Music IC
Excarga. One more backwater planet in the Outer Rim that was home to a caliber of colorful characters, from the miners toiling the world for an iron crown to the desperate and destitute, all amid the dirty and the depraved. One of their establishments was typical enough with one of those fancy rules: “You do not talk about fight club.”
Well, the truth was that somebody always talked. That silly buyblaster had done as much as he lay shackled and bolted in Anvil’s hangar. “Oh no, oh no, oh please don’t, Madam Mandalorian! I need my fingers for pazaak!” | “But you don’t need your tongue for singing, right?” In the end, the singing gambler had lost nothing, unless one counted information which, in some respects, was more valuable than fingers or a tongue combined.
One side of the story later and here Anvil was, looking up at the night sky of Excarga with a golden hue bathing the atmosphere and clouding the stars. It was likely a byproduct of the mining output that waged war with the planet day and night, the miners never sleeping—much like a little underground underworld where fighting was the game and currency was the name. She pursed her lips at it, that flickering neon sign that read “Blarb’s Bar” in an otherwise nondescript street of a forgotten town, sucking air between her teeth from behind the visor of a Mandalorian helmet.
After entering the cantina, it was a free shot downstairs into the gambling establishment, though eyes were all over her armor the entire way even as Anvil’s eyes were on the establishment. An audience was going wild as two Shistavanen fought each other in a caged ring. Each time their hands connected with flesh and bone, there was a spark of electricity or something-such, indicating that the force field had pushed either opponent back upon the blow while still dealing nerve signals. Cute, I guess. Well, less savage, at least?
There were also guards aplenty, none of them terribly interested in anyone who was not breaking the rules, and Anvil had no mind to as she approached the receptionist—a female Zabrak standing behind steel bars.
“I’m looking for Tresk Nall,” Anvil declared. “I think he’s the Quarren who runs this pit?”
“Yeah?” The Zabrak snorted. “What, you after an appointment? Only way you’re gonna meet with Tresk is by winning a cage match, Mando.” She nodded toward the two Shistavanen who continued to pummel each other. “Or did you miss the sign outside that says the winner gets an audience with the owner?”
Anvil had indeed. She shrugged at the receptionist, following her gaze toward the ring. “That so?”
With that, Anvil headed into the ring just as one of the fighters emerged victorious and both departed.
“Hey!” The Zabrak called out behind her. “You can’t wear armor in there!”
By the time Anvil arrived, standing head to toe in her red-gold beskar, she looked around at the crowd behind her T-shaped visor and blurted out.
“What? No one out there willing to face me?”
@JMSix
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