at the violent interloper.

“Actually, I just stopped in to meet a few friends of mine who don’t know the town very well. I was hoping to show them the sights. You know, get them acquainted with the nicer parts of the city. Take in a ball game, feed the ducks,”

He winked at the woman at the bar with the glittering blue eyes.

“…happy stuff.”

He glanced at the dark shape in the corner, raising a hand to scratch behind his own ear. As he did so, a small card fluttered from his pocket to the floor, unnoticed.

Then, back to the maniac.

“Do you like happy stuff?”

[Maia Tharrinn]

In the wrong place it seems once again. Made her way toward the sad eyed young girl and stopped mid stride.

Blood and what appeared to be a mans insides at her feet.

"Just step over them nothing I can do." Not a very Jedi like thought but who was she to stand for a cause. She couldn't even save her family.

"Your a fool." His voice edges in.

"Twice over Mikal Look what I have gotten myself in the middle of," trying to rationalize situations was all she was good for anymore.

Depressed. I'm so tired of feeling guilty of what they are.

"What I would give for a drink." The bar grows louder. Mayhem and reality sets in.

Need to leave and go back home. Her face crumples at the thought, tears of remorse, hurt and aching memories rear there heads like a stirred asps nest.

Sits back down at the bar all thoughts of helping someone fleeing from her torn mind.

I 'll have what he is having." THE bar tender brings her a green drink....

[Garrett Blade]

I take the glass - which isn't mine - and stand on the stool, addressing the thousands (what the?)...

"Ladies and gentlemen....the boooze is back!"

Nothing. Not a damn forsaken thing. Nobody winced. Wind didn't even pass. Maybe I am invisible. Well...now's as good a time as any to put it to the test...

"Heh-heh!"

No - he didn't see me. He won't be missing his drink then.

Mmm..she smells nice.

She tastes nice.

Is she looking at me?

"Hi, nice to meet you. I'm a.........priest. Anthing to confess?"

Am I invisible or what?

[Garet Andrys]

From bad to worse.

When someone dies in a bar, it's time to leave. Death generally means Imperials. Murder on the capital always means Imperials. And Garet doesn't want that kind of trouble.

Then, enter The Suit.

DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER

People who dress like that in these places are either very stupid or very, very dangerous. He doesn't look stupid.

Not by a long shot.

Time to go.

Garet puts some money on the table, finishes his drink, and eyes the door. How to get over there without attracting attention?

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg sat on his chair and observed the bar break into chaos.

First, the drinking man had confronted and defeated the flop-ears.
Then, he had bought flop-ears a drink.
Obviously a man who understood the true nature of conflict and resolution.

He gave a short bark of approving laughter.

Then, another madman emerged out of the 'refresher' (the name of which Sladg was still mulling over) and fell on his face.

Then, violence.

A challenge issued, and responded to.
And more violence.
His hackles raised in a frown at the unnecessary death.

The madman had obviously won. What purpose did a killing serve?
He did not understand such things.
For more than the first time, Sladg wondered how other species had risen to such heights when they seemed unable to grasp something so simple.

But perhaps the challenge was inherently to the death, perhaps there was some ritual here that he did not know.

He was gettting to his feet to go speak with the understander at the bar, when the well dressed human had entered. he payed him little mind, but continued along his course, walking right past the human on his path to the bar. The unnoticed little card stuck to the bottom of Sladg's left foot, and remained there grimly.

Once he reached the bar, he slipped off his goggles (to give the human a point of refernce) and blinked at the increase in luminousity in the room for a moment, and then easily jumped up onto the chair the flop-ears had vacated rather quickly as soon as the fighting had started. He stood on the chair so that his head was level with the human's face.

His seemingly instantaneous appearance surprised the rather stressed bartender, who nearly shot him in the face. Sladg simply blinked at him for a moment, and turned to consider the human he had come over to speak to. After a moment's hesitation, the 'tender returned his aim to the madman, who still clutched the (rather illegal) vibroblade.

Sladg stood looking at the human for a long ackward moment trying to figure out what to do next.

On Af'El, he would simply smell the stranger, if he were a Defel, and exchange names. But smelling the human was likely not appropriate. In business meetings there was already a ritual in place for opening things, but he knew of none for more casual contact.
Ultimately he settled on being direct, and spoke his mind.

