Galien Moss
Dec 21st, 2003, 01:39:43 AM
A great many odd-looking characters dwelled on Coruscant, and no doubt the little Jedi bar got it's fair share of questionable clientele. The short, skinny little scamp of a woman that had come in nearly thirty minutes prior didn't cause much disturbance on anyones radar. She had chocolatey brown skin and eyes to match, and her cinnamon hair fell in cheeky bravado tangles to frame her stubborn-chinned face. It was an ordinary face, with perhaps a hint of cheekyness, but it harmonized completely with her adornment.
A weathered, black, tri-cornered hat was perched on her head, tilted just enough to give it a cocky flare. She wore a simple white cotton shirt with a low neckline, tucked into a pair of black trousers and encircled around the waist by a wide blue sash and a utility belt. Hanging from the belt were various jangling talismans, a scuffed up blaster, a vibrosword, and one curious little tin box strung on a piece of oily twine. Around her neck were hung a ridiculous amount of chains and beaded necklaces that jangled whenever she moved, and each of her finely crafted, slender fingers carried, at least, one ring.
When she'd stepped in, loaded with her bodily cargo of jewelery and weapons, the doorgaurds promptly stood and barred her entrance. Not catching sight of the sign that detailed the no-weapons policy, the woman had merely cocked an eyebrow in a puzzled manner. She took a step to the left, and the gaurds followed. She sidestepped right, and they again mirrored her. She scratched her head in a puzzled manner.
"Ehhh... 'ello boys. Galien Moss, at yer disposal."
After several minutes of silence the security had realized that Galien was clueless, and kindly informed her of the establishment rule. She'd grumbled good-naturedly before handing over her weapons and then quickly gone to the bar and ordered an ale. Then, much to the gaurds' surprise, Galien Moss had sauntered over in her tipsy-turvy, jingley-jangley, hurly-gurly way with her beer in one hand and a chair dragging behind from the other. Galien'd pulled it right up to the two, and smiled toothily. She had proceeded to plunk down on the seat and stretch her legs out in front of her, one booted foot hooked nonchalantly over the other. Then she'd begun to tell one of her tall tales. It was winding it's way down to the end now, but the woman's expressive gestures and rapt face hadn't changed.
"...So then I says to this lad, I says to 'im, "Son, ye're o'er yer 'ead. Best t' get out whilst ye still can." Natch'relly 'e didn't want t' take me advice, so's I tied 'im up with some rope and we sent 'im dancin' wif ol' Jack Ketch."
The gaurds, who had until this point resigned themselves to staring at the woman with slightly shocked looks, looked at each other with confused expressions. Galien leaned forward and spread her hands out, fingers waggling. A wicked grin swept across her face as swiftly as a Northern gale.
"We 'anged 'im, luvs."
The men looked at her with blank faces and Galien began to laugh so hard that she had to grip her sides. The woman's eyes teared up as she guffawed loudly, and then she just as suddenly stopped. Her nimble hands dug quickly through the booty around her neck and then untangled a thick silver chain with a shamrock pendant.
"An' tha's where I aquir'd this pre'y little piece o' swag an' the title "Grea' Princess o' Barramow 'Oo Saved the 'arrowdo an' Their Way o' Life". Af'er tha' me'n me crew come 'ere, lookin' fer a bit o' fun an' tumble."
Galien leaned her head back and drained her third cup of ale, belched loudly, and then twisted her neck sharply resulting in a loud "pop!" and a jangling as her multiple hoop earings tanged against one another. Her deep brown eyes sparkled mischieviously and she hunched over and rested her elbow on her knees so that she was closer to the gaurds. Galien's hands folded listlessly at the wrist, her fingers resting against each other in a lightly relaxed way. She lowered her peppered voice conspirationally and raised one eyebrow up.
"Now ye tell me; be there any o' them Jedi abou' t'nigh'?"
A weathered, black, tri-cornered hat was perched on her head, tilted just enough to give it a cocky flare. She wore a simple white cotton shirt with a low neckline, tucked into a pair of black trousers and encircled around the waist by a wide blue sash and a utility belt. Hanging from the belt were various jangling talismans, a scuffed up blaster, a vibrosword, and one curious little tin box strung on a piece of oily twine. Around her neck were hung a ridiculous amount of chains and beaded necklaces that jangled whenever she moved, and each of her finely crafted, slender fingers carried, at least, one ring.
When she'd stepped in, loaded with her bodily cargo of jewelery and weapons, the doorgaurds promptly stood and barred her entrance. Not catching sight of the sign that detailed the no-weapons policy, the woman had merely cocked an eyebrow in a puzzled manner. She took a step to the left, and the gaurds followed. She sidestepped right, and they again mirrored her. She scratched her head in a puzzled manner.
"Ehhh... 'ello boys. Galien Moss, at yer disposal."
After several minutes of silence the security had realized that Galien was clueless, and kindly informed her of the establishment rule. She'd grumbled good-naturedly before handing over her weapons and then quickly gone to the bar and ordered an ale. Then, much to the gaurds' surprise, Galien Moss had sauntered over in her tipsy-turvy, jingley-jangley, hurly-gurly way with her beer in one hand and a chair dragging behind from the other. Galien'd pulled it right up to the two, and smiled toothily. She had proceeded to plunk down on the seat and stretch her legs out in front of her, one booted foot hooked nonchalantly over the other. Then she'd begun to tell one of her tall tales. It was winding it's way down to the end now, but the woman's expressive gestures and rapt face hadn't changed.
"...So then I says to this lad, I says to 'im, "Son, ye're o'er yer 'ead. Best t' get out whilst ye still can." Natch'relly 'e didn't want t' take me advice, so's I tied 'im up with some rope and we sent 'im dancin' wif ol' Jack Ketch."
The gaurds, who had until this point resigned themselves to staring at the woman with slightly shocked looks, looked at each other with confused expressions. Galien leaned forward and spread her hands out, fingers waggling. A wicked grin swept across her face as swiftly as a Northern gale.
"We 'anged 'im, luvs."
The men looked at her with blank faces and Galien began to laugh so hard that she had to grip her sides. The woman's eyes teared up as she guffawed loudly, and then she just as suddenly stopped. Her nimble hands dug quickly through the booty around her neck and then untangled a thick silver chain with a shamrock pendant.
"An' tha's where I aquir'd this pre'y little piece o' swag an' the title "Grea' Princess o' Barramow 'Oo Saved the 'arrowdo an' Their Way o' Life". Af'er tha' me'n me crew come 'ere, lookin' fer a bit o' fun an' tumble."
Galien leaned her head back and drained her third cup of ale, belched loudly, and then twisted her neck sharply resulting in a loud "pop!" and a jangling as her multiple hoop earings tanged against one another. Her deep brown eyes sparkled mischieviously and she hunched over and rested her elbow on her knees so that she was closer to the gaurds. Galien's hands folded listlessly at the wrist, her fingers resting against each other in a lightly relaxed way. She lowered her peppered voice conspirationally and raised one eyebrow up.
"Now ye tell me; be there any o' them Jedi abou' t'nigh'?"