JerinPuck
Jola and Allie walked into the guard house just as Tack was waking the second guard up. He wiped a bit of drool from his face with the back of his hand, and muttered irritably. "Hey, what's the deal wi-AH!" he noticed Tack in his face.

"Where's my droid?" Tack said again.

"What droid? Who are you?" The guard looked at the three people standing in the office. "You're not supposed to be here," He began to stand and reach for his blaster. "You're under-" All three of them trained their own weapons at him. "Arrest," he finished weakly.

"Where is my droid?!" Tack nearly yelled, punctuating each word.

"Easy, there." The guard stammered. "Look. I- I don't know, really. I don't even know what you're talking about. I- We don't have any droids here. I don't have any droids. No droids!"

"Repeating the question is certianly acomplishing a lot." Jola interjected. Allie just grinned. She recognized the guard, and was glad to see him squirm. "The ship you impounded yesterday. There was a droid on board. Where is it?" Jola clarified.

"Oh. Still there as far as I know. I don't really remember seeing one taken-"

Tack stunned the guard. "Thank you," He turned to Jola and Allie. "Let's go."

Jola and Tack switched blasters back, and Jola, the only one of them who didn't know where they were going already, followed Allie and Tack as they made their way toward the hangar.

"I kind of wish- There, up there in that corner," Allie rambled as she pointed out security cameras. Jola blasted the camera, and they continued on. "that he had tried something stupid. He really could use being shot in the leg, or something." Allie, having that out of her system, pulled a candy bar out of one of her pockets and downed it in a few bites.

Darth_Kuangduk
Tack glanced through the nearest window of the security office. Sure enough, the one visible guard was pacing back and forth and talking into a handheld commlink. That wouldn't do... it wouldn't do at all. The smuggler took a quick look around. Nobody else seemed to be around, but that could change at any moment. The longer the three of them hung around looking suspicious, the more likely it was that they'd get caught.

"Excuse me," Tack said quietly, nudging Jola, "But could you hold this for me?" He held his blaster out towards her. Looking confused, Jola reached out and took hold of the weapon. Without hesitation, Tack let go of his own blaster and plucked Jola's right out of her hand.

The door to the security office didn't appear to be locked... but you could never be sure. "What the frell are you doing?" Jola hissed in irritation. Tack ignored her, and tried opening the door. It opened without protest.

"What a sloppy operation." Tack grumbled, stepping into the security office. The second guard was now visible, sleeping not on the floor of the office but in a chair. The first guard, the one on the commlink, looked around with a curious expression on his face. He lowered the commlink and opened his mouth to say something. He never got the chance. The blue stun bolt from Jola's perloined blaster hit him full force in the chest.

The man crumpled like a sack of some mundane vegetable, commlink clattering to the floor. The second guard didn't even stop snoring. Tack stuck his head back out of the office and grinned. "All clear, ladies..."

From the commlink on the floor, Tack could barely hear a woman's voice...
"Fred? Fred? Did you hang up on me? Why you piece of scum, when you get home I'm going to..."

Tack stopped listening. He tapped the sleeping guard on the forhead. "Hey," He growled, "Hey!" The guard slowly opened his eyes. "Where's my droid..."

JolaEdana
Jola raised an eyebrow silently. What was this? No protest?

"Right then. I'll stun the first guard straight off, and we'll hopefully be able to catch the guy in the office off guard enough that you can play 20 questions with him."

Jola sighed mentally at herself. She knew she was rambling, but these kinds of situations really weren't her thing.

She kept her blaster in the holster as the three of them walked closer to the guard house. For a moment, she thought they were in luck. The guy was pacing around doing anything but paying attention- unfortunately, he was paying attention to a comlink. She hoped it was going to be a short conversation.

"Great," Jola whispered. "I can't peg him while he's on that, someone will know something's up."

Darth_Kuangduk
Tack silently drew his blaster from it's holster. He flicked off the safety switch with this tumb, and got ready for trouble. While the weapon didn't have a stun setting, it was still a weapon... and the guards didn't know Tack wasn't planning on using it. The smuggler glanced around, checking to see if anybody was looking. Nobody was. "You take the guard," Tack told her, "I'll cover the other one, if he's awake, and keep an eye out for trouble."

JolaEdana
Jola grunted, running a hand through her hair. "Fine, you can question the guard. Hopefully it'll be nearby. But if we've got to add another charge of breaking and entering to the list, you can forget it. I'm not going after some poor woman's house and stealing their new nanny."

She pulled out her blaster and checked the charge. It was getting low, and she hoped it would be enough to do the job.

Jola really, really hoped Tack wasn't going to push the issue- she didn't think she could fly a ship his size- which meant they needed him. Difficulties and all.

The port loomed up ahead, and Jola started to slow down. "Okay. Who's grabbing the first guard?" She glanced at Allie. "We'll let you go first..."

JerinPuck
"Well," Allie began in response, "um... Probably not." She heard the other woman mutter 'great,' but decided to pretend that she hadn't. Allie continued, "See, it wouldn't surprise me if one of the security officers took your droid home with 'em to watch the dishes and wash the kids or whatever. But. But, if it's still in the port-"

"He."

"-you could try asking one of the guards before she stuns him," Allie jerked her head toward the medic, wondering vaugely about 'first, do no harm.' "Or you could look through the offices." Allie shrugged, "Just as long as we get out of here."

Allie understood the smuggler's not wanting to leave his droid behind. She had had a pet newt that lived primarily in one of her cargo pockets until just a few months previous. And a droid was kind of like a pet, as far as she could tell.

JolaEdana
Jola slowed her step a beat but didn't stop. The last thing she needed was to chance getting rained on one last time. "Do you know where it is?" She raised an eyebrow, already having a feeling she knew.

"Not it," Tack muttered. "Him."

"Okay, fine. Do you know where HE is?"

"Where ever they keep retained property," he said, throwing up his hands.

Jola sighed and glanced over at Allie.

"This couldn't possibly be simple," she inquired hopefully....

Darth_Kuangduk
The word "stun" meant different things to different people. Usually when one thought about stunning guards, one thought of shooting them with a blaster set to the "stun" setting. It was quite unfortunate, then, that Tack's blaster had no such setting. It was a lethal weapon, meant for getting into and out of dangerous situations as quickly and damagingly as possible. This put the smuggler at something of a disadvantage when it came to being non-lethal.

It was therefore fortuitous that Jola, the enigmatic medic of the group, had a holdout blaster that was equipped with a stun setting. While Tack looked manacing, she could stun the guards. Allie, it seemed, was unarmed aside from the inborn female arsenal. That was more than enough in Tack's opinion, but he kept it to himself lest he have to face said arsenal when the group finally got spaceborne in his ship.

