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Order up!
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| Slayd_Solomon | Date: Friday, 31 Jul 2015, 1:08 PM | Message # 1 |
 Ensign
Group: Users
Messages: 11
Status: Offline
| "On Order, guys! Four Mad CoCo, all well Rebel, hold the Topato, one no Lettuce." A young Wroonian female, nineteen, sang out over the sizzle and crack of burning flattops and gurgling deep friers.
"FOUR Rebels?!" Jai'galaar growled, the texture of his voice rough as the former life he had been created for.
"Burnt crispy, " The Wroonian re-assured the retired Clone.
He bellowed a deep laugh, dabbing sweat from his brow with a scar-laden forearm. "Just the way Rebels are meant to be!"
"How's that Greasy Gorg coming?" A Human girl quickly cut in as she blended a Wasaka Berry Milkshake, "I don't want to make this Wookiee wait, any longer. . . "
Slayd, while jabbing an oily burger turner under a grease snapping meat patty, lobbed a quick grin over his shoulder. Black and gold hair matted from the heat between the spacing of his Devaronian horns. "Did he want that Fringe style?"
"Sure does, " She replied, dousing a copious amount of melted, specially imported, Kashyyykian Fudge over the large beverage she had been working on.
"Far Fringe Gorg, coming. . . " With a skillful flip, the meat found it's way on to it's blue Smuggler's Moon Bun, it took mere seconds for Slayd to expertly dress it up all nice and pretty before, from beneath the counter, he produced a wide-bodied silver shaker, the Fringe element. An in-house blend of narcotic spice seasoning -- sure to induce the euphoric pleasantry that every night should begin with. "Order up!" the Devaronian announced, sliding the neon blue basket of food across the preparation counter to the girl.
"Slayd, there's a guy outside for you, says he's Cartel" One of the other Wait Staffers announced, "Says he needs to ask you some things?"
"Well then, " Slayd huffed casually, plucking the completed ticket from the last order from the window before he spiked it on to a mile high mountain of similarly discarded pieces.
The Devaronian gave the battered Clone a nudge on the shoulder, replacing the cooking utensil he had been utilizing on a silver hook below, on the open side of the range. The two didn't need to share words, they had worked together on this project for over a year now -- Slayd Solomon was a well-known individual in the dark underworld. With information and contacts all across the Galaxy. Local lowlifes of all manner and variety routinely made stops to the establishment -- and not simply, or always, just for the best burger eats in the whole Galaxy.
Mad-Eye Jai's had indeed become quite the booming success, with an open, RetroClassic Interiour. Checkered white, red, and blue floor. High curve backed booths, small square two-and-four seater tables. A lengthy neon-lit bar-counter, and of course a one of a kind Jukebox jiving the greatest hits from as far back as 300 BBY. It covered a staggering amount of business every day, sometimes requiring multiple restocks in ingredients -- something that had overwhelmed and nearly caused a Red Sector Riot in the opening months.
As he carted through the paddock of edacious customers sleekly, he gave nods to recognized Spacers, and flickered a mysterious grin at a human family -- the two children quickly seeking comfort in to the nook of their parents sides. His appearance had a way with enticing unease in that species in particular. He had no doubt these were the monsters that ordered a well-done CoCo. They were probably from Naboo. . .
Through the door, out in to Solomon's Alley, his stride carried him surely. The Red Sector, or Red Light Sector as it was officially known -- though to call it this automatically labeled you an outsider, and was as sure a way as any to guarantee yourself a rough, or deadly evening -- was a fairly unique place. The Hutt Cartel ran a heavy security presence in the tourist section, for the most part. But it resided outside Cartel Law. Left to unruly Gangs and Up-and-comers, a place where you could earn your stripes before moving in to the big leagues. It was also second only to Zero Point Zerek for your one stop place for all manner of illegal ware and business.
