[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/2wSv1RH.png[/img][/center]
[center]Interacting with: [@Paingodsson][/center]
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Two more glasses filled. Two more glasses drained. 

[color=darkorange]"Never did catch your name, Mando."[/color]

[color=lightsteelblue]"Don’t think you asked."[/color]

[color=darkorange]"Well. What's yer name?"[/color]

[color=lightsteelblue]"Zeke. Was that droid right? You’re Coburn?"[/color]

[color=darkorange]"Yeah, that's it. Rask Coburn."[/color]

Zeke laughed. A harsh sound more like a bark, but warm enough.

[color=lightsteelblue]"Like the holodrama?"[/color]

[color=darkorange]"Like the holodrama."[/color]

[color=lightsteelblue]"Any relation?"[/color]

[color=darkorange]"I like to think not."[/color]

Rask watched as a familiar scene played out on the opposite end of the bar. Young woman. Drunk man. Rejection. As long as there’d been drink in the galaxy, there’d been this dance. He’d studied the woman when first walking in. Her and everyone else. Taking notes of who was carrying what kind of firearms, how many, and gauging just how besotted they were. This woman seemed unarmed. In Rask’s estimation, that meant she was either very green or very dangerous. Her weapons could be hidden, but most on Mand'alor didn’t bother. Offworlder, then. He chuckled when the scorned drunk wandered off into the crowd. [i]Least she knows how to handle fools.[/i] He thought of the first time he saw his wife, in a scenario not unlike this one. Mina decided on a less tactful approach, though, and headbutted the offender so hard their nose shattered.

A second droid arrived at the bar, some poorly maintained service model. It chirped at him in binary, gesticulating wildly with creaking arms like some demented mime. Rask watched this show before turning to Zeke. 

[color=darkorange]”What this one’s saying?”[/color]

[color=lightsteelblue]“I think its not too happy you just scrapped the owner, and wants you out from behind the bar.”[/color]

[color=darkorange]”Well, I guess I can oblige.”[/color]

Rask knelt down and with a practiced motion wrenched the head off H1-VOK’s body and tossed the severed hardware to Zeke. The hands never forget. He thought of how they used to pick through battlefields after a raid, tearing the heads off of CIS droids for the Republic bounty placed upon those twisted pieces of machinery. 

[color=lightsteelblue]”Sure you don’t want to split the reward? You did most of the work.”[/color]

Rask shrugged. [color=darkorange]”Scrappin’ him was reward enough.”[/color]

The service droid’s beeping and squawking intensified as Rask bent down to pick up another intact bottle from beside H1’s wrecked carcass. Several MSE-6 droids wheeled around working to clean up the mess, but they shied away like little animals from Rask as he stepped out from the bar. Broken glass crunched beneath his boots. 

[color=darkorange]”’Nother round?”[/color]

Zeke shook his head as he tucked H1’s beneath his arm. [color=lightsteelblue]”I’ve got a shooting competition in an hour. I can handle seeing double, but triple’s no good. See you around, Marshal.”[/color]

[color=darkorange]”You just might, Zeke. Galaxy ain’t that big these days.”[/color]

The two men shook hands and the clone left just as the band regained their confidence. They played louder and louder, emboldened by the crowd trickling back into the cantina. Newcomers, as if nothing had happened. Among this throng were several New Imperials, crisp uniforms now wrinkled and stained and reeking of booze. Three swaying recruits leered at the reading woman with wide and hollowed out eyes like nocturnal creatures surprised by day. Crazed with drink or drugs or both. In a few long strides, Rask cut the advancing recruits off and posted up next to the woman, leaning on the bar with one arm.

[color=darkorange]“If ye don’t mind me sayin’, ma’am, I think we’re kindred spirits of a sort,”[/color] Rask began with a faint smile as he set the bottle between the two of them on the bar. His long fingers fully wrapped around the bottle’s base and obscured the label. He uncorked it and refilled the woman’s empty glass with amber liquid. Rask kept a wary eye on the New Imperials who now averted their course with his arrival, like water breaking on a river stone. They slinked off to pester some Mandalorian, demanding a free round of drinks for having single-handedly defeated the Great Enemy. 

[color=darkorange]“I think trouble follows us wherever we go. Like some kinda hound hot on our heels. We ain’t lookin’ for it, but it always seems to find us just the same. All we can do is keep an eye out for it, be ready for it when it comes, and hope our luck don’t run out.”[/color] Rask reached over the bar and produced another glass which he filled. The bottle’s label read “Cheedoan Gold Reserve”. 

[color=darkorange]”Helps to have an extra set of eyes on the lookout though.”[/color] He raised his glass to her.