All in all, it seemed to be a very simple plan. Get into the docks with Allie as cover, stun the guards, take the ship, get the hell away from Arelia as fast as humanly possible. But no plan, no matter how simple or well thought out, ever survives execution in the field. This Tack knew from experience, and so he wasn't entirely surprised that it was he himself who threw a hydrospanner into the works.

"I'm not leaving without my droid," He announced as the group was making their way towards the docks. The sun was setting now, but it hardly mattered... dark, heavy stormclouds were once again rolling over the small spaceport town, obscuring everything beyond them. The streetlights had been lit for hours. "I love that droid," Tack explained before either of the other two could start arguing. "He's been with me for years. I can't leave him here, not in some backwater hole in the universe like this... not after all we've been through."

Tack looked from Allie to Jola, guaging their reactions. Presumably, they needed him for their getaway. Then again, maybe they didn't. Did either one of them know how to fly a starship? Allie probably didn't. If she'd known, she would have simply taken Tack's ship and been gone without anyone being the wiser. Jola, on the other hand... Tack wasn't entirely sure about her. He certainly wasn't going to discount the possibility that she could fly a transport. Hell, with her attitude she could probably fly a starfighter and race swoop bikes.

"We've at least got to look for him..." Tack trailed off, finally giving the two women a chance to respond.

JerinPuck
"Sure, sure. Shouldn't be too hard, really. Two security gaurds, three of us, and I've got access to the docks, 'cause my company's office is in there. One gaurd will be in the office right by the entrance, and the other gaurd... will probably be napping on the floor in the office right by the entrance. Stun 'em, and go on our merry way," Allie said, as if lifting a ship were a stroll in the park. She took off her hat and wrung it out again.

The medic wasn't so sure, though. "What about the awake gaurd setting off some sort of alarm, or if they're both awake?"

"Okay, stun them quickly," Allie pulled her hat back on her head.

"Security cameras?"

"Only about a third of them work at any one time- frell, most of them are fake, but I can shoot them as we go if it will make you feel better."

That seemed to satisfy her, but then the smuggler spoke up. "How do we get the grounding device off my ship? Not much good to have a ship that can't go anywhere." At that, Allie laughed. "What?" he protested.

"Have you lived around here, lately? Nothing happens here. No one lifts ships, and putting a grounding device on would take effort, time, and money, three unwasteable things for the security forces here," Allie paused a moment. "Well, they waste our time and money, but... yeah."

JolaEdana
After blinking a moment in astonishment that the woman's plate was completely clean, Jola rubbed a hand across her eyes. "Ye Gods," she muttered softly.

You'd think a trip through the 'fresher would have made her feel better- instead, it had put more energy towards wanting to demolish everything that annoyed her verbally.

And in the case of Tack, over the course of a very long day, she'd become tempted to do worse.

Chewing on her bottom lip a moment, she scooted a little farther from Tack's stool and gave her attention to the courier. "Well, I hope either you or Tack here has a plan, because quite honestly," she lowered her voice slightly and took a sip of a well earned brandy, ignoring dour looks from Tack, "stealing ships isn't really on my usual to do list."

She set down her glass and crossed her legs. "I'm a good shot with a blaster, and I can keep you two patched up. Otherwise, you're on your own. But I want off of this damn mudball tonight."

JerinPuck
Allie stopped chewing her food and stared at Tack for a moment. She swallowed, then said, "No." Her two new companions looked on with surpise as Allie downed nearly half a plate of food in three bites.

"Okay. Now's good."


Darth_Kuangduk
"As I'll ever be," Tack responded, his fingers twitching as he once again looked over at the bar's liquer shelf. He gave Jola a sidelong glance, and reflected on the day. It had been a rather akward and uncomfortable one, what with Tack's appartment not having any furnature. The two soon to be refugees had made do with sitting against the walls for a little while, making smalltalk but not really saying anything.

That could only last so long, of course. During one of those long, akward silences Tack had noticed that he still smelled heavily of alcohol and unwashed humanity. He'd realized somewhat belatedly that the unwashed humanity wasn't entirely coming from himself. Jola had been without fresh clothing or a shower for just as long as Tack, and in the end they'd decided to make use of Tack's fresher. There were at least some towels, so they didn't have to worry about air drying. The fresher also posessed the rudiments of body cleaning paraphernalia, which was also happy.

What wasn't happy was Tack having to stand around and listen to Jola take a shower without peeking. In the end, he'd managed... though just barely. He figured it was just as well. Had she caught him, she probably would have killed him. She'd come close to killing him several times already when he'd attempted to buy a drink. A smack on the head will, however, do wonders for one's self control. "I don't suppose you could eat on the go," the smuggler asked.


JerinPuck
"Hey, Zero. Hey, Boss," Allie said as she strolled into her company's office only a few minutes later. It wasn't much of an office, two rooms with water damaged walls and dried mud everywhere.

"You didn't stay here last night?" Allie's boss asked, knowing the answer, but wanting an explanation.

"Yeah, um," Allie scratched her neck, "got days confused. I actually need to stay here tonight."

Zero sniggered, and Allie glared at him. Boss just shrugged as she went about her business. "You've got access."

Allie didn't bother nodding; her boss wasn't looking at her, anyway. "What have I got today, dispatch?"

Zero sat up in his chair and brought up a list of deliveries that needed to be made that day on his console. It looked rediculously long.

The day was rediculously long.

It rained, of course, but to make matters worse, most of the security officers who had been crawling all over her ride off the planet the day before were back out on the streets. With a vengence. As a general rule, the officers were not fond of couriers. While on duty, they hassled them about any number of the several codes, guidelines and ordinances the couriers regularly violated, from riding too high, or too fast, to the inevitable small blaster pistol every courier carried in case of emergency.

That day, they chose vaulting an intersection to be the horrible deed of the day. Vaulting an intersection, as a courier, is a fact of life; if it isn't, the courier either learns quickly that it should be, or they get killed. Allie learned the hard way when she first began her job. She was riding at traffic level, got cut off by a speeder, hit the speeder, and was subsequently sent flying off her bike and into the sand on the other side of the street. Her ribcage, along with most of the rest of her, hurt for weeks, but Allie was lucky. She hadn't collieded with anything else moving through the intersection, which likely would have killed her.

So after thirty minutes of being detained out in the rain and being given unreasonable fine for that very thing, it was understandable that Allie was a little irritable.

After Courier Two got himself arrested for not cooperating with the officers who stopped him and Allie had to take half of his route as well as her own, Allie was a lot irritable.

And, after being yelled at by various comfortable, dry corporate employees for delievering things late, Allie progressed to being irate.



