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No one noticed as he spiked his drink with the spice. If anyone had noticed he still wouldn’t have cared. A hundred cantinas on a hundred worlds…it was all the same. The musty stench of vice and lethargy filled his nostrils. Beings, self-absorbed and distracted, who didn’t give a second thought to the young human alone in the corner.
Corth gave another visual sweep of the place as he had been trained to do. He then relaxed his shoulders and leaned into his booth. Sipping on his concoction he allowed his thoughts to wander to the past. So many questions, he thought, so much guilt. In his heart he knew he would never have an epiphany of an explanation of things wasting away in bars. Yet here he was, another planet, another steaming Bantha pile. He took another sip. The liquid sank and the diluted spice kicked.
The Rodians in the next booth were too loud – even for a place like this. Their honking and clicking distracting Corth from his thoughts. Furtively he checked his pistol. He wished he did not always expect the worst. But then, that’s what he had been trained to do. He repeated in his mind a thousand thoughts each one slowly crafted over the years. There wasn’t an ounce of new insight. It was the same old story - run from your past – drown your guilt – rinse, repeat. It was getting old. Corth still arrogantly felt he could find the answer through contemplation. He tried to work through the confusion: why his family was so distant? Why had the community acted so strange? I was too young of course… Then it was gone. No answer, no...
Wait…
This isn’t right. No one is that nervous while drinking Corellian ale, thought Corth as he eyed a human by the front of the cantina.
Reality rushed in and the Cantina painted itself in front of Corth once again. His senses tightened as his head lowered to appear less alert. Corth had incredible situational awareness. His mind now buzzed with data: where are the exits, is there a weapon print in this guy’s jacket, whats the nature of the crowd, what range of weaponry could this table protect against? The nervous man checked his chrono, and there it was - the suspicious character shot a glance straight to Corth. Until then he had not looked anyone else in the eye.
Ok, here we go, thought Corth. This merc was an amateur. He shambled over to a corner nearby Corth’s booth doing his best not to peer over at his target. Corth knew though…he always seemed to know. Check for others. He quickly surveyed the rest of the bar. Micro-expression drills told him a couple others in the bar might have been paying attention to the events unfolding. Then, the swoosh of a coat.
The merc was surprisingly fast. His blaster bolt passed Corth’s blaster shot and met with the empty seat where Corth had been less than a second before. Corth’s shot met with the Merc’s right aorta. Breathe. Before the merc’s body hit the ground two more blaster shots cracked the air. Fire, displace. After Corth fired he broke the plane he was on by rotating ninety degrees and crouching to a knee. The shots crackled past his head. He scanned the room. Two more, difficult to see in the surging crowd. All manner of beings scrambled for cover and cursed for spilling their drinks.
Corth saw one of the other mercs. Displace. Corth leapt behind a pillar. This merc was slower and had difficulty with followup shots. Breathe, pop out, sight-alignment, steady trigger squeeze. The motions were automatic. Corth arced his body so just his pistol and a third of his head were visible around the pillar. Corth’s bolt hit the merc center-mass. Breathe, displace. Instinctively Corth dropped to a knee and popped out the other side of the pillar to scan for the last merc. I thought there were three total…where is the third. He scanned the chaos, moving his pistol from eye level down to high ready position.
Breathe. Corth saw a reflection in a cup of a man behind an overturned table who had a blaster out. Hold breath, steady squeeze. The bolt hit the table but Corth could not tell if it penetrated. Displace. Suppress. Corth let fly a few bolts in the direction of the table as he sprinted for more cover. He had been moving closer to the rear of the cantina the whole time. The merc behind the table fired from his position but had to readjust to Corth’s new position. He was too late, Corth had the right firing angle. Corth’s follow-up shots cut through the mercs cheap armor plating. That should be all of them. Quick scan. It appeared as though the owner of the establishment was now drawing a large, archaic, weapon from behind the VIP counter. Corth bolted towards the rear exit. He burst out into the cool night air.