"Greetings."
His voice was low and resonant, and somewhat rumbly.
His Basic was clear enough, though he dragged his g's and rolled his r's in an odd manner, and sounded like he was about to break into a growl at any moment. He also produced a soft but persistant smacking sound, like an animal chewing a bone, as his mouth formed sounds it was obviously not well suited for.

"I am Sladggrlok. I was impressed with your understanding of conflict, which many humans seem to lack."

An idea struck him, something impulsive and perhaps foolish, but Sladg trusted his instinct.

"Perhaps you would like a job?"

At that point, Sladg's mind had slowed enough that he noticed that something was stuck to the bottom of his foot, and wondering what sort of foulness he had stepped in, he lifted the foot, and pulled the card off, examining it briefly before returning his gaze to the understander.

[Telaki Olus]

Why was this happening. Oh god he just killed a man. Telaki was a spectator in his own body, the disease that crippled him so severly at times, not only effected him physically, but also mentally. He bacame a man unable to stop a play unfold around him. Unable to stop the twisted drama. He heard the click of a blaster. He felt his body turn, unable to stop it.

A man from behind spoke allowed. He passed and seemed to stare at a girl. Then he spoke directly to Telaki, or rather, what Telaki had become. Words entered his ears slowly, garbled in a way.

"..happy stuff?"

Telaki forced words out of his mouth, intermingling with the words of his diseased self.

"fight...help...me..I...can't....coward...Help....P lease....death...i...will...kill..me...help!!!!!!! !!!!"

His help ended in a shriek. Blood poured from his gapping mouth. he was falling from the high. He was losing his strength...and his consciousness.

No stay strong. Fight. Walk away.

Why wouldn't anyone help him?

[NeuroMortis]

http://home.earthlink.net/~serotonin/nakadai1a.gif

A beat.

Nakadai eyes the pitiful gurgling wretch on the floor with little change of expression save for the lifting of the eyebrows.

"...okay, well, I think it's safe to recommend therapy here..."

He glances at the odd beast who's taken up his perch at the bar; more precisely, he notes the business card the creature pries from the rough pad of his foot.

"...or a mop--Oh hey, look at that! What a professional looking business card!"

Grin. He glances at the schizo on the floor before stepping to the bar, not quite between the two out of respect for personal space.

The bartender is back on the commlink, still training the blaster on the twitching sputtering mess.

Looks like he's calling the authorities.

"Tell me, friends," He addresses both men. "What does it say?"

He notices Maia, offers a salutory nod. Notices Wine, offers the same. Notices a tentacled creature whose face could be just about anywhere and returns his attention to the men.

"...anything of interest?"


------------

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg eyed the not-very-serious man.

Sladg didn't get much off-world humor, really.
However, something about the human's manner and way of speaking suggested that something was, in fact, quite humorous about the whole situation.

Of this, Sladggrlok was fairly sure.
What that thing might be, exactly, he wasn't nearly as certain.

And the Joker was interrupting his attempt at conversation with this other human, the Understander, who seemed somewhat shocked by his words and presence.

Perhaps he had been too forward with the human. Their rituals were very sublte and varied, and they rarely explained the nature of them.

He looked at the card again, and read aloud.

"Nachgadai."

He neatly butchered the unfamiliar string of syllables.

A pause. He blinked, and read again.

"Nakadai.

Business is pleasure."

His sensitive finger pads felt the embossed nature of the back of the card, and he flipped it over.

"The Nebulae. Find it."

All were delivered in as flat a tone as the Defel could produce, though his intonation in Basic was... unique, at the best of times, and nearly threatening when he wasnt' paying careful attention.

Thus satisified with his reading, he turned his baleful eyes back on the sharply dressed human, waiting.

For applause, perhaps.

[NeuroMortis]

Nakadai's teeth were quite well cared for and perfect--for a human, at any rate.

A sharp bow of the head then up.

"I am, it is, and you should, my fine Defelian friend."

A wink.

"...as should you," the eyes take in the wary would-be-alcoholic. "But no pressure, you understand. I'm not of a mind to pry..."