"How ya' doing, Allie Cat?" the warm, cheerful dispatcher asked when Allie walked in the office door late and soaked.

"Ten-Three, Zero-boy, or I'll have to throw my hat at you." Allie said, and threw her hat before even giving him a chance to shut up. Zero somehow had the effect of diffusing everyone's anger and frustration, which was one of the main reasons he was the dispatcher.

"Yuck!" He laughed, peeling it off his shirt. Zero wrung it out and tossed it back to Allie. "I know it was a hard day. They go that way sometimes. Sometimes, you get fish in the mail...."

"No idea what you're talking about, Zero," Allie said, glancing at her watch. "I have to leave, anyway."

"Ten-four."

-------

Allie walked into the cantina much in the same state as the previous evening, but was glad to see that T-whatever was considerably more sober. Allie made no appology for being late as she sat down at the bar with them, though she exchanged greetings with the Bothon who set "the usual" down in front of her.

"I need to eat, but that's all. You two ready?"

JolaEdana
Jola sniffed and peeled the back off of a small bacta patch. She decided to pick and choose- this guy was so beat up he could easily exaust her small supply, and they might need it later.

She cleared her throat before applying a final patch to his his neck, just above his collar bone- peredin, which should dull the pain and the hangover just enough to make him tolerable.

"It's... well, it's a long story. I got seperated from some friends," she said shortly.

Now was not the time to get into details. She only hoped he wasn't going to press the issue. She sure as hell couldn't trust him yet.

She rinsed her hands in the sink. "There. I'm gonna need to restock if this is any indication of your track record... but on the upside, you won't have any more major scars to brag about."

She made an idle attempt to rearrange her unruly red locks in the mirror, wondering what on earth she was going to say to this guy for the next 8 hours....

Darth_Kuangduk
"With Katia," Tack replied, "You never know."

A quick check of the fresher revealed that, despite Tack's doubts, the fixtures were indeed still intact. With a supply of water to work with, Jola and Tack went about getting his wounds cleaned up. More accurately, Jola went about cleaning Tack's wounds while Tack sat and winced, making occasional noises of discomfort. It wasn't that she was bad at what she did... on the contrary, the medic seemed to be very experienced at this sort of thing. It was just that Tack generally prefered to take care of his own wounds. It was rather different having somebody else do it for him.

As the process drug on - Tack had quiet a few flesh wounds - he decided to get to know his new companion better. "So," he inquired as Jola inspected a gash on his right forearm and muttered something about not having enough bacta patches, "What's a fine doctor like you doing on a planet like this?"

JolaEdana
"Actually," Jola replied, standing herself, "I never introduced myself." She wearily stuck out a hand, slightly amused by the look of relief that flickered over the man's face.

She ran her other hand through her hair, briefly wondering if introducing herself accurately was a good idea. "Dr. Jola'Edana Kahlid."

It could hardly matter, she figured. This guy had practically shouted he was a smuggler, which meant he ought to be just about as eager to avoid the Imps as she was.

He shook her free hand somewhat akwardly.

"Medic, huh?"

Jola's lips quirked a bit. "Yeah, I don't give everyone I meet head examinations for fun."

"Right, right..."

Jola looked at the guy. He looked like hell. "Here."

She rummaged around in her belt pouch for a minute, rifiling though various patches and wraps. She held up a peredin patch and a few other odds and ends.

"We should get you cleaned up. Your girlfriend didn't take the 'fresher fixtures, did she?"

Darth_Kuangduk
Tack winced as he remembered the events of the previous day. Getting hit in the face with a brick was his most vivid memory. The aches and pains that were starting to crop up across the rest of his body were testament to the fact that his face wasn't the only victim of the previous night.

But as painfull as getting hit with a brick was, it was was nothing compared to the memories how how he'd run into the two ladies he now shared an empty apartment with. Why they'd even given him a second look, Tack couldn't say... though he figured it had something to do with the fact that they were desparate for any way to get off Arelia, a goal Tack himself shared. Of course, he needed his ship if he was gonna do it, and so did the ladies.

Lost in his thoughts and the memories of the previous night, Tack suddenly realized that the other woman was awake. Allie, he recalled. "I'll meet you... after work, in the cantina." She was saying, "Same time as yesterday?" Tack nodded dumbly, then realized that he wasn't the one being spoken to. He looked around at the red headed woman, who was also nodding in confirmation.

"Sure," She said, "I'll make sure our friend here doesn't get himself drunk before then." Tack had the grace to look embarrased. He had done a number on himself. Not exactly the best first impression in the galaxy. The hung over smuggler resolved to give the two a better impression before they parted company, whenever that might happen to be.

"Right," Allie said as she crossed the empty room towards the door. "See you then." She was out the door and gone before Tack thought to say anything by way of goodbye.

The smuggler cleared his throat conspicuously and looked towards the redhead. "So..." He began, figuring now was as good a time as any to start on that better impression. Belatedly, he realized that standing would be a better way to address this sort of thing. He stood. "So," He began again, then paused. "Um... what was your name again?"

So much for good impressions.

JerinPuck
Voices....? No. Sleep. Voices. Why voices?

Allie shivered and opened her eyes.

Oh, yeah. Them.

"Yeah, I know. What a universe, eh?." The red haired woman was saying to the man, who was sitting on the floor, a pained expression on his face.

But he'll get his ship back.
Allie sneezed. Her two partners in not-yet crime turned to look at her; the now hung-over man winced.

"Hi. I need to leave in," Allie glanced at her chronometer, "now. To go to work. So we can still get into the port tonight. Hopefully smuggler-boy here will be okay by then. I guess I should get up," she said, pausing between each sentence. Communication didn't come very easily to Allie in the morning. With considerable effort, she rose to her feet and dusted off her clothes. They were still damp from work the day before. "I'll meet you... after work, in the cantina. Same time as yesterday?" she looked to the medic for some sort of confirmation.

JolaEdana
Jola rolled over with a groan. She'd been awake for a while, but somehow lying on the cold floor with her eyes closed was better than facing what she was about to endure.

She was right- Tack - whoever he was- looked like hell.

"Actually," she rolled her shoulders to get the kinks out, "You were mostly just a drunk pain in the ass." She pulled her fingers through her long hair which she'd taken out of it's braid, attempting to get the tangles out.

"Speaking of pain," she said cheerfully, picking out one particularily tough knot, "You're probably in a frelluva lot."

She figured it would hit him like a ton of durasteel any minute now.

"I really shouldn't have let you sleep, what with probably having a concussion- but I wasn't feeling so overzealous last night myself."

She noticed the guy was still staring at her, and rolled her eyes. She got to her feet. "I'm not your friend. I'm not a consort, so you can stop looking at me like that. And you were too pathetic last night to throw a party. Warning alarms ought to be going off aaaany second now..."

