Daddy-O
You got the swagger of a champion
Too bad for you
You just can't find the right companion
You got the swagger of a champion
Too bad for you
You just can't find the right companion
Dim lighting, the steady, endless beat of a tribal rythym, the sort which could carry on for an eternity and never grow dull. Thick smoke, exhaled from the lungs of the patrons, clouded the air, the stale scent of alcohol and sweat filling the nostrils in a pungent assault. Far from a pleasant place, and yet there was a crowd gathered, males mostly though a rare female form was worked into the crowd. Why, the mind might wonder, was this place so popular?
The answer was simple and obvious, once eyes were turned to the center of attention, and coincidentally the center of the cantina. A stage took place there, not one for music to be played on, but for more eye-pleasing displays. The band itself was nestled into an alcove in the wall, though the musc carried well. The stage was dedicated to a single form, body moving in tune with the music, as though they were one.
Her hips rolled slowly, back arching, her shoulders sliding as she swayed. Her muscles rippled as she moved sensually. Her lekku, a pale, creamy white striped with blue-black rings, fell over her shoulders, the third one in the back trailing down her lean back. Very little of her skin was covered, the rusty orange tones, marked with white stripes over her legs and shoulderblades almost fully bared to the hungry crowd. Her frame was accented with the golden jewelry she wore, an ornate band around one thigh, a thick bangle on each wris, and a intricate necklace. All designed with the sole intent of captivating those who watched her.
Dark eyes were distant, not meeting the gaze of anyone present but instead looking past them all, the pitch depths almost chilly, but dangerously exotic. A small slime toyed with the corner of her lips as she danced for the crowd, and only when a faint sheen of sweat started to form on her body did the music slow, not stopping entirely, that would be anti-climatic, but steadily decreasing, her own motion mimicing the music and slowing, until finally the song ended, as did her dance.
She kept her dark gaze distant as she walked off the stage, past the drooling males and into the back of the cantina, to a small room used by the dancers between shows. This had been her last for the night, thankfully. After wiping off with a cool, damp cloth she changed, replacing her dancer's outfit with a corset top and a par of fitted pants, her pistols holstered at her hips. After a moment of thought she left the third where it was, not pulling on the shoulder-holster for the weapon, and Miaxhote left the changnig room, sauntering to the bar and settling onto a stool. She'd collect her pay before she left, but first she wanted a drink.
As she sat on the stool, a drink was brought, the barkeep knowing the Togruta well. Nothing heavy, in fact it wasn't even alcoholic. Water, mixed with various herbs and left to steep, poured over ice and served to her. Sighing, she hung her head, wrapping her hands around the cold cup and looking into the sparkling liquid. Was this the life she wanted? She wasn't sure anymore. She was free, she was on her own, true, but... Something seemed to be missing. She gave her head a shake, trying to dispell the thoughts of sorrow which plagued her, and took a sip of her drink, trying to block out the rest of the cantina and hoping no one would approach her with a disgusting offer.