Big Boy Stuff

[DeathToll]

Strutting in like a cowbow on a good hair-day, Peter Tright lifted up to a full stand after crouching through the arced-lit doorway. The place was dark, yet still managed lit screens and flashing lights of neon in pattern with each section uniquely. The tables were hot and the crowds were hotter. The night was raging with pleasure and anxiety, and the emoting waves of drenching body heat saturated Tright's senses with indulgence.

As he pass the flashing door panels, a bouncer smacked the back of his halting hand across Tright's chest; but first thing's first... Both men twisted their necks to follow the sexiest of Twi'lek's pass by them overflowing with lustrous swagger and curvaceousness. Returning to business, the bouncer shot eyes down at Tright's hardware by holding open his vest. Tright closed his vest to the bouncer to reach into the opposing side and softly slap a colorful credit chip against the bouncer's chest. Looking it over, the bouncer looked up to give the okay to the human only to notice that Tright was already gone.

Intermingling, sliding through the mass of women and gamblers - Tright let his fingers linger on the beautiful ladies he passed by, making sure to lock eyes for only a moment as he made mental note of whom he'd make room for in his tight schedule of gambling, drinking, and flirtation. As well, Tright hoped to set his eyes on a possible target tonight; wondering if there would be any worthy warriors among the rabble. You never know.

And so, second thing's second: Tright tapped a desperate man on the left, sooner squeezing around him on the right to reach for the bartender who immediately noticed him. She did, after all, know him by name.

"Hey come on, baby! I knew I'd see you here, so why call right?"

After she rolled her eyes and turned away to the other side of the bar, a large alien wiped off his hands and tossed the white rag away to lean in close to Tright.

 

[Veritas et Lux]

Nightfall was to party as daytime was to sleep... At least for the weekend for the young girl. She had slid on into the night, smoke like silk swirling through the air around the marble counter tops. She fancied cantinas of coffee house and java-jumas frequently, but she stayed true to the nightlife on her days of leisure. A jedi was always on duty, but today, she was just... "Taking it easy'.

Her tan, hour-glass shaped, womanly figure strode through those glowing door with legs that would knock out a gamorrean. She dressed in a baby blue night-out dress that went down to about her knees, and a pair of pretty leather heels that sat huddled up at the bar. The dress was made of purest silk and Alderaanian cotton from Alderaan, and stitched with golden twine with gold mined straight from the deepest mine in Naboo to make a thin contoured floral design. The heels were sleek and minimalistic, made with one-hundred percent real black Zakeg leather and went barely above her ankles. Over this she carried her bag, she carried the bag everywhere, mainly because she housed both of her lightsabers in pockets on the inside. She carried around make-up and her commlink, and other knick-knacks inside of it too though. Her bouncy curled hair waved with the move of her head to the side, cocking a disgusted look.

"Hey come on, baby! I knew I'd see you here, so why call right?" Another womanizer... That's what the night life in the red-district was known for after all. If only Misha were not a jedi, she'd put him in his apparent self-centered, place.

"Appears you have an over-inflated view of yourself there, don't you... 'Buddy'?"
The Twi'lek girl shot Misha a smile and eyes that said, "Finally somebody called you out..."
She exchanged a giggle with the girl before turning back to her java-juma.

 

[DeathToll]

Tright whipped his head left to see what his manhood had already smelled a mile back ...beautiful.

"over-inflated?"

She was beautiful ...and confident ...and beautiful. Three things he values most in a woman. Tright slid in for a closer feel of the situation. He couldn't quite read her from three feet away, which intrigued him; so he nudged his shoulder softly against hers, signaling for his drink to be whatever this little lady was having and to be set down in its new location without looking at the bartender.

"Ya know..."

Tright spoke softly now, almost into her ear; his shoulders pinned up tightly to his ears so cute-like.

"...I could use some help with that."

It was all over. She opened the gates and he was off. There was no stopping his mouth once it got going, and she had his total attention. ...He looked her directly in the eyes, whether or not she looked back at him. He wasn't such a fool to notice her exquisite body any more than once. She would notice it. But now, it was straight to the mind games.

"You look like a woman who knows how to handle a guy like me..."

The double meaning was there. Next was to find out if she would play along.