At least his speeder was still there – right outside the backdoor where he had parked it just in case. Corth hated always being right.
TL;DR pew pew
Corth gave another visual sweep of the place as he had been trained to do. He then relaxed his shoulders and leaned into his booth. Sipping on his concoction he allowed his thoughts to wander to the past. So many questions, he thought, so much guilt. In his heart he knew he would never have an epiphany of an explanation of things wasting away in bars. Yet here he was, another planet, another steaming Bantha pile. He took another sip. The liquid sank and the diluted spice kicked.
The Rodians in the next booth were too loud – even for a place like this. Their honking and clicking distracting Corth from his thoughts. Furtively he checked his pistol. He wished he did not always expect the worst. But then, that’s what he had been trained to do. He repeated in his mind a thousand thoughts each one slowly crafted over the years. There wasn’t an ounce of new insight. It was the same old story - run from your past – drown your guilt – rinse, repeat. It was getting old. Corth still arrogantly felt he could find the answer through contemplation. He tried to work through the confusion: why his family was so distant? Why had the community acted so strange? I was too young of course… Then it was gone. No answer, no...
Wait…
This isn’t right. No one is that nervous while drinking Corellian ale, thought Corth as he eyed a human by the front of the cantina.
Reality rushed in and the Cantina painted itself in front of Corth once again. His senses tightened as his head lowered to appear less alert. Corth had incredible situational awareness. His mind now buzzed with data: where are the exits, is there a weapon print in this guy’s jacket, whats the nature of the crowd, what range of weaponry could this table protect against? The nervous man checked his chrono, and there it was - the suspicious character shot a glance straight to Corth. Until then he had not looked anyone else in the eye.
Ok, here we go, thought Corth. This merc was an amateur. He shambled over to a corner nearby Corth’s booth doing his best not to peer over at his target. Corth knew though…he always seemed to know. Check for others. He quickly surveyed the rest of the bar. Micro-expression drills told him a couple others in the bar might have been paying attention to the events unfolding. Then, the swoosh of a coat.
The merc was surprisingly fast. His blaster bolt passed Corth’s blaster shot and met with the empty seat where Corth had been less than a second before. Corth’s shot met with the Merc’s right aorta. Breathe. Before the merc’s body hit the ground two more blaster shots cracked the air. Fire, displace. After Corth fired he broke the plane he was on by rotating ninety degrees and crouching to a knee. The shots crackled past his head. He scanned the room. Two more, difficult to see in the surging crowd. All manner of beings scrambled for cover and cursed for spilling their drinks.
Corth saw one of the other mercs. Displace. Corth leapt behind a pillar. This merc was slower and had difficulty with followup shots. Breathe, pop out, sight-alignment, steady trigger squeeze. The motions were automatic. Corth arced his body so just his pistol and a third of his head were visible around the pillar. Corth’s bolt hit the merc center-mass. Breathe, displace. Instinctively Corth dropped to a knee and popped out the other side of the pillar to scan for the last merc. I thought there were three total…where is the third. He scanned the chaos, moving his pistol from eye level down to high ready position.
Breathe. Corth saw a reflection in a cup of a man behind an overturned table who had a blaster out. Hold breath, steady squeeze. The bolt hit the table but Corth could not tell if it penetrated. Displace. Suppress. Corth let fly a few bolts in the direction of the table as he sprinted for more cover. He had been moving closer to the rear of the cantina the whole time. The merc behind the table fired from his position but had to readjust to Corth’s new position. He was too late, Corth had the right firing angle. Corth’s follow-up shots cut through the mercs cheap armor plating. That should be all of them. Quick scan. It appeared as though the owner of the establishment was now drawing a large, archaic, weapon from behind the VIP counter. Corth bolted towards the rear exit. He burst out into the cool night air.
At least his speeder was still there – right outside the backdoor where he had parked it just in case. Corth hated always being right.
TL;DR pew pew
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