Post by kellaishleya on Jul 27, 2009 0:26:02 GMT -5
ooc// This is mostly for my own personal amusement... xD But if inspiration strikes you, please don't hesitate a moment to hop on in. //
Some things just don't go together. Bitter and Sweet. Narglatch and Kushiban. Yet, inevitably, it seems that these things manage to pull themselves together, if only for the reason of spitting in the face of stereotype.
And it was one such event that brought those seven people to the same table. People that had no business being together. Assassin, Rogue, Jedi, Noble, Dark Jedi, Smuggler, and Gungan. And yet, they were. Such is the mischief of the Galaxy.
"Why am I having a hard time believing that?" Grizzelda asked jokingly, directing a sly look toward Garou, that wizened Besalisk who was an old, old friend. He'd been like an eccentric uncle when she was younger. An eccentric uncle who was also a smuggler, and let her play with any weapons she wanted. Oh, and had four arms.
"On my honor!" Garou Bleu chuckled, deep voice rumbling across the table. The wattle at his throat shook with good humor as he raised his top two hands in a motion of emphasis. "You should have seen the look on his face when he opened the box." Several drinks had lightened the Besalisk's mood considerably, and he was much less the serious business-man, and more the mischievous uncle.
"But your honor's worth what, three credits?" Glem quipped, her violet eyes flashing with sarcasm. Despite the bite in her tone, she really was in a good mood. Which was a very rare occasion for the tormented Gungan. This had been a surprisingly pleasant night. Which, of course, meant thinks would be like Hell later. But Glem chose to ignore that for now.
Grizzelda laughed good-naturedly. She laughed easy and teased much, especially after a drink or two, which was the current case. "You could never match Rembrant here, though. I hear he's killed more men than a Narglatch has teeth." She shot him a teasing glance and a flirtatious wink, despite the fact that he was twelve years her senior. 'twas just the way Grizzelda did things.
"Hmm." Rembrant growled. He was not enjoying himself. He never enjoyed himself. The Arkanian flicked opalescent white eyes around the Bar, watching for any signs of danger. Or any chance of escape. The sight of the dancers was revolting to him; he had eyes only for his wife, though she was long gone from this Galaxy. And killed by his own hand. The persistent anvil of guilt returned, much to Rembrant's annoyance. He offered no more information to the boisterous table. He had more important things to think about, and how he'd been drug here in the first place, not even he knew...
"I think you should tell us one of your stories," Sheera whispered to Grizzelda. The slight Nagai had a sharp, deadly look to her, and disaster so very long ago had claimed the bulk of her voice; she could never talk above a whisper, even if she was motivated to do so. It seemed that Grizzelda and Rembrant were the only ones unshaken by her bone-chilling tone.
"Ah, I've no stories, only facts. But you'll be hard pressed to worm them out of me. Much more entertaining to hear them from other people." Grizzelda raised her eyebrows in a confident manner, eyes twinkling.
Garou chuckled. "That's just because you don't have anythin' entertainin' t' say! How 'bout you Miss Sellah, do you think she can be persuaded?" He turned his eyes upon the Selonian, looking somewhat stony in her seat.
Sellah's muzzle was twisted into an expression somewhere between interest and annoyance. "I think this is a waste of time," she said, "Petty bickering just to prove who's best. If you have to prove it, fight with fists, not words."
Garou chuckled and looked at Grizzelda, who joined in the laugh. Apparently, Sellah had hit the vein of some private joke. At this the Selonian scowled; she wasn't joking, she'd been serious. Hm.
Grizzelda, by far the most outgoing of the group-- except, perhaps for Garou-- seemed to be leading the conversation, and she shifted gears once more. "So, November," she said, turning hazel eyes upon the only one who had yet to speak, "Where are you from originally?"
"Bah!" Garou interrupted. "You only want to brag and say she's from Corellia."
"A woman's not allowed to be curios?"
"Heh, you've always got a nice, pretty set of ulterior motives."
Grizzelda smiled slyly, but made no retort. So perhaps the Besalisk was right after all. Her attention she directed back to November, ignoring the scowling four-arm.
"Don't listen to Garou, his head's full of Bantha Poodoo, and that's all that comes out."
November shook her head. She was still getting used to the idea of emotions and this... this playful teasing was entirely beyond her. Maybe she'd catch on after a bit. Surely it subscribed to some sort of pattern, just as everything else did.
"I don't remember," Was her answer to Grizzelda's question. And it was a question that November was still trying desperately to solve. The curiosity, which she'd been spared during her days at Green Meadows, had suddenly appeared like a starving wolf, and now consumed most of her thoughts. Who was she? Where was she from? What purpose was there in her life...
Grizzelda watched November's eyes glaze over, and she realized the woman was fuzzing out again. She chuckled lightly, leaving the woman to think in peace. These ponderings could last November hours...
"She's a talkative one," Glem muttered.
