The Flesh Hole

[Shuri'ani]

The Flesh Hole was the place where people came to forget about their problems or to find new ones. Deep down in level 211 of the lower bowels of Nar Shaddaa, this den of wanton debauchery and boundless perdition thrived over the credits of lost souls.
The lights inside were of a allusive red, concupiscent glows that lit the ambience where one didn't have to be on the prowl, they just had to had money.

A smile, a flutter of eyelashes, pillowy lips blowing a kiss, a hand grabbing a visitor by their collar and dragging them into a room -- and it was done. Thirty minutes of happiness, only to part ways forever and forget each other's faces.

There was a steady, thick traffic in the Flesh Hole, people went in and out like an ants-house that had new joiners and new quitters everyday. Criminals, smugglers, cutthroats, junkies, brave tourists and sometimes even the occasional cloaked celebrity visited the place, in the hope of finding that brief moment of solace that the galaxy wasn't willing to give them. A moment where they were taken care of, where their word was the command, where their satisfaction mattered the most. The Flesh hole was the place where anybody, just anybody, could have felt like a king, adored and revered, by women and men of all species and with the most bizarre looks.
Under payment, along with tips, of course.

Some people actually fell in love with the place, and spent their whole salaries in there, treating it like a sanctuary of emotional and physical salvation. Their wives' glares were nothing comparable to the high-heels and luscious lips painted in black lipstick. After work, people went home only to devour the dinner of their bitter wives and spare a glance to the neglected children, before setting course to the Flesh Hole and spending the whole night doing what only the Flesh Hole could have allowed you to do. People were often left senseless, and their naked, passed-out bodies were dragged out and left in the streets until awakening - amidst the mocking giggling of prostitutes with their breasts to the winds.

But it wasn't all booze and pleasure at the Flesh Hole. Sometimes, stains of blood splattered on the walls and those were hard to scrub off. The intense traffic of people getting their clothes off - and thus, turning themselves at their most vulnerable - attracted the guns of those who had unfinished business with them.
Bounty hunters, hired assassins, or simply grudge-holding civilians well-informed enough about where to find who. More than once it had happened that a room was barged in, and those inside got slaughtered without a trace of mercy or second-thinking.
Luckily, the bodies of the courtesans who got accidentally killed in the process were sold off to organs-harvesters, which brought a modicum of consolation to the ruling madame, over her lost precious assets.

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That night, a green-skinned alien stood outside, clad with nothing but discomfortingly tight latex that was barely enough to cover his modesty. A smocking stick held between his tattooed fingers, amethyst-deep eyes were scanning the streets with a look of mild interest. His lithe body leant against a lamp post, in a lazy, if not lounging-pantheresque stance. His colleagues were chatting nearby, but he wasn't in the mood to indulge their heated gossiping, not that night. A client hadn't paid him the full that was due to him, and he hated that. He despised it with a passion, for more often than not, it wasn't an accidental overlook but purposeful swindling. - The guy had gotten a hefty beating from the bouncers, and while he had been left bleeding and drooling with his pants down in the streets, the twi'lek still hadn't found much satisfaction in the sight.
He was still missing his credits, after all.

That night, it was more smelly than usual. Someone must have vomited nearby, or perhaps the sewer rats had taken a massive dump - or was the corpse that had been found last week around the corner still there and rotting?
A puff of smoke escaped his luscious lips, and raised, twirled and melted into thin air. He raised his gaze up to the sky, or whatever breach-through-the-metal of polluted gangrene crimson clouds he could see while being so much underground beneath the surface. Right above the Flesh Hole, there was a fissure that connected level 211 directly with the maleodorant firmament.
It would have rained acid that night. Again.

 

[Allard Keever]

Of all the places for him to go, Allard had to say that Nar Shaddaa was likely the last place anyone who knew him from his old life would expect him to go. He was from Alderaan with it's clean air, clean living and 'equality for all' mindset after all. Why would someone like him ever come to somewhere like this? It was the perfect place to escape from any form of reminder of his time back on Alderaan.

