Someone somewhere had mentioned a party on Eriadu. It just so happened he'd been doing a little errand on that very planet for a good friend of his. It'd gotten done a little early so, hey, why not live it up a little? Plus some dude was posting up on the Holonet about Preef Callo himself showing up at the party. Who didn't want to meet the froggiest, dodgiest, gunslingingest pistolier in the outer rim? Other than his enemies, obviously.
He'd changed out of his errand-running clothes and into more relaxed attire, a pair of sunglasses perched over his face. Since it was only a party he figured he could get away with just one of his lightsabers tucked somewhere under his jacket. No need for the rest. Probably.
Morgan's Starhawk rumbled to a stop outside the penthouse dragging a small metal crate behind it by the tractor beam. He kicked it into standby and turned off the beam, locked the bike, and hefted the box up in both arms. Damn thing was heavy enough he could have fit his whole ass mother in there and not been surprised, but it woulda been rude not to bring a gift for the party hosts. Not that they needed it judging by the place, but manners were manners. Or somethin', whatever. Party time.
The young man stepped through the elevator doors and found himself immediately assaulted by the sight of a Rancher Rodian Extraordinaire, a Nautolan who looked like she was primed to explode at any second, a Twi'lek sizing up a pair of muscular and tattoo'd humans like sides of prime beef, and a broken statue with what he hoped was saliva all over the head and neck area.
"Haha, nice. Def a party," he commented to himself, skirting around the Rodian and bobbing his way toward the male human who hadn't wandered off and the female with him. Quite unceremoniously he thumped the crate he'd been carrying on the nearest unoccupied surface, shoving it a bit to make sure it wouldn't just fall off after, and turned to look at the two men. He lowered his sunglasses a tad, a flash of golden irises peaking over the top of the lenses.
"Damn, there's some boys in this house. Sak pase, you the hosts yeah? I come bearing gifts," Morgan announced to Nero and Bri in a clipped, lightly accented basic and thumping the crate good-naturedly. Then he slipped a cigarra from somewhere under his coat and lit it with some electric thing, breathing a cloud of smoke to join the rest in the penthouse. He indicated somewhere off behind him in the general direction of the entrance with a thumb, leaning in conspiratorially.
"So is that Preef Callo or what?"
He'd changed out of his errand-running clothes and into more relaxed attire, a pair of sunglasses perched over his face. Since it was only a party he figured he could get away with just one of his lightsabers tucked somewhere under his jacket. No need for the rest. Probably.
Morgan's Starhawk rumbled to a stop outside the penthouse dragging a small metal crate behind it by the tractor beam. He kicked it into standby and turned off the beam, locked the bike, and hefted the box up in both arms. Damn thing was heavy enough he could have fit his whole ass mother in there and not been surprised, but it woulda been rude not to bring a gift for the party hosts. Not that they needed it judging by the place, but manners were manners. Or somethin', whatever. Party time.
The young man stepped through the elevator doors and found himself immediately assaulted by the sight of a Rancher Rodian Extraordinaire, a Nautolan who looked like she was primed to explode at any second, a Twi'lek sizing up a pair of muscular and tattoo'd humans like sides of prime beef, and a broken statue with what he hoped was saliva all over the head and neck area.
"Haha, nice. Def a party," he commented to himself, skirting around the Rodian and bobbing his way toward the male human who hadn't wandered off and the female with him. Quite unceremoniously he thumped the crate he'd been carrying on the nearest unoccupied surface, shoving it a bit to make sure it wouldn't just fall off after, and turned to look at the two men. He lowered his sunglasses a tad, a flash of golden irises peaking over the top of the lenses.
"Damn, there's some boys in this house. Sak pase, you the hosts yeah? I come bearing gifts," Morgan announced to Nero and Bri in a clipped, lightly accented basic and thumping the crate good-naturedly. Then he slipped a cigarra from somewhere under his coat and lit it with some electric thing, breathing a cloud of smoke to join the rest in the penthouse. He indicated somewhere off behind him in the general direction of the entrance with a thumb, leaning in conspiratorially.
"So is that Preef Callo or what?"
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