[center][h1][Color=Cyan]Cel O' Royal[/color] & [color=darkorange]Rask Coburn[/color][/h1][/center] Cel looked up momentarily as the Imperials walked into the bar. Her eyes moved to the man as he approached and stood beside her. At first, she was about to tell him that she had no interest until she looked behind him and saw the saddened New Imperials walking away. [i] ‘I guess it’s not so bad having a tall man nearby to deter others.’[/i] [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. Helps to have a second set of eyes on the lookout, though.”[/color] [color=cyan] “Believe me, I don’t think anyone could be a kindred spirit with me.” [/color] She gave a slight grin as she spoke, writing down a final note in the journal she had. Rask chuckled.[color=darkorange] “I don’t doubt you’re right, ma’am. My mistake.”[/color] He gave a slight nod and tip of his hat. When she looked up she noticed that he was pouring her another glass. Cel seemed wary, though, and her eyes darted like a fly dodging getting hit. She saw the percentage of chances of this being a trap in her head, determined based on his demeanor and how he approached her that the chance was less than 3%. A 6-foot 11-inch man would be obvious as the last person to be seen with someone, even on Founding Day. There aren’t too many 6-foot-11-inch humans on Mandalore. Not to mention he had a scar… She began to recalculate the numbers in her head, less than 1%. Safe. She took a drink from the glass, smiling as she felt the warmth of the drink go down. [color=Cyan]“You aren’t wrong, trouble does seem to follow me. But I think your observation is just slightly off. You see, I don’t run off of luck. I run off of calculations. That and proper channels.” [/color] She chuckled at her joke, not realizing that this man had no idea she was a bureaucrat. Which meant he had no idea she just made a joke. She slightly turn to him as she did, her eyes darted to the man whom she had just rejected. He seemed upset that she wasn’t treating this man the same. She leaned forward towards, the tall man giving him a grin. [color=cyan] “So tell me. What do those extra set of eyes see?” [/color] She asked before taking a sip, and nodded to show approval of the drink choice without words. It'd been too long since Rask had banter like this. Playful, unserious. So much of his life was serious. [color=darkorange]"Well,"[/color] Rask began, [color=darkorange]"For starters, I see you ain't a Mando. The lack of beskar kinda throws that idea out the window. So, not a local. But you're lookin pretty comfortable with this lot of scoundrels. My guess? You been planetside for a while. Live here, maybe. Don't come to [i]this[/i] joint often, though."[/color] Rask drank before continuing. The whiskey was top shelf compared to the swill that clone had been feeding him. [color=darkorange]"I reckon that ain't just a hat rack you got there."[/color] He gestured with his glass towards her book. [color=darkorange]"Nobody reads somethin that heavy for their health. I [i]would[/i] say you’re some kind of scientist, but those types don’t wrangle fools well as you.”[/color] Rask tilted his chin towards Cel’s jilted lover. [color=darkorange]"And since you've a workin brain, that rules out politician or diplomat. No, I'm bettin you're behind the scenes somewhere, though. Be stupid not to."[/color] The band struck up another tune, this time a cover of local pop phenom Kada Skirata's hit song "Devil." An energetic and synth-laden dance number, lyrics dripping with venom. It was a not-so-veiled takedown of General Grievous and massively popular outside of CIS space, where it was banned from the airwaves. Rask found this cantina singer's interpretation lacking. Few, in his estimation, could match Kada's vocal prowess. He looked back to Cel. Meeting his eyes was easy for most. They were dark and narrow and one eyelid sagged from a cut long ago, but there was a softness to them behind the craggy skin and scars. [color=darkorange]"Last thing. That vibroblade."[/color] His dark eyes ran across the sheathed weapon tied to the woman's hip. [color=darkorange]"You see a man with a blaster, he might know how to shoot it. Might be all mouth. But a lady carrying a knife like that? You ain't strappin that on every day because it looks pretty. I wouldn't wanna tangle with you, that's for damn sure."[/color] Rask idly tapping his wedding band against his glass as he drank, which made a small [i]clink[/i] that was drowned out by the band and the crowd. [color=darkorange]"And that's all I've got, for the moment. I'm figurin it'd be a day's work or so just to guess your mind. Maybe I've lost my touch."[/color] He seemed close to pleased with himself, but unwilling to speculate any further for fear of stepping on his new companion's toes. Rask considered himself a good judge of character, but it'd been long since he had any characters to judge. Four years, give or take. A little rusty. Still, he welcomed the challenge. [color=darkorange]"So, what'd I miss?"[/color] Cel hummed as she sipped her drink, listening to him break down who she was based off of what she had and how she looked. She giggled as he mentioned guessing her mind and maybe losing his touch. [color=cyan] “I will admit you’ve got a good eye on you. I am not a scientist, and this.” [/color] She patted her book. [color=cyan] “This is just what I read for fun. So not a scientist, but I am a bureaucrat. Just a simple paper pusher.” [/color] [color=darkorange]“You’ve an interesting idea of fun. Well, I weren’t too far off. Bureaucrat, huh? Everyone’s gotta make a livin, I don’t begrudge you that.”