She sighed, almost feeling sorry for the guy as the previous day hit him like a blaster bolt between the eyes.

"Yeah, I know. What a universe, eh?"

Darth_Kuangduk
Tack threw a lopsided grin over his shoulder at the three thugs he'd roughed up earlier. They looked pissed off, yet hesitant. Last time they encountered Tack they'd thought he was too drunk to fight. That had been a painful mistake for all involved. Now Tack looked even drunker, but he had friends. Women, granted, but you never knew. And he still might be able to make a good account of himself in a fistfight.

This, the Twi'Lek who was no missing several teeth decided, was a problem easily overcome. He and his guys had blasters... something they'd decided was a good idea after their encounter with Tack. They had blasters, and the other three didn't. Piece of cake.

Or not.

As the Twi'Lek drew his holdout blaster, the other two started to follow suit. Before they could even get the weapons pointed, and before Tack and his two escorts could react, a shout carried from somewhere farther up the street. "You!" a deep voice bellowed, "Drop the blaster!"

Tack drunkenly tossed his head in the direction the shout came from. A bona fide officer of the law was standing just up the street, his own blaster drawn and pointed at the Twi'Lek and his gang. "Why is it," Tack muttered, "That the authorities always have to ruin my fun."

The Twi'Lek decided that if discretion was the better part of valor, then cowardice was the better part of discretion. He turned and started beating feet down the sidewalk, his other two buddies each picking a different direction and running. At least, Tack thought, they didn't opt to stay and try to shoot it out. That would have gotten messy. He winced as the cop pounded past them in hot persuit of the Twi'Lek, huffing and puffing in exertion as he called for backup on his commlink. Tack and his escorts, now free of the annoying thugs and soon to be free of the annoying planet, continued on to Tacks appartment.

...

Tack woke the next morning with a splitting headache and a blank memory of the night before. The first thing he noticed was that he was not lying on his bed. The second thing he noticed was that that was because he had no bed. In point of fact, he had no furniture whatsoever.

Slowly, and very carefully, Tack sat up. He closed his eyes as pain shot through his skull, then opened them just enough to see. Carefully, he took a slow look around the room. There was, he noted, an attractive yet dimunitive woman with very red hair sleeping against one wall. Odd. He continued his survey. There was another woman sleeping near another wall. Tack himself was passed out on his back somewhere in the vicinity of the center of the room. He thought about this for a moment.

He had a hangover. He had no furnature. There were two women he didn't know sleeping in his apartment.

Slowly, a grin spread over Tack's unshaven face. "Must've been one hell of a party..."

JolaEdana
Jola grunted under her breath.
"You may be drunk but you still have legs. Use them."

"Okay, okay..." He sounded like a three year old, Jola thought.

She glanced down the street towards the group of guys. They were eyeing the three of them like they were contemplating another go now that he was obviously too drunk to stand upright.

"Okay, Tack. Move it. Those guys are thinking about heading back this way."

"Let 'em try," he slurred, finally moving in the direction Jola indicated.

The three of them lumbered down the sidewalk towards the building, but not fast enough. The three gang members were closing in fast, and looked rather unhappy.

"Frell," Jola swore. "The whole bloody universe, I frelling swear..."

Three more buildings.....

"Hey!" One of the group coming towards them called....

JerinPuck
It wasn't so much that he was heavy, or even that he reeked of alcohol that made it difficult for Allie to guide her ticket off Arelia back to his appartment. It was mostly the drunken staggering. The booze-breath and the fact he might have massed 75 kilos easily were just bonuses in the mad stroll they made down the wet streets, Allie imagined. But then he started to sing.

"Someone please shut him off," she said through gritted teeth while pulling him up from another near fall. Allie didn't know if the other woman heard her or just wanted him to shut up, too, but she elbowed him to quit. That was all well and good, except it nearly sent both of them to the ground.

Around the corner, Twhatever started taunting some guys who looked worse off- in some respects- than he did. Allie rolled her eyes. She knew those guys; they'd tried to mug her on one of her runs once, but she'd gotten away on her bike.

Allie grabbed his hand and readjusted his arm on her shoulders, and tried to pick up the pace. "If you could keep your mouth shut, Tuck-"

"Tack. It's Tack."

"Right. Tack. Maybe you could keep from making the locals trying to beat all of our heads in, huh?"

He was quiet for only a few seconds. "Wait. Wait," he said, looking around. The three came to a stop. "This looks familiar. There!" He made a half controlled nod with his head towards an apparentment building in the distance.

Darth_Kuangduk
"Fine," Tack grumbled. "My place. But I hope you ladies like sleeping on dirty floors, I haven't swept in awhile." Tack himself hoped that he could remember just where in the frell he lived...

"Ok," The drunk smuggler grunted, "Here we go." Experimentally, he slid off the edge of the barstool and attempted to stand. He wobbled on his feet, and put his hands out to the sides for balance. When that didn't work, he put his hands on the bar for balance. This worked. Problem was, Tack didn't think the bartender would let him take the bar with him. He looked at the taller of the two ladies, and gave a winning smile. "Hey," He said, "You want to get off this rock..."

Tack staggered out of the bar, one arm draped around Allie's shoulder and one hand on the redhead's shoulder. He still didn't remember her name, or if she'd even said it. He resolved to call he Red until she hit him or gave him her real name. "Thanks for the hospitality!" Tack yelled back into the cantina, nodding drunkenly to the bartender. The bothan shook his head, but nodded back and waved. Pleased with this, Tack took to weaving down the street. His body mass, quite unfortunately, was more than that of the two women combined, so they were weaving with him. It must have been a comical sight, because everybody Tack passed was grinning. Or maybe they were just happy because it had finally stopped raining...

Tack thought the second far more likely, since the lack of rain was enough to make him smile as well. He also felt like singing, but when Red gave him an elbow in the side after the first slurred set of lyrics he stopped. "I think," Tack muttered, peering at street signs as he weaved, "That my apartment is this way."

The smuggler led the two women around a corner, and in the distance Tack saw them... the three thugs he'd run into previously, and they were looking quite the worse for wear. This Tack decided to make a point of pride. "Hey Red," He muttered, "See those guys up there? You asked how I got this way... well, they did it. And, as you can see, I gave back more than I got." With a grin, Tack raised his voice. "Hey boys!" He shouted at the thugs, "How ya feelin?! Haha!"

JerinPuck
Allie could barely believe this guy. Reaching for more booze when he was fall down drunk already. Insanity is the master of this bar. She thought to herself. Tuck- (Tack? Tick? Something.) reminded them that his apparentment was bare.