 

[Veritas et Lux]

Misha scoffed inside and retreated her shoulder from his. She thought for a second, deciding to play his game...
Jedi weren't supposed to have relations, but it didn't stop her from playing games.
She leaned a bit closer with a smug look on her face.
"Really now? You wanna know what I think?" She placed two of her fingers on his shoulder, swirling the tips around.

 

[DeathToll]

Scooting up onto the bar stool, Tright motioned with his empty fingers for his kriffin drink already. And there was the cold beverage. Finally. His fingers found the perspiring glass to welcome his embrace, imagining his fingers gliding onto her perspiring skin. ...He had yet to break eye contact as he lifted the alcoholic beverage which was clearly not what this lady had next to him, but was instead what he ordered every night prior.

"Please end my suffering..."

Quirky and clearly holding back a smile, Tright just about brought the glass to his lips for that first sip.

Totally on the edge of his seat, the game had either just begun or he was about to be swatted down from the perfect setup. He'd seen it all and wasn't afraid of either outcome, but secretly hoped she'd make him work for it. At this point, he'd totally lost interest in keeping track of which Kiughfids were working the sabacc tables tonight and which Twi'lek girls were circling the overnight lounges. Oh he was interested in this one. There was a certain connection between this girl and Tright.

 

[Veritas et Lux]

The bith bartender cocked a brow at the two, wrinkling his forehead quite a bit. He knew Misha was a Jedi for she'd frequented in the daytime before, and obviously knew the womanizing sleaze-ball.

Misha's fingers turned into a palm on his shoulder. She clinged her hand to him, grabbing a handful of shirt, and leaned in a bit closer. Her lips beside his ear like a busy bee buzzing round' a flower. Her eyes closed, imagining his face after she was done with him.
She gave a gentle breath over his ear and threw back a smile.
She had him where she wanted him...
And with her lips almost puckered in for a kiss she said,
"You- You really want to know?"
She gripped her leg and ran her finger-nails upwards sensually, raising her shoulders upwards...

She gave another breath on the man's ear before speaking in a hushed whisper...
"I think-....."

And with an abrupt stern tone she released the man's shoulder and with one finger pushed him back out of her personal space, saying,
"Space yourself, fly boy."
She turned back to the bar, breaking the eye-contact and sipping on her drink once more. She than snapped her fingers at the tender, for another drink...
It's going to be a long night...

 

[D.C.]

'Ahahaha! Nice one, fly boy!' a blonde guy, who sat two seats to the left from Tright, exclaimed. The guy slapped with his flat hand onto the counter and just laughed out loud. O, man, Anthony Xall really thought what just happened to his left was extremely funny. Damn funny!

'Space yourself! Haha!' He turned to the left. 'Cheers, brother!' He raised his glass of Corellian Ale and winked to Tright. Then he took a sip and turned away again.

Yeah, it was a good night. He'd come from the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. His master had ordered him to stay in his room, meditate, and study the Code, but why the kriff would he do that if he could go out? It was just too bad that his friends, who were other Padawans, were all out on missions or going to bed early. Anthony thought they were losers.

He was wearing a black t-shirt, blue jeans and black shoes. He didn't look like a Jedi at all. He didn't want to wear his traditional robes when it wasn't necessary. Over his shirt he wore a grey jacket. In the pocket inside his jacket he kept his lightsaber. It was concealed for now. He'd only reveal it if it was really necessary. Yea, he liked to go out and have a couple of drinks, but he was still a Jedi.

He took another sip of his ale and smiled widely. Of course he'd sensed the girl's Force Sensitivity and he could've sworn he'd seen her around the Temple a few times, but he wasn't quite sure.

 

[DeathToll]

Practically salivating, Tright knew what was coming. He'd set himself up perfectly for the fall, as he sensed her confidence; but it was all a part of the game. Keep her eye on the carrot, and she won't have even realized how he managed to get her in the pen - as in fenced area where she would be all his.

And just as he hoped she would, the girl dropped him like sock puppet; and he loved every bit of it. What he didn't enjoy was the 'boyfriend', as he labeled in his mind, laughin' it up further down the bar. Tright pointed to the bartender and back at her drink with a look, Tright pretty much spelled out to put her drink on his tab.

Tright simply nodded sarcastically to the male over Misha's shoulder who found his situation quite funny, but soon leaned back in to the girl who in a sense said 'no' but really meant 'yes'. This time Tright slid his glass along the bar with his right hand around and in front of the girl. These two weren't the only ones buzzing with a glow, and he knew it. His reflexes were fast, but his mouth was faster.

