Somebody save me, from this mess I'm getting in [Open]

[Lyric]

Daddy-O
You got the swagger of a champion
Too bad for you
You just can't find the right companion​

Dim lighting, the steady, endless beat of a tribal rythym, the sort which could carry on for an eternity and never grow dull. Thick smoke, exhaled from the lungs of the patrons, clouded the air, the stale scent of alcohol and sweat filling the nostrils in a pungent assault. Far from a pleasant place, and yet there was a crowd gathered, males mostly though a rare female form was worked into the crowd. Why, the mind might wonder, was this place so popular?

The answer was simple and obvious, once eyes were turned to the center of attention, and coincidentally the center of the cantina. A stage took place there, not one for music to be played on, but for more eye-pleasing displays. The band itself was nestled into an alcove in the wall, though the musc carried well. The stage was dedicated to a single form, body moving in tune with the music, as though they were one.

Her hips rolled slowly, back arching, her shoulders sliding as she swayed. Her muscles rippled as she moved sensually. Her lekku, a pale, creamy white striped with blue-black rings, fell over her shoulders, the third one in the back trailing down her lean back. Very little of her skin was covered, the rusty orange tones, marked with white stripes over her legs and shoulderblades almost fully bared to the hungry crowd. Her frame was accented with the golden jewelry she wore, an ornate band around one thigh, a thick bangle on each wris, and a intricate necklace. All designed with the sole intent of captivating those who watched her.

Dark eyes were distant, not meeting the gaze of anyone present but instead looking past them all, the pitch depths almost chilly, but dangerously exotic. A small slime toyed with the corner of her lips as she danced for the crowd, and only when a faint sheen of sweat started to form on her body did the music slow, not stopping entirely, that would be anti-climatic, but steadily decreasing, her own motion mimicing the music and slowing, until finally the song ended, as did her dance.

She kept her dark gaze distant as she walked off the stage, past the drooling males and into the back of the cantina, to a small room used by the dancers between shows. This had been her last for the night, thankfully. After wiping off with a cool, damp cloth she changed, replacing her dancer's outfit with a corset top and a par of fitted pants, her pistols holstered at her hips. After a moment of thought she left the third where it was, not pulling on the shoulder-holster for the weapon, and Miaxhote left the changnig room, sauntering to the bar and settling onto a stool. She'd collect her pay before she left, but first she wanted a drink.

As she sat on the stool, a drink was brought, the barkeep knowing the Togruta well. Nothing heavy, in fact it wasn't even alcoholic. Water, mixed with various herbs and left to steep, poured over ice and served to her. Sighing, she hung her head, wrapping her hands around the cold cup and looking into the sparkling liquid. Was this the life she wanted? She wasn't sure anymore. She was free, she was on her own, true, but... Something seemed to be missing. She gave her head a shake, trying to dispell the thoughts of sorrow which plagued her, and took a sip of her drink, trying to block out the rest of the cantina and hoping no one would approach her with a disgusting offer.

 

[Jake]

OH, GOODBYE RUBY TUESDAY
WHO COULD HANG A NAME ON YOU?​

Sodom ripped through raw vacuum, a molten ball of crafted clay to challenge all this infinite creation, and it was successful; rapidly growing larger in Isycc's viewport was the dead world of Tatooine. It hung, a grim dusty ghost in the vastness of space, and one could almost feel sorry for the planet where so many men had gone to die. Mos Eisley was the nearest (dare he say the only...?) operational spaceport, save Anchorhead, and Isycc did not have neither the time nor the patience to deal with the latter's annoying locale. He docked and locked up his precious Sodom, then stepped down from the exit ramp. A few curious Jawa looked admiringly at his prize, but he shot them a glare that could have melted through several of the softer alloys on a droid's metal chassis and wordlessly urged them away. They responded as he had hoped and slipped off into the surrounding alleyways in search for a new victim.

