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Expect trouble from every corner of the galaxy.
This was a truth hammered into Mirdala'runi from the day she could walk. And yet here she was, wholly unprepared for said trouble. Granted, she had picked a touristy hotel on Joralla which even now was mostly left intact by the struggle for power raging across the stars, but nonetheless, trouble existed. She had selected the renowned restaurant/lounge Farenia as a good place for a little downtime, a quaint if naive notion that a sentient being had time to take a breath, take stock and prepare for the next bout of whatever the galaxy threw at them.
Sitting in her own leather-upholstered booth, a trio of datapads, datatablets and her personal comm scattered upon the fine-grain wooden tabletop, Miri was armed with a scowl, bad language and a do-not-bother-me disposition and little else...save for the itty bitty holdout blaster secured at the small of her back. She wasn't even wearing her armor; clad in a blank tank-top, dark khakis and her combat boots, she looked like an Imperial reservist on leave, if anything. Her raven hair was tied back in a ponytail for simplicity's sake. In short, she was here to get work done, not to go to work.
The quartet of armed barves had other ideas, of course.
Clad in ridiculously classy suits, the four were obviously in the know about the clientele here. Each wore a mask of another species; a rubbery Gamorrean mask, an eerily life-like Vratix mask, a Bothan's furry mask and an overly-green Rodian mask. The four marched into the quiet din of the lounge and, at first glance, seemed to be more business types here for the happy hour. When the Vratix strolled up to the bar and yanked a Disruptor out of his meticulously spotless jacket fold and blew the poor server's nerfing head clean off, the quartet were given considerably more attention.
"Ya know the drill," the Gamorrean roared in Basic, albeit muffled by the rubber, "wallets, creds and valuables onna tables! Anyone pulls outta comm device, people start gettin' lobotomies! NOW!" the robber snapped. Mirdala, feeling rather idiotic for packing nothing besides her attitude and a wimpy little pistol, frowned as the Rodian strolled over and waved his own blaster rifle suggestively at her data devices.
"I don't have anything," Miri said flatly. The thief hefted his rifle up to eye level suggestively.
This was a truth hammered into Mirdala'runi from the day she could walk. And yet here she was, wholly unprepared for said trouble. Granted, she had picked a touristy hotel on Joralla which even now was mostly left intact by the struggle for power raging across the stars, but nonetheless, trouble existed. She had selected the renowned restaurant/lounge Farenia as a good place for a little downtime, a quaint if naive notion that a sentient being had time to take a breath, take stock and prepare for the next bout of whatever the galaxy threw at them.
Sitting in her own leather-upholstered booth, a trio of datapads, datatablets and her personal comm scattered upon the fine-grain wooden tabletop, Miri was armed with a scowl, bad language and a do-not-bother-me disposition and little else...save for the itty bitty holdout blaster secured at the small of her back. She wasn't even wearing her armor; clad in a blank tank-top, dark khakis and her combat boots, she looked like an Imperial reservist on leave, if anything. Her raven hair was tied back in a ponytail for simplicity's sake. In short, she was here to get work done, not to go to work.
The quartet of armed barves had other ideas, of course.
Clad in ridiculously classy suits, the four were obviously in the know about the clientele here. Each wore a mask of another species; a rubbery Gamorrean mask, an eerily life-like Vratix mask, a Bothan's furry mask and an overly-green Rodian mask. The four marched into the quiet din of the lounge and, at first glance, seemed to be more business types here for the happy hour. When the Vratix strolled up to the bar and yanked a Disruptor out of his meticulously spotless jacket fold and blew the poor server's nerfing head clean off, the quartet were given considerably more attention.
"Ya know the drill," the Gamorrean roared in Basic, albeit muffled by the rubber, "wallets, creds and valuables onna tables! Anyone pulls outta comm device, people start gettin' lobotomies! NOW!" the robber snapped. Mirdala, feeling rather idiotic for packing nothing besides her attitude and a wimpy little pistol, frowned as the Rodian strolled over and waved his own blaster rifle suggestively at her data devices.
"I don't have anything," Miri said flatly. The thief hefted his rifle up to eye level suggestively.
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