Solomon's Alley itself housed many of these buildings. Body Mods, Implants, Spice, of course it had lost most of it's luster in the many centuries it existed -- it's neon sheen far dimmer than the other areas. But one day it would be his entirely. Although when his Grandfather, Saladyn, would pass it on, he still questioned what he would do with it anyway. Or if he'd even bother trying to return it to former prominence. His Grandfather owned stake in territory and businesses all over the Galaxy after all.
No matter, he thought, inhaling one deep, pleasant breath of stale, polluted air -- the smell of freedom.
"Solomon, " A sickly thin, green man spoke up from the shadows under an overhang from the adjacent building, his black -- or perhaps it was dark blue -- flightsuit three sizes too big. "Looking for some people, Solomon." He yammered on in a hushed voice as Slayd walked closer to him, using an overly baggy sleeve to wipe snot from his nose.
"A light?" Slayd replied simply, producing a folded book of matches from a pocket behind his grease spattered apron. He scratched the head of one match as his arm extended forward, with a pointed fingernail. As the man fumbled oafishly for a means to spark another Death Stick.
"By Njon, yes. . . " He purred in relief, averting his eyes away from the devilish features of Slayd as the flame wreathed him in eerie clarity.
"You were saying?" The Devaronian continued, waving the match out.
"Yeah. . . y-eah." The Cartel lackey said, looking over Slayd's left shoulder. "Humans, group of humans. They killed someone they shouldn't have."
"Oh?" Slayd followed the direction the man had chosen to focus towards. "There's a group right there. . . and there."
"Come on, Solomon. You're supposed to be the guy, they all say it. I need some help here, I need some names to bring back. I know you wanna leave, help me, and I'd make sure Njon got you a ship, a nice one."
"No deal, come back when you have more than a promise to trade." Slayd concluded thusly.
Message edited by Slayd_Solomon - Friday, 31 Jul 2015, 1:23 PM |
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| Davon·Vanden | Date: Tuesday, 04 Aug 2015, 0:50 AM | Message # 2 |
 Officer
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| Mara, married. To Ransom, no less. If his brain was a computer it would have crashed several times over from trying to process that fact.
He walked with his hands tucked into his blazer's hole-ridden pockets, thumbing at the lining as he kept in step with the Captain. Exhaustion had finally caught up to him; he walked hunched over and with a morose expression, a wilting cigarette hanging uselessly between his lips. Every so often he would stop, ponderous and staring off into space, before falling back into a trudge. He couldn't quite tell what was eating at him so; it certainly wasn't Mara, it couldn't have been. Maybe it was the knowledge that Ransom had emerged triumphant in their little waltz. In the back of his mind, clawing against the little cage he often banished his demons to, Mara's words stuck with him.
You're playing monkey to Rawls, again.
He hadn't forgiven the Captain, but pragmatism had forced his hand. As a team, they stood a much better chance of survival than they ever did alone, and he needed off Nar Shaddaa. Rawls had informed him that his apartment had already been tossed, his jacket collection burned to a tragic pile of ash. The one that truly mattered had been spared, thankfully, but it took a special kind of madman to assault a man's wardrobe. Whomever the Anjiliacs had sent to clean up Edda's operation, they weren't keen on Vanden ever returning to the Smuggler's Moon.
Davon's stomach burned, and it occurred to him then that he had skipped meals entirely, that day. He had been too focused on finding Mara and dealing with the resulting trauma from the image of her and Ransom happy together. Marital bliss, two words that seemed alien whenever he repeated them over and over in his head.
"Hungry," he finally muttered, casting his eyes over to the Captain as they walked. "You hungry?"
Davon Vanden
Navigator of the Aphelion
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| Aaron_Rawls | Date: Tuesday, 04 Aug 2015, 2:52 AM | Message # 3 |
 Ensign
Group: Users
Messages: 22
Status: Offline
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Rawls nodded, finding it less painful than trying to speak. True, he'd taken worse hits than the one Mara had served up, but it was rather emasculating being knocked to the floor by a girl in heels. It was his pride that hurt worse than anything. But yes, he was hungry, and had been so for hours. "Place up ahead called 'Solomon's.' Has decent food," he lied. Rawls had been born on the Smuggler's Moon, and to the extent he'd grown up in any one place besides the cargo hold of his father's ship, it had been here on Nar Shaddaa. As a child, Rawls had eaten at Solomon's Shake Shack far more than he cared to, his father having some sort of business understanding with the restaurant's owner—probably smuggling illegal ingredients past well-intentioned Republic health inspectors. But he hadn't been there in many years, and with all that had transpired in the past day, Rawls wanted something familiar to eat.
