In a sense the brown skinned alien's ravings and beatings of the table were humerous to the man. The weequay slammed an enclosed fist on the table in response to the propping of the human's feet up. The slam jittered the glasses and made a ruckus that did not begin to compare to the loud music being played by the Bith in the back.
"Listen to me when I talk to you!" the alien demanded, assuming he deserved this one's respect. Behind the shadows of his hood, the man merely cocked a brow.
On any other planet, in any other system, held by any other ruler, this would have stolen the attention of all those in the bar.
But on Tholatin - especially under the young and reckless Kamon Vondiranach - if there were not at least three barfights a day that meant the bar had to close due to lack of customers.
That made being a bouncer on this planet hard and dangerous, however it was also one of the most prestigeous positions one could hope for.
The most powerful bouncer had the most influence. Whoever had the most influence
really ran Tholatin.
Bartenders generally ran the cities here, totally evading the rule of the prince or his governors and mayors. Whoever had the guns and the people.
Bartenders usually had both.
The man flicked out a cigarra and lit it, placing it confidently in his mouth. An orange flare overtook the shadows caused by his hood, but still his features were hidden.
"You work for me!" the weequay screamed suddenly, this time overtaking the bar's music.
Still no one cared.
Now it was the man's turn to talk.
"Really?" he taunted, "When was that agreement signed?"
The weequay's expression distorted to one of both confusion and rage.
"Damn you Zolack! We had a deal!"
"A deal you failed to complete!" the man spit back, shrugging asside his false name for this little job.
The weequay paled and began to fall back into his seat. The human's keen eye caught onto his hand also retreating to his belt.
"I...I had my reasons," the weequay suddenly stammered, his initiative gone.
"Reasons, reasons, reasons. They're excuses, and excuses are like assholes Garush, everybody has them," the human shot back. "Either way, the deal was never completed, therefore my terms do not require to meet
you satisfaction."
"I...shall...I'll have it done! Tonight!" Garush began to plead.
The man waited for just the right flicker, just the right spasm of a muscle, just the right twitch of an eye so that he could let loose his own flurry of gunfire.
He cocked the hammer back on his own blaster beneath the table to ready himself, just incase. The trigger needed to be easy to pull if it came to speed.
"But it's not done, and I said until yesterday, the deal's off," the human lied. The due date was really tomorrow, but weequay weren't exactly known for their intelligence.
And the tanned alien did indeed seem confused.
Then he met the spasm he sought ever so badly. His arm twitched, his hand trying to jerk something from his pants.
The DH-17 below the table let loose a burst of six shots, steaming the alien in the belly to leave fist sized scorch marks.
He did not even get a chance to scream before his body fell forward on the table. A few of the bar's patrons offered him a glance, but simply glared back at them.
The bouncer offered him a grain of attention, but quickly turned away, almost as if in fear.
There are advantages to looking like a Jedi he amused himself with.
He opened the door to the sandy streets of Tholatin, welcoming the light after so much time in a dark, smelly cantina.
Unfortunatley the fumes of Tholatin's streets were not much better than its bars, but he had gotten use to that stale fragrence by now.
