| abstract | - To say that the dig is an utter mess, would be a severe over exaggeration. Broken furniture is scattered from one end of the dig to the other. Talon marks are dug deeply into the bar, anybody with good knowledge about alien physiology would recognize them as Trandoshan claw marks. Several wounded sentients sit about, others lying down. Bent over a bloodied Corellian is a short blue twi'lek, applying first aid in order to save the man's life. The Twi'lek himself does not look anything spectacular, beyond the fact he himself looks relatively unharmed. His white jacket has a tear in the front, but there are no signs of any wounds. Blood covers his fingertips as he gently tends to the corellian's knife wounds. Sweat rolls off of his brow as he works feverishly. If anything, a look of guilt can be seen on his face. Truthfully the brawl would not have happened if he had not goaded the Trando. Certainly the big lizard was looking for a fight, and would stop at nothing until he had one. However, Alistair could have just of easily avoided him and everything would have been fine -- nobody would have gotten hurt. That's a barroom brawl, for you. Alistair does not look up from his own drink, "Yeah. I spent a good part of my life there." Some of the blood from the wounded man remains stained on the twi'lek's fingers as he sloshes the sand colored drink about on the bar. Slowly the blue man brings it to his lips and then pauses to take a strong whiff of the drink. He then proceeds to down the drink in a single shot, quickly slamming the glass back onto the bar top. It is obvious in the twi'lek's face that he hadnt had alcohol in a long while, and that it burned something mighty. Alistair however does not flinch or voice any complaint, he simply sits sullen. The smuggler nods, impressed that the Twi'lek could actually take the drink. Though he would be surprised if the alien ordered another. Krackor, however, would very much like another and he raises his hand to signal to the bartender to refresh his glass. While he waits, he turns back to the Twi'lek. "That so? The settlements aren't small, but I would think that I'd recognize a face. I lived there for a good twenty years, at least." J'Eeves walks into the bar, the only one in the sector to sell Kubindi Congac. It was an important and tradiational part of any Smitherbodkins party, and their regular supplier had gone out of business. As he walks into the destroyed bar, a look of horror crosses his face. He turns back, calling out the door, "Perhaps you should wait outside, sir. I am afraid it is not quite the facilities that you are accostomed to." The Kubaz then steps into the establishment, trying to not look as disgusted as he is, and makes a roundabout path to the bar, trying to avoid the broken furniture. The gentleman that enters after his trusty valet looks about as out of place as an elegant rose in the middle of a field of weeds. He looks around, his lip curling with distaste as he surveys the disarray within the bar. "Not at all, J'Eeves. I refuse to wait outside; I will not be cheated like the previous time." If this bartender thought he could get away with shorting their order again, he had another think coming. Smitherbodkins had not pressed the issue, before, being a gentleman. But two times would be too much. He begins striding toward the bar, purposefully, sweeping off his hat, trying not to bump into any of the rather disheveled patrons. After all, his shirt was quite expensive, and one little bit of dirt could ruin it forever. "Well, I was really young .. and I did my best to keep to the shadier parts, if you know what I mean." Without much hesitation the short blue twi'lek orders another drink. "Was hiding from a minor Hutt gangboss who operated out of the smugglers moon. Tatooine was a good a home as any." Alistair does not seem to really notice the entrance of J'eaves or Smitherbodkins, though his stern features are softened quite a bit since the encounter with the trandoshan. "I actually think the slug is dead now." He offers a shrug, "Eh. Good riddance." Krackor casts a glance back at the newcomers, raising an eyebrow at their appearance. Not the usual for a place like this. He then turns back to the Twi'lek. "That so? Tatooine is a good ways from Nar Shaddaa. And the back end of nowhere. But then, everyone knows that. Still, its strange that I never saw you. But so many faces go in and out of that place, its hard to keep up. And I'm getting too old to try and remember all of them." He grins, lifting his new glass and taking the shot, showing no signs of the alcohol effecting him other than a slight tightening around the eyes. Long distance to Pierrot: Smitherbodkins would be interested in getting the book from you whenever you are free, after I finish this scene. Striding up to the bar, the Kubaz gives the scratched wood a thump with his fist. "Eight large bottles of your finest Kubindi Cognac, please, my good man!" the valet demands. "They should be delivered to the Smitherbodkins estate, Kartathia Manor, in the heart of the city!" He waits a moment for acknowledgement, but the bartender is currently occupied getting Alistair his new drink. J'Eeves clears his throat. The waiting seems to be filling Smitherbodkins with rage. His eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches slightly, hand curling into a fist at his side. Finally, he cries out, "Sir! This is unacceptable." Turning to the little Kubaz, he continues, "I will not be ignored, J'Eeves!" He looks back to the bartender, snapping his fingers, his tone cold. "I find this unacceptable. You may have the finest Kubindi