Moisturise Me.

[Norbaal Fanth]

Nor'baal Fanth was in a foul mood. The races had been going badly from the off, Hoofhearted, one of the sluglike beings favourites, had fallen at the first hurdle, only for What a Mare to repeat the incident at the next running. He had sworn in more languages than he was confident he actually knew today, but, with an afternoons docket still open, the aspiring criminal was reasonable assured that there might still be a chance to make something by way of a gain today.

"Moisturise me." he flapped a muscle bound arm at one of his uniformed retainers, who stepped forwards with an almost cartoonishly small bottle filled with Sweetblossom infused water. "Oh yeah." Nor'baal crooned, the well trained retainer keeping a straight face as the slug rolled is eyes back in undulating pleasure. "That's the spot." he mumbled to himself, as the water vapour sank into his pores, the ever-so-slightly disturbed retainer stepping back to its marker behind 'The Boss', who was covering himself with an ever-so-slightly revealing silk robe.

"Your corpulence," the monotoned voice of his droid piqued up "...a guest has arrived for you." it continued, much to Nor'baals delight. He had been greatly looking forward to his next visitor. Judging by their picture, they looked so splendidly tasty, he had to make a serious effort to stop himself drooling at the idea of a marinated plateful of them. "Good." he reached for a glass of water, gargling noisily before spitting the contents out over the boxes balcony and onto the heads of the rabble below "Show him in." he waved the Droid away, and resumed his prognostication of the forthcomng races.

OOC - This is a PvE enabled, death disabled thread. Open carry is not permitted on Canto Bight, so please be aware of this upon joining.

@vamp @Dread (if you're interested) @Zay

 

[Darth Parox]

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A Vexatious class starfighter, black as the night sky above it, slowly hovered to a landing on one of the many landing pads on Canto Bight. After a few seconds delay, the cockpit slowly hissed open, a masked figure emerging, his clothing more flashy than one would expect, though nevertheless somewhat intimidating, especially for the citizens he passed by. The Drast stepped off the ship as pressure hissed out of it, and was immediately greeted by an attendant, a hunched over Gungan. "Ooooo welcomen to Canto Bight. Pleasen allowen mesa to escort yousa to master's chambers." The Sith's eyes widened underneath his mask, his face a look of disgusted shock as the creature opened its mouth to speak. He wasn't xenophobic—not generally, at least—but the being before him made him rethink that. Everything about it was wrong. He parted his lips to say something, then closed them. With a curt nod, he began walking behind the attendant, doing his best to maintain the distance.

They walked down the street for a few minutes, the Drast wondering whether he was supposed to have paid parking for his ship. It was quite clearly an Imperial ship, however, so anyone with a problem was free to tow it away. They would, in turn, have their faces towed off their heads. The two turned a corner and Milo was surprised to find himself at the back entrance of a race track. Producing a comms device from its pocket, the Gungan flashed him an apologetic look. "Daysa no let mesa into da stadium. Said me'm too ugly," it explained, and it took all of Milo's willpower to keep himself from nodding in agreement. Turning from glancing at him, eyes shifting to the buttons of the device, the Gungan spoke into it. "Da guest has arrived."

The heavy durasteel door swung open slowly, a hand beckoning the Drast inside. He walked in, and the door closed behind him loudly, bathing them—him and whoever had just waved at him—in pitch black darkness. "Just walk forward until you reach the light ahead," a voice advised, the Drast's eyes flicking forward to the light a few dozen meters in front of them. "You don't have any weapons on you, do you?"

His lightsaber tapped his thigh as he walked. The Drast took a moment, then replied. "No." He had no intention of killing anyone today, but he felt more comfortable having it with him at all times. He had, at least, left his blaster pistol on the ship. Milo walked until he reached the exit, and was surprised to hear the roar of a crowd slowly grow louder as he neared. When he stepped out, he found that he was standing in one of the stadium's VIP pods, a spacious room with glass walls so that the race was visible ahead. There were also 3 monitors on one of the walls, each showing a different creature as it raced. There was a table with refreshments, and in front of him, one of the ugliest creatures he had seen in his life, its face a mask of pleasure as a man next to it sprayed its body—which was blubbering with fat—down with a liquid from a bottle.