"I would. Trust me, I've got no problems in that area..."

Salacious as always, Tright cocked his head right and towards the bar top to allow her a better view of his puppy dog face; gliding his middle finger around the circular rim of the glass as he spoke quite plainly.

"...but you might as well join me? I'll only be picturing you anyway."

Classless in times of playfulness, he only attempted at regaining her attention. Either offending her or enticing her, he kept the subject consistent. He, of course, had no idea that he was in the midst of two Jedi. But he'd faced worse, much worse.

By now, Tright's left arm was resting on the back of her stool; his hand itching to drift along the smooth of her lower back.

 

[Jaqen H'ghar]

"...but you might as well join me? I'll only be picturing you anyway."

Jukka had listened a few bar stools away sipping on his corellian ale and had just about enough of the mans constant barrage of lecherous intentions. He came to drink, not to listen to harassments. It was with this in mind he reached out to the force and used it to push the barstool hard enough to hopefully knock the man backwards out of the chair. The only indication of this was a slight handmotion, slowly as though Jukka were pushing something in front of him ever so slightly.

He then picked up his glass noticing it was empty, put down a few more credits and ordered another one as though nothing happened, with the single exception of a slight grin on his face.

 

[Veritas et Lux]

ooc. im now on mobile shoe until further so apologies for shit quality posts. If i post and its not finished please respect my signature cause ill follow up any unfinished posts immediately.

Misha looked back at him with another disgusted look, raising her ice cold glass to her lips and crossing over her legs.
She cocked another broken smile, "I cant believe you actually think youre going to slip into the night with me stumbling drunk into your arms.", she said after finishing off her glass. He was in fact slightly attractive, but by no means Misha's type. Even if she was to break her beliefs, it wouldnt be on account of this rogue, with the ruse of being such a stud that he himself was under the influence that he could woo any girl he so pleased.

There were however, other force users present. It wasnt shocking, i mean, it was coruscant after all...
She felt the man that seated stools down through the force, the one who she had made laugh, and the other one, she felt him pull her antagonist's stool out from under him.

"Heh, tender, bring me a water, please."

 

[DeathToll]

((lemmie know if you want to post again bbb. I'll edit accordingly.))

And before Tright could even see his desired outcome upon the girl's face - interrupting her call for water, fate had intervened for him. Something pushed him back and his arm was caught on the chair his beauty sat upon, and both were yanked back to the floor; swooning, this quicker than most human rolled back to catch his lady should she fall like any human would. Of course, he was still unaware of the current "Jedi's Night" that was apparently this night.

Tright was a little 'capable' himself, though perhaps the others already knew this; as he was expecting a drink in the face or a slap almost instantly, but instead rolled out of a different kind of backhand.

It would have all seemed part of the plan, as Tright was more than comfortable on the ground; and whether or not he caught the damsel in distress, he'd look up at the bar top to see if he had indeed let go of his drink in time. As well, it might take a moment to set in that he would have no idea what the krif just knocked him down?? Tright was well gifted in the area of looks, but as well was he gifted in his reflexes and talented 'see-it-almost-before-it-happens' intuition.

Twirling his pointer finger in the air so playfully without a care in this laid out position as if by the pool, he motioned to the leaning bartender who was checking where Tright had went.

"I'll take a mint-leafed rum please - ground zero."

- and if she had fallen right into his arms, he'd correct himself.

"Ah, make that two."

 

[Veritas et Lux]

Misha caught it comical, even hilarious that the legs of a bandit had been in one sweeping motion taken from beneath him. The tension of his attention attraction from the patrons was all at once released in a sight of a fall of the oh so obvious drunk man landing flat on his back. But her humoroui game had ended at the feeling of her own stool's legs being toppled.
Misha caught the bar avoiding the trapeze act by the tips of her fingernails. She laughed before steadying the legs of her own stool.
"If we would have ever met under other circumstances, that is. . . You not being a drunk horn-dog, you'd be alright... You know that?" she spoke the truth however she was afraid that it might only fuel his ambitious hormones hunting.

 

[Jaqen H'ghar]

At this Jukka just couldn't help but laugh. "That's the least insulting way to say you wish you didn't meet someone I've ever heard." he said, as the bartender came back with another Ale. "I applaud you on your duplicitous nature ma'm." He said with a slight tip of an invisible hat as he started to take another drink.