And then, sotto voce to the immediate vicinity (and those who might be trying to hear):

"...but unless you want to get snuggly with the local law enforcement, my suggestion is as hospitable as you're likely to receive. You can split here and wander, or you can find my place and relax--"

Directly to Garet:

"--get drunk--"

To Sladgrrlok:

"--explore the finer points of commerce--"

And loud enough for those nearby to hear:

"--and enjoy your evening entrail-free!"

Grin.

Nod.

"Seek, and you will find."

A glance at the stirring heap upon the floor.

A flash in the eyes--something.

And then, exeunt.

[Sladggrlok]

It might be worth noting, at this point, some cultural information regarding the Defel.

They are a fierce people, indepedent and competitive, living most of their lives on their own, rarely forming tightly knit units.

Their interations with others of their species are defined to a large extent by ritual: Greeting, mating, challenging, all have their rites, and players.

They are a terse, direct people, once formalities are out of the way, but are capable of formidable cunning and guile when necessary, particularly with those outside their own culture, who often find the Defel inscrutable in the extreme, much like their cloud shrouded world.

They also believe that a person is essentially one thing, one archetype.

Sladggrlok himself was a Seeker, a very complex term (and it would be giving away too much to explain it all now).

Thus, the Defel tend to think in terms of such things, and pay a great deal of attention to the details that make up these rituals and archetypes.

To Sladggrlok, Nakadai had seemed a Joker at first... but now he wasn't so sure.

It was clear to him that this human had a great and intricate knowledge of human ritual. Each gesture carefully chosen, each word exactly what he desired for the proper effect, even his garb was selected to reflect a particular message, it would seem. Unfortunately, the obvious nature of the intentionality of these actions, the clear fact of their conscious nature, did very little to illuminate their meaning.

Sladg was an outsider with clear vision, but no way of knowing too much of what he was seeing.

So, as was his nature, he moved forward.

He returned Nakadai's nod, seeing the change in the human's eyes, and feeling rather frustrated at his own inability to fathom their depth.

He returned his attention to the understander as he slipped the business card into his utility belt.

"He would seem to have a point. This..." he pawed slightly at the air for a moment, "shgrral has made things unpleasant for all with his sickness. I have no desire to deal with the authorities. I also understand that you may wish to consider my offer for sometime. I will be going to this Nebulae. Will you?"

[Garet Andrys]

Here we go again.

The "Defel" -- Garet feels more comfortable with the term "creepy shadow thing," but that might be taken the wrong way -- intercepts him just as he's about to leave the table... and offers him a job.

Then the crazy one -- the other crazy one, the dangerous one -- has a breakdown. Connects with reality for just a second.

Then The Suit notices them (blast it all) and offers them both a job. Or offers them something. Garet assumes it's a job... though he does it in such a public manner he can't begin to imagine what it could possibly be.

The pretty girl continues to drown ghosts, the compassionate Jedi gets drunk for the first time in ages, the bartender calls in the Imperials (or, wait, this world may not be Imperial any longer... not that it would make any difference) the shadow-thing looks at him curiously (or just looks at me. I think it's looking at me) and Garet gets the distinct impression that the Chorous, dressed in custom-tailored finery, has left the stage.


I have no desire to deal with the authorities. I also understand that you may wish to consider my offer for sometime. I will be going to this Nebulae. Will you?

Garet nods grimly. He stands, stretches, and looks at the bartender, who still has his blaster out.

"You gonna shoot me if I try to leave?"

The bartender looks at him briefly, considers it, then shakes his head no.

"What about my new friend?" He indicates the... Defel, shadow-thing, whatever.

The bartender shakes his head no again.

"You got a back door?"

The bartender looks at him for a long time, and finally jerks his head toward the left side of the bar.

Garet nods, puts a little more money on the bartop. He turns to the living blot of darkness.

"We should probably go out the back."

[Telaki Olus]

He was more himself now. Able to think more clearly. He could hear voices. He could understand. They were leaving. They were going away. And the authorities were coming. The bartender called them and they were coming.

"Please...." He could control his mouth now.

"..help.." They probably wouldn't. They feared him. But he had to try.

"..me.."

"Find out more about me. I am not a bad man."

He left it up to them. Any of them.

[Wine Marisinthe]

The confidence man winked at her on his way out.