Hands held together behind his back, he bowed his head. "Mr. Fanth?" he asked, looking around the room. He was looking to perhaps strike a business partnership with the man, who had the potential and was gathering the resources to become a big player on Cantonica. Milo was merely looking to have a part in it, so that he had a man on the inside of the crime world, so to speak. It never hurt.

But he had no idea where the hell Fanth actually was. Could this slug be...? No. Impossible. "Where is Mr. Fanth?"

@Nor'baal

 

[Norbaal Fanth]

'Mr. Fanth' was busy when the lithe, almost twiglike Draste walked in. Eyes glued to the racetrack, he was squirming in his power-chair and huffing to himself, working up quite a sweat as Dee Canter was now neck and neck with the pip position beast, Foaling Around, and he allowed himself to let out a loud "HARRRRRGG." as the race got closer and closer still. He barely heard the newcomer inquire as to his name, and look around the room - waving away his Droid as it pattered up to him - "Keebez Gulak!" he garbled in Bocce as finally, for the first time of the day, he secured a winning bet, watching as Dee Canter slipped past his poster and to the front of the pack, to victory.

Chins wobbling in delight, he finally paid attention to the newcomer, who still looked a little confused. Approaching once more, his droid spoke to him "Lazta eema guba, tee chana noo Ingal zee." Nor'baal smirked to himself, pawing at the control stick of his power-chair, and turning it slowly, as if to answer the Drastes question.

"Mr. Drast, I've been expecting you." he stated as his chair completed its rotation. Throwing his arms wide "I," he raised his trunk like arms into the air like a showgirl "...am Boss Fanth, but you, can call me Nor'baal." he bowed with a slight dip of his head, and then, in a bizzare burst of speed, clapped his hands, sending one of the two retainers shuffing over with a silver tray to the mans side. "In my culture," the slug nodded to the retainer, who placed his hand atop the dome resting on the tray "...we greet our guests with delicasies, that dazzle the senses..." he grinned "...in this case, a frog." the dome was swept away, revealing a Klatooine Paddy Frog to the young Draste, cut open butterly style, and marinated in some sort of jellied substance.

The retainer turned a slight shade of green.

"It is considered a great honour, and good omen of prosperous business dealings to come, if ones guest does consume the Frog before dealings commence." Nor'baal added, with a disturbingly geniune smile.

 

[Darth Parox]

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"Ah," he grumbled quietly as a droid turned to speak to the slug ahead. His suspicions were confirmed when the creature turned in its chair and introduced itself—himself—as Mr. Fanth. Well, Boss Fanth. The Drast, keeping his hands behind his back, nodded with his head, a small gesture he'd kept from his noble days. He'd just witnessed a strange display from the man, who seemed quite absorbed in the race, and hoped he would not constantly yell random things during the meeting as the fathiers ran around the track. "And I am Milo Vemec-Drast," he introduced himself, not adding in the twenty other titles he had had before he renounced his claim to them. The Sith lowered his hood and took his helmet off, holding it in one arm as he spoke. It was a known gesture of respect on most worlds in the galaxy. "Though you can call me Milo." Not many people were allowed to do that, but he wanted relations to be as warm as possible with the slug.

He thought the meeting would commence, truly. A bit foolishly optimistic, but the Drast was punished for it mere moments later, when the slug introduced him to greeting customs from whatever culture he came from. The dome was lifted up, revealing a frog with far more tentacles—were those tentacles?—than it was supposed to have, taken apart and cut into two thin slices. He suppressed a gag as he looked at its organs, sprawled out in front of him like he were in biology class. His face was serious, the Drast doing his best not to make his distress known. "A wonderful custom," he praised as the servant handed him the plate. "Though I regret to inform that I am severely allergic to paddy frog. Eating it would be especially harmful to my stomach, which I would then proceed to vomit out through my mouth. A ghastly sight, that I do not believe you wish to see."

