Post by yarrick on Jan 26, 2008 13:21:44 GMT -5
A tall, brawny Talosian mutt sat by himself in the corner of the run-down cantina, partially hidden by the shadows given off by the dim lighting of the bar. Nursing a bottle of whiskey in one hand, his eyes kept careful watch on the rest of the bar, patiently waiting for his next contract.
Though picking up contracts for hire at a cantina was sketchy at times, the clients he dealt with were discreet and like himself did not want to be found by the authorities. Posting his services publicly meant risking another run in with Talosian Peacekeepers or Confederate Authorities, and he found himself lucky to have been one step ahead of them the last time armored figures came looking for trouble.
He was also getting tired of being stuck here. Work had been slow lately, and he needed someone who could pay atleast part of the commission up front so that he could purchase drive plasma to get his bucket of a freighter flying again.
He sipped on the liquor, then reclined in the chair which creaked in protest under his weight. He started to daydream to himself; if he got enough from his next commission, he could replace the nav computer which was jury rigged together in a birdsnest of wires, and could short out for good at any moment.
Yarrick perked his ears and sat back up as he saw a few figures enter the room. The figures were not armored and were not wearing military uniforms, atleast not that he could see from where he was sitting. He also did not recognize them as “regulars” to this place.
He had been, afterall stuck at this station for nearly two weeks, and had memorized the faces of all the Humans, Recoms, and Aliens alike who made it here regularly and either had no reason for leaving or nothing to offer for cargo; or had already their own means for transport.
Hope once again sprung up that they perhaps might be in the market for something, and he could be out of this backwards frontier trading post. Perhaps they came in here looking specifically for him and looking for trouble, with the bounty on his head.
He patted his holstered Talosian plasma pistols as he considered this. It was always a risk one had to take in his profession, and he was able to talk or fight out of most situations; atleast so far.
Yarrick kicked himself up from the table and landed his large, heavy military boots to the ground with a thump. Leaving the bottle of whiskey on the table behind him, he re-adusted his rimmed hat and walked over to the bar closer to the newcomers, and leaned against it; casually glancing to his new potential clients.
Now standing near the entrance to the Cantina; Yarrick’s brawny, tall frame now stood out like a sore thumb. He simply smiled and tipped his large, rimmed hat to the newcomers as he splayed a cheerful canine grin on his thick muzzle.
Whether these strangers were looking for a ride or looking for trouble, he would soon find out; and he was prepared to deal with either.
Though picking up contracts for hire at a cantina was sketchy at times, the clients he dealt with were discreet and like himself did not want to be found by the authorities. Posting his services publicly meant risking another run in with Talosian Peacekeepers or Confederate Authorities, and he found himself lucky to have been one step ahead of them the last time armored figures came looking for trouble.
He was also getting tired of being stuck here. Work had been slow lately, and he needed someone who could pay atleast part of the commission up front so that he could purchase drive plasma to get his bucket of a freighter flying again.
He sipped on the liquor, then reclined in the chair which creaked in protest under his weight. He started to daydream to himself; if he got enough from his next commission, he could replace the nav computer which was jury rigged together in a birdsnest of wires, and could short out for good at any moment.
Yarrick perked his ears and sat back up as he saw a few figures enter the room. The figures were not armored and were not wearing military uniforms, atleast not that he could see from where he was sitting. He also did not recognize them as “regulars” to this place.
He had been, afterall stuck at this station for nearly two weeks, and had memorized the faces of all the Humans, Recoms, and Aliens alike who made it here regularly and either had no reason for leaving or nothing to offer for cargo; or had already their own means for transport.
Hope once again sprung up that they perhaps might be in the market for something, and he could be out of this backwards frontier trading post. Perhaps they came in here looking specifically for him and looking for trouble, with the bounty on his head.
He patted his holstered Talosian plasma pistols as he considered this. It was always a risk one had to take in his profession, and he was able to talk or fight out of most situations; atleast so far.
Yarrick kicked himself up from the table and landed his large, heavy military boots to the ground with a thump. Leaving the bottle of whiskey on the table behind him, he re-adusted his rimmed hat and walked over to the bar closer to the newcomers, and leaned against it; casually glancing to his new potential clients.
Now standing near the entrance to the Cantina; Yarrick’s brawny, tall frame now stood out like a sore thumb. He simply smiled and tipped his large, rimmed hat to the newcomers as he splayed a cheerful canine grin on his thick muzzle.
Whether these strangers were looking for a ride or looking for trouble, he would soon find out; and he was prepared to deal with either.