Cognac this side of the Core, but I assure you, sir, you cannot afford to lose my business!" The bartender finally looks over, and, nodding, he turns to go get the cases for him, rolling his eyes when Smitherbodkins can't see him. This seems to satisfy the gentleman, for he seems to calm, once again looking at the Kubaz next to him. "How is the menu coming, J'Eeves? I trust that you have been able to satisfy our guest of honor's demands!" A chuckle forms in his throat, "It would be unwise to anger him, after all." "Yep.. giant sand ball in the middle of nowhere.. I consider it a second home to Nar Shadda." It is around this point that Alistair realizes that Smitherbodkin's is there. For a moment he blinks down into his new drink -- maybe the stuff was stronger than he thought! He was hallucinating! The twi'lek takes another shot but shoes more reaction this time, his neck visibly tightening up. Rubbing his eyes, Alistair takes another look. Dear god, he was not hallucinating! Smitherbodkins was in the Dig! Uncertainty of whether he ought to be amazed or scared could be read on the twi'lek's face. "Why, Hello there sir." Alistair greets Smitherbodkins, "I didn't think I would ever catch /you/ in a place like this.." The smuggler shakes his head. The Twi'lek seemed to be his opposite. Where Krackor called Tatooine home and Shaddaa his second, the Twi'lek was Nar first and Tat second. "Thats pretty interesting. I've also spent alot of time on the Smuggler's Moon. If you're from there, then I'm sure you've heard of Com-Cor. Hell, even if you're not from there. We had stores all across the galaxy." He takes a drag on his spice and follows the Twi'lek's gaze to the newcomers. "The menu is coming along splendidly, sir, although you would not believe how difficult it is to find Yatian Frogs this time of year. Who would think that frogs would have a season? Did you know that Yatia is tropical half the year and frozen the other half? Apparently now is a frozen time of year. A pity for the frogs! But I hear that they are the favorite of our honored guest," J'Eeves replies, watching the bartender warily as he disappears into the back to retrieve their cognac. As the Twi'lek greets his master, the valet falls silent, as any good valet should, and steps aside. "Delightful, J'Eeves, delightful," the gentleman says, obviously not paying much attention to the valet's answer. As long as the frogs were on order, he was not interested in the details. Those pesky environmentalists did put up quite a fight against him ordering all the frogs, but of course, they were just jealous because they were not invited. "It would be simply horrid if anything went wrong." After all, he had a reputation to uphold. The Twi'lek's words catch his attention, and he turns in the direction of the voice, scanning for its source. His eyes fall on Alistair, and a smile lights his face. "Good evening, my friend!" he booms, stepping toward him and his unknown companion, nodding his head in a jovial manner. He nods lightly, glancing around the bar once more, "Yes, I try to avoid it...but the proprietor certainly does provide excellent liquor. What can I say? Only the best will be allowed at my little soiree." If Smitherbodkins would notice anything, it was the sad shape the twi'lek was in. If he felt that the encounter on Coruscant was bad - this was unimaginable. His white jacket is ripped, torn apart by some sort of claw. Blood stains that he could not quite clean away using the 'Digs facilities can be spotted as plain as day on his hands. Alistair tries not to pay much note to it, he never did when it concerned anybody else -- why he felt any different before Smitherbodkins was a mystery to him. "But of course. I realize that I had said I may not have been able to make it, but it seems I may have an opportunity. Though I'll have to splurge a few credits for a new outfit and find a place to stay .. otherwise I would appear quite disheveled!" Krackor looks from the Twi'lek to the well dressed human and his Kubaz. It seemed that the Twi'lek's tone changed slightly when the human came over, which was odd to the smuggler. He turns to give Smitherbodkins a good once over, smirking at his attire. That type was certainly not common in the Dig. Leaning against the bar, he waves one hand to the 'tender, signaling for another drink, while using the other to hold the spice stick inches from his face; making it easier to take a drag when he pleased and still inhale the smoke with the spice inches from his face. The bartender returns from the back room carrying several large bottles of the ordered cognac and places them on the bar. "No, you brute! Do you expect us to carry them ourselves? I said we wanted them delivered! Delivered in two days time to the manor!" J'Eeves clearly got a little hysterical with the help when things did not go his way. But, as he addresses his master, his voice changes back to that of the professional valet, "Sir, I could prepare the guest room for your friend, if you wish," gesturing to Alistair. "No reason for him to stay in...this part of town." He sniffs derisively. "Splendid, my friend!" Smitherbodkins is clearly quite enthused at the Twi'lek's new revelation, as he claps him on the shoulder, fairly beaming. "I certainly hope that you will attend. I have some things planned which you may find quite interesting. And of course, you must peruse my library!" Though his attention is distracted by J'Eeves' outburst. Normally, he might be a bit annoyed at the valet's rather forward manner, but he clearly agrees with him, this time. What did the horrid man think they were, common pack