"My place is out," Allie said, "even I can't go back tonight 'cause- uh. 'Cause I can't. I was going to sleep in my company's office in the port." Then as an afterthought she added, "on the floor."

"I don't have a place." The other woman said, simply. "Looks like it's your appartment."

"But there's no furniture!"

"Furniture is for people planning to stay on this rock," Allie reminded him.

Darth_Kuangduk
Tack looked back and forth from one woman to the next. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing so he stuck a finger in one ear, twisted it around, popped it out, and listened again. Yup, they were still talking about breaking into the impound, stealing his ship back, and getting off of the planet. It was a dream come true. Not only was he going to get his ship back, he was going to do it in the company of two good looking women! This called for another drink.

The redheaded woman deftly slapped Tack's hand as he reached for his glass again. He quietly withdrew it and sighed. "Look girls," He said, looking first from one and then to the other to make sure they were listening, "If you help me get that ship, I'll take you wherever you want to go so long as it isn't on this planet." He reached for his glass again. Another slap on the hand, this time from the other woman. Apparently, they wanted him to fly sober. This would be a problem.

"Ok," Tack muttered, "Ok. No more booze. But if you're not gonna let me drink it off, then I'm gonna need a place to sleep... my apartment, if I haven't already told you, has no furnature. That means it has no bed." Tack looked expectantly from one woman to the other, hoping they had at least a couch he could use.

JerinPuck
"Name's Allie," Allie said, answering the second question first. "But you don't need to bother remembering it, because I won't remember yours even if you tell me."

The other woman gave Allie an incredulous look. Allie hesitated. "Um... You haven't told me. Have you?" The red head shook no, almost imperceptively, but it was enough.

"Right then," Allie continued. "Names don't matter. What does matter, and matters a lot to all of us if you ask me, is that I can get us all to this guy's ship," she pointed her thumb in toward the drunk who nearly went cross-eyed looking at it. "With of course, some minor help," Allie wrung out a corner of her shirt, "taking care of security." Allie glanced up at the dumbfounded look on the other woman's face. "What? There's only two of 'em."

JolaEdana
Jola watched the other woman ring out her hat onto the floor before putting it back on. This was crazy. He was crazy. She was crazy. They were both frelling crazy.

"Not unless you count patching up this mess," she said hesitantly. "Just kind of stuck here for now." Jola's eyebrows rose slowly as she caught on to what the woman was implying.

"Are you saying you know someone who could get us off? And just who are you anyway?"

Jola's head was spinning.

JerinPuck
Allie drank the provided liquor appreciatively. “Never turn down a free drink,” Allie’s dispatcher had always said. “Unless, of course you have a good reason to think the drink might kill you. Then, ask who’s paying for it, and leave a message for someone to kill the bastard off if you croak.” Allie’s dispatcher was full of wisdom like that. “Watch out for flying fish,” was another one of his favorites. Allie liked the dispatcher, and sent him a dead fish with a paint bomb in it for his birthday one time- six months late.

When the drunk had fallen off of his stool, Allie laughed and stayed out of the medic’s way, confident that the shorter woman knew her own trade much better than Allie knew it. The man, still confident, either because he was drunk (or perhaps always that crazy,) zeroed in on the shorter woman- the semi-captive audience.

"It's been one hell of a day, you know. First my girl leaves me an' takes all my stuff-”

Allie choked on her drink, nearly spitting it all over the counter. Recovering from that, she moved on to suppress the laughter that was threatening to burst out of her mouth. So this is the poor sap. She thought to herself. And within the same day, that girl- Wow. That’s rough. Allie felt sorry for him, she really did, but the whole situation was too horribly ironic not to tickle her funny bone. A lot.

“-impounded my ship! I loved that ship.”

Is he crying?

“And my droid.”

Something clicked in Allie’s brain. She had seen an unusual amount of security at the port that day when she had gone to the office to pick up more packages. Their presence, not unexpectedly, had made her all the more eager to leave quickly, but before she’d left Allie got a glimpse of officers walking in and out of one ship in particular. It must be his. He was a drunk, but he was an honest drunk.

“If I had my ship back, me and that droid would be on our way off this rock right now. But I don't, and we're not. I loved that ship."

Off Arelia? Off this miserable rainstorm with some planet underneath? No, it couldn’t possibly work. Could it? Allie had worker’s access to the port, where she was expected that night, anyway. Too bad that guy was too drunk to save his own ship. Maybe the medic? Of course, she might have her own ride, or want to stay. The latter was much less likely, though. Hmm… The idea was crazy. That guy was crazy. Allie was crazy. If the pattern followed, the other woman was probably crazy, too! It could work…

“What do you do with a drunken smuggler,” Allie sang softly to herself as she thought. Allie pulled her red cap off her head as she turned to the two who now shared the counter with her, and wrung it out onto the floor. “Hey,” she said to get their attention. She pulled the cap back on her head. “You said you want to get off this rock,” she said to the drunk, “but what about you? Got a medical business here, or something?”

JolaEdana
Jola raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to smack the guy.

She reached out with one hand and slapped a small bandage on one of the larger cuts on his cheek instead. "Sounds like the whole universe is having a bad day," she commented.

He didn't say anything, just groped for the last of the drink in his glass, wiping at tears.

"Ah ah ha..." she said, grabbing his hand and putting it back in his lap. "None of that. You've already got a hangover and a concussion on your hands."

He sniffed hard. "Don't you mean my head?"

"That too."

Jola eyed him. "You never answered my question about how you got this way in the first place. You hurt bad anywhere else?"

Darth_Kuangduk
"I already wish I'd never been spawned," Tack grumbled. "And it's not what I've been doing to me," he added sourly, "It's what everybody else has been doing to me." Tack idly watched as the dimunitive woman next to him went about taking medical supplies from her belt pouches. Slowly, very slowly, the drunken spacer realized that he now had the woman's full and undivided attention. Perhaps falling and hitting his head hadn't been such a bad move after all, though in truth he'd been too drunk to even be embarrased by the incident.

If this wasn't Tack's chance, he wouldn't know it if it ran up and hit him in the face with a brick. That mental analogy brought a wince to his eyes, and the bottle of disinfectant that the redheaded medic brought out caused a second. He decided to tell the small medic the sob story of his recent life. Women liked to be caretakers, right? Maybe if he sounded pathetic enough, her maternal insticts would kick in.

"It's been one hell of a day, you know," Tack began. "First my girl leaves me an' takes all my stuff, then my partner stabs me in the back." He shook his head. "Bloody doublecrosser. And then, then they impound my ship!" Tack got suddenly morose, no longer having to act to be pathetic. "I loved that ship," he nearly sniffled. "And my droid," He added. "Good old droid... If I had my ship back, me and that droid would be on our way off this rock right now. But I don't, and we're not." Tack sniffled some more, eyes watering. "I loved that ship," he said again, oblivious to how very unmasculine he looked at that moment.