Nak, you bastard. How can I not I feel better after that?

Leave it to the scoundrels.

The ‘tender, now off the Commlink, still with meaty fist around the carbine, sets a glass of green liquor in front of the sorrowful blonde down the bar.

It hurtles immediately away, speed increasing to slam taut within palm that closes.

Sloppy. Pathetic even.

The liquor slops over the hand, stinging the index finger with the torn nail.

The blonde woman finds eye contact not aggressive but still intrusive

insult to injury

until words let her through to reason.

“It isn’t worth it.”

It’s just fact, girl.

Drink placed upon the bar.

“Your choice, of course—but I’d be out of line if I didn’t point it out to you.”

The drink sits, beckoning.

Two steps forward.

“No emotion, only peace, right? No passion, only serenity. No chaos—“

Eyes flick to the being on the floor who cries for help.

“—only harmony.”

Hypocrisy. It’s such a glorious thing.

Shut up.

Exhalation. Pfft lock of hair blown off face.

You got her attention. Your bed. Lie in it or burn it.

“Look—you obviously don’t want this drink. Some typically asinine life problem ripped a hole in you and this drink isn’t going to fill it. Trust me—it’s a waste of time. It goes right through you and the only thing it leaves is a bad taste, and all the idiots around you get a lot louder, and you end up getting mad at yourself because it wasn’t worth it and then you’re right back to feeling sorry for yourself all over again so why bother? Now—“

Preternatural focus.

“There’s a man choking on his own fluids over there who needs help. Deeply. The kind only an open, compassionate mind can offer. You, Jedi, are that mind. You are born to it, you will die for it, and you cannot shut it out with a few mere seconds of intoxicant.

No one else here will help, the law will sponge him off the floor and he’ll cut a few down and then they’ll kill him. The peace and justice of the Galaxy will be guarded, and all life in any form is and will be respected, remember?”

A moment to allow sinkage.

“Not only will you fail yourself—you will fail that man, you will fail the men who die at his hand, and you will put to route all that you exist for. All from a simple choice—do I serve myself, or do I serve others? Do I heal, or do I destroy?”

Glitterblue eyes hold fast.

Pain here.

And truth.

Hypocrisy is glorious, is it not?

It isn’t hypocrisy if you believe it.

Belief and action are often exclusive to the detriment of life.

I’m DOING SOMETHING, ALRIGHT?!?!

Eyes avert.

Fingers flicked free of alcohol.

Glance at the man shouting from his seat.

Glance at the men with the business card.

Without eye contact to the Jedi:

“…I need to go.”

[Maia Tharrinn]

Listening...

Bitter painful truths..

"Shut up, I cant help him." Didn't say that out loud did I?

Looking to the man who cries out in pain, my eye's stray back to the beckoning green glass of oblivion.
Mouth waters but I push it away.

I can try to help. I am a Jedi after all.

The girl with her sad eye's and bitter truths.

"If I wasn't a Jedi I would smack her." My eyes glaze with thought then clear.

"Help me," the voice of a dying man cries out. My heart aches with indecision. I wanted this, I wanted to be a protector of life, a Jedi.

"Your a fool, Maia." Mikal's voice or my own.
Walking toward the bloody lump on the floor, he had ceased to be human to me only a few moments ago. He is now a dying man in need of care.

"Damn her and her truths.

Bending down I call of the force my heart aches that I waited so long. My hands began to heal the force strengthens me and my resolve.

It is what I have always longed to be.... A Jedi..

"Thank you.." My voice this time set to the girl who's heart is more torn than mine....

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg watched the Understander stand and stretch, in a manner that suggested relaxation, his eyes on the bartender.
Meanwhile, in the background, the first shggral had lept up on his seat and began yelling... but very few payed him any mind, as the level of tension in the bar krept incrementally upward.
That was one nice thing about humans. They revealed much information that related to their mood in their bodies, in the muscles, for everyone to see.

After the brief exchange between the Understander and the bartender (which was enlightening), Sladg slipped his goggles back on, his glowing eyes obscured, becoming a matte shadow once more.

