[i]Spoopy and I write stuff for fun[/i]

Some people just were ungrateful by nature, and Woosie certainly fit that bill. No [I]“thank you, Zekha”[/I] or [I]“I do questionable things when I’m drinking with strangers”[/I], but instead a look of disgust crossed her otherwise appreciable features that weren’t connected to the things jutting out the back of her head. “Chubas? Really? [I]Yoka to Bantha poodoo.[/I]” the Twi’lek said, prompting the Dug to roll his eyes in a fashion that a father might make when his unruly child refused to eat vegetables. He picked one of the squirming amphibians up and bit its head off, chewing obnoxiously all the while. 

“You’re welcome, also, you don’t have much room for being a judgemental prick considering your drink of choice tastes like fuel emission leaks.” he managed between bites, shoving the rest of it in his elongated snout and chewing more thoughtfully before continuing. “Do you own anything other than armour? I’m curious; I figured you’d appreciate something that pinches your ass less when you’re strutting about, scowling half of the cantina to death.”

“Eh, they watered it down if you ask me.” She replied plainly, taking another sip of her drinking and spiraling it around in her cup. But her eyes didn’t seem like they were focused on him or the glass. She continued sarcastically, “Now I wonder what your beady little eyes are doing around my ass and why you’d rather see me in pants.”


“I’m practically eye level with it, and you’re always eager to take the lead. My options are limited since it’s blocking off the scenery.” Zekha replied noncommittally, downing his current drink in a single go, sliding the glass away from him on the well-polished surface. 

“Who’s your friend? He looks a little stiff.” She added. It was suddenly clear who she was studying at this point, appraising the older gentleman beside Zekha who was wearing some telling brown robes. Woorah leaned back in her chair and propped her foot up on the bar as if she was relaxed, but the movement in itself had subtly placed the position of her blaster holster right next to her hand. The spinning the glass of Nacroleth in her other hand was a diversion.

The bartender seemed as if he was about to walk up and bark at her for propping her feet on the counter before noticing this himself and instead said nothing. He turned around and watched carefully, silently, as he continued cleaning glasses and preparing drinks.

[I]Ugh. Jedi, nothing but trouble and smug cult ramblings. They don’t even pay for jobs well, pricks.[/I] Zekha thought, wishing he immediately had another drink to down. He wanted to find contracts, yes, but this seemed unfair. He gestured to the bartender for another drink, glancing at his partner. “Oh, this should be great.”

"Excuse me there, pardon my assumption but you have the look of a mechanic..." the voice came, low and vaguely threatening. At least it wasn’t the self-righteous bullshit the Dug had come to expect to those who wore those robes, but it did make him tense up and eye the lightsaber on the man’s hip with profound skepticism. He’d heard Jedi had a sort of precognition for what their adversaries did, and it was how they were able to deflect blaster shots with deadly precision, and if Zekha were to pounce on the man to make his ugly flat face flatter, he’d likely be skewered with the blade before he mentally decided to do just that. A morbid part of Zekha’s brain wondered what colour the blade that killed him would be. All he had to do was whistle and his drone would unleash a shock prod on the man, but that would only buy a couple seconds at most, which was ample time for Woosie to put a hole in the man’s chest.

Deciding he wasn’t completely left without options, Zekha regarded the Jedi with an annoyed gaze. To be fair, it was pretty standard for him. 

“Best mechanic and engineer you’re going to find in this sector or the next, you have an eye for talent, I see.” He leaned forward, bringing his face closer to the Jedi’s. “But knowing your type, [I]Jedi[/I], you couldn’t afford my services.” the Dug replied scornfully.

The signature rumble of something likely very expensive detonating caused the cantina to shake somewhat, the glassware shaking with the filtered concussive force. Woorah looked around curiously, as if to ascertain where it came from. Suddenly, the Jedi’s young protege, a young girl (of course it was; lecherous creep), urging him to come take a look at something. The man looked annoyed in contrast to the girl’s rather alarmed expression and he excused himself. Zekha drummed his fingers on the bar table, watching the pair go. “So, Woosie… is it wrong I’m curious to see if that was theirs?”

“It [i]better[/i] be theirs.” Woorah remarked dryly, but the apathy in her voice was betrayed by a look of minor worry. A perturbing thought intruded on her mind that perhaps it was possible that something went wrong in the construction of one of her own demolitions and blew up her own ship. It wasn’t impossible -- only improbable. She thought herself too practiced to make such a rookie mistake, and if that was the case, then she ought to have her license revoked. Finally, she sighed and rocked herself from her seat and onto her feet, resting her hand on the grip of her blaster.

“Well,” she began, “now is as good a time as any to advertise our trade. We should probably expect trouble.”
 
Zekha snorted. “And I thought we just wore the blasters for show.” he remarked sarcastically. 

The two made their way out of the cantina, immediately being assailed by the acrid scent of combusting material and hyperspace fuel. They stood a bit behind the Jedi, recognizing the scrap as their own. The heat radiating off of the wreckage was intense, Woorah noticed, burning hotter than it reasonably ought to be. Zekha spoke,

“So I could fix that, but I charge by the hour and I might retire from old age before I’m done. Alternatively, if you want to find who did this, you’re in luck. We’re the best damned bounty hunters you’re going to find before the trail goes cold.”

“Whoever was responsible used thermite explosives.” Woorah commented, looking at a puddle of molten metal that was collecting underneath the vessel. “That much damage on a ship of its size suggests it’s high-yield. Probably 53-R, it’s what [i]I[/i] would use. Czerka Arms’s influence, even here on Eriadu, makes it pretty affordable.”