A more credible-looking Toydarian buzzed over to him, insectoid wings flapping madly. "Yo' in meh spot, newbie," he said in thickly accented Basic. "Take uh hike an git lost, richboy." Isycc responded with another icy glare, then unsheathed his vibroblade. The soft hum it made as it began to rotate at incredibly high frequencies was warning enough, but the Toydarian didn't seem to take the hint. The vaguely bug-like alien gestured with its skinny arms and two Rodians emerged from the shadows. Isycc cracked his knuckles and took a swing with his sword at the Toydarian, shearing instantly through one of its scrawny arms and a wing. It howled in blind agony and thrashed out at its followers, screeching at them to help him. Instead, they turned and fled while a geyser of black blood spewed out of the Toydarian's grievous wound. Isycc gave the dying thug a wide berth as he walked around him, looking as indifferent as ever. He raised the volume of the intracranial music his Starbane-model armor was feeding him...

SHE JUST CAN'T BE CHAINED
TO A LIFE WHERE NOTHING'S GAINED​

The cantina looked crowded, judging from the few viewports Isycc could see through. With good reason, too: it was the only one of its kind in the whole area. Incidentally, it was also the best place to get information. He knocked on the three-layered durasteel-permacrete-durasteel door and a small panel slid open. A Blood Carver bouncer peered at him, black eyes narrowed to slits. Parts of its chitinous, sickly yellow carapace were visible. "What do you want?" it asked in a chittering, almost angry tone. Isycc flashed a few credit chips and the Blood Carver blinked rapidly, signaling his approval. The sound of moving tumblers and releasing bolts was abundant for a few seconds before the thick door slid open. As he stepped through the threshold and into the establishment, Isycc couldn't help but marvel at how powerful the thing looked. It would have taken an army to get through the thing. Hell, he thought to himself, a Jedi couldn't get through that thing. And it was true. Permacrete was highly heat resistant; coupled with two layers of solid durasteel, even a lightsaber would have a tough time penetrating the door. A few holographic Bith musicians were playing over in the corner. Isycc groaned and again raised the volume on his suit's music; he hated jazz.

THERE'S NO TIME TO LOSE, I HEARD HER SAY
CATCH YOUR DREAMS BEFORE THEY SLIP AWAY​

The stench of cheap Corellian ale was almost as omnipresent as the pervasive heat of the outside. This, he knew, was Tatooine: the devil's throne, complete with scantily-dressed exotic women using their bodies to try and escape the demon's fiery hand. It was almost enthralling, watching the Zeltron and the Twi'lek girls dance. He acknowledged the sway of their hips, for he was still a man, but he wasn't excited quite like his fellows were. A lustful Sullustan approached, reaching out to touch one of the purplish Zeltron women, who happened to be exuding pheromones with abandon. The Blood Carver moved with a speed that stunned even Isycc, unsheathing a long, curved blade and in one fluid movement bringing it between the Sullustan's fingertips and the dancer, who continued to dance as though nothing had happened. The Sullustan, sobered instantly by the prospect of having his hand lopped off, whimpered and ran out the door. Isycc gestured to the barkeep for a Tatooine Sunburn, the cantina's signature beverage. He nodded and sat the glass he had been polishing down on the table. A Tatooine Sunburn actually consisted of two Starshine Surprises poured into the same glass, Isycc knew, and passed the four-armed creature ten credits. Seven for the drink itself and three to tip him; as he did, Isycc flashed a handful of extra credits and handed them to the man. "If I need any information, I know where to go, right?" he said. The bartender nodded and retreated into a back room to fetch Isycc's drink.

OH, GOODBYE RUBY TUESDAY
WHO COULD HANG A NAME ON YOU?
WHEN YOU CHANGE WITH EVERY NEW DAY
STILL I'M GONNA MISS YOU...​

The smell of dead dreams had not reached him, though it, too, was present in this place of dying men and lost hope.