He handed the plate back to the servant, who set it down on the table, a look of relief in his face—he hadn't had to watch the Drast eat the frog. "Prosperous business dealings are to come, however," he reassured. "Which brings me to the subject of our meeting." The slug could take it from there and debrief him on the terms and conditions.

@Nor'baal

 

[Norbaal Fanth]

In a way, Nor'baal was saddened by the news - something of an antithesis to the deep relief his attendant felt, after all, it would have been he cleaning up the mess, not his paymaster. His dissapointment would only grow when the man removed his helmet, dispelling Nor'baals hope that the metal casing had actually been its face. Alas, life was full of dissappointments, and Nor'baal at least had the knowledge that he could enjoy the frog himself later on. "Chanwa eepa lulu." the slug instructed the plate bearing attendant, who scurried out of the room, returning around thirty seconds later with a palpable look of relief on its face.

Not allowing his dissappointment to show, his small practical joke having passed without the usual levels of hilarity to which he had become accustomed over his life, he focused his attention away from the track (after all, he had no runner in the next race) and instead onto the Drast. The fact that these 'Drast' appeared to vomit from the mouth, as admitted by his guest, repulsed him - truly these humans lacked class. Who vomited perfectly edible refuse? Disgusting.

However, not one to be put off by a mere cultural clash - and fully aware than Cantonica still resided in Imperial Space, he smiled as Milo spoke optimistically of proposerous dealings, even without the 'customs' having been followed. "A shame your allergies deny you the pleasures of the frog," he lamented, lowering his arms from their excultation - which now seemed absurd given the lack of frog munching going on - "...but, prosperous business may still arise," he made some sot of odd warbling sound with his throat as if to punctuate his sentance, perhaps hailing from his species ancestral heritage as frogs themselves.

"I am a man of prestigious," Nor'baal shifted in his chair entirely unintentionally "...knowledge, skill, accumen...." he struggled to find the correct word, his droid piping up to assist "...beauty?" Nor'baal chuckled, how correct the droid was. "Indeed. There are a great many things I can assist you with, provided the correct....motivation. So, tell me Milo, what nature of business do you wish to engage in?" he asked, eager to get to the meat, if not the geletanous flab of the negotiations.

 

[Darth Parox]

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Luckily, Nor'baal did not take offense in the refusal. Milo watched the man toot his own horn for a good minute, the slug struggling to find his words. The Drast nodded along, until it was his turn to speak. He had a plan, although it was still in its infancy. The Sith stepped up closer to the slug, dismissing his disgust toward the slime in light of a more important discussion. His voice was low as he spoke, eyes set on the slug. "I do hope we are in trusted company," he remarked first.

The Sith's eyes scanned the room, glaring at the attendants who looked away the moment their eyes locked. They would likely keep their mouths shut out of fear, rather than loyalty to their boss. "I have word of a shipment of illegal weapons switching hands here on Cantonica later tonight," he began. "While I would have gone in myself, I can't very well engage a whole gang of smugglers on my own. Besides that, I think a violator would certainly be more important to you than it would to me. Regretfully, that's all the shipment is carrying, but it is advanced tech, and one of the most feared weapons in the Galaxy."

@Nor'baal

 

[Norbaal Fanth]

At last, the Drast dropped his voice to a more conspiratorial tone, and Nor'baal could feel the fertile seeding grounds of a scheme firming up about them as the man began to speak of promise and adventure. Of course, the Drast was right to be concerned about the company Nor'baal kept - indeed, dear Foonteth, his previous retainer to suffer from lose lips when deep in his cups - was still finding it very hard to get work without hands.

Or a tongue.