mules? He heaves a sigh and turns back to Alistair, shaking his head as though in dismay for the future of a galaxy inhabited by beings such as the idiot bartender. "But of course, you must stay with me!" He nods, as though the matter is completely settled. "How one could bear to rent a room in a place like this is beyond my comprehension. You must accept, my friend. I will not accept anything else!" He chuckles, but then his gaze flicks to Krackor, and he blinks, realization dawning on his face. "But I seem to have interrupted a meeting! My most profound apologies." He inclines his head in a slight bow to the other man. "Just another bar mate," Alistair says, gazing towards Krackor. He had not even gotten the man's name. Turning back, "I would be more than honored. I would even transport this cognac for you, it would be a rather quick and simple endeavor." Hell, thought Alistair. Why not. It would be comfortable, and it was someplace to stay. The twi'lek still could not explain why he had decided to come on a whim, maybe he could find out while staying with Smitherbodkins. The blue man stands up from his seat at the bar. "Simply allow me to fetch my bag and new garments and I'll transport this to your home.." he pats the bar. "Though if you could upload directions to my datapad that would be excellent.." Bowing his head, Alistair hurries out of the 'Dig, but not before casting Krackor a clever wink. Krackor returns the man's look with one of curious amusement. When the Twi'lek starts speaking again, the smuggler's eyes move back to the alien, noticing the wink but unsure of what it was for. Then again, Twi'leks were rather strange and he was more accustomed to their women than their men. He hoped they weren't THAT similar. Shaking his head, he turns away from the departing Alistair to this Smitherbodkins again. "So, you are very obviously not from around here," he says, gesturing around the bar. "What brings you into this little cove?" The Kubaz pulls a datachip out of his pocket and presents it to Alistair before he departs, with information about the location of the manor and the delivery procedures. "Please be sure to use the delivery entrance," he instructs seriously. But then, hearing his cue from Krackor, J'Eeves leaps in between Krackor and Smitherbodkins. "May I present Lord Geophreigh Smitherbodkins IV, of Corellia." He bows and gestures towards his master. As his arm is extended to indicate Geophreigh, he notices that some blood from the bar brawl has gotten on his sleeve. He lets out a stifled screech and rushes to the bar. "Sir! Some soda water! Immediately!" Into the smokey cantina enters a cloaked figure whos crimson, tatooed lekku drape down his back languidly. Quietly at the entrance, the Twi'lek takes a general survey of the cantina before stepping forward and heading towards the bar through the crowds. Past a Gammorian thug and two swoop gangers he goes, then through a gathering of smugglers. One at the bar the Twi'lek orders himself a drink as he stands and leans cassually at the bar. A green liquid in a mug is served to Tyy'sun and he pays the bartender. Quietly he observes the goings on as he pulls a small pouch from his satchel and begins placing its contents on the bar next to his drink. He notices Krackor and Smitherbodkins quickly enough from his vantage. J'Eeves as well catches his attention and a momentary flash of amusement gleams in Tyy'suns blue/gray eyes at such high class individuals within such gritty environs. Inwardly he wagers their chances of getting out of her unmolested. He takes a sip of the drink. The man holds out a hand to Krackor as J'Eeves rattles off his introduction, his smile widening as he says, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Any friend of Alistone's is a friend of mine." Somewhat ironically, the name he remembers is not, exactly, his friend's actual name. But he cannot expected to remember the names of -everyone- whom he meets. J'Eeves' squawking does not go unnoticed, however. How could it? He is probably screeching loud enough for the whole planet to hear him, and maybe some of the other worlds which share the same sun, as well. "J'Eeves, this sort of behavior is unacceptable!" Waving for the bartender, he points to his valet, saying curtly, "A soda water, immediately! If your establishment has such a thing!" He shakes his head, "I cannot abide this sort of behavior, J'Eeves! You may not sully your uniform in such a manner. I told you not to touch anything!" He turns back to Krackor, giving him a very 'we understand each other' sort of look, and says, "It is so hard to find good help these days, do you not agree?" Krackor's eyes drift away from the overdressed man and to the entrance as another being makes his way inside. This one, Krackor recognizes. Tyy'sun. Odd, that he'd run into that Twi'lek, here. Especially after just meeting him elsewhere. Well, the Dig was a popular spot for their kind to stop. He tosses up a hand in greeting to the Twi'lek before turning back to Smitherbodkins and J'Eeves. The greeting causes the old smuggler to grin. "Is that his name? Well, we just met tonight. But thanks for the warm welcome, anyway." Krackor looks at the outstretched hand, a touch of amusement in his eyes; but he does not offer to shake. At Smither's comment, he can only shake his head. "Oh, I suppose it depends on what kind of help you're looking for...." The bartender brings a glass of soda water and practically slams it down onto the bar. It meagerly fizzles at all the jostling. Clearly, the soda water was quite flat, and was probably from a bottle opened nearly a week ago. The glass, as