How did you make sure you didn't get homesick? You made sure that literally nothing reminded you of your old home! It made perfect sense to Allard and it would mean that Nar Shaddaa was the perfect place for him to start afresh!

Being Nar Shaddaa however, seemed that was as close to 'fresh' as it was ever going to get.

It had all seemed to suggest that Nar Shaddaa was the best place for him... and then he'd actually arrived. Something about him must have screamed 'rich' because he'd been backing away from con-artists all day. Not to mention the two Rodians that had been following him for quite some time now. He'd hoped he'd lose them by heading deeper and deeper and further away from the more 'reputable' establishments but they just seemed to be even more determined.

He was in front of a sex club called, of all things, 'The Flesh Hole' for Force's sake!

Seemed subtly wasn't a strong point of business owners on Nar Shaddaa. Either that was a gap in the market or the people here really didn't have any shame. From what little he'd seen of this place, it might very well be either or both of those things to be fair. Glancing behind him, Allard almost screamed in frustration because they were still there!

Finally having had enough, Allard stopped in front of the Flesh Hole and spun on the spot, drawing his pistol as he did so. The two Rodians, armed with out stun batons, stopped in their tracks and the line for the club was suddenly awash with excited mutterings. Excitement! Honestly! He was holding two sentients at gun point and they were excited about the whole thing! The Rodians took a few steps closer so he focused his attention on them instead.

Okay Allard... it's just like a debate... project confidence...

"Back off and leave me alone!" he barked out, his voice coming out a touch more gravelly that it usually did, "If you take one more step towards me..."

He paused, unable to come up with a decent threat on the fly like that. The Rodians seemed to sense this and just looked at each other before stepping closer. Allard's eyes widened and he fired quickly, without even really aiming.

A crack of broken bone, the hiss of sizzling flesh and the screams of a Rodian.

Everyone, including Allard, was looking at the result of a perfect shot to one of the thug's knees. The flesh was burnt and sizzling and the bone was broken, having sent the thug tumbling to the ground howling in agony. No one was more surprised than Allard, though he managed to bring back some of his bravado in time for when the other thug turned to him,

"Y-yeah." he gestured with the barrel of his pistol, "That. That's what happens if you don't leave me alone."

The uninjured Rodian stared at him for a long time before (probably) cursing in his native tongue and just wandering off, leaving his injured friend. Allard was confused and almost asked about why he'd left his friend when a large bouncer for the club stepped away from the line and casually shot the downed Rodian in the face. The line went back to normal and everyone just injured the Rodian's corpse.

Staggering over to a wall, Allard rested his forehead against the cool material of a nearby lamp post. He was shaking and he really needed to keep it together. Breathing deeply, his eyes still closed, Allard muttered to himself,

"It's alright... it's okay..." he muttered to himself before taking another deep breath, "Huh. Smells slightly nicer here..."

Opening his eyes, Allard jumped in surprise when he realised he had slumped against a lamp post that seemed to be already occupied! By... by a green Twi'lek male with black markings and... and mostly naked. Seemed the smell had come from either the Twi'lek's smoke stick or from his version of... of well perfume he supposed. He flushed a little bit, fumbling with his pistol as he put it away,

"Dreadfully sorry to disturb you! Just a little..." he glanced at the Rodian's corpse again before forcing himself to not admit to being shaken up, "Yes well... lovely to meet you... Mr...?"

Ah the Alderaanian approach - when in doubt, be polite!

@Shuri

 

[Shuri'ani]

The twi'lek had been following the rodians-versus-unknown-dude duel with most interest. Those deep-purple gems etched into his eyesockets found amusement in the almost comedic fight, up until a blasterbolt departed from the gun's barrel and buried itself deep into a snouted-alien's knee. Oh, you don't say. Would you look at that!
The queueing crowd had been paying attention like it was the most awaited holo-show of the late weekend night, and some of the gossiping prostitutes actually cared to halt the crap-talking only to squeal in excitement.