Suffice it to say therefore, that his retainers every since had opted to have slightly more sense than their distant predecessors, and Nor'baal therefore had little doubt that their lips would be kept tightly sealed indeed. A shipment of weapons was enough to get anyone seeing credit signs, but one filled with Violators was a heavy proposal indeed. Yet, there was something nagging at the back of the sluglike sapients mind. Seeking to delay the discussion to allow himself time to think, he nodded and spoke but once "Violators you say?" as he turned his power-chair to face away from the man.

Looking out over the track, Nor'baal permitted his mind to wander. There was a risk to such an operation, a deeply personal one that worried him considerably. Nor'baal was rather keen on not getting killed, indeed, the avoidance of such a thing was pretty high on his list of things to do every day, but yet, the potential payout was considerable. With a Violator, he could go places. With a Violator, he could get some of the more violent people in the Galaxy to do certain things for him, things that might advance his station, considerably.

And yet, he had no idea what it was the Drast desired.

"It is generous of you indeed to inform me of such an opportunity," he waved his hand has he faced away from the Drast, as if seeking to excentuate his statement somewhat "...tell me, what prompts such good will?"

 

[Harrison Fletch]

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Harrison arrived in his shuttle on Canto Blight. What used to be a complete waste land and desert, was now a metropolis. The best of the best of everything was here. Cantinas, Casinos, and Fatheir races. The last was why he was here. Harrison approached the security checkpoint. He took out his belongings. He showed the security personnel his badge, stating his conceal carry. He placed his blaster on the desk before stepping through the verifying machine. Once out, he collected his items and walked out into the big stadium. He checked his tickets, and walked up to the exclusive VIP section. Harrison glanced up, and saw the head box, with what appeared to be some sort of creature getting lotion poured over him. Harrison scowled and found his seat next to the box with the creature. He glanced at the box, and saw the alien talking to some other individual. Harrison kept a straight face despite the goo dripping off.

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@Nor'baal @vamp

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[Darth Parox]

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In the world of crime, most people sought something for themselves. Sure, Milo wanted something for himself—but at a later date. He would need a favor soon, and the slug was certainly the right person to ask for help. First, he would need to ensure this mission actually went well, and the aspiring crime lord was happy with his gun. "For now, it is just a gesture of good will," he replied, eyes darting to a man that had just sat in the chair closest to the box. While the box was not soundproof, their lowered voices, the roar of the crowd, and the walls that separated them from the outside ensured they would not be overheard, not even by someone doing it purposefully. Hopefully, the individual would not prove to be a problem. If he did, he would find that he'd chosen the wrong day to go snooping.

"The smugglers will be meeting at a casino not far from here. We go in posing as bachelors seeking out a night of fun at the casino and sneak into the back room where they will be exchanging the briefcase. Due to the nature of their mission, I daresay it will be just the two of them, which will make for easy targets."

@Nor'baal

 

[Norbaal Fanth]

A gesture of good will? Nor'baal was somewhat taken aback, at last, an off-worlder who understoof the finer pleasantries of Cantonic Business. What good was a potential business partner, if they did not first seek to extend a hand, before taking your Canto Coins? Noticing, out of the corner of his eye, he shook his head - snitches after all, got stitches. Aware that the discussion that they where having was one that required privacy, he reached out and touched a button on the table to his right, closing a privacy shutter over the boxes window. Sure, it would mean he would miss the next race - but, he could always watch it on the vid screens.

"Bachelors you say?" he chortled to himself. Nor'baal was very good looking after all, something of a lady killer within his species "Sounds good enough to me. Which casino are we talking about?" he asked, wondering if perhaps it might have been one of the more notable ones that dotted the city. On top of that, certain casinos had different house rules, and it was important to be aware of them before one arrived.

However, with only two smugglers expected to be there, Nor'baal was reasonably confident that the mission could pass without much by way of issue. Snapping his fingers to his retainers, one of them scurried up, an impassive look upon his face. "Cheem wan zu koolo dim gowna." he instructed in Bocce, before retreiving his datapad from the side of his chair, ready to conduct a little background research on the casino in question.