 

[Lyric]

Her eyes lifted from the brewed drink before her as the sound of a mild scuffle reached her ears, her head turning ever-so-slightly to peer cautiously at the dancer who had taken her place on the stage, and the man who'd tried unsuccessfully to reach out and touch the graceful beauty. Silly boys. The girls were to look at. Touching one could lose you a finger on a good day, your head on a bad.

The slim had gotten off easy, in her mind, and she snorted softly. Most of the woman who danced were indeed Twi'Lek or Zeltran, the same went in many of the cantinas of the area. Togruta such as herself were less common, a fact she secretly took pleasure in. It made her a more exotic morsel to observe.

As she turned away from the stage, finding no enjoyment in watching the Zeltran dance, she caught a new addition to the bar a few seats down. She also caught his order, and most importantly the flash of credits as he asked about information. Anyone who could so casually flash money about was worth her attention, and she raised a curious brow, glancing at the retreating back of the barkeep. She slipped off her stool and into the back, tapping the bartender on the shoulder. He spun, startled, but seeing her he relaxed.

"What can I do you for Mia?"

"Give the man with the Sunburn his credits back. I'll pay for his drink."

"You sure kiddo? Don't think he's interested in doing business with you. He's about more serious stuff." Of course the male was looking out for one of the girls. The employees of places like this were often close-knit out of force, and she was a likeable lass off-stage.

"I'm sure. Thanks." She flashed a quick smile and dropped a sly wink of her dark eyes before she slipped back out and to her seat, glancing at her drink and inwardly groaning. She'd left it unattended, and she knew better than to trust people around here. With a sigh she pushed the cup away and scowled.

Just in time for a greezey Zabrak male to saunter ove and lean on the bar beside her. "Ain'tcha going to finish your drink honey? You look mighty thirsty..."

She looked up at him, her features reading obvious disgust, and shook her head. "No thank you. Be a good boy and go watch the pretty girl dance." Her hand subtley lowered to her hip, fingers curling around the butt of a pistol. Of course, the idiot male wasn't watching her hands, he was more interested in trying to coax her to drink the now-spiked beverage.

"I'd rather watch you dance again, gorgeous. Now c'mon, I know you must have worked up a thirst with that little show of your's. Maybe I'll let you give me a priva-"

He was cut short as she drew the Bryar Pistol, the muzzle finding intself pressed into the yeilding flesh of the male's throat. "I'll give you one last chance to walk away. if you don't... Well lets just say the nice boys who work here will be carrying your sorry carcass out and dumping it in the back."

 

[Jake]

ON THE CORNER OF MAIN STREET
JUST TRYIN' TO KEEP IT IN LINE
YOU SAY YOU WANNA MOVE ON AND
YOU SAY I'M FALLING BEHIND

Isycc watched the unfolding scene with his own kind of disconnected curiosity. The bartender returned, seemingly unperturbed by the altercation, and sat his drink down and then handed him his credits. "Courtesy of that lady over there," he said, pointing towards the woman who looked to have quite the situation on her hands. The mercenary flashed a cheesy grin and opened up a small slot on his helm designed to receive fluids. He took a deep sip of his drink and continued watching. A sickly-looking Zabrak male, skin pasty from lack of exposure to genuine sunlight (which was uncanny, given their setting), had staggered over to one of the female patrons. After a few failed advances, Isycc watched him make an obvious gesture as he drugged her drink. However, she was a quick draw, in one fluid move unholstering her pistol and pressing it into the soft flesh of the creature's throat. He seemed to sober up instantly, but instead of backing down he grew still bolder. Two of his friends, a nasty-looking Twi'lek with one lekku whose tip had been severed and a sultry human male, approached. His intracranial music blotted out any words they might have shared before unsheathing their weapons, which happened to be vibroblades.