Of course, old Bruugo started setting bets too. - Bruugo was the weequay bouncer who made a countdown everyday to await the next brawl in line. And then, credits started exchanging ownership from one hand to the other, basing on who of the bet-on heads would have won.
This time, all of those who bet on the Rodians had lost their money - which was basically all of the Flesh Hole bouncers. Was there a mystical lesson to be learned from this? Perhaps one shouldn't judge a ship by its hull? A lesson that likely went over most heads. But it was okay, because nobody cared, really. That kind of scuffles didn't make any news in level 211.
As soon as the commotion met an end, things went back to normality - as much as anyone could have called the typical shaddaanian indifference 'normality'. A dead rodian in the street, another one had left his companion to die. All standard procedure over there! In fact, someone might have gotten surprised if things went differently.

The improvised and unlikely badass of the night didn't receive any awards, but instead, was graced with the attention of a smirking twi'lek. His heavily tattooed body still leant towards the lamp post where the human had gotten a moment reprieve, and indeed, what the stranger might have smelled was a mix of marcan herb and lavender-based cologne. Cheesy, but someone liked it that way.

"Achuta. Who knew a trembling hand could've shot so good?" The twi'lek asked, as his lips stretched some more into an unsettling smirk. Two silver caps replaced the emptiness of two lost teeth on the front row, and a septum ring hung just above his smirk, pierced through the lower portion of flesh of his nose. "Breathe deep and steady, bukee. You're still alive. Nobody will notice if you've wetted your pants." A heavy Huttese accent etched his words, even though he had the grace to immediately switch to Basic, to accomodate the shakened hero. With a flick of his thumb, he let the ash fall on the wet, grimy ground.
"You're not from here, are you, peedunkee?" How rude, the question about his identity went completely overlooked! Likely on purpose. The green twi'lek wasn't still enough on spices to actually forget or misunderstand big chunks of conversation.

@Nefieslab​

 

[Xiang Liu]

The music was to loud, the smells radiating off unwashed and sweat oiled bodies was a bit over the top, the food was horrific, and the drinks were watered down that if they contained any alcohol in them was a mystery. Despite all these drawbacks, the place wasn't half bad. The dancing girls were a pleasurable sight to behold, though each one seemed to be more of a petri dish of bad news than a one night dance through the stars. What really caught her admiration was how these people carried on with their lives with the galaxy falling apart around them; or perhaps it was the drugs coursing through their systems lending them a chemical happiness and not a care in the galaxy.

Leaning back in her chair struggling mentally if she was brave enough to take another bite of what was suppose to be nerf steak on her plate or discard it, she watched several patrons engage in a ritual involving small glasses filled with liquid; each one downing it quickly then slamming the empty glass on the table, each one praising the other for a job well done. "Drunk fools," she said grabbing her own drink, taking a small pull from the once frosty mug.

Her reason for being here, in such an eventful place, was credits. She had done a job for one of the local Hutts and was awaiting payment to be delivered. Normally she wouldn't work with those over pompous worms, but running with the Exiles didn't exactly fill the coffers overrunning with credits. Survival, at any cost, was the only important meal on the menu of life.

"Another drink," the scantily dressed female waitress asked returning to Xiang's table. The food was a disaster, so another drink would only suffice to kill time until her credits arrived. "Yes....and you can take the food away." Picking up the plate with the barely touched food the waitress asked, "Was the food not up to your standards?" Nothing on the menu was up to her standards. "My suggestion...you should have the chef killed." With wide eyes and a look of shock painting over the already overly painted face of the waitress, she scurried away to fill the drink order.

"Come on already with the payment," she huffed, "I'm starting to feel like I've been duped." Gently brushing the hilt on her belt, she was formulating a plan B in her mind.

​

 

[Allard Keever]

And now he was in a conversation with someone he'd never have spoken to if he had been back on Alderaan. Of course, he wasn't back on Alderaan and this stranger was perhaps the first person on this stinking rock of a moon to actually speak to him with some measure of sympathy. It may well turn out to be feigned to get him to lower his guard but it likely wouldn't work anyway - was extra alert to make sure that his eyes never strayed from the other sentient's face. Just because someone dressed... that way... didn't give others the right to just leer at them whenever they wanted!

