The cantina on Mos Eisley had stood for a great many generations and, yet, it had never once achieved any semblance of legitimacy or class. Kyp preferred it this way. The lonesome Mandalorian had been suffering a string of humiliating defeats as of late and the bottle was the perfect solution for him since he hated therapy, other people, and admitting his own insecurities in general.
He was on his sixth (or was it his seventh?) drink as he began reflecting on what had led a once proud Mandalorian to this place. Born a street urchin on Coachelle Prime, getting taken in by the proud Vizsla clan was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him, despite the brutal training and the mockery by his peers. He'd garnered a reputation as a mercenary that could get things done but, recently, he'd been losing so badly and so publicly that that reputation was at stake now. From losing a highly publicized gladiator match in front of a great many high ranking Sith to getting absolutely humiliated by the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order in the middle of a street market to getting beat down by a mining cart by another stinking Jedi, Kyp's rep had taken a bit of a nosedive. The Lepi Mandalorian wanted to point out to those sniggering that he'd had just as many wins recently but lowlifes tended not to be subtle nor sympathetic.
In fact, that job in the night market had put a bounty on Kyp's head and it looked as though someone was here to collect. A Klatooinian marksman with six pistols strapped to their body and with one in hand had suddenly put the barrel of his gun against Kyp's unhelmeted head.
"You've got a certain unsatisfied client who wants to see you. Come with me alive and it'll be easier on you." the bounty hunter growled. Kyp sighed and stood up clumsily from his stool. The Klatooinian assumed that such a clumsy display was the result of drunkenness and, truthfully, it was a bit but it was also done so Kyp could brace the stool for support. Once he had a hand on the stool, he gripped it tight and swung it around at the bounty hunter's head, dropping the man to the ground.
"Karking son of a karking kark!" Kyp shouted as he pinned the man and started pounding the Klatooinian's face in. Not sure what was going on but always eager for a good fight, a couple patrons started gingerly making their way over, one to join the fray and one to try and steal the Mando's unprotected helmet on the bartop.
He was on his sixth (or was it his seventh?) drink as he began reflecting on what had led a once proud Mandalorian to this place. Born a street urchin on Coachelle Prime, getting taken in by the proud Vizsla clan was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him, despite the brutal training and the mockery by his peers. He'd garnered a reputation as a mercenary that could get things done but, recently, he'd been losing so badly and so publicly that that reputation was at stake now. From losing a highly publicized gladiator match in front of a great many high ranking Sith to getting absolutely humiliated by the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order in the middle of a street market to getting beat down by a mining cart by another stinking Jedi, Kyp's rep had taken a bit of a nosedive. The Lepi Mandalorian wanted to point out to those sniggering that he'd had just as many wins recently but lowlifes tended not to be subtle nor sympathetic.
In fact, that job in the night market had put a bounty on Kyp's head and it looked as though someone was here to collect. A Klatooinian marksman with six pistols strapped to their body and with one in hand had suddenly put the barrel of his gun against Kyp's unhelmeted head.
"You've got a certain unsatisfied client who wants to see you. Come with me alive and it'll be easier on you." the bounty hunter growled. Kyp sighed and stood up clumsily from his stool. The Klatooinian assumed that such a clumsy display was the result of drunkenness and, truthfully, it was a bit but it was also done so Kyp could brace the stool for support. Once he had a hand on the stool, he gripped it tight and swung it around at the bounty hunter's head, dropping the man to the ground.
"Karking son of a karking kark!" Kyp shouted as he pinned the man and started pounding the Klatooinian's face in. Not sure what was going on but always eager for a good fight, a couple patrons started gingerly making their way over, one to join the fray and one to try and steal the Mando's unprotected helmet on the bartop.