JolaEdana
If the guy hadn't been rediculious before, falling off his stool definately secured the impression.
"Frell."

With a sigh, Jola hopped off her stool and made her way over to the guy, fumbling at her utility belt.

She kneeled down and shined a bright light in the guy's eyes, first one, then the other. It took him a minute, but he winced and covered his eyes with his hands.

"That's right," Jola muttered wryly. His pupils hadn't done much responding to her check, but given the level of alcohol in his system that wasn't really too surprising. "Gods, I'd beat you in a drinking contest."

The man on the floor whimpered and put his hand to the back of his head. Jola got to her feet and reached down to grab his hands and pull him up.

"Com'on, into the light where I can see what you've frelled up."

She grunted, the guy wasn't a lightweight, especially not compared to her.

She gave the other woman who had been an unfortunate recipeant of his attentions an exasperated look, figuring if she had sense she'd share her feelings.

The bothan bartender looked on bemused. "Need help?"

Jola sighed heavily. "It's okay. I'm a medic. I got him. Just-" she grunted, "Don't-" she pushed him down on the stool and grabbed his face between her hands, studying him, "let him drink anymore."

She turned his head firmly, ignoring the man's protests. Her fingers searched his hair in a matter a fact manner, but she didn't find any real blood. Just a healthy bump.

She hoped the bastard got a headache.

"Cantina lesson 101," she said, looking into his eyes again, "Either don't drink so much, or learn to hold it."

She'd noticed before that this wasn't the first time tonight this guy had been beat up. He had a recent shiner, a nice fat lip... he'd been pummled a bit.

"That eye doesn't look so good. You're gonna wish you'd never been spawned in the morning. What in the frell have you been doing to yourself?"

She sat down on the bar seat next to him and pulled a small medkit off her belt, looking through her meager supplies....

Darth_Kuangduk
Tack threw back another swallow of caustic liquer. He was past the coughing and wheezing stage. His throat was so numb at this point he didn't even wince. The only thing he knew was that his glass was empty... again. Sluggishly, this fact registered with Tack's alcohol laden brain. That made... three times now. The bartender was slipping.

Looking up from his glass, the drunken spacer searched for the bothan that was supposed to be keeping his glass full. Tack saw him - or at least a blurry outline that could have passed for him - at the other end of the bar. Why the bartender was clear over there and not in Tack's vicinity as he was suppossed to be was a mystery. The smuggler narrowed his eyes and tried to figure out just what the bothan was up to. Slowly, the rest of the cantina came into what passed for focus at the moment.

There were very few people at the bar proper. Apparently, the locals didn't like sitting near a man who was quite obviously bent on killing himself through alchohol poisoning. They sat mostly in small groups at the tables and booths around the rest of the cantina, though there were two patrons at the bar itself. And they were both female. Tack did a double take, just to make certain. Yup, they were female. "Bartender!" Tack bellowed, slapping a hand weakly onto the top of the bar.

The bothan strolled up to where Tack sat, and without question pulled the bottle of paint thinner from it's spot on the shelf. "No..." Tack slurred, "Hold on. C'mere." He motioned with one finger for the bartender to come closer. Looking curious, the bothan set the bottle of liquer down on the shelf and leaned closer to his customer. "Did you know," Tack whispered slowly, casting a suspicious look down the bar at the two women, "that there're women here?"

"Oh?" The bartender said dryly, also looking over at the two young ladies.

"Nnnn!" Tack made an urgent noise, grasping at the bartender's sleeve. "Don't look!" he said hoarsly, "They might... they'll see. Don't want 'em seein. Not yet. Now look," Tack said sternly, giving the bartender what he hoped was a stern look to go with his stern words, "I just lost my girl, ok? Now... yeah. Now look. I'm gonna go, an' I'm gonna introduce myself to those ladies, see? Ok? Ok. Yeah. I'm gonna... I'm gonna... look, just send 'em some drinks from me, ok? Whatever they like, you oughta know."

The bartender looked dubious, but nodded anyway. As long as the guy was paying for the drinks he'd send them anywhere in the cantina, and with whatever compliments the poor, drunk bastard wanted to go with them.

"Ok," Tack said, straightening in his barstool and trying to make himself look decent by adjusting his wet clothing. "Tell 'em it's from me, aight? An then, after you give 'em the drinks, I'll go introduce myself. We got a plan, right?" Tack inquired. "You do that for me, right?"

"Sure," the bartender said. "No problem. Knock 'em dead."

The bothan moved off towards the two women, and Tack watched him closely. He poured a drink for the closest of the two, and Tack saw the bartender nod in his direction. He said something else to the young woman, then moved on to the second woman. The second woman, Tack noticed, was very far away, because she was very small. She did, however, have the reddest hair he'd ever seen. The bothan poured her a drink, nodded in Tack's direction, traded a few words with her, then moved on. Tack judged that now was the appropriate time.

The smuggler stood from his barstool, wobbled, then sat back down. Undeterred, he stood and put one hand on the bar for balance. In this manner he made his way down to a point roughly between the two women, and picked a decent looking barstool. Sitting, he grinning from one woman to the next. "G'evening, ladies," Tack said slowly, and with what he hoped was a dashing smile. "Did you know," He asked, "That I'm a smuggler?" He looked again from one woman to the next, then nodded solomenly. "It's true," He informed them gravely. "I am a smuggler." Tack nodded for emphasis. He squinted at the redheaded lady out of the corner of his eye, trying to judge whether or not she was impressed. She seemed to be. Tack then examined the other lady. She was harder to read, but Tack guessed that she was impressed as well.

"My name," The drunken spacer added suddenly, "Is Tack. Just Tack. Not Tacksum. Tack. Nice to meet you. Can I buy you another drink? I'll buy you... buy you both... another drink. How's that? Hell, I'll buy me another drink. Bartender!" Tack bellowed at the top of his lungs. In doing so, however, the spacer lost his balance and fell backwards off of his barstool, smacking his head soundly on the edge of the table behind him. He lay on the floor in a daze, eyes crossed.

JolaEdana
Jola'Edana Kahlid emerged from the hole in the wall that served as a 'fresher for what served as a cantina on Arelia.

When she'd landed in this forsaken jungle, all she'd wanted was a shower- now all she wanted was a towel. The big, fluffy, five star hotel kind. And a cold swimming pool to go with it.

She pulled at the fabric of her by now filthy black jumpsuit which seemed to suck at her pale skin. Her forehead and nose were burnt, and nearly matched the long mane of bright red hair that dangled past her waist.