At least that's what he'd learnt on Alderaan in his social science classes and in those dreadful work seminars. Didn't seem like many people followed such things here on Nar Shaddaa. Or maybe they did but just not when it came to people... of a certain profession...? He supposed it could be considered rude, in it's own way, NOT to look. Merchants often got annoyed if you didn't look at their wares so maybe the same could be said of other... um... 'goods'?

Ah Force, he was probably over thinking this whole thing as he so often did.

"Vrei." he muttered in Twi'leki, one of the languages he rather enjoyed speaking in, "I was aiming for his chest..."

Taking the advice of the green-skinned 'worker', Allard took several deep and calming breaths in an attempt to not throw up or pass out. The adrenaline was still making it's presence known with increased blood flow throughout his body. He flushed again and pressed a hand discretely over the front of his drawers to hide one of the natural, human, reactions to a spike in adrenaline. At least he hadn't wet himself!

Small mercies and all that.

He chuckled a little bit,

"What gave it away?" he questioned, still using Twi'leki, "I'm here to try and make myself enough money to show those greedy tualin kriffs back on Alderaan that it doesn't matter who my father was, or what rich old man I called 'daddy' long enough to get a house out of them."

Blinking, he rubbed his eyes a little bit tiredly,

"Apologies. I seem to be coming down from the adrenaline rush."

And saying far too much to random bloody strangers on the streets! Seriously, he was going to need to learn either how to control that or how to never get in fights again. One of those things looked more likely to happen than the other.

He gestured to the club as he started to walk towards it,

"You've been rather kind - would you care for a drink?" he offered before adding, "I don't suppose you know if the steak is any good?"

Apparently shooting someone's kneecap out, and making one bouncer a fair few credits, meant you didn't have to wait in line to get in. Entering the club, he flushed and hurried to a nearby table, noting a woman apparently very dissatisfied with the meal.

"So the steak is awful..." he noted to himself even as he tried desperately to at least look like he belonged here, "Oh boy... oh boy this place is... not like my usual haunts."

Spoiler: Language Colors

Orange is basic,

Spoiler: Language Colors

Green is Twi'leki

@Shuri @Mortivica

 

[Shuri'ani]

Ironically enough, the twi'lek considered twi'leki one of his secondary languages. It made him smirk, that the man switched to it to perhaps code their conversation from unrelated ears - or was he just trying to show off? Ah, foregneirs! They were all kinds of awkward! But one had to be patient with them. A well-cuddled foreigner was a potential credits-machine. - Wait a moment. Alderaan, rich old men, 'daddy'-calling? Oh, what a fun, this dandy coxcomb!

"Kind...?" The tukian twi'lek asked, flabbergasted, as he pushed off the lamp post where he was leaning against, only to toss the cigarette down on the ground and kill it with his (latex-covered, yes, that's right) boot. "Why, yes, of course, peedunkee. You've cut through the boredom of a fruitless night, one could say I owe you something, mh? Be it a kind word, or whatever else, tagwa. - A drink? Now you are the kind one!"

He eyed the man with unconcealed curiosity, with each step they took into the Flesh Hole and its sinful meanders. It was a sideway glance, the same way someone would peer at a strange creature coming from an alternate reality. The human sure felt out of place, sticking out like a sore thumb. Like a stain of blue in an ocean of red.

"Food is not our forte, bukee. We specialize in serving other kinds of meat, you see..." With an elegant sashaying, the twi'lek followed along, amused by the other's jittery presence. If he was going to be his guide for the night, so be it. The man looked in desperate need for a talk, for a friend, for... Anything that wasn't a pair of Rodians running after him with stun batons?

Then, he noticed the grumbling woman who apparently was having an awful time with her served food. Typical. The twi'lek never understood what people expected from a sex club in terms of cuisine. Burgers, fries, a mug of ale, what else did they expect?
The Flesh Hole's main course was something else...

