STAR WARS: LEGACY

VIOLENT NEGOTIATIONS: chapter two

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Two years had past since he'd last been here. So much had changed, with both him and the cantina itself. Perhaps, someone would recognise him from that fateful day. Maybe, the bar would be crammed with Imperials. He took a breath to calm himself. He had to appear presentable if he was going to get (or hire) any help. The mission came first, then his fears. Having composed himself, Luke told Artoo to wait outside and stepped through the doorway and was instantly immersed.

The room was dark and dingy but illuminated by sound. Scantily clad dancers swayed their hips in ways Luke would have found tantalizing if he wasn't a Jedi. They moved to the music played by a band of eccentric, odd looking aliens. They had large beige heads and eyes round and black like a pair of big buttons. They had no noses. Instead, strange, insect like mouths had developed -  which they used to play their instrument of choice: either a Kloo Horn or a Ommni Box. On its own each band member would sound strange, but together they provided a warm and fun atmosphere to an otherwise dim and dismal bar.

Luke pushed through the throngs of visitors : folks of ill repute and unrespectable professions. He may have spent many a night here in his youth with Biggs and Wedge but things were different now. He was a Jedi - a man of noble values - he couldn't waist a moment whilst the galaxy was still grasped by the Empire. So, to cut to the chase, Luke headed straight to the bartender.

Muher was his name and he had a face like a shriveled fig; old and worn and tired of this shit. He was a rude, horrible man who was made to seem like an angel compared to his clientele. Luke hadn't missed him one bit.

"What can I get you?" It was a kind, decent question but Muher delivered it as if it was the worst curse word imaginable.

"I'm not looking for a drink," Luke replied, "I was wondering if you could give me some Intel."

"For a price." Muher replied casually, pulling a pint for himself.

The young Jedi reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, brown bag. He shook it lightly to let Muher listen to its contents clink. It was filled with Galactic credits.

Muher's eyes lit up in greed: "what do you want?"

Luke pulled Muher closer. The stench of alcohol and BO was repulsive to the point that his stomach churned. He whispered quietly (yet forcefully) into the bartender's sweaty ear.

"I'm looking for some men to help me with a job. It'll be tough so they have to be the best. The kind that won't ask questions, though. Good at what they do but crap at everything else."

Muher looked up, nodded, and said: "I know some guys like that."

The greasy, greedy, goblin of a man raised a hand... And pointed at the last people Luke had expected to see.

◼◼◼

There was a mess in Cornelius Evazan's trousers.

"Hello." Said the farm boy in front of him, "remember me?"

Pondo let out a roar of anger, raising the stump where his hand once was. He waved it at the farm boy angrily, slamming his good hand onto the table. The kid didn't move, didn't squirm, just stared the Aqualish right in his huge, fly like eyes. Once his companion was finished, Evazan said: "he says he hates your fucking guts."