----
The laminate corner of the desk was curling up....again, exposing the cheap near-wood core. Mashing at it with an ink stained thumb just caused the entire desk to wobble alarmingly, complete with the not-so-subtle sounds of overstressed fasteners failing in their struggle to hold the “wood” panels together. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from trying to fix the meddlesome thing.
The Weequay bureaucrat in charge of processing the few visitors that came through the spaceport sucked his teeth in frustration as a very dark shadow fell over the desk, interrupting his attempts to fix the corner. Looking up from the troublesome faux wood veneer, he was momentarily perplexed by a solid wall of charcoal fur blocking his vision.
The soft crackling of old adhesive heralded the troublesome laminate curling back up unnoticed as the Customs Official’s eyes traveled farther and farther up, to meet the steady gaze of the Togorian who was eclipsing the natural light from the nearby window.
“Name?”
“Mrrowl!” howled the large cat at the top of his lungs, rattling the windows.
Involuntarily ducking the aural assault, the Customs Official found his hand scrabbling for a blaster that wasn’t there, before a dim memory of Togorian customs overrode his reflexes. Frustrated at losing his composure, he tried to regain the upper hand, snapping “Is that three ‘R’s or four?”
A display of sharp teeth accompanied by broken hissing sounds was all he got in return.
“Uhh...anything to declare?” the functionary stammered.
----
There wasn’t much to see today. The heat had driven sane folks inside, leaving nothing in the dusty street but the occasional stray druulg picking amongst the overflowing dumpsters for scraps. On either side of the dirt boulevard, two broken lines of dessicated trees poked out of the hard packed surface. Those specimens that hadn’t yet been chopped down for firewood or toppled by a wayward speeder hadn’t had crowned themselves in leaves in recent memory.
A dull roar from the nearby spaceport rattled the glass sitting on the rotten wood table next to an old Weequay. The shade of the porch wasn’t doing much to help with the heat, but the shade and open air provided a relative coolness that was a welcome respite from the oppressive temperature inside the shop behind him. The conditioning unit hadn’t worked in a month, and credits for a new coil would take a while to raise. Leaning out, exposing his face to the unrelenting sun, he was able to pick out the rapidly retreating shape of a YG-4210 leaving an oily smear across the sky as it departed. A wistful look crossed a weathered face, and he leaned back into his chair lest the heat take him.
Tas-rev had seen a lot in his time. Hutt Palaces, small skirmishes and wars, even a couple of Heavy Cruisers slugging it out during a blockade, and more bar fights than he cared to count. What he had not yet seen in his 60 some-odd cycles was a Togorian on Sriluur, the Weequay homeworld, never you mind strolling casually down a street in the seedy Orchard District of Dnalvec.
Even with Sriluur’s proximity to Togoria, the big cats were rare as the tooth of the mythical hen, unless, of course, one was so daft in the head as to go to Togoria itself. Not even the most cut-throat pirates went anywhere near Togoria; those that did were generally never seen again.
Despite the distance, Tas-rev’s rheumy eyes had very little trouble making out the slightly blurred figure, the sun reflecting brightly from its glossy, charcoal colored coat, black stripes reflected a deep bluish. Squinting a little, Tas-rev was shocked to realize that the brute was wearing nothing more than a belt with a vibro-blade strapped to it. “Savage brute...kinda like a wookie...” the old Weequay muttered to himself.
Speaking of bar brawls, Tas-rev’s mouth widened in a gap-toothed grin as he saw the Togorian stop in front of a notorious Swoop Gang bar, rumored to be run by a powerful crime syndicate. Pausing to consider it’s sun battered facade for a moment, the big cat thoughtfully tapped the chrome handlebar of one of the swoop bikes parked near the door with a large paw, before ducking under the lintel and squeezing through the door.
“That pelt would make an excellent throw rug.” he thought idly to himself.
Snatching up a bronze tipped walking stick that looked suspiciously like the polished hip bone of a large animal, Tas-rev hobbled as quickly as possible across the street to see the show.
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