"Regardless. Would you like to sit at her table?" The twi'lek knew manners, and how to be of service. Hells, he had been doing that for his entire life! Guests had to be accomodated, they were the priority above everything. Without guests, there would have been no way to pay anyone's salary, there. Those foreign arses better be thoroughly kissed. "I can get you both somethin' to drink, to wash off the bad taste of the recent happenings..." A light grin on pillowy lips, which stretched along with the 'sideway scars' cut through his mouth's edges.

​

@Nefieslab @Mortivica

 

[Rela Sesk'vati]

Credits. They made the Galaxy run. It was a fact Rela knew well and to some extent detested. He lived by the Jedi Code and this mentality about the need to acquire credits directly conflicted with one of the tenets. Passion, yet Serenity. How exactly was anybody supposed to be able to explore their passions and gain a sense of serenity when the majority of chances to do so were kept locked behind a wall of credits? These thoughts ran through his mind as he stood in line outside an establishment directed towards the pleasures of the flesh for a mild fee.

The red skinned Twi'lek glanced around him and took a deep breath, absorbing the various smells and categorizing them accordingly. Smoke. Blood. Vomit. Alcohol. Fried food. And of course the aroma of Sex. All of these hung around the building called 'The Flesh Hole' and he was quickly becoming accustomed to them. Some of these reminded him of his home on Coruscant, as a Bar Tender for his mistress. But here on Nar Shaddaa, it seemed that people were far less... classy than their Coruscanti counterparts and everything else reflected this. The line moved forward and he escaped his thoughts long enough to move closer to the doorway and the bouncer in charge of letting people in.

Rela had dressed that night in an attire that would suggest he was going clubbing or something of the like. A formerly white tank top that was stained with various colored dyes and cut off partway down to reveal his slim abdominal, fitted black leather pants that clung to him and formerly white shoes with the same treatment as his shoes. His bright Azure eyes were surrounded by black like much of his body. He was heavily marked. His face, Lekku, torso, arms and legs all featured jagged black tattoos which somehow made him more desirable to others. In particular, Humanoids seemed to enjoy his appearance. Or at least, they had on Coruscant. Regardless, in his experience people were sufficiently driven by lust everywhere in the Galaxy so he assumed they would find him desirable on this planet too.

He finally reached the door and sized up the bouncer who appeared to do the same to him. "I.D?" The bouncer grunted and Rela pulled out his documents from his pocked quickly. The bouncer looked them over before nodding him inside. However, Rela just looked at the bouncer for a few moments before speaking. "Who do I speak to about employment?" Rela's voice was accented heavily in the Coruscanti way, slightly posh while retaining a high degree of charm. The bouncer rolled his eyes. "Just go inside and ask one of the other workers. I don't have time to act as your guide." Rela simply nodded and passed into the club.

Once he'd moved through the threshold, Rela allowed a small smile to come to his features. The interior of the Flesh Hole truly did remind him of home. He could practically feel the lust in the air around him. Silently, he reminded himself that he was here to get enough credits to get offworld. It turned out not many on Nar Shaddaa were open to the teachings the Jedi Code had to offer and in fact most wouldn't even listen to him when he mentioned it. More than once, people had tried to kill him simply for talking about the Jedi. It did not end well for them thanks to his blaster and stun baton. He wasn't carrying them with him that night as he felt it may defeat the purpose of asking to be hired to seduce people.

He glanced around before moving towards one of the workers. A Green Twi'lek who seemed to be working another man. Not caring too much about interrupting but still wanting to seem polite, Rela reached out and tapped the Twi'lek on the shoulder gently as he reached him before speaking. "I apologize for interrupting. I was told by the bouncer to approached one of the workers for information about employment here?"
​

 

[Shuri'ani]

Shuri was waiting to hear the orders of his esteemed guests, when a tap on his shoulder had his eyes bolting wide. It all lasted a fraction of second: a myriad of thoughts crossed his mind, mostly guesses as to who would ever interrupt him while he was taking care of some potential clients. His right eyes was close to twitch, but it didn't. Not yet.