well, has splotches on it. Miracuously, however, the water was more palatable looking that what he had been served at the Headquarters Cantina on Coruscant. "Sorry, sir. It was quite an accident. I am sure I can get it out." He knew that dry cleaning or, worse yet, a new uniform, would come right out of his next paycheck. He dabs water onto his sleeve where the bloodstain is, looking quite upset. Who knows what kind of diseases he might catch from such contamination. Tyy'sun remains in his position at the bar for the moment, crafting from the contents of the pouch a hand rolled cigar between sips of the green liquid and observations of the cantina. Inwardly he concentrates on the conversation between Krackor and the out of place aristocrates. He had just seen the tall Krackor not long before, and a coincidence to find him in another system is not lost on the Twi'lek. His senses hone as he concentrates, and though he does not look directly at them, his hearing heightenes considerably and his mind filters out the walla of the crowd, the voices of Smitherbodkins, J'Eeves and Krackor becoming loud and clear to Tyy'sun. Smitherbodkins raises an eyebrow as he looks at his outstretched hand, then at Krackor, but without comment he takes it back once again. Hanging out in this establishment, he could see why the man would be reluctant to touch anything. He smiles, nodding as though the man had agreed wholeheartedly with him, even though he really had not. "As for what I am doing here, well, that is a simple matter. I am procuring some fine liquor for a gathering that I am having in a few days' time. It shall be quite modest, but I certainly would never show my guests anything less than an excellent time." A thought seems to strike him, and he says, offhandedly, "You simply must attend. J'Eeves, procure this fine gentleman an invitation." Not noting the Twi'lek sitting rather a distance away from him, Smitherbodkins simply waits for J'Eeves to hand over the invitation. After all, he does not have the fortune to be blessed...or cursed...with an ability in the Force. He simply nods to Krackor, and says, "I do hope that I shall see you there." Krackor's brow goes up again, this time in amusement at this Smitherfacehisglands. "Well, thats quite an honor, friend. Especially for someone like me." He grips his spice stick in his teeth and smiles wide. Glancing down at his clothes, which are mostly dirty and torn, he can't help but chuckle. "I've never been one to turn down a party. And I like how you invite just anyone." He grins again, shifting enough to display the two MX blasters on his hips, as well as the bi-polar carbine draped over his chest. "But hows, this...I'll be there. Might be fun. Whose this party for, anyway?" From his position at the bar, the Twi'lek smirks from behind the now lit cigar, the smoke which wafts off the tip adding a distinct aroma of spice to the already smoky environs. Lekku twitch with calculation. So.. the old money was showing off a rare new artifact. He would have to attend the party of course. Perhaps the rare tome would compliment his own library on New Kala'uun. Or perhaps there was more to this Lord Smitherbodkins than priviledged pomp and uselessness. Regardless, the Twi'lek reaches into his satchel and produces a small complink which he speaks into with low tones, "Lars, unload the air-speeder and put the case of bootleg Lum in the rear compartment. There is a back alley behind the Smuggler's Dig Cantina. Wait there." Slowly the Twi'lek stands from the bar, grabs his drink and cigar and steps towards Krackor and the high class fellows. "Well well." he says with a smirk to Krackor, "I didnt know you kept such distinguished company, sir.. " he says, looking Smitherbodkins and J'Eeves with an obsorbing downcast gaze. Krackor takes the invitation, eyeing it for a moment before drawing his eyes up to J'Eeves and Smitherpumpkins. "You're interested in the B'omarr, are you? Well, maybe its a good thing we met afterall. You know, I used to live among them? The sept on Tatooine, anyway. Can't say they were the friendliest folk I'd ever met, but then again, their company wasn't so bad; compared to what else you might run into." His eyes drop slightly as he falls back into memory. After a few moments, he shakes his head. "Anyway, I wouldn't mind taking a look at that book, myself. If its ok with you. I'd like to see how much is actually true and how much is made up." As Tyy'sun comes over, Krackor leans back into the bar, putting his foot up on a nearby barstool and reclining back with his drink in hand. "Neither did I, my friend." He straightens slightly, offering a mock bow to the human and his Kubaz. "This is Smokerboxins and his friend Ch'eese. High class lords holding a party up at Kartathia Manor. In Coronet." He grins, turning back to Smither and J'Eev. "This is a friend of mine. He's into the arts and all that. Alot more than I am, anyway. I like a good painting, but I see art differently than most people." "Indeed," echoes the gentleman, if he could actually be said to echo anything. "I have coveted the book many a year; the man who owned it finally decided to part with it." He chuckles as he says this, as though enjoying some private joke, and elbows J'Eeves lightly, "It was only a matter of time. But there will be other, more interesting happenings there. I do not imagine that many people are as interested in my books as myself." Though Krackor's interest seems to surprise him, to say the least. "Are you now! Of course, you may look at it. As long as you are careful!" And as long as he cleaned his hands, but that would hardly be