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- Mar 13, 2018
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Nar Shaddaa
"Lazy 8" Spaceport Casino
2104 Hours, Galactic Standard
Herrith Hendarsin
(Death Disabled, PvP/Capture permitted with both parties agreeing to fight, the norm)
THEME
A toast to death, I suppose. Death, drinks, and solace. It was always easy to lose, wasn't it Herrith? You're far used to it by now. You've grown accustomed to it. Loss is your friend, in a way. The only constant friend in a black hole of new, old, and neither. There's been so much that you've lost. A home, family, numerous people you dared to call friends and yet, here you are. Drinking away everything to the sound of a beautiful voice. As usual.
So why did it hurt so much? It was the same drink I always used, spiced rum, fancy enough to work as a sendoff and cheap enough to be approved by the scoundrels I know and knew. It was the same spaceport. The same everything. Maybe I'm finally getting soft.
Or maybe I need someone to balance this out a bit. Help null the impact.
She sat on a stool facing the bar, the spiced bottle of cheap rum in one hand that rested on the counter, the other sliding forward a credit chip. Her eyes remained locked on the counter, a smooth synth-wood top stained a deep brown. In her eyes, the face of a dying human, seared into her mind. She'd held the poor girl in her arms as she died from blood loss. A piece of shrapnel embedded in her throat, just enough to cut the jugular. The girl was young, maybe fifteen to seventeen. Short brown hair and hazel eyes, with fair skin and a wild look on her face. Till a stray concussion grenade knocked free some nails and alloys. It was quick. She was gone easy, with someone there. A better death than expected in the Outer Rim. And it was Herrith's fault. She had chosen to duck and run from a few thugs down a small alley, and had run right into the girl, evidently fleeing from fear. The fresh scrapes and cuts along the Zeltron's face proved exactly how close she'd been to sharing the human's fate.
The galaxy was too cruel. She took her cup, poured a small bit of rum into the glass, and downed it, her hands shaking. Maybe she wasn't drinking enough. Or was it too much? Hell if she knew. But what mattered was that she needed to get that image out of her head. Both of the images. One of the girl, the otherof her, stuck in an alley with a bolt burned through her chest. The drinks wouldn't cut it. She needed something. A distraction. Anything.
OOC - Just a darker oriented social thread. 'Social' as in sad stuff, and pretty much do your thing. I'm trying to jumpstart my writing again.
"Lazy 8" Spaceport Casino
2104 Hours, Galactic Standard
Herrith Hendarsin
(Death Disabled, PvP/Capture permitted with both parties agreeing to fight, the norm)
THEME
A toast to death, I suppose. Death, drinks, and solace. It was always easy to lose, wasn't it Herrith? You're far used to it by now. You've grown accustomed to it. Loss is your friend, in a way. The only constant friend in a black hole of new, old, and neither. There's been so much that you've lost. A home, family, numerous people you dared to call friends and yet, here you are. Drinking away everything to the sound of a beautiful voice. As usual.
So why did it hurt so much? It was the same drink I always used, spiced rum, fancy enough to work as a sendoff and cheap enough to be approved by the scoundrels I know and knew. It was the same spaceport. The same everything. Maybe I'm finally getting soft.
Or maybe I need someone to balance this out a bit. Help null the impact.
She sat on a stool facing the bar, the spiced bottle of cheap rum in one hand that rested on the counter, the other sliding forward a credit chip. Her eyes remained locked on the counter, a smooth synth-wood top stained a deep brown. In her eyes, the face of a dying human, seared into her mind. She'd held the poor girl in her arms as she died from blood loss. A piece of shrapnel embedded in her throat, just enough to cut the jugular. The girl was young, maybe fifteen to seventeen. Short brown hair and hazel eyes, with fair skin and a wild look on her face. Till a stray concussion grenade knocked free some nails and alloys. It was quick. She was gone easy, with someone there. A better death than expected in the Outer Rim. And it was Herrith's fault. She had chosen to duck and run from a few thugs down a small alley, and had run right into the girl, evidently fleeing from fear. The fresh scrapes and cuts along the Zeltron's face proved exactly how close she'd been to sharing the human's fate.
The galaxy was too cruel. She took her cup, poured a small bit of rum into the glass, and downed it, her hands shaking. Maybe she wasn't drinking enough. Or was it too much? Hell if she knew. But what mattered was that she needed to get that image out of her head. Both of the images. One of the girl, the otherof her, stuck in an alley with a bolt burned through her chest. The drinks wouldn't cut it. She needed something. A distraction. Anything.
OOC - Just a darker oriented social thread. 'Social' as in sad stuff, and pretty much do your thing. I'm trying to jumpstart my writing again.
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