He turned with the flair of a moray eel ready to bite, only to find another one of his kin. A lethan at that. Well, then. He scanned the man from the top of his crimson head, to the tip of his toes, noticing that he was undoubtedly dressed to impress. People with that kind of attire didn't come to enjoy a drink and exchange the story of their lives with some random stranger. - Actually, strangers were often involved, but there was little talking.

Over the first part of the speech that followed, his expression mellowed a little. Apologize? Yeah, you better karking apologize for this, and have a karking good excuse for interrupting me while I'm serving someone. Are you going to pay for my bills, bantha-face? Luckily for everybody, the nature of his thoughts remained hidden within the meandres of his brain box.

Yet, the news that followed were possibly the most alarming set of words he had heard in the entire week. Employment? A male Lethan twi'lek? He could already have seen it happening in front of his mind-eye: all the guests going for the new exotic addition, preferring red over murky green. His monthly salary diminishing to the point of getting halvened, no tips whatsoever - of any kind - which would bring the Flesh Hole's madame to reconsider his employment. And what would that entail? Cutting on costs, of course. He'd be tossed on the streets again, whoring himself out for whatever gamorrean face chose to toss a couple of credits at him, only to strangle him for fun and leave him dying in a dump. Everybody knew that the streets offered you no protection whatsoever. Oh stars, no.

"We're not hiring men anymore. We're full as it is, but women? There's always space for them. Can you wear high heels and pretend to be one, bukee?" Was his ready answer. No chance he would have allowed this guy to become competition. No karking chance whatsoever.

"Or perhaps you'd content yourself with a spot as a bouncer, mh? Stars, I can't forget the sight of ol' Jeega and his brains splattered all over the counter table, last week. Do you have a clue how hard it is to scrub brains off? Poor bastard."

The green-skinned twi'lek turned fully towards the stranger. The black latex leathers that folded his figurine outlined every delicious shape there was to ogle, but without the presence of credits, it remained sealed in the watch but don't touch rule. His sides were releaved in al alluring curve-cut, the collarbones exposed through an ample 'V' that joined in between his pectorals, at the center of the sternum. The tight leggings, striped open on the outer thighs like tiger marks, with the difference that each mark only showed more skin.
His gleaming purple eyes narrowed, and while there was practiced friendliness in them - a guest is always a guest, right? - it was undeniable that something was brewing underneath that heavily tattooed green velvet.

"Fifty credits, and I might bother the Madame for you. - Actually, make it eighty." If the koochoo wanted information and consequentially his time while cutting through his services to others, it had to be paid. Like always, everything had a price.

@TwoSidedHeart

 

[Rela Sesk'vati]

Rela watched the other Twi'lek carefully, not saying a word as the male spoke in his somewhat theatrical way and denied the need for male workers. Then a comment about dressing up as a female. A retelling of recent events of having to scrub a persons brains off the floor followed that. Rela got the feeling that this worker felt somewhat threatened by him in his own way. Quite honestly, it was something that the young self proclaimed missionary did not understand. As his eyes briefly trailed over his green brethren's leather clad form, he let out a soft sigh. Such things were unnecessary in the grand design. Silently, he restrained himself from spouting something about the Jedi Code. Particularly the lack of a need for competition between them or a pointless territorial outlook on life due to the fact that everything would one day return to the Force.

He did not miss the fact that this mans eyes narrowed as he next spoke, requesting credits for a simple word to the Madame. Eighty credits was quite a steep price for such a task and it came off as another tactic to try and dissuade Rela from wanting to continue to try seeking employment at the Flesh Hole. It would not work. He had never been one to crumble under any circumstance throughout his somewhat storied life and now would definitely not break that streak.