polite to mention. The arrival of the new Twi'lek catches the gentleman's attention, and he turns to him, blinking in surprise. Didn't Alistair just leave? And how did he get so tall all of a sudden...realization dawns on him, and his expression clears. Obviously, this was a different Twi'lek. Curse them all for looking alike. "Good evening, my good man!" he exclaims, setting the end of his rather ornate cane down on the ground and resting his hands on it absently, fingers interlacing over the handle. He looks Tyy'sun over, almost calculatingly, "An art enthusiast, you say? Then perhaps you would like to attend, as well." As we have already demonstrated, J'Eeves is an excellent valet, and as his master extends an invitation to the Twi'lek, the Kubaz pulls another ornate invitation out of his pocket and presents it to Tyy'sun. "I do hope you can attend," he says politely before stepping back and examining the stain on his sleeve fretfully. The soda water had not helped to get the blood out, and J'Eeves did not like to look sloppy. Krackor does not miss what this Snifferdumplins means when he says to be careful about looking at the book. Of course, Krackor was used to being associated with the 'unclean'. Such was the price of living like he did. Not that Krackor was hard up for money. Quite the opposite. The smuggler had more than enough to settle down in a fine establishment on almost any planet. Only...he would rather live in his ship. He would rather travel from one place to another. That was Krackor. The businessman was gone. The romantic was gone; mostly. Now he was a smuggler. A vagabond. A drifter. Yet he had enough to live off of. And more. "You know, Smitherpopcorns, I think I would really enjoy your party. And you look like a man of fine tastes. Perhaps I could interest you in a few items of rare quality?" He grins. Life was casual. Casual was life. And business was always. Tyy'sun takes the invitation in hand and nods to J'Eeves, then looks to Smitherbodkins, "Art... " he glances at Krackor briefly, "Is of the essence." there is a mocking quality inserted somewhere in that low tone. "I would delighted to attend, but I'm afaid I may be too busy attempting to find a buyer of some of the finest bootleg Lum this side of the Core. Work first, as they say." he laughs somewhat sardonically. "Fine liquers is not my normal business - but on occasion I have been known to push some along for a friend of mine." The Twi'lek takes a long drag of the cigar. J'Eeves sniffs at the mention of bootleg lum. Smitherbodkins would never serve imitation or less than top drawer liquor at his party. Certainly nothing illegal! Smitherbodkins was a man of the highest honor, and J'Eeves was certain that he would never break the law. "HIS NAME IS SMITHERBODKINS!" J'Eeves erupts at Krackor as he calls his master Smitherpopcorns. "Please pay attention! Geophreigh Smitherbodkins!" How could such a dirty looking man disrespect his master this way?? Unacceptable. Chuckling a little at J'Eeves' outburst, Smitherbodkins gives him a somewhat indulgent smile, patting the little Kubaz on the head. "J'Eeves sometimes get carried away," the man says, looking to Krackor and raising an eyebrow. "BUt he has been with my family for many years; I could never reprimand him." Clearly the man does not remember his previous outburst. He seems to be a very fickle gentleman, indeed. "Perhaps we could speak of business at a later date," he continues, though he looks intrigued at Krackor's offer. "I would certainly be interested in knowing what you have to offer me." After all, one never knows what one may find. Tyy'sun's mention of liquor, however, also seems to horrify the man. "Lum...well, I tend not to partake in imbibing that swill. But I suppose it will have to do, for the unwashed masses." He had much finer tastes, after all. Krackor grins. "Well, perhaps we could go over a few things at another time. However, I think most of my business will be done over the weekend." He turns to Tyy'son, nodding slightly before going back to Smutherbumkins. "I'll do my best to be at your party. And with a fresh supply. And if for some reason I am unable to make it, I will undoubtably see you somewhere close by." He grins again, first to Tyy'son, knowingly, then to the others. "Grinning, he downs his last shot and stands from the bar. "A pleasure to meet you all," he says with mock serenity. "Until it is lost and then found afgain; long after this lifetime." Tyy'sun takes a sip of the green liquid, "you seem to miss the point, gentlemen - fine bootleg lum is a rare swill.. rare enough to warrent an illegal stamp due to Corporate pressure on governments to clamp down on citizens distilling their own cultured fineries. It plays a cultural role as well as occupy an eccentric position on theblack market. Any party celebrating the presence of rare and eccentric artifacts would do well to offer an artistic tribute to the struggle of the common drinking man in the form of a case of fine bootleg lum." The smell of burning spice wafts through the air around the crimson Twi'lek - and now that they are closer, Smitherbodkins and J'Eeves may realize that he in fact is not so much like Alistair. Though his lekku are also tatooed, his skin is parched and deep - sun baked. His eyes are a striking blue/gray and contain a ferral intensity behind them. His shoulders are squared and his posture suggests a boldness unbecoming Alistairs calm natured presence. "Good evening," Smitherbodkins says to the retreating back of Krackor, smiling lightly as he turns to J'Eeves. "What an interesting man, wouldn't you agree?" His mind is clearly