“Never open with dialogue,”
the Bothan corrected with that smug smile of his. “You gotta just give them a look like you have been all over the galaxy and back around again.” Smoke drifted up from between his lips to cloud his countenance but there was really no hiding his pompous mug.
“Thanks,” his less than enthralled listener replied from the adjacent bar stool. “But I didn’t ask you how to pick up love interests at the bar. I asked you if you know anyone who wants to buy what’s in this bag? Gonna look this time or force me to down another shot?” She asked after downing her third vodka.
The Bothan shrugged as though refusing his advice was the woman’s loss and no other’s, then finally he looked in the little velvet bag meant for a handful of credit chips. “They look like peas.”
“They are peas. Just, uh…” Casany cleared her throat of all doubt, blinked and hoped for the best. “…Magic peas. Eat one and it’ll make you never wish for spice again. You’ll be crawling on the ceiling, eating juice and dancing in a supernova. At least it will feel that way. So what do you say?”
It was the Bothan’s turn to blink in a rather unimpressed way. “I think they look like peas, I hate peas, I’d rather drink juice than eat it, you’re more full of crap than a constipated Hutt, they look like peas and I need to piss.”
And just like that the Bothan waltzed away to leave the woman to her bottle of vodka with the only empty stool beside her in a crowded Corellian cantina at night.
“Di’kut,” she told her empty glass. “Oh well, at least I have you, my one and only friend.” Along with a bag of peas, of course, and a concealed pistol amid a casual outfit that concealed her status as a Mandalorian. Maybe if I had mentioned that much the pisspot would have bought the peas?
“Thanks,” his less than enthralled listener replied from the adjacent bar stool. “But I didn’t ask you how to pick up love interests at the bar. I asked you if you know anyone who wants to buy what’s in this bag? Gonna look this time or force me to down another shot?” She asked after downing her third vodka.
The Bothan shrugged as though refusing his advice was the woman’s loss and no other’s, then finally he looked in the little velvet bag meant for a handful of credit chips. “They look like peas.”
“They are peas. Just, uh…” Casany cleared her throat of all doubt, blinked and hoped for the best. “…Magic peas. Eat one and it’ll make you never wish for spice again. You’ll be crawling on the ceiling, eating juice and dancing in a supernova. At least it will feel that way. So what do you say?”
It was the Bothan’s turn to blink in a rather unimpressed way. “I think they look like peas, I hate peas, I’d rather drink juice than eat it, you’re more full of crap than a constipated Hutt, they look like peas and I need to piss.”
And just like that the Bothan waltzed away to leave the woman to her bottle of vodka with the only empty stool beside her in a crowded Corellian cantina at night.
“Di’kut,” she told her empty glass. “Oh well, at least I have you, my one and only friend.” Along with a bag of peas, of course, and a concealed pistol amid a casual outfit that concealed her status as a Mandalorian. Maybe if I had mentioned that much the pisspot would have bought the peas?
@Sicadorito