"Eighty hmm?" Rela's voice was also friendly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sad looking pouch. Opening it, he quickly counted out the contents and frowned before his Azure eyes met the Green Twi'leks purple ones. "Sixty is all I have unfortunately. And I can assure you that it truly is ALL of monetary value I can offer." Honesty dripped off each word. Times were tough. Especially for somebody who spent their days doing nothing but spreading the Truth to the planets he traveled to. Closing the pouch and without a moments hesitation, Rela held it out towards the worker, his gaze never straying from the scantily clad mans face. Without missing a beat, he spoke once more. This time his voice contained suggestive undertones and he offered a lop sided smirk. "I am more than happy to offer alternatives as compensation for such a.... generous favor from a handsome being as yourself." Then he simply shrugged, eyes lighting up with amusement. "Or I can simply pay you twice and much once I start making a profit. I assume the clients can't be much harder to please than on Coruscant."

Lust and Desire were such base things after all. Easily sated. ​

@Shuri

​

 

[Shuri'ani]

"Sixty will do." Shuri extended his open palm, willing to accept the credits instead of favours of any other nature. The flattery didn't get to him, and he looked most disinterested in dwelling into any show of passion that wasn't entailing a monetary reward along with it. Prostitutes weren't bribed with sex. They already had enough of it everyday, it was nothing special to do it one more time -- and definitely not worth it, if it was aimed to fuel competition.

"Pay me twice as much? Yeah, whatever, koochoo. I wasn't really born yesterday..." He rolled his purple eyes, amethyst gems that gleamed with sudden concern and mistrust. He wasn't going to buy such a 'generous' promise. It sounded so unreliable, he was almost surprised the lethan had found the courage to utter such a vile lie, and expect it to sound believable.

Great, one more added to the list of choice. As if finding the money to buy food wasn't hard enough. As if paying for medical bills wasn't hard enough. As if spending credits for a bed spot wasn't hard enough. As if... As if... As if...

Oh, why did that have to happen? The week was going so well! No one broke a bone in him, no one mugged him, no one pushed his face into a pile of Akk-dog shit like a month ago, and he didn't even sleep in the dumpster once! It was such luxury! - But no, of course it couldn't carry on like this forever!

The green-skinned twi'lek wiggled his fingers invitingly, for he still wasn't feeling the weight of money resting atop of his palm. Yet, his expression said it all, for it was scrunched up as if he had just licked piss off a bush of stinging nettles.
"Well?"

@TwoSidedHeart

 

[Allard Keever]

If Allard ever needed convincing that he needed to hurry up and get himself some money, he'd just come on down to their establishment for a few hours and think about what else he could be doing. He could, after all, be minus his brains according to the green Twi'lek. Or, as the red Twi'lek seemed to be asking about, he supposed he could also be looking for work with his body. He was probably going to stick to using his head personally...

People would probably pay for his smarts after all, but he doubted that people would be paying for the body of a 40 year old Alderaanian who'd only managed to keep himself in reasonably good shape before arriving in this place.

Rubbing at his eyes, Allard had to admit that just looking around this place made him feel so very tired. It was full of things that he didn't really want to get too deep into. Like debt, drugs and some gambling over there in the corner! But, on the other hand, the person he was trying to become would be perfectly comfortable in a place like this. So he would have to just push through it all to become a lot more confident!

Or at least lie to himself a lot more until he felt confident.

Sitting at the same table at the rather pale woman, at the green Twi'lek's suggestion, he grinned at her in a friendly manner,

"I do hope we're not intruding - apparently this young man seems to think that we are both in need of someone to keep us company!" he joked with a little laugh, "But I do have some manners... allow me to buy you a drink."

He took out a credit stick he had made sure only held about a third of his entire life's savings. That sounded impressive before you remembered he'd had been getting fleeced by the traders here for days so it was only a few hundred. He waved to regain the attention of the green Twi'lek, probably getting the attention of them both now that he thought about it,

"Now now gentlemen..." he declared smoothly, "There's an old Alderaanian saying that applies here - drink first, then talk business! I'll buy all of us a round and we can have a friend conversation before we get all capitalist on each other, agreed?"