He vaguely wished he could stay and observe the interaction between the dark haired human female, and the light haired one. The dark-hair had issued a challenge of some sort, and he was curious to see how the light-hair would respond.
But, time did not seem to be on his side in this matter, and his new human acquaitence would surely not wish to stay.

So, he simply nodded in response to the human's statement about the back door.
Most likely the authorities would present themselves at the front door first.

Or perhaps the Understander simply didn't desire to be seen by others at the scene of violence, which might be wise as well.

Regardless of the human's motives, Sladg softly dropped to the floor, and followed the human out the back door, into a dimly lit corridor.

Small things scuttled out of view as they entered the hall, and as they moved down the corridor towards the more populated regions of Coruscant (and eventually to the Nebulae), Sladg spoke to give the human a point of refernce for his person, as he knew it would be difficult for the human to see him.

"What is your name, Understander?"

[Garet Andrys]

What is your name, Understander?

He frowns. This is not the right time. Too many people here...

Then again, what does it matter? No-one here has ever heard of him.

And names are just words, after all. Empty words, meaningless sounds strung together.

"Garet."

Instinctively, he trusted the shadow. He trusted his instincts. The shadow meant him no ill will. For now, at least.

"Time to go."

The pretty one was not quite as self-absorbed as he thought. Figured. And the compassionate jedi had decided to forego her drunk.

Garet moved directly to the back exit.

"Do you know where this 'Nebulae' place is? I've never heard of it."

Door opens, revealing a dirty back alley.

Funny... no matter how shiny the city, back alleys are always filthy.

[Sladggrlok]

Garet
Interesting.

As they made their way down the deserted and dirty corridor, Sladg tasted the name.

It was a good name, for a human word.

"Garet..." the word came easily for him, though he dragged the 'are' sound out longer than a human would, and the 't' was a little soft.

"My offer was meant truly. I own a mining company, and i need... capable and..." again, as he seemed to search for a word, he clawed at the air ahead of him, "well-sighted individuals. The work is dangerous, as some of my competitors are immoral and powerful companies with more resources. I have negotiated rights to mine a large percentage of the secondary asteriod belt in the Essowyn system, in the Capilano sector. You may recall that during the last years of the empire that system was actively rebeling, and fighting many of the mining companies at work in the system."

He paused as they hit the main thoroughfare, which opened here and there on the great chasm that was the street. Cool winds blew into the space, ruffling his fur, and making his outline ripple oddly.

There were many people on the 'street', but few payed them any mind. The sound of the Coruscant Security Force's vehicle approaching could be heard clearly, descending down the chasm.

The pair hung a left, away from the bar.

He continued as soon as they had begun moving again.

"After the system regained indepedence, the New Republic forced the miners to negotiate with them, instead of simply seizing their minerals. However, the system government will not deal with the large companies that were there originally, so smaller firms like myself have a rich oppurtunity... Unfortunately, the Republic doesn't pay as much attention to what transpires between the crews of the companies. There is often violence and sabotage. I cannot afford to lose equipment or men to such things. So they must be avoided."

He paused, and stopped, looking up at Garet, though Garet could only tell by the way the shape of his outline changed, and by the dim scent of Sladg's carnivore breath.

"You strike me as well suited for this task."

[Garet Andrys]

"Mining."

Been a while.

"Familiar with the trade. Familiar with the situation, too."

He didn't add that he was familiar with both sides of the situation. The shadow probably assumed that, anyway.

They walked down the street as a light rain began to fall. Garet flinched instinctively, but this rain did not scald -- it was a bit cool, actually. Garet thought a bit.

"I'm interested in the offer," he said finally. "Naturally, I'd want to know more. The specifics of what you need me to do, and what leeway I'd have in order to do it. I can't promise a 'clean' solution to your problems. I do try to keep the mess to a minimum. Of course, you'll want some kind of assurance that I really can handle the problem. I can provide references."

They walked a bit longer in silence, the Shadow able to keep pace with the taller human without any apparent effort. Garet had a brief image of Sladg tearing him apart like paper.

An important image to remember.

"Of course, there's also the matter of my fee. Which is negotiable. To a point."

[Sladggrlok]

Sladggrlok nodded several times, quickly.

He then rumbled on, heedless of the wet drifting into the hall with the chill air.

"Garet, you would function as an overseer, one who managed the operation. You would need little techincal information, and any that was required would be taught if you lack it.