 

[Darth Parox]

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Milo almost chuckled as he watched the privacy shutters slowly lower, sealing them off from prying eyes. The lights of the stadium were gone, now replaced by a few warm-colored lamps placed around the box. It was nicer this way. The Sith felt less exposed, and the general area was far cozier than before. Aside from the roar of the crowd outside, it was hard to tell they were even in a stadium.

"Canto Casino," he replied once the shutters closed. Nor'baal would know it was the largest of the city's many casinos, perfect for two smugglers to conduct business while getting drowned out by the sound of flowing credits. "We'll have to do our best to track them, as they'll be moving quick until they reach their back room. From there, you can either enter with me, or create a diversion outside while I take the suit case."

The slug did not look to be particularly combat-ready, though Milo supposed he had his own talents. Showmanship seemed to be one of his favorites, so Nor'baal would be perfect when it comes to creating diversions. His very presence at the casino was probably a diversion.

@Nor'baal

 

[Harrison Fletch]

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Harrison summoned one of the server droids, and ordered a whiskey. He waited, and glanced back at the head box, he noticed that a shutter now enclosed the entire box. Interesting Harrison thought. He mused, and considered the options for what the duo were partaking in. 1. Some sort of sexual relationship? Disgusting, 2. A business relationship/meeting, or 3. One of them plans to kill the other? None of the options were good, though number 2 seemed reasonable. "Sir, your drink." Harrison returned his gaze to his front, eyeing the droid before accepting the gift in exchange for a few chips. The server nodded and said it's thanks before scuttling away. The next round of fatheir racing was going to begin shortly, and Harrison took out his betting token, holding it tight.

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@Nor'baal @vamp

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[Norbaal Fanth]

It just had to be Canto Casino, one of the largest - if not the largest - players in the City. In a way, that would be of benefit to the duo, the size of the Casino enabling them to slip away into the crowd, and the bribability of the bar staff no doubt would go some small way to supporting them as well, if they played their cards right. Nor'baal, was had attended the Casino on many an occassion during his life, also knew that the Canto boasted a Fathier Track, which would be a good way of gaining entry - he being an owner of a small team himself.

"Diversion?" the slug chuckled, a few ideas forming already in his head "I could do that aye," laughter bubbled to the fore once more as Nor'baal recalled the golden rule of Canto Casino, which its syndicate of owners saw enforced, in every sense of the world.

No weapons.

He still had flashbacks to the one time he had seen a Rodian Slythmonger attempting to bring in a ceramic knife, sheathed in a specially made hidden compartment of his cybernetic arm. Oh, the things those guards had done to the poor fellow, made Nor'baals blood curdle just to think of it.

Not to mention to smell it made.

Nobody bought weapons into the Canto. And this time, that put the Slugs mind at ease, after all, the smugglers couldn't shank him with their bare hands now could they. Deciding to inform his newfound comrade, just to be on the safe side he added "Oh, Milo, one more thing," he waved his datapad, as if to suggest he had just looked it up "...you do know what happens to folk who bring weapons to the Canto Casino right?" he asked, continuing to explain just one story of what happened, to such a level of detail that one of his retainers, already weak kneed from the frog fiasco, visible turned an alarming shade of green, before dashing out of the room.

 

[Darth Parox]

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He almost chuckled when Nor'baal mentioned weapons not being allowed. Milo listened to the story intently, nodding his head and furrowing his brows every once in a while. Then, as the slug finished speaking, he nodded dismissively. "I doubt we will see much forced sterilization happening, should we be caught," he replied, referring to a part in the story. "The Drast name certainly opens doors that seem unreachable."