Comfort food, they called it.
(Didn't mean it was any good).
Buying Davon dinner might not have been recompense for what Rawls had done to him and the rest of the crew, but it was a start. Rawls hadn't been as ready as Davon had been the night before to catch up on old times, but perhaps now he could give it another try (especially now that both of them were stunned by the revelation of Mara and Ransom's marriage. Rawls had once read in Imperial Astrographic that many Humans on Dantooine were part-Dantari, and he'd shuddered to think of what unholy congress had brought about that state of affairs. But Mara and Ransom? That was just wrong).
Rawls stopped, confusion on his face. "'Mad-Eye Jai's?'" he said, looking at the unfamiliar sign on the familiar restaurant. "Used to be 'Solomon's.'" Change of management, then. Perhaps that famous author from Naboo whose name Rawls couldn't remember had been right when he wrote, 'You can't go home again.' Prices are probably higher too, a voice inside of Rawls warned. But he was hungry and tired of being on his feet. He shrugged and went inside.
Parts of the restaurant looked familiar, but most of it didn't. The faux 'retro' tiles on the floor and the lighted neon trim along the bar were new. His ears twitched at being accosted with the song 'Detention Block Rock', which even Davon's saintly, white-haired, possibly non-existent grandmother would have considered old-fashioned. At least the place smelled good—much better than he remembered, in fact. And with this sector of the Smuggler's Moon considered more-or-less outside of Hutt jurisdiction (insofar as anywhere in the Y'Toub system was outside of Hutt jurisdiction), he and Davon could reasonably expect to dine there safely.
Aaron Rawls
Captain of the Aphelion, sort of
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| Slayd_Solomon | Date: Tuesday, 04 Aug 2015, 10:29 AM | Message # 4 |
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Ensign
Group: Users
Messages: 11
Status: Offline
| Aaron Velsi, the unparalleled King of Rim Rockabilly Music, or simply, Rim-Rock. It never went out of style, no matter how many decades limped by. With the current craze for Jizz bands like Figran D'an and The Modal Nodes devouring the air waves, Cantinas and Clubs. Slayd considered it his sworn duty to spread the gospel of days long forgotten. Of course, the Kloo Horn also had a strange affect on his cybernetics. He likened it to a Rori Bark Mite Larvae wiggling it's way around in his cranial cavity--feasting fiendishly on his brain tissue.
By this hour, transient tourist crowds and fervent foodie HoloBloggers had waned considerably. What was left were the typical array of Underworld fixtures. Hard, dangerous men and women, fresh in from months adrift in the cold black pools. Staggering, bumbling locals, strung out, hung out and looking to reel in from their various nightly rituals--drugs, sex, alcohol and a spot of murder, or three. It was to say, same as any seedy Cantina, they were amoung likeminded individuals here. Two sentients just looking for a good bite.
"Evening boys, welcome to Mad-Eye Jai's " A sultry, over sexed voice strode in over the crooning verses and murmured conversations. "I'm Cyri, I'll be your server tonight." The blue-skinned Wroonian purred, her uniform as vintage as the interiour of the establishment they resided in. Pale blue legs stretched out for a mile from beneath a skirt so short, it barely existed. It's hemming flared widely with a crinoline under-cage, leaving nearly nothing of the erotically shaped girl to the imagination. Her shirt, equally as revealing, plunged deeply--it was a true test to keep your eyes away from the bulging canyon of cleavage that rose from beneath the satin-sheen of fabric that struggled to contain her. From her apron appeared two menus, printed on a holographic datasheet, which she placed directly in front of Aaron and Davon with an obvious, and shameless bend over their table.
