Of mice and......... mice

[General Tohmahawk]

Master Yoghurt's Bar and Grill was one of the most famed eateries in the Galaxy. It was a unique palce as this was a place Jedi actually did gather in public. It was owned and run by Jedi, the only known Jedi business known. It had a bouncer who spent most of the time being a coat rack. It had an insane Swedish Chef who was a disaster area (but somehow made the best meals known). It had a whacked out muscial band. It had shadows, dance floor, booths, tables, beings of all sorts of shapes and colours, it was alive with noise and movement, it had a bar tender who looked more like an squid. It also had the most noxious drink known, the Jedi Toilet Duck

The bar itself was owned by two of the oldest Jedi about, Master Yoghurt and a silent partner. It had a reputation has one of the trendiest places to be and the nobility of Coruscant would come, hoping to get in. No amount of money could buy entry, you took your chances to be allowed in. The stern NRSF guards saw to that. Only Jedi and the guards got in without question. Thence to say you had gotten past the barriers and inside was quite somethign for a socialite.

Hell, not even Senators got in easily. And certainly not armed. You handed weapons over or you died. This many Jedi was always a target for anti Jedi morons. what type of an idiot would attack a Jedi Bar?

Well, thought General James T. Tohmahawk, Major General of SecCorps and the instigator of the NRSF orginally, it would be one impressive moron type. The soldiers at the doors were some of the best. and the Bar was guarded by more than just them. Tohmahawk saw to that.

A middle aged and lean man, he came in, acknowledging the guards salutes, unchecked. He was one fo the very few allowed in fully armed, had been for years. He persoanlly had shot down a few killers that had tried to sneak weapons in. Tonight however, the senses that warned him of trouble were silent. Tonight, it was his favorite corner and an off duty ale. Maybe a steak too. Noce juicy red one. Man, he needed it. Sec Corps, the new security division he was setting up for guardign the Senate precint was taking some work. He was tired. Hadnt dealt with so many idiots in such a long time.

[Commander Zemil Vymes]

The first thing Tohmahawk would've smelled was the smoke. It hung like curtains in this place, a melancholy tapestry shutting out naivete and keeping a kind of reverie trapped within.

I puffed again on my cigar, the red glow consuming more of the bedraggled smoke, and leaving a wake of ash in its midst. It was the best of times, tucked within the worst of times. I glowered briefly at the man as he entered, and returned to my terrible cup of coffee. My gun sagged heavily in my dog-leg, and I adjusted my coat over it. I felt like I was being drug down by it all. Even in a dive like this, where they served the joe with the grounds on the side and a spoon. Even here, you couldn't quite escape the dren heap. Smiling Jedi and clean-shaven New Republic doughboys were like two scoops of sugar in a cup of vinegar. It just made it all the more work to not trust the lot of em.

I took another drag, sending another column of flavored smoke to the rafters. I sometimes wondered what kind of practical joke God was playing by making a place like this...if there even was a God, Deity, or Force. They threw the best and the worst of this god-awful city into the same establishment, and like two cats in a paper bag, they were somehow suprised when 1 and 1 didn't add up to two. To add insult to injury, they decided to pass the buck to a guy like me, on an income that could make ends meet only if I kept unraveling the thread as I went.

I watched the button-down General enter the bar, and immediately wished he would leave. Something about the gleam on his medals gave this place that much more insincerity. This far down the cityscape, I no longer trusted all that glittered. All that glittered was never gold, and usually wanted your credit chit number.