on the business propositions that he was offered; he strokes his chin, thoughtfully. It never hurts to keep one's avenues open. Tyy'sun's blatant attempt to sell his rather uninteresting booty is met with a hearty laugh from Smitherbodkins. He slaps his knee, as though enjoying a very amusing joke. And to him, it clearly is. "My good man...your advice is duly noted. But I believe I have everything under control. I am quite capable of planning my menu." He pats the Twi'lek on the shoulder companionably, unaware of any sort of animosity that he may harbor. Certainly he could have none toward Smitherbodkins. Tyy'sun's eyes narrow as Smitherbodkins touches his shoulder. A keen ire lifts from the depths of the Twi'lek's gut as he is touched. He doesnt like to be touched. The aristocrat doesnt know that of course; is just being friendly. But Tyy'sun also doesnt like aristocrats. Strike number two. And then there is that ego problem crime lords often have - especially the wealthy ones who think they are on the top of the galactic food chain. Being laughed at is a big no no. Of course Smitherbodkins could have no idea the spacer garbed Twi'lek standing in front of him is anyone commanding any sort of respect. Why would a crime lord attempt to sell junk booze to a high class man such as Smither Bodkins anyways? Whatever the answer, it is pointless to continue deliberations. "Lum not good enough for you?" he says darkly. Turning suddenly towards the bar Tyy'sun shouts to the bartender, "A bottle of lum and a shot glass!" anger evident in his tones. The bartender quickly produces the demanded bottle and glass, setting them on the bar next to Tyy'sun. The crimson Twi'lek levels a stern gaze on Smitherbodkin, "Try it.." he says, "You'll like it.. " J'Eeves is still quite distracted with scrubbing at his uniform, but is only succeeding in spreading the stain around, so that it is not smaller, but instead bigger than it was before. Bigger but paler, as it is spreading out, as these things go. The paler does not do much to alleviate J'Eeves's fretting in the midst of the growing bigger problem. Finally, he decides to just ignore it until he gets home, and not think of all the bloodborn diseases he may have contracted from getting some on his shirt. "Master will not have lum! I will drink it to save him from a horrible fate! A fate worse than death!" J'Eeves was probably a goner anyway, what with his new bloodborn disease. He would sacrifice himself. Tyy'sun's new demeanor is finally not lost on the elegant gentleman. His eyes narrow, as well, and he glances to the bar, though with no intention of taking the shot of lum, obviously. He would sooner die than subject himself to something so base as that. Waving to the bartender, he shakes his head, giving him a meaningful glance. He may be aristocratic...but this is his planet. And what he does not know about it is not worth knowing. Turning back to Tyy'sun, he says, his tone as polite as ever, but distinctly colder, "No thank you, my good man. Though your offer is truly generous, I believe I will have to pass, this time. "J'Eeves, be quiet. You will certainly not be drinking anything tonight. You know how you get." He must have forgotten the last time. But Smitherbodkins certainly hadn't. "And stop smudging around that stain. We will get it out when we return to the house." Before the bartender can retrieve the bottle and shot glass, Tyy'sun has already scooped them up in his arms, and steps towards Smitherbodkins in an overtly challenging manner. The top of the bottle is uncorked and a shot is poured as Smitherbodkin's attempts to control J'Eeves, but the Twi'lek's mind seems to be quite made up on the matter. The bottle and now poured shot are slapped down onto a table by the bar, a table right next to them. Tyy'sun looks expectantly at the scoffing Lord Geophreigh. "You will take the shot of lum.." a deadly serious expression besets him, "And you will express your appreciation for its delicate qualities, or I will personally shove it down your throat." he hand slips downward and unfastens the holster at his hip, and he spreads the cloak away from that area of his body, revealing the weapon to the pair. J'Eeves looks between his master and the shot of lum on the table in a conflicted manner. Before Smitherbodkins can stop him, the Kubaz valet leaps towards the lum and gulps it down. The taste makes him cough and cough for a moment before he grabs the cup full of soda water and drinks it down as a chaser. Then he coughs some more. "Dreadful! It tastes like sweat socks distilled in pine needles!" Then he takes a long look at the blaster Tyy'sun is displaying. "Er, it is quite a delightful combination, of course." Before Smitherbodkins can reply to the arrogant Twi'lek, J'Eeves has jumped in and saved the man from a truly horrible fate. Although Smitherbodkins didn't really look too worried, in the first place. The pronouncement of the taste of the lum brings a dry smile to the lips of the gentleman, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "A very accurate description, J'Eeves...although I imagine that it would have something of a drainwater undertone." He turns his attention back to Tyy'sun, his expression cold, his lips pressed in a thin line, all signs of previous mirth and good humor gone from his visage. "You may put that away, my good man. Your display of bravado does not impress me, and I am certain that the proprietor of this fine establishment would not want any more unscheduled events here, tonight." The Twi'lek may not know about the previous brawl, but Smitherbodkins certainly does. Tyy'sun immediately