The comlink faded to black, tired of staring at a blank screen, fingers typing keys only to not hit send. He thought about reaching out to old friends, his partners, his comrades, but the old man had resigned to drift like the dust, fading away on the frontier.
Give me enough of these and my whole night will fade to black. He should have felt proud about cutting back on his whiskey lately, sipping his first glass that night in a Corellian cantina, but he only felt weak.
Jilrean Black, the bourbon was called. The bottle on the shelf had a black gold label, amber nectar behind it, tasted like burnt apricot with a sweet caramel finish.
The patron savored the sip on his stool, desiring to become little else in the cantina as he blended in with the crowd. It’s no Ranger they see…just a man in a black coat.
The bar was busy, bustling with many patrons more, many of them new arrivals from the ships entering the spaceport.
Zad was one of them, having been in the city for a few days, but somehow felt like he had only just walked off the boat that very morning.
What becomes of time but to bite the dust? Those words were a tad too flowery for his tongue, some Jedi had once recited them, but suddenly they bit his brain as he gazed at the viewscreen, saw a Zabrak news anchor, but saw a different woman. Aemi…
There were mornings when Zad Ruzed never saw her face, days when he never thought of her, but there were evenings when she crept so close, nights when it was all the old man could do to see. I’m sorry, Aemi… I’m sorry.
He took another sip, this one longer than the last, and stared at the bottom of the glass. The bar’s music was apt, guitar strings strumming the threads of eardrums, bouncing memories between a dusty Ranger’s ears. They couldn’t hear as well as they used to.
A knuckle drummed on the counter, the bartender making the glass whole again, as Zad’s comlink vibrated and showed a woman’s name, but it was a different woman.
She would be here shortly, another lost soul like this one, maybe. She was also a soldier like him, in her own way, with her own battles, her own enemies.
Ranger… Mandalorian… Shield or helm, we’re just protecting what matters most. Tonight they shared the same enemies and the same battles.
Lips sip from glass as a hand slips behind a long leather coat, fighting the memory of those fingers being as slender as a woman’s, grasping a black gold badge.
It meant something once, but the handle at his hip meant something more. Even if we have to kill to protect. With blaster, with knife...with dagger.
@Sicadorito
Give me enough of these and my whole night will fade to black. He should have felt proud about cutting back on his whiskey lately, sipping his first glass that night in a Corellian cantina, but he only felt weak.
Jilrean Black, the bourbon was called. The bottle on the shelf had a black gold label, amber nectar behind it, tasted like burnt apricot with a sweet caramel finish.
The patron savored the sip on his stool, desiring to become little else in the cantina as he blended in with the crowd. It’s no Ranger they see…just a man in a black coat.
The bar was busy, bustling with many patrons more, many of them new arrivals from the ships entering the spaceport.
Zad was one of them, having been in the city for a few days, but somehow felt like he had only just walked off the boat that very morning.
What becomes of time but to bite the dust? Those words were a tad too flowery for his tongue, some Jedi had once recited them, but suddenly they bit his brain as he gazed at the viewscreen, saw a Zabrak news anchor, but saw a different woman. Aemi…
There were mornings when Zad Ruzed never saw her face, days when he never thought of her, but there were evenings when she crept so close, nights when it was all the old man could do to see. I’m sorry, Aemi… I’m sorry.
He took another sip, this one longer than the last, and stared at the bottom of the glass. The bar’s music was apt, guitar strings strumming the threads of eardrums, bouncing memories between a dusty Ranger’s ears. They couldn’t hear as well as they used to.
A knuckle drummed on the counter, the bartender making the glass whole again, as Zad’s comlink vibrated and showed a woman’s name, but it was a different woman.
She would be here shortly, another lost soul like this one, maybe. She was also a soldier like him, in her own way, with her own battles, her own enemies.
Ranger… Mandalorian… Shield or helm, we’re just protecting what matters most. Tonight they shared the same enemies and the same battles.
Lips sip from glass as a hand slips behind a long leather coat, fighting the memory of those fingers being as slender as a woman’s, grasping a black gold badge.
It meant something once, but the handle at his hip meant something more. Even if we have to kill to protect. With blaster, with knife...with dagger.
@Sicadorito