"For a special this evening we have the Flirty Zeltron, which is two Prime Plus Zeltronian Forest Bantha Patties, Slayd and Jai have shipped in from Zeltros--only place off planet that gets them. They come on a crunchy Zeltronian Sesame Seed Bun, with pink lettuce, caramalized amaranth Zel Onions. And smoked purple Gouda Cheese. It's one of my fav's, " She said with a casual wink and flip of her soft green hair, before adjusting her pin-on hat. "It'll run 9 credits, only 4 deci-creds per additional patty though, and comes with your choice of sides and shake." She continued, fishing a ticket pad and pen from her apron pocket.
Message edited by Slayd_Solomon - Tuesday, 04 Aug 2015, 10:41 AM |
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| Davon·Vanden | Date: Tuesday, 04 Aug 2015, 9:15 PM | Message # 5 |
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Officer
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| Sultry was one word for it. Davon’s eyes were inexorably fixed upon the parts of the waitress’ body that the uniform was designed to funnel a gaze toward, and like most of the types in ‘Mad Eye Jai’s’ that time of night, he was unapologetic about it. Normally he would have had a line on reserve, ready to fire at a moments' notice, but as it stood he was either too tired or too distracted to muster any sort of flirtatious energy. He fell into step behind the waitress, allowing himself a glance at her rear as they were led along.
"Think I know why y'came here so often," he muttered back to the Captain, grinning.
They were herded over towards a booth and set up at the far side of the diner, their ears assaulted by what could only be described as some form of audible torture. He found the decor quaint, if nothing else, reminding him of simpler times even though times for him were hardly ever such.
Their entry drew no wayward eyes, compared to most Rawls and Vanden actually looked fairly normal. Still, best to err on the side of caution, he took the seat facing the door and kept his holster unclasped. Rawls shuffled into the booth across from him, and Davon turned his attention to the beautiful girl trying her best to make a living wage. He took the menu with a thankful nod, setting it down on the table before him and puffing at his cigarette, studying it intently before handing it back to her.
“Special sounds fine t’me,” he answered with his trademark grin. “Just vegetables and a whiskey to go with it, if you could.”
Davon Vanden
Navigator of the Aphelion
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| Aaron_Rawls | Date: Sunday, 09 Aug 2015, 10:26 PM | Message # 6 |
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Ensign
Group: Users
Messages: 22
Status: Offline
| He was, of course, distracted by the waitress, as most red-blooded, Human males would be. But Rawls had let a woman distract him once before, and she'd robbed him of everything he'd ever cared about. His eyes lingered in the most appealing places for an appropriate, or at least not terribly inappropriate amount of time, but he also instinctively glanced about the room to see if any of the patrons was taking as much of an interest in them as Davon was in the waitress's breasts. But no one seemed to have it in for them. It was perhaps his curse that Rawls was doomed to look over his shoulder before he could so much as enjoy a meal.
He hadn't been listening to most of what Cyri said, though Davon might have noticed Rawls rolling his eyes when she mentioned a 'Flirty Zeltron.' The thought of Sena threatened to ruin his appetite, as she had ruined so much else. "Can I just get some terk hide and nuna eggs, sunny side up?" he asked, "And a beer. Something Corellian, if you have it. But cheap."
He was unapologetically cheap, as Davon would know. He had a simple, some might say poorly-developed taste for food (as you'd expect of someone who'd grown up in a cargo hold eating most of his meals out of cans). He spent credits as sparingly as a self-employed smuggler could reasonably expect to receive them, having occasionally to do without a job for a month at a time. Njon had paid the 'Sky Judge' more than Rawls was accustomed to, but bounty hunting wasn't the life he wanted for himself.
It wasn't often that he was reminded of the fact that Davon had grown up very differently from Rawls, but he knew the boy preferred finer foods that he himself had any appetite for. That was fine—he had enough money saved to buy Davon a decent meal.