That, coupled with a few creative uses of the Force, would be enough to get them in, though the Sith didn't need to do much to sneak his lightsaber in anyway. This was more so that Nor'baal was not defenseless when push came to shove, if it were to happen. They would also be at an advantage, with the smugglers being unarmed. Still, a small plan hatched in Milo's head. He would see if it worked when they arrived to the casino, though for now he remained silent.

"Can I count on your support tomorrow night?" he asked, sensing the mission slowly drawing to a close.

@Nor'baal

 

[Arial Calvic]

Given the nature of Canto Bight, Arial was wearing her fancy attire today; though the lack of a blaster made her...unsettled to say the least. Still, she had business to attend to. She had spotted agent @Harrison Fletch earlier, though she wasn't sure if he had seen her; or if he even recalled her from that business on Korriban. She needed to speak with Nor'baal, one way or another. He apparently was busy with another party, so until then, she'd have to bid her time. She decided to see if Mr. Fletch had noticed her, and took a seat at the bar, making sure she was within eye shot of the man. "I'll take a single glass of Champagne, the third cheapest one you have." She said, not trusting the bar staff to give her a non expensive drink; everything here was sub charged through the roof. Taking the drink, she swirled it's contents and sipped it, then scowled. It wasn't very good champagne, though that was to be expected. This place was all about appearance, everything else was as shallow as a childrens swimming pool.

 

[Norbaal Fanth]

Nor'baal was somewhat surprised at the Drast's reaction to being told you could not bring weapons into the Canto. However, he rapidly decided that it was not really in his control to stop him, nor of his concern if he did. Shrugging as the man added the part about his family name opening doors, he replied saying "Let's hope we do not have to test that theory." in a good natured tone, "...and, you have my support Milo." he snapped his fingers at one of his retainers "Drinks! Fetch whatever my friend desires - and two of them, let's see what the tastes of the Sith are." he chuckled again, before turning his chair to face the closed shutters, and tapping the open button now the private section of their meeting was concluded.

"I shall see you tomorrow night. If you wish to stay after your drink, you may do so as my guest." Nor'baal motioned to one of the chairs to his side as the shutters opened fully, revealing the track to them. He pointed down at one of the Fathiers "Thats, Mane Street," he gestured to a piebald specimine, a number three picked out on its tack behind the jockeys saddle "...he is one of my more seasoned racers." he added, turning his head slightly to Milo and whispering "...word is he will come second." he added a wink for good measure.

Calling his droid forwards, the slug gave an instruction "Make a bet, usual channels - usual amount on Mane Street in the top three." he instructed, pressing his palm onto the droids outstretched slate to authorise the currency move "Are you sure Boss? Mane Street is the favourite to win, top three nets you less if she comes in first."

He gave the droid a withering look, these automata where far to honest. Waving the droid away, he fixed his attention back on the race, only to be interrupted by his second aide, just as the Fathiers began to walk toward their starting positions "Boona chee wana clima du." it said, this time in Huttese for some reason.

"Milo," he addressed the Drast, by way of courtesy given their newly forged partnership "I seem to have another visitor, care to sit in on this one?" he asked, wondering if the Draste would be at all interested in seeing what this newcomer had to say - if nothing else, the bar was free.

 

[Harrison Fletch]

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Harrison cheered as his chosen fatheir gained speed, and passed several other fatheirs. He sat back down, and sipped his drink. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see someone familiar enter, and sat at the bar. Harrison turned his head and smiled. It was the Old Empire agent from Korriban. He rose from his seat, and left his drink on the table included with the VIP box. He'd get another drink at the bar, maybe this time cheaper? He approached the lady, who looked stunning in her outfit. He chose a seat next to her and said, "Agent Calvic, nice to see you again. I did not know you enjoyed fatheir races?

