Jerin Puck

Allie’s senses returned to her by the time she reached the fueling station. Shivering, she had tried a few times to spit the sour taste out of her mouth, but to no avail. (Attempting to wring water out of her hat also proved fruitless.)

A shack of a building in the center of the small station grounds bore some generic home-world name, half the letters flickering, the other half out entirely. Scrounging her pockets for loose credits, Allie entered the place, causing a muffled bell to sound from somewhere inside. A proprietor appeared from behind an aisle, and looked at Allie a little more than she was comfortable with. She shrugged her jacket further up on to her shoulders, and was forced to notice how sore she was getting. Hastily grabbing a bottle from the coolers- anything would do- Allie half dropped the merchandise on the counter to be scanned and threw down the few credits to cover it. Frell, could he move any slower? “Just keep the change,” she blurted, ran out the door, and nearly into a wookie. No. Hairy man. Get out, Allie!

Allie got out.

She plopped herself down with her back against a dysfunctional pump, and downed the contents of the bottle. The taste was disconcertingly similar to the one in her mouth before, so Allie cast the bottle aside. For a few moments, all was silent. Then, the shack erupted, and fell silent once again. Allie leaned around the pump to take a look, only to be graced with wookie-man’s presence again. “Hi!” he said, in a disturbingly happy voice, before vanishing into the darkness. Allie blinked twice, convinced herself that she had imagined him, sniffed, and kept waiting.