grabs the bottle and pours another shot after J'Eeves impales himself on the one meant for Smitherbodkins, "Quite alright, plenty for everyone!" he says in mock cheer, crimson tatooed lekku twitching with agitation around his shoulders. "Another shot glass!" he calls to the bartender. The newly poured shot is pushed towards Smitherbodkins, "I am glad you have come to your senses and agree to avoid a confrontation. Drink it..." The blaster is still in sight, and if Tyy'sun appears to think an unscedualed event in this particular joint would pose a problem for anyone, he does not show it. Considering the state of the place, and its reputation, Eson does not even blink at the comment. He holds the aristocrat's gaze solidly, challengingly for a long moment, "..... now." J'Eeves was never one to hold his liquor very well, and the potent combination of sweatsocks, pine needles, and drainwater has already begun to work its spell on him. The Kubaz knows that he will not be able to drink the entire bottle of lum to save Smitherbodkins. Even if he were to try, he would pass out long before the bottle was finished. The valet rarely drank anything stronger than cooking sherry, after all. Instead, drunken with rage and lum, he lunges for Tyy'sun's gun. "Nobody threatens the Smitherbodkinses!" he yells too loudly. "I most certainly will n-..." And just then, J'Eeves decides to quite literally throw himself into the line of fire. Smitherbodkins jumps forward, grabbing the little Kubaz by the arm and holding him back. Luckily for him, his valet was quite small. "J'Eeves, that will be quite enough! Sit down!" He hauls him backward, pushing him against the bar and holding him there, cutting him an angered glare. He holds the gaze for a moment, before turning back to Tyy'sun. He looks at the drink, then back to the Twi'lek, and a slow smile spreads on his face. "I am surprised at you," he says, shaking his head as though in disappointment. "I would have thought one so interested in the arts, as you say you are, would be more artful." He picks up the drink, lifting the glass to the Twi'lek in a feigned toast, as he says, "To your health." With that, he puts it to his lips, knocking it back in one gulp. He sets the glass gently back down on the bartop, nodding to the 'tender, who had been watching the proceedings with obvious interest. He reaches into his pockets, tossing a few credits onto the bar next to the now empty glass, "That batch was particularly foul. Lum must age for at least 50 years before it becomes even faintly palatable." The cloaked Twi'lek takes a brief step back as J'Eeves suddenly rushes forward, but does not go for his blaster as the larger man easily controls him. Eson gives them both a fiengt smirk and he stps forward again to place on foot on the bar stool to lean, the blaster grip still jutting from the holster at his hip. "Art comes in many different forms, Lord Smitherbodkins. Including performance art, though I assure you this particular scene is carved from very real life and death.." he takes the empty glass and repours it with the lum bottle, and pushes the glass towards Smitherbodkins again while continueing to talk, "I like to call this act 'Aristocrat meets the reality'" The Twi'lek then reaches into his own satchel and places a large sum of credits on the counter before the tender, "for any inconvenience." he explains to the tender... turning back to Smitherbodkins and J'Eeves.. "Now drink it." he sneers. J'Eeves, obedient servant that he is, remains at the bar where Smitherbodkins has placed him. The effects of the lum are hitting him harder and harder each minute, and sitting down just makes him sleepy. The Kubaz rests his head on the bar and is about to fall asleep when the jingle of coinage falling near his head nearly wakes him. Nearly! J'Eeves eyes drift shut and he passes out. Smitherbodkins will have quite a time getting him back to the manor! The bottle on the bartop gets another cursory glance from Smitherbodkins, and then he looks to his sleeping Kubaz, sighing a little with mild irritation. The valet never could hold his liquor. His gaze then shifts to Tyy'sun, and he shrugs, motioning to the bartender as he moves forward to sit on one of the empty stools, gingerly, as though he's quite worried about the state of the fake leather and the effect that it will have on his clothes. "Tender..." he says, tapping the bartop, "Another glass for my fine friend, here." He picks up the glass in front of him, knocking it back, then sketching an exaggerated grimace. "I suppose you will not need that blaster. I assure you, before the night is out I will die from this poisonous concoction." Tyy'sun finally allows the cloak to drape back over the blaster as Smitherbodkins sits down and J'Eeves literally passes out at the table. The ire and rages that surrounds him was palpable, but now simmers like a cooled fire about his demeanor. Something was definately quite wrong with this being. He mock smiles in return to Smitherbodkins, perhaps a little taken aback that he is not in a death clutch with the figure right now. It was not the average response to accept the drink - to accept the treatment. Most men would have dealt themselves right into a ruffian's hands with a violent outburst somewhat akin to J'Eeve's. Yet there the aristocrat sat, buying him a drink and without so much as losing his temper. Tyy'sun takes the refreshed drink and downs it in a few gulps before slapping it roughly onto the counter. "At least you are willing to widen your horizens." he quips rudely. He resumes leaning against the bar, no longer exuding foul intent. Chuckling