"Shame on you though, kicking his chair out from under him." He said with a slight wink, wondering if the man on the floor would actually think it was her. If so, this would be a downright riot of a good time, and certainly money well spent on the ale. Can't go wrong with ale.

 

[DeathToll]

Popping right back up as if a spring were behind his back, Tright leaned up against the bar with his elbows. He thought he had handled the fall quite nicely, especially since he had turned a slight nudge into opportunity; a failed opportunity, but one he had given a try. A good time was had by all. It seemed onlookers were determined to live vicariously through Tright. But nothing could faze his easy-going confidence. In fact, Tright seemed to enjoy the crowd of eyes upon him; center of attention suited him just fine.

"Ya know, I could arrange that. Do you prefer top or bottom?"

Meeting under other circumstances was exactly what Tright had in mind. But still, he did seem a bit off his game. Maybe, just maybe he should have eaten something this afternoon instead of drinking on an empty stomach... and drinking earlier this afternoon when he should have been eating. Of course there was an audience to appease, so Tright began acting a bit more drunk.

"Still... You may be right. The two of you do seem to be spinning more than usual..."

Tright's reference to seeing double and loosing his equilibrium was yet another ploy, as he first grabbed onto the counter edge with a wobble and then stumbled into the girl's embrace. She had just stabilized her stool, and so would probably have just settled into place as Tright's face locked into her chest.

 

[D.C.]

At first Anthony thought this all was quite funny. The apparent Force User over there (he wasn't sure if that one was a Jedi as well) used the Force to throw the drunkard to the floor, but then the drunkard got up and 'accidentally' fell over with his face in the girl's chest.

'Ok,' Anthony said, 'that's just downright rude. What the kriff's wrong with you?'

Granted, Anthony liked to flirt with the ladies too, but surely he didn't jump into a girl's chest. That just wasn't right. And this girl in question was a Jedi. She had to be. Where else could Anthony have seen her? Maybe in a cantina, but he didn't think so. Anthony felt like he had to help her, if only because she was a Jedi like him.

'I don't mean to ruin your fun, mister, but I'd back off now while there's still time,' Anthony said, standing up from his stool. 'She's not interested. Isn't that obvious, man? Go pester someone else!'

Anthony wasn't angry yet, but he was very annoyed. It wouldn't take long for him to get angry. He clenched his hands to fists and glared at the drunkard. It was very hard for him to resist to urge to just grab the man by the shoulders and punch the man's face.

 

[Rom]

Wandering the neon-lit streets of Coruscant's entertainment district had quickly become one of Raynor Cree's escapes from the stressful life of a Jedi Padawan. Wearing the only other clothing besides his padawan robes that he owned, a simple cuirass gauntlets, and leggings made from leather that had belonged to him since before he left Barab 1, the obsidian scaled Barabel did his best to appear as un-Jedi like as possible with a tattered cloak pulled close around his body being the only possible indicator of his Force talents. The only weapons he carried were the sharp metal barb tipped at the end of his long tail and a simple cortosis-weave vibrosword sheathed across his back.

Looking like a bounty hunter of some sort usually served Raynor well enough, allowing him to move confidently through the crowded sidewalks of the Galactic Capital without having to worry about people trying to attack him or bother him. So far in his years of traveling the city when the wanderlust took him and the halls of the Temple offered him no comfort, the reptile had never gone into one of the many establishments lining the way. Tonight, he decided to change that. Stepping past the line of people waiting to enter the club, Raynor simple narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth in what to another Barabel would seem like a friendly smile. To the bouncer and everyone he had moved past, the sharp fangs seemed to promise pain if he was delayed or held up. Moving past the now terrified bouncer, Raynor waited until he had turned the corner of the first hallway before leaning against the wall shaking, his sissing laughter echoing down the hallway towards the exit.

Composing himself, the barabel barely stopped himself from leaping back out into the hall as his senses were assaulted by the smell of alcohol and sweating sentients while his vision was bombarded with scantily clad women of various species and flashing lights as he stood at the top of the stairs leading down into the club. Nothing could be said of the pounding music and background roar of conversations. Moving swiftly across the floor towards the bar, his threatening appearance causing most of the patrons to swiftly move out of his path, Raynor's sanguine eyes widened as he backed himself up against the bar, ignoring the human mashing his face into the breasts of another, and asked aloud in what could only be described as fearful disbelief, "Is thiz some sort of mass suicide?"