[/color] She gave him a playful smile as she listened to the song that the band struck up. Her eyes darted as his looked around quickly, but she moved her eyes back to his to make sure she didn't lose eye contact with him. [color=cyan] “Some say I’m really smart but very good at remembering things. Eidetic memory is what I believe it’s called.” [/color] She said playing coy. [color=cyan]“But that’s beside the point, you did get one other thing right.”[/color] She patted the vibroblade at her side. [color=cyan]“This definitely isn’t just for show. While I cannot claim expertise on this matter, I can attest that my father had instilled the notion of self-reliance, especially when it comes to safeguarding oneself, in a universe that demands it like the one we are in now.”[/color] She gave a smug grin as she looked down at her sheathed vibroblade. Rask pulled up a stool beside the woman and sat down. [color=darkorange]”Your father’s a smart man. This galaxy’s a mean place. That’s true everywhere I’ve been and gone. Gotta depend on yourself if you wanna live to see the sunset.”[/color] [color=Cyan]“I must admit that I am impressed by your perceptiveness. I definitely didn’t expect someone from a place like this to be able to determine all that, let alone determine what I am reading. Well… I hope all that means I’m a solid character from your eyes and judgment. [/color] She took another sip before her eyes darted again around the room. She didn’t seem worried, or in a rush, but she was double-checking her surroundings, checked the windows and doors, and recognized everyone was basically still normal and not seeming to be in a hurry to jump into the conversation or approach them. There was a slight moment she thought that one of the Imperials were going to cut in but he quickly just kept walking by.[i] Huh, he seems to keep the trouble away, I’ll keep entertaining him a bit longer… we can see where this goes… I don’t…. Hate him after all like most people. [/i] [color=darkorange]”Not to spoil too much, but I ain’t [i]from[/i] here, ma’am, and I take that as a compliment. These Mandos are too serious for my liking.”[/color] He made a sweeping gesture with one long arm at the cantina’s patrons, as if to point out each dour-faced and solemn Mandalorian in the otherwise energetic crowd. [color=darkorange]”But readin folks just comes with the occupation I guess. Speakin of, I must admit, I’d be curious to hear what [i]your[/i] eyes make of this old salt before ye. Shouldn’t be too hard; I’ve been told before there ain’t too much to see. How bout it?”[/color] He set his half-drained glass away from him, as if the small distance would stop him from reaching over and finishing it. With a large hand, Rask playfully covered the Regulator badge pinned to his poncho as if to prevent Cel from ascertaining his occupation. [color=cyan]“Hmmmm, I’m not sure you’re ready for this, tall dark and scruffy,” [/color] Cel shrugged before taking another sip and her eyes moved up and down his body. If anyone could see what was going on in her head they’d see numbers and percentages moving through her eyes. [color=darkorange]”Believe me when I say I’ve heard it all, and then some.”[/color] [color=cyan] “Okay,” [/color] Cel said, taking a deep breath. [color=cyan]“As you walk, there is a slight limp in your gait that you try to cover up with each step. It seems that you might have sustained an injury in your leg, or perhaps it is a remnant of an old childhood affliction. However, the presence of that blaster on your hip suggests that it isn't the latter. In fact, the blaster's appearance implies that you may have been a combatant in the Clone Wars, or you might have acquired it from someone who was. Considering the blaster's origin, which would have to be from the outer rim, I presume that you belong to that region. Your confident stride into this establishment despite every Mandalorian's attention on you since you walked in and shot that droid, suggests that you are not intimidated by such surroundings. Furthermore, the fact that your friend referred to you as Marshal supports the notion that you might have served a term.”[/color] She took another sip, her eyes moving up and down his body still. [color=cyan]“Upon observing your movement since you arrived, it appears that you have not ceased from leaning, which suggests that you may not be from a planet that has a similar gravity pull as Mandalore. This could mean that you are either compensating for the difference in gravity or it could be due to a previous injury. Furthermore, I noticed that your boot protrudes slightly on one side and remains rigid when you move your foot, which leads me to believe that it could be a concealed weapon of some sort, as you have been caught without one at an inopportune moment in the past. Based on my estimation, you appear to be in your mid to late forties, and judging from the way you drew your gun on the droid earlier, it seems that you have not been practicing your shots lately, which was somewhat sluggish, at least to your standards since you seemed a bit disappointed. However, you approached me with great confidence, which indicates that you were either bored, attempting to save a damsel in distress, or driven by curiosity. In any case, as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.”[/color] She gave him a playful wink as she spoke and chuckle at her own joke. [color=cyan]“So how’d I do?” [/color] she asked, batting her eyes for a moment before taking a final sip of her glass and leaning back into her chair. Rask studied the woman, his eyes narrow and focused. He adjusted his stance, squaring up to her. Then he relaxed and laughed. [color=darkorange]“You missed out on a good career in law enforcement, I’ll say that. Got everything but my name, and I’d bet you could figure that out too with a second run.”