slightly, as though he's almost enjoying the encounter now, for whatever reason, Smitherbodkins fingers the top of his cane absently, fixing Tyy'sun with a sardonic eye. "I would not exactly call this broadening my horizons, my good man. I have certainly tasted lum before." Much to the detriment of his taste buds, unfortunately. The front palate will never be the same. He continues, almost conversationally, "I do not know that you will be able to find anyone to back your...what did you call it...'Aristocrat meets the reality'? Should you want to take it public. No producer is much interested in the plight of the common man. I must admit I find this aspect of it dreadfully dull." Tyy'sun stares at Smitherbodkins from behind a mew drink for a moment, the lekku rippling slightly - relaxing. "Of course you find it dull - you know no plight." he retorts before taking a sip and setting the glass on the counter. "Aristocrat meets the reality' is an act in every privaledged, wealthy eccentric fool's life sooner or later. If not in the event that the drek of the galaxy finally touches your shoes, then on your deathbeds." he pauses, glancing around the cantina, "Its too bad most of you never realize you are just a buffer for the real elite.. like the fat on a bantha, keeping its bones warm." Reaching for the bottle, pouring himself another shot almost jovially, Smitherbodkins knocks it back, reaching for a napkin and dabbing the excess liquid daintily from his lips. He smirks, dryly now that he's cleaned himself, at Tyy'sun, and raises an immaculately plucked eyebrow. "I am afraid you are mistaken. You have no idea the trials that I deal with every day! Why, just look at my valet!" He makes a grand, sweeping gesture to the little Kubaz, now sleeping peacefully on the counter as though none of the earlier unpleasantness had ever happened. "Now I will have to carry him back to the manor! At least an hour's walk." "And that is the least of my worries," he continues, as though the fate of the world rested on his shoulders. "I have an event to plan in two days' time. I have several business ventures which are about to come into fruition. And other little thorns in my side which demand my attention. It is startling, really, how busy I keep myself. For being the 'fat on the bantha,' as you so eloquently put it." Tyy'sun's own untrimmed bushel of a brow raises at this, though he does look to the sleeping valet and smirks in response. The drink is flowing through his viens as surely as any of the other patrons, but his composure is still somewhat stiff as he leans, drink in hand. "That is your idea of a trial. Why dont you try dragging him across a desert landscape with a merciless star beating waves of death upon your back. Then you will know a trial, old money." the cigar that was previously rolled is not retrived from an ash bin and relit. "What will you do, Lord Smitherbodkins? When you meet the reality that you are the problem, and not the solution? When you meet the reality that you are just as trite, unkempt and trivial as the objects you scorn and the decay you turn your nose up to?" "And you think that you are not?" Smitherbodkins fairly laughs out loud, though whether this is from the effects of the drink or from pure amusement is anyone's guess. However, some guesses in this bar may be more informed than others. "What are you, my fine fellow? Some sort of paragon of charity? You are nothing but a glorified playground bully. Showing me your blaster as though it meant something. Yes, you could shoot me down. But how would it help you? Would it put food on your plate or clothes on your back?" He shakes his head, pouring another drink from the swiftly emptying bottle, his hand amazingly steady for the amount that he's consumed, "You take pride in harassing those you believe weaker than yourself. All those trials of which you speak are simply a veiled excuse to exert your perceived strength for your own amusement. And a thinly veiled one, at that." He throws down the liquid, slamming the glass down on the bartop with a flourish. "I may not live in the underworld, and I may not have to fight to survive against the unwashed miscreants that do dwell in its depths. But you are not fooling anyone with your talk of my complacency and decadence. Except, perhaps, yourself. And even that, I think, would be a stretch." "You wouldn't last a day.. " the words are nearly spit into the glass, which the saw toothed Twi'lek then drinks from. After a long moment of silence from Tyy'sun, he finally speaks after a long draw on the cigar, "Hope your big event is all you pretend it is, perhaps that tome of yours will enlighten Corellia." the drink is quickly finished. "COnsider yourself a lucky pair this night, Smitherbodkins." he stands and adjusts the cloak around him, lekku furling up and around his shoulders, he casts an additional gaze at the man, "Perhaps there is a little more to you than pride and circumstance as I at first assumed.. but you aristicrats all look alike to me." "It is the nose, I expect," Smitherbodkins says, tapping his own experimentally, "It seems as though those of noble blood tend to have rather prominent noses." Such is life. He runs a hand back over his hair, poking the still sleeping Kubaz experimentally with one finger. Though clearly, it is not enough to wake him. "Thank you for that refreshing perspective. I need a bit of a check-in every once in a while, before I go back to my unkempt, trivial existence." He bows his head to the retreating Twi'lek, "The lum, however, I could have done without." Bold text
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