@Shuri @TwoSidedHeart @Mortivica

 

[Rela Sesk'vati]

Rela eyed the other male as he dropped the pouch in his outstretched hand before letting his own arm drop back to his side. He tilted his head to the side and frowned at the green skinned Twi'leks expression. He quite honestly looked like he'd just had to do the most disgusting thing imaginable and he wasn't sure if he should laugh at it or act concerned. The people out here were just so... different from those in the Core planets. Clearly it was a sign that they were more in need of the enlightenment that only the Jedi Code could offer and for a moment he reconsidered his desire to leave. Perhaps he should stay here for a little longer and continue his mission?

Chaos, yet Harmony.

He was once again reminded of one of the lines of the Jedi Code and glanced down at his left forearm where the words had been carved into his skin with black ink. The language he'd chosen for the Tattoo was Twi'leki in an attempt to bring himself closer to his roots. When he actually thought about it, Nar Shaddaa did encapsulate this tenet of the Holy scripture and considered it. He needed to endure the Chaos of the planet in order to help those he reached out to find Harmony. Apparently his moment of contemplation had given the clients that the other Twi'lek had been entertaining a moment to jump in and the Human male offered to buy them all drinks for a friendly conversation. Somehow, Rela felt that this conversation would have more implications but he did like the idea of a free drink. Especially considering that he'd just given away his entire credit balance.

"I can't speak for my future colleague, but I will definitely be accepting your generous offer." His tone was polite. He slipped into one of the free chairs at the table and offered a small smile to the woman there as well before speaking once more. "I am Rela by the way. It's an honor to meet you all."

​

@Mortivica @Shuri @Nefieslab

 

[Shuri'ani]

The twi'lek's fingers coiled around the pouch of credits that had just dropped in his palm. Oh, finally, something was going the right direction! A huge wave of relief came to his senses, detoxifying some of the worries that had been clawing at his brain.

"Thanks." He smirked at the Lethan, for suddenly his good mood had been bought for the price of sixty credits. That meant food for the next, what, week and a half? If he layed low with his preferences, of course. His mind was already travelling over the kiosk selections down the street, there was that guy who made expensive sandwiches, or then again, the old lady with the huttese noodles stand...

These people didn't understand Nar Shaddaa, nor its inhabitants. They had no idea what folks around here had to go through. They were foreigners, off-worlders, used by different standards and pampered by the lawful confines of the Core Worlds. Sixty credits were a blessing, and more than anywhere else in the galaxy, the huttese ecumenopolis was a bloody jungle. Eat or be eaten, slaughter or be slaughtered, kriff or be kriffed.
Straightforward, in its unforgiving cruelty.

He snapped back into reality after a fraction-of-seconds-long daydreaming. One could see it, the smirk on his lips, the sheer joy of having made easy money out of that - yet something creeping under the surface, something hidden and unsaid, and that he definitely wasn't willing to utter. Not yet.

"Well, then! A drink, of course! I'm Shuri, by the way -- and a Green Galaxy is what I'd absolutely love to go for, right now!" He said to Allard with a mellow grin of sincere gratitude, in a festive mood of celebration. He sat down at the table that accomodated everybody, with an easy descent of an athletic body easened into grace since years of professional dancing. "Thanks for the treat, by the way. It's appreciated. If you want to go for something local, I'd suggest huttese ale! Or you could have a Green Galaxy too. If you've never tried it before, it'll leave you dazzled!"

Shuri truly looked like he was positively glowing. While for someone his most recent earnings were a laughable misery, in his world it meant that just for a few days, he could have taken a breather. No more 'where will I be tomorrow? Where will I sleep, what will I eat?' He joyfully grinned between all of them, eager to enjoy their company, while at the same time he raised a heavily-tattoed arm - spikes and harsh geometrical ringlets crawling all around the limb - to signal over one of the waitresses of the establishment.

"Cheeka! Got four orders waitin' for ya over here!"

@Nefieslab @TwoSidedHeart @Mortivica