|
Booze, violence, and crime
| |
| Drea_Leone | Date: Wednesday, 12 Jan 2011, 7:34 PM | Message # 1 |
 Private
Group: Users
Messages: 3
Status: Offline
| The planet that was home to the hub of the Empire may as well be two different worlds, and Drea Leone had lived in both. There was the proper half: the clean, gleaming city that was the center of wealth and politics, and there was the seedy underbelly filled with all of the undesirable things that most respectable Imperial citizen wanted to ignore: poverty, aliens, crime, and vice. Though it was much dirtier and much more dangerous, Drea found that the undesireable parts of the city were often the most honest. That and they were full of perfect places to hide. "...And that should show you to talk to me like that you useless..." Drea paused as she tried to think of a suitable insult to hurl at the defeated red-haired woman who slinked away. "...Stupid...idiot!" How far she had fallen: from a comfortable job working for the Empire to picking fights on the street. Drea may have come out on top this time, but she certainly took a good beating. Between a bloody busted lip, a few bruises, and clothes soaked from the rain, she certainly looked like someone who had not seen a pleasant day in a long while. Drea shoved her hands into her pockets and shuffled off looking for a place to buy a cheap drink, or possibly someone selling spice--anything to lift her spirits and dull the throbbing pain in her face. True, the small voice of reason did naggingly remind her that she should be saving what little money she had to find a way to get off of this planet, but she certainly felt like she deserved a drink after all that.
|
| |
| |
| Nefari | Date: Thursday, 13 Jan 2011, 10:15 AM | Message # 2 |
 Private
Group: Users
Messages: 13
Status: Offline
| The Rearing Ronto wasn't the seediest of taverns on the Coruscant underlevels, but that was where the niceties ended. As was customary, even on a storm-ridden night like this (though this far beneath the upper-city, it was always dark and dank), a pair of Gran sat outside playing some rudimentary card game. They bickered among themselves in their native language, low and leery from intoxication.
A slender figure, hooded and cloaked, strode past them, whisking a small datacard from the back pocket of a meandering Rodian and strolling with purpose into the tavern. She looked every part the shady figure that she was well known to be, but Nefari didn't feel herself. Not at all. The moment she sat at the bar, she closed her eyes, trusting to the shadows of her hood to conceal the brief moment of weakness. The effects of the stun blast she'd suffered at the hands of Kenas Annig were lingering, and even now, after a sanisteam and a brief rest, she still felt a little nauseous.
Therefore, when the Togruta bartender ambled closer, Nefari waved him off. For appearances sake, she usually bought a drink to sit and nurse all night, but she doubted her resolve could handle even looking into the depths of a bottle filled with something alcoholic.
"Just yer usual, then. Peace 'n' quiet, place to do yer business..." the bartender droned, his voice long and drawling.
"You don't have a problem with that, do you, dear?" Nefari purred, almost even convincing herself that she was on form. She gave his throat a tantalisingly deadly pinch with the Force, and watched him blanch, then move away to leave her to her business. Finally alone, she examined the datacard her contact had produced - in a manner of speaking - then slotted it into her wrist comm. A small holodisplay flashed briefly, to be replaced by the cog-like Imperial emblem. Scrolling over the emblem was a message from her latest contracter; not concerning Kenas or Alhan, the latter of whom she'd confirmed as dead, but a new target. A suspected information peddler, located somewhere on the underlevels. The reward was piteously low, but she never worked for the credits anyway.
She pulled out the datacard and slid it into a pocket on the inside of her cloak. She was in no mind to be making such decisions yet. Dropping her hood and letting her cloak hang from her shoulders, she turned on her barstool to examine the other patrons of the tavern, her bald skull and grey skin giving her an unusually exotic visage among the other aliens in attendence.
|
| |
| |
| Drea_Leone | Date: Thursday, 13 Jan 2011, 3:19 PM | Message # 3 |
|
Private
Group: Users
Messages: 3
Status: Offline
| Drea shuffled through the streets for what felt like forever (though, in reality, it was probably only ten or fifteen minutes) still searching for a place to get a drink. She was nearly surprised by the lack of bars, pub or other watering holes. For a place so overrun with drunk, it was disappointingly devoid of any places to actually get drunk. She finally came to place that would do just fine: The Rearing Ronto. Drea had never been to this particular establishment, and it almost looked respectable. For most, that would be an appealing feature, but for Drea it was typically the sort of thing that made her feel a bit wary. The more respectable a place was, the more expensive it was and the more likely you were to run into members of proper society. However, Drea was sore, cold, and soaked. This was no time to be picky. She entered the tavern, walking past the card players without paying much attention to them. As soon as she was inside, she felt immediately comforted, mostly by the warmth but also because it became clear that this place was not nearly as respectable as the exterior led her to believe. Dark, dirty, and full of people who looked down on their luck, dangerous, or both. Drea brushed a few strands of wet hair out of her eyes before making her way to the bar and waving to catch the bartender's attention. "I'd like a shot of Corellian whiskey," Drea said in a voice that was almost entirely different from her recent shouting and screaming. Even after living on the streets, she still had a pleasant upper class accent, though it had grown a bit more tired and raspy. The bartender gave her an odd look, surprised to hear a voice like that coming from a woman like her, but he shrugged it off quickly as he get her drink."Thanks," she said before downing it swiftly. "And, could you keep them coming? I'm going to need a lot more than that."
|
| |
| |
| Victor | Date: Monday, 17 Jan 2011, 3:47 PM | Message # 4 |
 Private
Group: Users
Messages: 5
Status: Offline
| On the planet of Naboo, a man of five feet and eleven inches was strolling around Theed's Market, the guards constantly kept their eye on him mainly because of his attire, he didn't wear what people would call normal attire. His hair was unkept, his facial hair was untrimmed and wild, and he wore a plain shirt, shorts, sandals, and a bathrobe which was usually open. This wasn't his usual attire, but he had just woken up, so it was the proper attire for him for this time. He strolled with a sluggish pace examining varies item's through his sun glasses, which were tinted black. Once he got to where the booze was stored he stopped and examined the whole aisle lazily. A smirk came across his face as he saw the Sunfruit Liqueur. He took a few steps over towards it picked up one of the cartoons and looked at it for awhile. He didn't have a lot of credits, but he had an ample amount of credits to buy the product he was holding, and perhaps a few groceries so he wouldn't go hungry, and go around the major cities trying to bum some credits from folks to get by on life.
Victor "The Dude" Sekel.
"The Dudely Lama"
The dude abides.
Message edited by Victor - Tuesday, 18 Jan 2011, 6:45 AM |
| |
| |
|