[/color] He didn’t answer [i]why[/i] he’d approached her. Truth be told though, Rask was more worried for the New Imperials, really just kids, who strode into the cantina rather than the woman before him. By his estimation, he probably saved them a couple broken limbs. It always compelled Rask to see himself through the eyes of another. His wife painted his portrait once, years ago now. Hers was an amateur’s hand, but to see how she viewed him fascinated Rask to no end. He had a low opinion of himself, and seeing his likeness painted in a favorable, if not downright heroic light made him realize people saw what they wanted to see. Both in themselves and others. Cel's appraisal of him felt true to the mark, if a little sparse on detail. [color=darkorange]"Us Rim folk like to think we're full of secrets, but truth be told, what you see is what you get."[/color] In direct defiance of this statement, Rask set his hand down on the bar and his half-drained glass slid across the metal countertop directly into his palm, as if pulled along by some invisible string. He drained the glass of its contents. [color=darkorange]"But I'll save ye the trouble of guessin my name. Rask Coburn. [i]Marshal[/i] Rask Coburn, Outer Rim Regulators. Been a while since I held that particular title, but circumstances have conspired against me and here I am again."[/color] [Color=cyan] “Cel O`Royal, it’s a pleasure.” [/color] she said, putting a hand out gently to touch his for a moment like she was almost owed a handshake. [color=darkorange]"Well, Ms. O'Royal, I must confess that Mandalore's changed since last I was here. I been lookin for some bad folks the past few weeks, and have found little but trouble. Save for that heap of metal over there."[/color] Rask stood to his full height and threw some credits on the counter. Enough to cover the drinks. Not enough for the scrapped droid. [color=darkorange]"I could use someone with a lay of the land to help me out. You’ve a keen eye, and I’ll bet you know this city better than most. Regulators'll compensate ye for your time, though I admit it ain't much. Could make for a good story to tell your fellow desk jockeys back at the office though. Think of yourself as a... Guide, of sorts. How's bout it?"[/color] It was a common practice among Regulators; their jurisdiction spanned so wide that they were often better off hiring locals. These impromptu deputies were typically security forces, but often included frontiersmen, diplomats, street urchins, and others with expansive knowledge of local conditions. Bureaucrats, not as much. [color=cyan] “Hmmm, well I guess it would not hurt to do so. I don’t really have much going on… I had only the plans to come in here and read until it was time for more favorable moments of the celebration. Possibly something that makes all the streets less crowded and rather everyone focused on one point… in other words, the main event.”[/color] Cel made sure she put everything away in her bag as she zipped it up. She put some of her own credits on the bar as well. [color=darkorange]”Nothin better to do, huh? Hell, I’ll take it,”[/color] Rask said, shaking his head. [color=darkorange]”Think it’s about it time we leave this dump. Gettin a bit too rowdy for my liking.”[/color] As they were about to walk out, Cel turned to the original man who she had turned down who seemed seething that this man had not gotten the same treatment she did. She stopped and waved to him like she promised as he got out of his seat and began walking towards her as she started walking out. She figured she’d let Rask or any of the other patrons handle this man, and if not, well it was going to be a mistake for him. Rask watched as the man loped towards them. He knew the type. Known them all his life. This particular gentleman’s ears were missing, giving his already narrow head an even slimmer and weasel-like profile. There was an ugly burn on his neck, letters burned into the skin. It was impossible to read them now, the hot iron having been left too long against the flesh and the symbols were now splayed and jumbled. Rask knew what they meant though; not many people wore that brand. He’d been a guest at the prison moon, Reku, a hell reserved for the most depraved criminals within the Renkar Imperium. As the man stood swaying before them, his mouth working to form some string of insults, Rask reached behind him and grabbed the half-full bottle of whiskey. [color=darkorange]”Happy Founding day, friend. Drink up,”[/color] Rask said amiably as he shoved the bottle into the man’s hands. Before he could respond, Rask led Cel through the crowd towards the door. A new song played now, rife with heavy and dark synths under which the singer yowled. It hurt Rask’s ears and he was glad to be leaving. He looked behind to see the thug slouching after them. Rask thought of the predatory six-eyed Halcorr that stalked the plains of his homeworld, vicious beasts that killed without thought. [i]Well, I tried.[/i] With a slight flick of Rask’s arm, the thug off his intended course, as if shoved by some invisible phantom. Not much, but enough to send the drunk reeling into a circle of New Imperials. He spilled whiskey on one young woman’s uniform, which was enough to invoke their collective and already pent-up rage. Words were said that could not be unsaid. In a matter of seconds the cantina exploded in a pandemonium of violence as punches and kicks were doled indiscriminately, just as Cel and Rask stepped outside and into the bright and lively street.