Tattooine's Garbage

[Adonai Arael]

It was another late evening, midnight gearing it's head to serve as a message to those still awake to go home and get a good night's rest. As several families and farmers settled in, the planet's nocturnal crowd headed out. The local taverns were filled to capacity due to all the people who wished to drink the night away rather than sleep the night away.

These were those whose manners were light years apart from what would be considered decent etiquette. These were those who knew only the law within their fists, and let's just say there was hardly a night that went by that there wasn't a trial. Their ambitions were self-centered, and trust was just another myth. Few were fortunate enough to have earned allies, and the others simply fended for themselves. It was every man for himself. Honor had no place amongst their kind, nor would it ever.

[Adonai Arael]

A lone figure was approaching in the distance, and he appeared to have his sights set on the overwhelmed tavern. Those he passed by gave him a cold stare, in which he simply gave a subtle nod in return. He seemed surprisingly calm, almost emotionless, as he was now a matter of yards away from his destination.

It was evident he wasn't a local. His attire consisted of a black short-sleeve shirt that emphasized his toned abdomen, and equally dark pants accompanied with sandals. It didn't take long to come to the realization that he had a very muscular physique.

Anyone who wasn't inebriated could easily tell that he wasn't one to irritate, but there were definitely those who were too drunk to perceive this. It wouldn't be a good night for them.

[Adonai Arael]

At last, the lone man stepped into the overcrowded tavern, almost immediately catching the eyes of those around. As he passed table by table, heading for the main bar, he received several unwelcome remarks and threats. He simply ignored them, as he well knew they were idle. It didn't matter nonetheless. He almost had what he had come for.

"I'll take a small glass of vodka, if you have it, please."

"You tryin' ta tell me you a drunk?"

"It is needed for a friend of mine who had received a cut on his arm today. I need the vodka to it keep from becoming infected."

"Whatever floats yer' gunboat."

The overweight bartender promptly got the man what he had requested, and now he would be on his way.