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The crowd of ‘swoopers who remained standing parted reluctantly as Sorzen led Mrrowl to a corner table in the back of the bar. A ripple of grumbles and glares followed the Togorian as he walked through the mob. Anyone getting a little too close or attempting to hinder Mrrowl’s progress received a hiss or a hard swat from one of his massive paws, although Mrrowl mostly retracted his claws to avoid another full-on scrum.
In the background, a few loud, metallic bangs rang out, and the tinny synthrock began to blare from the jukebox again. A pair of Bith ran from behind the bar with mops to clean up the mess as the victims of the ill-timed grenade were dragged out of a side door to be buried properly, in a dumpster. Scanning for threats, the Togorian noticed a Twi’lek lounging against the bar, the green skin around her sapphire eyes wrinkled in amusement as she watched him cross the room.
Arriving at the table, Mrrowl looked at the tiny chair for a moment, snorted, and then batted it aside with a flick of his paw. He squatted on his haunches in the spot where it had been, his back turned securely to the wall. The chair impacted rotten plaster, tearing out a huge chunk that hit the floor, leaving a series of white, powdery rays pointing away from the table. The sudden sound caused more than a few hands to dart to holstered blasters before their jumpy owners decided that there was no immediate threat.
Looking across the battered table, Mrrowl took stock of the hairless outsider who called himself Sorzen. Dark brown wrinkled skin, deep set eyes, and a shaven head marked the Swooper leader. The left side of his face had numerous pockmarks, many with small scar lines crisscrossing them, as if an explosion had caused glass to scythe across his cheek. He wore a fine leather jacket, with loops of gaudy gold chains passing under his arm from the epaulet on his left shoulder. A slight jingle drifted across the table as he made a gesture towards the bar.
Shortly, two glasses of Alderaanian Whiskey were dropped into the table by the Twi’lek, who was wearing a diaphanous net outfit that consisted of little more than a top and some leggings. As she turned from the table, she gave her outfit a little extra swirl while winking at the big cat. Mrrowl’s eyelids drooped a little and he purred a moment in appreciation, a deep sound that both Sorzen and the waitress could feel resonating sympathetically in their chests.
Emboldened, the Twi’lek reached out and tweaked a furry ear, giggling as it instinctively tried to dodge her hand, before dragging her fingers down the side of his jaw. With a playful smile, she turned lightly on her feet and began to make her way back to the bar, nimbly dodging grubby Weequay hands as they reached out for a pinch or a grab. Mrrowl’s ears sprung full forward and he gave her dancing retreat full attention, his nose still full of her spicy alien scent.
“So tell me, why did you feel the urge to smash up my bar?” Sorzen asked, drawing Mrrowl’s eyes back to his “host”.
Mrrowl chuckled, displaying wicked teeth, “Bar wasss ugly before Mrrowl sssmash, Mrrowl improve look.”
A hearty guffaw escaped Sorzen. Forgetting himself for a moment, he almost clapped the big cat on the back before he recalled the huge claws that had been on display a few minutes earlier. “Well, it certainly isn’t exactly the Senate Floor now is it?” he wheezed.
Once the laughter had died down, Mrrowl’s face turned sober as he looked levelly at Sorzen and replied, “Need work, provide better sssecurity than little hairless beings.”
From the moment the first ‘swooper had taken his short and painful flight, Sorzen had hoped he could find a way to send this creature off to work one of the ships he had a stake in. A warrior such as this one would rake in tons of credits. And unbelievably enough, he was actually asking Sorzen to use him. Piles of credits began to dance in his vision as he pondered the possibilities.
Successfully keeping the avarice off of his face, the Weequay smiled expansively. “Well, it just so happens I know a few ship Captains! Why, the Dirty Mynock is putting in tomorrow evening, and I believe they have an opening; good ship that one.
“I have a room you can stay in tonight, and we’ll get you aboard the Dirty Mynock tomorrow evening. What should I tell the Captain your name is?”
Remembering the reaction of the Customs Agent, Mrrowl moderated his tone a bit, trying to speak his name with what he imagined was the way one would say it in Basic. While he managed not to rattle the windows, the yowl of his name caused Sorzen flinch a touch, and a few jumpy hands at tables nearby lept once again to blaster butts and knife handles.
Chuckling to himself, Sorzen, could just see the fear this dumb brute would strike in a boarding action or an illicit trade. All they had to do was make sure he stayed fat, dumb and happy until he had outlived his usefulness. The ruins of the front part of the bar attested to that little requirement.
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