Damaged Goods (Vittoria)

[Grey Davis]

While Coruscant had been his home for over a year, there were parts of the sprawling planet he couldn’t go back to. He had exited the entire existence of his undercover life under arrest, blending in with the group he had helped to take down right to the end. He had been hauled away like the rest, and they had all been spread out to different prisons across Imperial territory. This is what gave him the ability to be released without raising brows, but it was too soon to return to those former stomping grounds, and he really didn’t want to ever go back.


Little by little he ventured out from his modest flat, a one bedroom apartment with just the necessities to make the place livable. While his job would pay well, it was what he could afford to rent in that transition time before the first paycheck came in, but then he was used to living a modest lifestyle. His recent foray brought him to a cantina. Outside the open door, he paused to consider if he even wanted to step inside. The music was enticing, the social atmosphere and din of a crowd would hold it’s own appeal and distraction, but he wasn’t so certain he wanted to get into a bottle.


Alcohol had never been a problem for him, or his family in their daily stresses, but he wasn’t certain how much the last year would have scarred him. He’d been forced to do things he never saw himself doing for the sake of the image, things he preferred not to go back to, but alcoholism had not been worry prior to. Now though everything felt different, empty. He was finally coming to grips with this presently quiet life, significantly slower pace for the time being, and it was starting to settle in the questions of who he had been before it all.


Steeling himself, he stepped into the establishment. He could have come up with any number of reasons why he should, and shouldn’t, but he did. Grey moved just inside the building, pausing to take in the far more raucous environment. A more muscular Gran than he was used to seeing bumped him in passing, his alien dialect lost on Grey, aside from the obvious annoyance that he was blocking the entrance. He stepped to the side, choosing the first appealing table, coincidentally one more distant from the primary gathering. He slid into the seat of the simple table, a basic light metal, likely some adaptation of aluminum. A falleen server came by, setting a napkin down atop his table to stake her claim on his orders and inevitable tip. “Give me just a few to think.” He promised, letting her scoot away to help another table nearby.

[Vittoria]

"Thank you, my dear. The last was simply sublime."

This very animated, mildly accented reply came from a blonde woman adorned in a slinky white dress, which brought out the faint tan of her flawless skin. She beamed a perfect smile at the Falleen woman responsible for taking her order, flustering the waitress slightly as she walked away with her empty glass. Vittoria took another sip of her drink, reveling in the fruity flavor and bright color of the liquor; an audible sound of enjoyment escaping her lightly pink-hued lips. Vivid cobalt eyes rose from the glass, taking in the swarm of patrons inhabiting the bar; inwardly remarking that she had discovered a fine spot for people watching, a means for her to learn more about herself and those she would interact with.

So far this evening, she hadn't managed to actually make a connection with anyone besides the waitress. She attributed this to the nervousness that seemed to be doing strange things to her core. She had never seen a butterfly but she had been assured that the feeling she had could be attributed to the flutter of their colorful wings. Vittoria drew in a steadying breath and blew it out, displacing the spiky blonde bangs that hung down in her face. That was when he entered.

Tall, brooding, seemingly out of place. The last bit really spoke to her, as long as she wasn't being literal. He moved in and took a seat on the outskirts of the establishment, far away from the roving, boisterous crowd she formerly observed with keen interest. All of her attention was on him now. She rose, the scratching of her chair legs muted by the loud music. Steeling her nerves, she carried her drink with her as she approached his table. The first time she attempted to ask him if she could sit, she stuttered rather stupidly. Then, she cleared her throat and leveled an amicable stare upon him.

"Good evening. My name is Vittoria and I couldn't help but notice that we were both sitting alone..." She started. So far, so good. She brandished her smile like a trump card, clutching her condensating glass tightly. "Would you perhaps like to talk? I have been told I am 'good conversation' and perhaps I could take your mind off of... whatever it might be that is bothering you."

[Grey Davis]

Grey's eyes skimmed the line of taps, then the row of bottles behind the bartender. From where he sat it was distant, but his eyes were sharp enough and his familiarity with the various labels and symbols strong enough that he could place what they were from a distance. In his periphary he had noticed the blond's movement, but hadn't paid it much thought as being relevant to him until she was just before him, clearing her throat.


He leveled his eyes with hers, and as she first introduced herself his head took an inquisitive cant to the side. Her opening was fine, a jovial greeting and an observation for why she approached him. After that was when it went a bit downhill, though he applauded her awkward attempt mentally. Where she fell short was in assuming something was wrong just by observing him. Was it his expression? How he sat? Either way she had called attention to his glum disposition, and felt as if he was something that needed fixing. He probably did, but that was another matter entirely.


The Falleen server arrived at that time, just behind Vittoria. "I can give you another minute..." She suggested in a fading voice, to which he shook his head. "No, I'll take..." He gestured towards the bar. "Second bottle from the left, third row up." He'd seen the label before, heard good things about it, but had forgotten the name in that instant. It was a form of whiskey he knew, but not from a culture he could place. The Falleen nodded, and his attention turned back to the blond. "Sure." He gestured to the seat, forming the best smile he could manage. "Grey." He introduced himself, keeping it simple for the time being.