How in the frell do you get sunburnt on a planet where you only see the sun for five minutes at a time?

She heaved a sigh, blowing tendrils of hair out of her unusual violet colored eyes. "Hey," she called, seeing the bartender make his way down the bar in her general direction. "Corellian brandy. Please."

"I can see glass!" A man a ways down the bar shouted, waving a small glass in the air.

The bartender looked about as tired as she did. "Soon as I can, ma'am."

She used the counter of the bar to pull herself up onto the stool. Her feet hardly reached the top rungs of the thing. It wasn't comfortable, but that's what you got for being short in a universe where most ailens seemed to push the 6 unit standard.

The bartender wasn't just pouring a drink for that guy- he was pulling out a bottle. The guy throwing back the shots looked like he'd been through the Maw in a speeder.

The bartender grabbed another bottle that hadn't sit still long enough to gather dust, and made his way over to her. He glanced back over at the other guy, who was finally- blissfully- quiet.

"Letting people kill themselves in front of an audience is legal on Arelia, hmm?" Jola inquired, raising an eyebrow.

The bartender poured her a small glass. "Only to a coma. And only if they've got the creds."

Jola eyed the glass in front of her distastefully. "In that case, fill that glass like you're supposed to."

The bartender cleared his throat. "Pardon me for saying, but you don't look like you'd need much."

"Trust me, buddy. Little woman, big problems. Fill it."

He did so and went back the way he came, leaving Jola to enjoy her brandy in silence. She didn't have the creds for more than this, but he didn't need to know that. Her cred chit had enough for a drink, but not enough for passage off this rock, so she may as well.

Bottoms up.

Jola chewed on her lips and contemplated herself in the mirror behind the bar. This had been a hellish three days.

After the alarms had gone off, everything had gone into a blur. Jaril had grabbed her and pulled her onto his transport with five others, and they'd shot their way out. They'd all agreed it wouldn't be prudent to stick together- a lot of them had profiles with the Imps, and there had been no way they'd blend into a crowd.

Jola hadn't wanted to leave them- a lot of them were wounded and could have used her around- but they hadn't really given her much of a choice. Jaril had used one of her own tranqs on her and left her sleeping in a corner of the spaceport with a few creds in her pocket.

Bastard always thought he knew what was best.

Jola rubbed at her face. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, no credits, no nothing. And she didn't even know if she'd see any of them again.

Brandy was good.
JerinPuck
Allie Achan paused in the street a moment to wipe the water off of her protective glasses. A futile endeavor- her shirt, along with the rest of her, was soaked, and it was still raining. Then again, as far as the population of Arelia was concerned, one could assume it was raining, unless told otherwise, in which case one should expect rain soon. Having lived there nearly three years now Allie was well aware of this, and spent a lot of time coming to terms with the fact that the only differences between living where she did and underwater were one- there were a lot fewer fish, and two- she didn’t suffocate from lack of oxygen. Though nothing could keep her from sometimes resenting number two.

Allie was a courier, so she spent most of her day outside with painstakingly waterproofed packages and envelopes, without so much as an umbrella for herself. Of course, an umbrella on a bike moving at high velocities is useless at best- more likely a hazard. Allie’s deliveries were done, which meant her workday was over, and she now faced the unusual dilemma of not being able to go back home.

“Home” was a fair sized apartment that Allie shared with two other people whose names she forgot as regularly as it rained. They never seemed to mind, though, so Allie didn’t worry about it, not that she would have anyway. The guy Allie lived with was bringing some girl, who had just broken up with her old boyfriend (and lifted all his stuff, too, the poor bastard,) back to the apartment for dinner and whatever (if anything) followed. Allie didn’t object- the guy paid half the rent. Allie paid twenty percent of the rent, which is why she slept on the couch. Or, on occasions like tonight, on the floor in her company’s office at the port.

Food first, though. There was no point in trying to dry off; Allie made her way to the cantina at the end of the street where she was a regular.

“Allie!” The Bothan behind the greeted her as she sat down.

“Hey, Keep!” She smiled in return. Allie never called the Bothan by his name, either. In fact, she didn’t call anyone by their name; her boss was amazed that Allie could remember her own name, though in all honesty, even remembering “Achan” gave Allie trouble sometimes.

“What’ll it be?”

“The driest food ya’ got, and anything that’s cheap and not water.”

“Coming ri-”

“Hey!” A slurred yell came from the other end of the counter. “I think…” the man who was yelling paused, and his face, which looked like he’d smashed it into a brick wall several times within the last hour, contorted into a look of concentration “I think I need some more.”

“Ah,” Allie glanced at the yelling man, and then the barkeeper. “And who’s that charming fellow when he’s not drunk?”

“Haven’t seen before tonight. A very interesting young man.”

“A very drunk young man.” Allie retorted.

The Bothan nodded. “That, too.”

“Hey!” He yelled again.

“Excuse me,” the bartender said, and went to see to the “very interesting young man.”

Darth_Kuangduk
Tacksum Duke was not having a good day. His girlfriend had just left him, and taken very nearly all of his stuff with her. Where she'd gone, and what she'd done with his stuff, Tack couldn't even begin to guess. That in and of itself wasn't making for a particularly horrible day... Tack had figured such a thing was coming eventually. It had just come sooner than he'd expected, and at a rather akward time.

No, that wasn't the worst of Tack's problems. Neither was the fact that he was stuck on Arelia, perhaps one of the worst places to be stranded in the universe. It was too hot, too rainy, and it was literally covered from roof to foundation in vegitation. Cities were supposed to be jungles of durracrete and plassteel, damnit, they weren't supposed to take the adage seriously. Not that you could call the spaceport a city, but it was the closest to one Tack had seen since he'd arrived.

But being stuck on Arelia and having his girlfriend leave with all of his stuff, even in combination, wasn't the worst of Tack's worries. The fact that his employer had just cut his expense accounts and, joy of joys, put a bounty on his head ranked pretty near the top. But it wasn't the worst, not by a long shot.

The fact that he'd just been stabbed - metaphorically, of course - in the back by his one time partner was damn near at the top, but hadn't quite made it all the way up. The allure of half a million credits must have been too much to bear for the spaceslug, and there had been a nasty consequence: Tack's partner uncouncious on his hotel room floor. At least the guy wasn't dead... Tack had been sorely tempted, but in the end the annoying little voice on the back of his head had won out and he'd spared the back stabber's life. Now he wished he'd never listened to that little voice.