The claim extends over 36% of the secondary asteriod belt. The asteriods are rich with Ardanium, and some sedrillium has been found.

Currently, Ardanium ore is being rough processed, and shiped to the Kira sector, to Krann, for further refining, and then is carried to the Sluis Van yards in the Sluis sector, where it is sold.

The problems are many. Keeping other companies within their own claim, avoiding asteroid theft, piracy in transit, and so on. A processing plant is in the process of being constructed, so that refined ore will be shipped directly to yards throughout the galaxy."

He turned again, and stood peering down the shaft between buildings at wall gap.

Standing against the light as he was, it became clear that he made very few movements as he talked, only slight inclinations of the head. The rest of him remained eerily still, as if his body were simply disconnected from him while he spoke.

"If things get bad, 'cleanliness' will be optional at best. I would prefer to retain good standing with the system's rulers, however. I suspect that some of the other companies present are merely fronts for the larger entities, particularly Tagge and Radell, who have been banned from the system. Being sure of this would be a way of expanding one's claim, increasing income, and removing competition all at once..."

He trailed off, and stared into the void a moment longer.

"Do you still wish to find this Nebulae, Garet?"

[Garet Andrys]

Good question.


Garet nodded reluctantly. "It's... bad manners to refuse that kind of invitation."

Silence.

"Besides, that was one of the strangest solicitations I've ever seen. I'm more than a little curious."

More silence.

"Your offer interests me, though -- I don't want you to think I'm brushing you off. It's a matter of..."

He searched for the word.

"Diplomacy. The Suit is obviously some kind of local power. Refusing to see him outright could create trouble we don't want..."

He was starting to like the shadow quite a bit. Matter of fact. No apparent shock at the ugly realities of business, only an up-front statement of preference.

Sometimes a lack of cultural awareness, coupled with an awareness of that lack, can make communicating so much easier...

"Ardanium, you say? With sedrillium to boot. A lucrative venture, if you can smooth out the kinks. How urgent is your situation at present?"

[Sladggrlok]

"Diplomacy."

Several quick nods of the head.

The things that Garet considered obvious took some processing on Sladg's part, but he had begun to arrive at the same point.

"Yes. Mr. Nakadai is very interesting."

A pause for consideration.

"The Suit."

A series of hoarse yaps followed.

"Yes. The Suit."

He turned back to Garet.

"Garet, i must confess a lack of understanding of human ritual. You are a very complicated species. I see you very clearly. Your people are clear, but also dark. Much like myself. "

More barking noises.

"I watch the way you interact. In time, i will learn. Correct me if I am in error."

One sharp nod.

"I suspect Mr. Nakadai, The Suit, can be of assistance to me, in some manner. He is skillful.

My own situation is just beginning to take shape. The claims have only recenlty been made, and operations have just begun. Relations thus far have been polite, as many are still surveying their claims fully, and have not yet determined who holds what. My suspicion that some are merely shells comes from the speed with which they deploy their resources. The only complete surveys of the system were made by the Empire and it's collaborators. But most of the others still move slowly. This will change, in time. My own suspicion is that my claim will be profitable, more so than many others. Ardanium is rare indeed, and in great demand, from many peoples. If successful, your reward will match my own success."

A pause, a slight tilt of the head.

"If this venture is not successful, i suspect you shall have little need of a fee."


He fished into his utility belt, and produced the businesscard.

"I think that if we hail a transport, this will get us where we need to go. I shall follow along behind you. I doubt the driver, if not a droid, will see me."

[Garet Andrys]

Garet took the business card and nodded.

"So they're still cautious. That's good. You have time. They don't know what cards you're holding, and they're still playing theirs close to the chest. The S... Mr. Nakadai might indeed be able to help you... you may be able to reach an understanding."


"If this venture is not successful, i suspect you shall have little need of a fee."

Garet smiled for the first time since they'd met -- a small one, but noticeable.

"I understand," he said. "That's fairly standard, in my line of work."

The transport pulled up, Garet opened the door and hesitated just long enough for Sladg to get in. Then he climbed in and handed the card to the transport operator.

"Take me there," he said.

The transport operator nodded. The door closed, and the transport took off.