There he was, another day, another dollar, another damn bartender serving drinks across the counter. “Another one,” Zad Ruzed might have said but settled for tapping a finger. The bartender understood it, refreshing an empty glass with fresh whiskey like water into a well. It was just another credit chip atop a stack on a tab.
Whatever, Zad wasn’t counting anymore. He took a sip, leaned in, looking at no one and listening to nothing. The patrons of The Dreaming Cloud were about as interesting as the clouds, and those he had lost count of long ago. He could sleep on one, that was for sure, if one was heavy enough to cradle his old bones.
Sitting at the main bar beside the main restaurant, Zad had little else to do. On duty, off duty, it never really mattered when it came to drinking. All the same, he sat on the stool in his black leather duster, gaze drifting between the overhead TVs and HVs.
There was a news anchor reporting a violent theft, a sports announcer highlighting a field goal, a debate group over Mandalorian ‘jingoism’, and none of it was particularly interesting. All it did was make an old man sigh as he spotted a female Zabrak sitting at an adjacent counter.
He sought her gaze but she had hers held by the male beside her. It wasn’t her, she wasn’t his. Long gone, Zad Ruzed. About as dead as all those criminals you made sure didn’t see the inside of a jail cell.
The Ranger took a sip to that, little else to do, and traded his gaze from the Zabrak and the viewscreens to the bottom of his glass.
He didn't know why, but it reminded him of that bar back in a skyport on this very world, where Rangers Corran Velt and Trys Aran had joined him for more than a drink. From there to here, then to now...is it all just a bottomless glass in the end?
Whatever, Zad wasn’t counting anymore. He took a sip, leaned in, looking at no one and listening to nothing. The patrons of The Dreaming Cloud were about as interesting as the clouds, and those he had lost count of long ago. He could sleep on one, that was for sure, if one was heavy enough to cradle his old bones.
Sitting at the main bar beside the main restaurant, Zad had little else to do. On duty, off duty, it never really mattered when it came to drinking. All the same, he sat on the stool in his black leather duster, gaze drifting between the overhead TVs and HVs.
There was a news anchor reporting a violent theft, a sports announcer highlighting a field goal, a debate group over Mandalorian ‘jingoism’, and none of it was particularly interesting. All it did was make an old man sigh as he spotted a female Zabrak sitting at an adjacent counter.
He sought her gaze but she had hers held by the male beside her. It wasn’t her, she wasn’t his. Long gone, Zad Ruzed. About as dead as all those criminals you made sure didn’t see the inside of a jail cell.
The Ranger took a sip to that, little else to do, and traded his gaze from the Zabrak and the viewscreens to the bottom of his glass.
He didn't know why, but it reminded him of that bar back in a skyport on this very world, where Rangers Corran Velt and Trys Aran had joined him for more than a drink. From there to here, then to now...is it all just a bottomless glass in the end?
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