"Hey," he said to the waitress as she turned to leave, "Is this place is still run by a Devaronian, name of 'Solomon'?" Of course, Rawls was referring to the elder Solomon—Slayd's cousin Alyxsandr, who Rawls remembered from his youth. But Cyri had no reason to know that. A misunderstanding was bound to ensue. "I think he knew my father," Rawls explained unhelpfully, as much to Davon as to the waitress.
Aaron Rawls
Captain of the Aphelion, sort of
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| Slayd_Solomon | Date: Tuesday, 11 Aug 2015, 11:19 AM | Message # 7 |
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Ensign
Group: Users
Messages: 11
Status: Offline
| "One FZ, veggies and a whiskey." She said smoothly, her voice pausing just a moment as her teeth clenched her succulent lower lip and she tossed a hypnotizing wink Davon's way. Young as she may have been, her knowledge of the male psyche--and anatomy, for that matter--far exceeded her years. "And a. . terk hide, nuna egg, and Corellian ale." Her response to Rawls was unmistakeably flat, nearly entirely void of the hyper sexual enthusiasm she had been carrying herself with thus far. He was one of those types, undoubtedly used to this sudden and rapid response from the female gender. This tip likely wouldn't exceed much more than the lint and dirt from his pockets.
"Well, " She began, tearing the order slip from her ticket pad. "Jai'galaar technically runs the place, he's a Clone from the Wars." She informed, feeding the ticket book and pen back in to her apron pocket. Her eyes lingering for a moment on Rawls before she hopped her glance back over to the younger--arguably more attractive human male, that was Davon. "It's still Solomon owned though, yeah."
After a moment more of staring at the young Navigator she lofted her sights upwards, barely able to catch a glimpse of Jai and Slayd at the flat top through the shoulders of two massive Herglic patrons at the glowing bar counter. It wasn't uncommon for individuals to ask about the Devaronian--just earlier someone connected to the Cartel had come around looking for him. Since Mad-Eye Jai's had opened, Slayd really had grown his reputation as an information broker. Selling dark intelligence, and lending his extensive list of contacts and formidable Underworld knowledge to those who could pique his interest in equal trade.
Of course the threat of Bounty Hunters always loomed on the horizon, but Jai kept a DC-15a behind the Counter, there was still an old tallow stain on the wall near the jukebox from a foolish little Duros that decided he'd test his luck on some old Core World posting that remained active.
"You boys just sit back and relax, I'll be right back with your drinks." As she turned, and her hips began to sway stride by sensuous stride towards the counter. She followed up briefly to Aaron, "I'll let Solomon know you were asking after him!"
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| Davon·Vanden | Date: Tuesday, 11 Aug 2015, 9:41 PM | Message # 8 |
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Officer
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| Oh, Rawls was unabashedly cheap, but since it often cut down on their tab and also made him look good by comparison, Davon absolutely loved it. He tossed the waitress a wink as she stared, figuring she could wring a larger tip out of him than she could of the Captain. She was right. "I'll have the nicest label you got, on that whiskey." Davon said suddenly, hawkish gaze sliding over to the Captain for a moment, the smile on his lips fleeting. "He's paying, after all." He settled back in the booth, crossing a leg up so that his foot rested over his knee in a self-assured, cocky sort of posture.
"Thank you, sweetheart," he said with a grin, watching overlong as she sauntered away, putting extra sway in her hips. Once she was out of earshot, he let out a chuckle. "Mmh, that one wants a good tip," he said at length, cocking his head back over to Rawls. "Picked the wrong man to lay the charm on. See how quick she turned back to me?" Reading people was always one of his greatest assets, even if he got it wrong more often than he would care to admit. And that was never, because Davon Vanden never admitted her was wrong, about anything.
"You sure drawin' eyes to us is a good idea?" He finally said, studying Rawls' reaction. "Last thing we need is this place's owner sayin' 'Oh yeah, I saw that devilishly-handsome criminal and his alcoholic dad, they passed through an' talked to Solomon.'"
Davon Vanden
Navigator of the Aphelion
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