Grizzelda was finally beginning to really enjoy herself. She kicked her chair back on two legs, propping feet upon the table. "Ho!" She hailed the bartender, "Treat us to another round!"
Some things just don't go together. Bitter and Sweet. Narglatch and Kushiban. Yet, inevitably, it seems that these things manage to pull themselves together, if only for the reason of spitting in the face of stereotype.
And it was one such event that brought those seven people to the same table. People that had no business being together. Assassin, Rogue, Jedi, Noble, Dark Jedi, Smuggler, and Gungan. And yet, they were. Such is the mischief of the Galaxy.
"Why am I having a hard time believing that?" Grizzelda asked jokingly, directing a sly look toward Garou, that wizened Besalisk who was an old, old friend. He'd been like an eccentric uncle when she was younger. An eccentric uncle who was also a smuggler, and let her play with any weapons she wanted. Oh, and had four arms.
"On my honor!" Garou Bleu chuckled, deep voice rumbling across the table. The wattle at his throat shook with good humor as he raised his top two hands in a motion of emphasis. "You should have seen the look on his face when he opened the box." Several drinks had lightened the Besalisk's mood considerably, and he was much less the serious business-man, and more the mischievous uncle.
"But your honor's worth what, three credits?" Glem quipped, her violet eyes flashing with sarcasm. Despite the bite in her tone, she really was in a good mood. Which was a very rare occasion for the tormented Gungan. This had been a surprisingly pleasant night. Which, of course, meant thinks would be like Hell later. But Glem chose to ignore that for now.
Grizzelda laughed good-naturedly. She laughed easy and teased much, especially after a drink or two, which was the current case. "You could never match Rembrant here, though. I hear he's killed more men than a Narglatch has teeth." She shot him a teasing glance and a flirtatious wink, despite the fact that he was twelve years her senior. 'twas just the way Grizzelda did things.
"Hmm." Rembrant growled. He was not enjoying himself. He never enjoyed himself. The Arkanian flicked opalescent white eyes around the Bar, watching for any signs of danger. Or any chance of escape. The sight of the dancers was revolting to him; he had eyes only for his wife, though she was long gone from this Galaxy. And killed by his own hand. The persistent anvil of guilt returned, much to Rembrant's annoyance. He offered no more information to the boisterous table. He had more important things to think about, and how he'd been drug here in the first place, not even he knew...
"I think you should tell us one of your stories," Sheera whispered to Grizzelda. The slight Nagai had a sharp, deadly look to her, and disaster so very long ago had claimed the bulk of her voice; she could never talk above a whisper, even if she was motivated to do so. It seemed that Grizzelda and Rembrant were the only ones unshaken by her bone-chilling tone.
"Ah, I've no stories, only facts. But you'll be hard pressed to worm them out of me. Much more entertaining to hear them from other people." Grizzelda raised her eyebrows in a confident manner, eyes twinkling.
Garou chuckled. "That's just because you don't have anythin' entertainin' t' say! How 'bout you Miss Sellah, do you think she can be persuaded?" He turned his eyes upon the Selonian, looking somewhat stony in her seat.
Sellah's muzzle was twisted into an expression somewhere between interest and annoyance. "I think this is a waste of time," she said, "Petty bickering just to prove who's best. If you have to prove it, fight with fists, not words."
Garou chuckled and looked at Grizzelda, who joined in the laugh. Apparently, Sellah had hit the vein of some private joke. At this the Selonian scowled; she wasn't joking, she'd been serious. Hm.
Grizzelda, by far the most outgoing of the group-- except, perhaps for Garou-- seemed to be leading the conversation, and she shifted gears once more. "So, November," she said, turning hazel eyes upon the only one who had yet to speak, "Where are you from originally?"
"Bah!" Garou interrupted. "You only want to brag and say she's from Corellia."
"A woman's not allowed to be curios?"
"Heh, you've always got a nice, pretty set of ulterior motives."
Grizzelda smiled slyly, but made no retort. So perhaps the Besalisk was right after all. Her attention she directed back to November, ignoring the scowling four-arm.
"Don't listen to Garou, his head's full of Bantha Poodoo, and that's all that comes out."
November shook her head. She was still getting used to the idea of emotions and this... this playful teasing was entirely beyond her. Maybe she'd catch on after a bit. Surely it subscribed to some sort of pattern, just as everything else did.
"I don't remember," Was her answer to Grizzelda's question. And it was a question that November was still trying desperately to solve. The curiosity, which she'd been spared during her days at Green Meadows, had suddenly appeared like a starving wolf, and now consumed most of her thoughts. Who was she? Where was she from? What purpose was there in her life...
Grizzelda watched November's eyes glaze over, and she realized the woman was fuzzing out again. She chuckled lightly, leaving the woman to think in peace. These ponderings could last November hours...
"She's a talkative one," Glem muttered.
Grizzelda was finally beginning to really enjoy herself. She kicked her chair back on two legs, propping feet upon the table. "Ho!" She hailed the bartender, "Treat us to another round!"