THE GOOD OLD DAYS
THE HONEST MAN
THE RESTLESS HEART
THE PROMISED LAND

Their swagger seemed to indicate that they were just as drunk as their unlucky companion. 'Well,' Isycc decided, 'might as well pay off my debt right now.' The Blood Carver, who was stationed over in the corner, did not appear to have any intention of intervening. Indeed, despite the difference in mannerisms between their species, it seemed to Isycc as though he were actually enjoying the spectacle. So it was that the armored bounty hunter approached and tapped the human on his shoulder. The big oaf spun slowly, which was just as well, because Isycc's fist more than compensated for the differences in velocity. There was a sick crunch as the cartilage gave way beneath Isycc's gauntlet-clad hand and then a little spray of blood as he went down. Feeling malicious, Isycc deliberately stepped on the man's face. He was sure the ensuing howl of agony could probably be heard a few hundred kilometers away. His vibroblade clattered to the floor and Isycc kicked it away before moving on to his partner.

A SUBTLE KISS
THAT NO ONE SEES
A BROKEN WRIST
AND A BIG TRAPEZE

With a gesture not at all as tasteful as the girl's, Isycc unsheathed his vibroblade and clashed with the Twi'lek. The rage boiling in the creature's bloodshot eyes was enough to make Isycc wondered just how much spice he had ingested over the last twenty-four hours. Without warning, the feral humanoid revealed a vibrodagger that had been hidden within his sleeve, then took advantage of their bladelocked position to try and stab at Isycc's face. The veteran hunter turned sideways, retracting his sword so as to allow the Twi'lek to fall forward, and then deliberately collapsed on top of the rabid man. The thrumming tip of his vibroblade sheared through flesh, sinew, and finally the bone of his spinal cord, permanently disabling him. Then, he rose to his feet and tried to wipe some of the blood splatters off his sleek metal form. The Zabrak didn't need any more encouragement. He turned tail and fled, pounding on the thick doors of the cantina as the Blood Carver approached, determining which vital points to best scissor up into little bite-sized bits...

THE STARS ARE BLAZING
LIKE REBEL DIAMONDS
CUT OUT FROM THE SUN
CAN YOU READ MY MIND...?

He approached, careful to step around the visceral mess he had just made. "Hello, I am Isycc," said Isycc. "Isycc Heinlein. I'm at your service... for a price."

 

[Lyric]

She had not noticed the friends of the slimey male she was dealing with, at least not until someone else had.

The bartender brought the man his drink and apparently tipped him off that she'd paid for it. Oh well. She eyed the two newest males, but before action could be taken the armoured man she'd bought the drink for tapped on on the shoulder. She watched with interest, knowing the foolish Zabrak she had at gunpoint wasn't going to risk getting his skull blown off. The human was in poor luck with the match, and as he hit the floor she rolled her eyes. She saw enough drunks in her daily life to be bored of their antics.His scream of agony, however, drew her attention back and she winced slightly as her apparent savior stepped on the human's face. Ouch.

The Twi'lek was better prepared at least. Personally she'd rather they just leave instead of fight and cause a mess, but the vibroswords clashed aginst eachother, and the males duked it out. Just when things looked to turn poorly for the hunter, the Twi'lek drawing a dagger, the hunter ended it, sidestepping and landing a nasty blow.

She would have applauded that, but she was still occupied. Her eyes returned to the Zabrak, who had watched it all, and she arched a brow. She figured he was going to flee, very soon. She wouldn't stop him either. Indeed he did, bolting for the door. A pity he wasn't going to leave.

She holstered her pistol calmly, and looked disdainfully at her drink once more until the man introduced himself, her attention shifting to him. She nodded demurely, a faint smile flickering over her lips at the last part of what he said. Ah, so they had something in common. They both sold their souls for the right price, just in different ways. "I'm Mia. I would offer my full name but I honestly doubt you could pronounce it. Thanks for that..." She gestured at the mess. "Perhaps I should just leave the bar when my shift is over next time." She chuckled softly, waving a hand at the bartender and pointing at her own drink, requesting another wordlessly.

"What brings you to this little paradise, might I ask?" Her dark eyes, twin pools of onyx, observed him carefully. They held no glint of malice, nor the cold chill she'd turned on the Zabrak. She had no need for it, not now.