 

[Veritas et Lux]

"Let me tell you, ha, cause you know... There's no doubt under coruscant's sun that I, would ever crawl into a bed with a fodder mouthed tach licker such as yourself." sarcasm, the 'and hell's an ice-box' sarcasm that appealed to her liking most. But only to be matched with a halfass fall with haphazard reactions.

The game had been taken too far.
The jokes that stunk worse than poo-doo, were fine. His 'on a throne' like over-inflated view of himself, was barely a nuisance. His sleazy womanizing- tolerable with a chaser of rum.
But the total disrespect as to faceplant into her cha-chas crossed the line.

Mishas face got red with what would seemed to be a mixture of anger and embarrassment. She'd never been so harassed to the point of violation before. Sure, she'd been sexual, even sensual before but never sexually assaulted. And she did take it as an assault.
"The kriff are you doing?!" she shouted out, both palms forced him off of her.
She paused a moment, catching the man dead in the eyes. He may have thought he was impervious, he may have even pretended that he was invulnerable, but Misha could see what was deep inside. She stared into his eyes, no not through sensuality but through the force.
"How about your father? Why not go look for him instead of sitting here sinking as low as possible? Oh, that's right... You cant find him even if you tried." she longed to put the man in his place, but withheld her thoughts. Instead, she knew it wouldnt end right. He was at very least not immune to the force if she so easily peered into his soul.
Waving her hand in front of the man's eyesight, from his perspective traveling across her face.
She uttered the words, physically and telepathically, focusing on the goal. To alter his mind.

"YOU ARE NOT GETTING ANY."

 

[Jaqen H'ghar]

He got up, about to take the five short steps over there, but it seemed someone else had stepped in. All the better, it seems the woman was a jedi, using a mind trick on him. Well that explained the ammount of patience she had for the man...Jukka was never good with patience of course, but some things just couldn't be helped.

He took a few steps forward though, some folks didn't react to mind tricks as well as you'd like unfortunately, though he did wait to see the reaction before actually doing to much, in case he should break the girls concentration.

 

[DeathToll]

"What."

Tright seemingly fell into a stupor, standing completely still as if under the beginning trance of her spell. Giving no mind to the Jedi who swarmed about him, his peripherals and sensibility would act dumb and secretly give appearance to ignorance of their impending influence. He would not look at them and they would walk right into his game. They were already in his game, though he didn't think any here would become a part of his tight-knit-group that would bring all his plans into fruition. But one never truly knows unless pushed to that limit. Tright had been beaten to a bloody pulp, outnumbered, before. He could take it. He even enjoyed it. It helped rid him of the sting his life permanently embedded into him. Tright's face shown with a still disgust, his hands frozen with skilled readiness.

However, this too was another plot of his, as he loved playing into another's hands; giving them what they think they deserve, and surprising them right when they think their grip around him couldn't get any tighter.

"You are not getting any..."

He repeated her words verbatim and monotone, adding some drool, as if under her spell. His eyes glazed over, just as he held his drunken state before. He was much more in control than these Jedi could realize. As well, just the way that they all responded, and now this mind trick; this wasn't the first time Tright had come into contact with Jedi. He knew what was happening around him, and he was far too stricken - both with this girl and with her piercing words- to let this go.

Lowering his head with the given reaction, as if defeated by this rejection, Tright softly scuffed his boot along the floor; his left hand padding his thigh. Something happened. Looking back up, he played hard to get - hoping to draw one of them in close.

"You sure you won't just give me your number?"

Whatever they felt, they hadn't seen it; and he held an ace up his sleeve, already in motion.

 

[Tokuhara]

A Mandalorian walks in, sitting on a barstool a few down from the chaos unfolding. He removes his helmet, setting it beside his left elbow, his head hanging low from a combination of deep-held pain and exhaustion. His armor, a modified version of the old Death Watcher armor, is covered in battle wear.

As the barkeep approaches, he orders a strong drink, then lowers his head again, as if remembering the horrible memories of his past. As the barkeep slides him the drink, the Mandalorian takes a single gulp of the drink, setting the empty glass back down, sighing. For nearly 5 years, he has been running from his past, hoping to drink away the painful memories.