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@Nor'baal @vamp

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[Arial Calvic]

Arial turned and smiled as Harrison sat beside her. Just as she predicted. "Oh! Agent Fletch! I had no idea you were here!" Arial said, feigning innocence . "Why, I was just coming to meet with a mutual friend. This place has just the stingiest dress code, don't you agree?" She shook her head and slipped the abomination of champagne in her hand. Urk. "What brings an estimated official such as yourself to this little place? Hope you're not trying to find some of those exotic dancers." She chuckled, giving him a wink. He seemed to be the professional type if nothing else, and Arial could respect that. However, she also wanted to see where his boundaries laid, because that was just as important to how one cared out their duties as an operative. Just a little investigative and physiological dig at a fellow comrade. Nothing sinister.
@Brick

 

[Darth Parox]

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Milo liked it when things came together nicely. "Two glasses of White Zin," he told the attendant. "Semi sparkling." Fancy tastes—and expensive—but he supposed Nor'baal had something like that in his storage. The Drast was fairly curious as to what the slug's diet actually consisted in, his interest having been perked when the man offered him a frog as if it were a delicacy. Perhaps it was a practical joke, though he doubted it.

Reaching into his pocket, the Sith pulled out one of the higher-priced credit coins and flipped it into the droid's palm, who almost missed it. "In that case, put that on Mane Street as well." He turned to Nor'baal and flashed him an almost conspirational look before glancing at the screen, where the race had begun. The fathier was slowly working its way from third place to second. "Some Sith believe two is an important number for dark siders. Perhaps that applies to gamblers as well."

The attendant came up to them, holding a tray with two glasses on it. A pink liquid—rosé—filled them up about three quarters. Milo grabbed one and raised it in front of Nor'baal. "May our fathiers run fast, plots succeed, and frog lunches be plentiful," he toasted, clinking his glass lightly against the slug's. The Drast drank half of the wine and then held the glass in his hand, the thin part of its bottom in between his fingers so that his palm was cupping its bottom. It was sweet, even for wine, though someone with a refined palate could recognize that it was certainly fine. With such a high price tag, it certainly should be. He looked at the attendant as he arrived and murmured something in Huttese, though the Drast's entry level understanding of the language was not proper enough for him to understand anything other than "guest." As Nor'baal turned to him and spoke, he nodded agreeably. "Certainly." Raising his glass once more, this time more as a greeting, he turned and took a seat in an armchair near the wall to the right of the entrance. From there, he could watch the meeting and the race at the same time.

@Nor'baal

EXIT​

 

[Norbaal Fanth]

"White Zin, yes Sir." the attendant droid tottered off once the order was given, returning shockingly quickly with the exact item the Drast had requested. As it would turn out, cities dedicated to the entertainment of the elite, seemeed to have well stocked cellars. Nor'baal took the glass when offered, and waited for Milo to get his own glass before raising it in toast. As he did so, he waved over a retainer, who took the mans credits and converted them to Cantocoins, a more acceptable form of currency in Canto Gambling circles.

"These Sith," Nor'baal said with obvious joviality "...seem wise indeed." the slug finished, nowing full well that - should things go to plan - Mane Street would come second exactly in this race, to some modest take for his backers. Off world the Cantocoins held no real value, except maybe as collectibles, but on Canto, the only currency anyone really accepted for bets was the Coins - other business, well, pretty much any currency could be taken.

As Milo raised his toast, the Whippomorn did likewise, smiling particularly as the Drast mentioned frog-lunches. He would need to think of something more outlandish to try and feed the man in future, perhaps then he might cotton on to Nor'baals bizzare habits. The wine even tasted expensive, and part of the Hutt worried about picking up the tab later on, but then again, good business required good investments no?

Following the small exchange regarding his other Guests, Nor'baal thanked Milo for his understanding, and signalled for his retainers to let the others in - minus their weapons of course, regardless of their various 'open carry' permits of whatever they would boast, this was his box, and Nor'baal felt that gunmetal and blades tended to dull the aesthetic. "Show them in." he instructed the retainers "They can leave their weapons outside," he added, turning his chair back to face the Fathier track below, and thumping his fists into the air as Mane Street gliding over the line into second place.