Apparently, Tack's partner had turned him in to the local authorities before their confrontation. Tack now stood watching the result of that betrayal, bearly able to contain the extreme annoyance he felt at seeing spaceport security crawling all over his ship. It was, in Tack's estimation, the worst possible thing that had happened to him yet. It was the absolute top of the list. Girlfriends came and went... along with your material possessions, in Tack's experience. From time to time, you got stuck on backwater worlds. It happened, and was surviveable. Employers inevitably got displeased when they found out you'd been skimming money from their profits, and the occasional bounty was nothing to get yourself worked up about. Partners, no matter how long they'd been with you, and no matter how many times you'd saved their arse, also came and went. And tried to turn you into the authorities. Such was life.

But having your ship, your one and only beloved ship impounded by the authorities of a force forsaken backwater hellhole... watching them break into it and run their grubby, smelly fingers all over it's insides and all over your stuff... knowing that they were poking around your prized stash of collectable yerble feeders... and knowing, just knowing that they were going to find your fuzzy dice and probably steal them...

Why, it was just too much.

And, insult to injury, Tack's droid was in that ship. The last, no, the only faithful friend he'd ever had in the universe was in the hands of a bunch of yokle yahoos who'd probably use it as an ashtray or a footrest. There was only one thing that could ease Tack's pain. He had to go get drunk.

....


Bartenders, it's widely known, are amongst the best listeners in the galaxy. They're much better at it than psychologists, and they're cheaper, too. A several hour long drinking binge takes a lot less out of your pocket book than a one hour session with your shrink, and Tack was making the most of his time. He didn't have anything better to do, after all, and this particular bartender seemed to be on the nicer side of things. He not only listened as long as Tack kept buying drinks, he also gave feedback. And, much to Tack's surprise, he had a compassionate streak.


"Maybe you should ease off of that," The bothan barkeep suggested as the smuggler threw back another glass of something that could have doubled as paint thinner. Tack coughed and wheezed for a few moments, then set the glass down on the counter and eyed the barkeep suspiciously.

"Aren't you," Tack said slowly, "S'posed to be tellin' me to buy more?"

The barkeep gave him a steady look, as if he dealt with this often. "Look, if all you said was true... your girl taking your stuff, your ship empounded and all that, then shouldn't you be saving your money?"

Tack thought about this for a few moments, and decided it made a surprising ammount of sense. "Yeah..." he said slowly. "Yeah, I s'pose you're right. I dunno though, gonna have to think 'bout it. I need another drink," He muttered, reaching into his pocket for some more cred chits. The barkeep shook his head in acceptance of the fact, and readied himself to pour more liquer. Tack, however, seemed to be having trouble finding his cred chits. "Little buggers run off," He muttered to the barkeep. "Damn. How about you just put it on my tab..."

"I don't think so," The barkeep withdrew the bottle and placed it back on the shelf behind the counter. "You need cash if you want to drink around these parts."

"Fine," Tack grumbled, sliding off of his barstool and straightening himself out. "Fine," He repeated for no apparent reason. Feeling remarkably steady on his feet, the smuggler headed for the door. "Fine!" He roared again, just for good measure. The barkeep shook his head and watched Tack leave.

Out on the street, it was raining again. It was always raining, so far as Tack knew, except for the brief moments when the storm paused to gather it's breath for another thunderstorm. He trudged along the sidewalk for a few moments, not paying attention to where he was going. Perhaps that's why he didn't see the young Twi'Lek standing in his way until he bumped into the fellow.

"Hey man," The Twi'Lek grunted, "Watch it."

"Sorry," Tack grumbled, not sorry in the least. But hey, you had to at least pretend to be polite.

"No, I don't think you are. And neither do my friends here," The Twi'Lek sneered. Tack blinked and took a quick look around. Sure enough, there were three young thugs arranged in a rough semicircle around him. "In fact," The Twi'Lek continued, "I think you should show us just how sorry you are by giving us whatever credits you've got in your pockets."

Tack blinked, and slowly reality dawned on him. "You're robbing me?" Tack blurted, honestly surprised. The thugs, just young punks, really, nodded and chuckled as if Tack had said something funny. Tack, on the other hand, did not find the situation amusing. "You're robbing me," He said again. "What are you, stupid?" He demanded. "Do you know how much money I have on me? None! If I had money, do you think I'd be out on the street in weather like this? No! I'd be back in the cantina getting blind, dead, drunk! Do you know what kind of a day I've been having, wormhead?"

The Twi'Lek was looking somewhat unsure of himself now. People weren't supposed to respond like this when they were getting robbed by three thugs. They certainly weren't supposed to start ranting and raving like this guy was. Tack was, however, on a roll, and didn't much care what the Twi'Lek thought.

"My girl left me, took all my stuff... my stuff! My partner stabs me in the back, my boss puts a bounty on my head, my droid gets taken by the spaceport patrol so they can use it as force knows what kind of menial piece of junk, and they impound my ship, my ship! I don't even hav a towel! Arrrg!"

This guy, the thugs decided, was dangerous. Still, they'd started a job... no matter how crazy he was, he still might have some credits on him, or maybe just something they could pawn off and get some cash for. "Look, just give us all your valuables, ok?" The Twi'Lek tired. "Give us you're stuff, and we won't have to hurt you..."

"Hurt me?" Tack repeated, "Hurt me? You're looking at a man who's got nothing left to lose! You think you can hurt me?"

The Twi'Lek looked to one of his comrades, then the other. They both nodded in turn. Whatever was wrong with this lunatic, it was about to get fixed. Permenantly. Almost as one, they jumped at the still ranting spacer.


...

The bartender eyed Tack curiously as he wandered back into the bar, soaking wet and still bleeding from several cuts on his face and limbs. "Do you know," Tack commented, "How much it hurts to be hit with a brick?"

"Didn't you just stagger out of here half drunk?" The bartender inquired, not answering Tack's question.

"Yeah, I did. And that's why I'm back," the smuggler grinned and held up a handfull of credits. "I never leave a job half finished, my good barkeep, so I have returned to finish becomming fully drunk."

"Uh-huh," The bothan looked disbelieving. "And where did you suddenly find a fistfull of credits?"

"I borrowed 'em from a few friends of mine down the street," Tack said with a croocked grin, ignoring sidelong glances from other customers in the cantina. "They were a little reluctant, but I explained to them that I was having a very bad day, and that I was fresh out of credits. After beating around the bush for a little while, they saw it my way."

"I see," the bartender muttered, wishing he'd never asked. It wasn't his business where his customers got their money, so long as they kept buying drinks. "Well, what'll it be this time?"

Tack thought this over for a few moments, then pointed to the bottle he'd been busy emptying before. "More painthinner!" he proclaimed, slapping his credits down on the table. "And bartender? I don't want to see my glass empty before I pass out on the floor."