Alcoholic Interlude

Meltdown Cafe - Level 92: Nar Shaddaa

Spacers, mercenaries, pirates, bounty hunters, traders, smugglers, black market dealers, thieves and a large array of both the galaxy's most dangerous and most wanted fill the smoky confines of Nar Shaddaa's most notorious bar. Stepping into Meltdown Cafe is like a trip to the heart of the galactic fringe - few places anywhere can offer more opportunities and peril. Heads turn slowly from over the tbac covered tables at each newcomer, seasoned pairs of eyes scan others with the most frigid expertise of those seeking opportunity, hardened bodies occupy the many booths. By all standards, this place is just the extension of the Smuggler's Moon, but here it manages to concentrate it all into one chamber. Lights are dim, covering the edges of the bar in constant shadows, the buzz of languages is electric, and the music saunters hypnotically between the walls. Any race can be found here, and some probably never known before. A shadowy cove dominates the area behind the bartender, likely a backroom where unspeakable plans are laid. A haze inhabits the air, where the scent of alcohol competes with the waft of spice, where the clank of money makes the world go round, and where tables and chairs bear scars of disagreements from the past.

-=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=-

=> R2 Astromech Droid 

=> Protocol Droid 

-=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=-

=> Tritus

=> Menu Poster

=> Electric Spice Band

Obvious exits:

ut leads to Concourse - Level 92: Nar Shaddaa.

"Barkeep... 'nother Blaster.." Jaspar slurrs, sitting in the corner of the cafe. The bartender whips up an electric blue elixir, and has it delivered to the young spacer.

"Y'know, kid, you really should lay off. Economy sucks right now, so you're not alone. Don't worry about getting a job. It'll come, just relax and let nature take its course."

The cafe's loosely packed, being in the off-hours. Jaspar's not hard to miss, especially given the rather nice shiner he's nursing. "Fuzzball.. stole m'girl.." The spacer laments.

Into the Bar walks the black-clad man from Tatooine, dark orbs sweeping over those sparse few frequenting the establishment. Long before he went to Tatooine, the man had called Nar Shaddaa his home. As such, he still had a few connections here, and when he put out an inquiry to locate the self-professed Free Trader, it was not long before word came of his whereabouts. Thus, he had made his way to the Smuggler's Moon, and now within the Meltdown Cafe, eyes lock upon the youth.

Step after slow step are taken towards the man, and Tritus arrives without preamble, taking a seat across from him. "Mister Andromidas." he states slowly, words drawn out as they're spoken. "What brings you to this fine establishment with the clear intent of intoxication?"

"Tall dark and fuzzy.. stole my girl... been checkin' her out for an hour.. I went in to seal the deal, and she walks out with this tree-hugger." Jaspar stares despondently into his drink.

A brow is quirked towards Jaspar, and the black-clad man beckons the barkeep over. "Scotch. Your finest. Neat." he intones casually, before fixing his attention upon the Spacer once more. "You do realize that neither foolishly getting captured by the Empire, nor getting drunk like a love-struck teenager, endear you to your employer, correct?" he states slowly, features remaining emotionless as he watches the man carefully. "And I got word of your prison break. I was glad to hear that you had not been transferred to Kessel for the rest of your miserable life, but now I am not so certain." Clearing his throat, and soon accepting the beverage, and offering up a substantial cred stick, Tritus regards Jaspar anew. "We had an accord, you and I."

"I didn't say anything to anyone... I know enough to keep my mouth shut.." Jaspar replies, raising what was once his left hand (where now is a stump), knocking back his drink with his right, and meeting Tritus' gaze. "And it's not like I intended to get caught." He speaks with an even tone, choosing his words carefully. Not looking to say something that might get his other hand lopped off.

"That, then, was your error." states the black-clad man, sipping at the beverage slowly before leaning forward, the glass placed upon the table between them. "You should always be looking at what may happen to get you caught, and prepare for the worst. It is a dangerous business, afterall." Intaking a slow breath, the man sighs faintly. "You have quite the record in the Empire, I am led to believe. Smuggling. Escaping arrest. A few other charges...." Again, the glass is raised, and a sip had of the amber liquid. "What do you intend to do about that?"

"Know anyone who can wipe my records?" Jaspar says, allowing the booze to drift out of his system, and his mind to clear. "Or, at least, make them difficult to connect those charges to me? I had a companion, years ago, who would've been perfect for the job, but I've heard neither hide nor hair of him for a good while."

A slow intake of breath is had, before released in a bit of a sigh. Waiting a little longer for Jaspar to regain some more semblance of sobriety, Tritus finally responds. "I have already taken the liberty of meeting with an ISB Agent, and brokering a deal to wipe your records for you." he informs the man slowly. Another sip is had of his drink as he allows that fact to settle in on the Free Trader, before adding, "I am also awaiting delivery of your vessel to Tatooine as we speak. It should be there within the next few days."

Jaspar nods, slowly. "I see.. So, what's the plan now? How am I to repay your deeds?" He orders up a different drink, and begins nursing steadily on it: plain ice-water. No booze. "Before you say anything else, allow me to say this... Thank you." He offers another nod.

"Simple." states Tritus. "You work for me. I will give you a percentage of the profits on jobs you do." he explains slowly. Another sip is had, and the black-clad man leans back in his seat. "Any side jobs you wish to take, you will discuss with me -first-." Fixing Jaspar with a look, he adds, "No exceptions." His own metallic hand is raised and placed upon the table. "We shall need to get you a new hand, yourself." Intaking a slow breath, Tritus releases it slowly. "Regarding side jobs, I will get a cut of your profits from them. Likely the same percentage you get from jobs you do for me." Leaning forward, the man leans over the table as he adds in very low tones, "I owe much for this. And I do not do anything unless there is a profit in it for me. So, understand me when I tell you, you owe a lot to me, and I always see what is owed me repaid."

Jaspar nods slowly in return. "Heard, understood, acknowledged. I know the drill. I always try to put my best foot forward, give my superiors a minimum one-hundred-and-ten percent. Sometimes life gets in the way. I'll do everything in my power to see that it's clear skies and smooth sailing from here on out." He responds. "I'm in this business to make money, not lose my head."

"Good." states Tritus, nodding as he leans back. Downing the remainder of his glass, the black-clad man scoots the chair out from the table, rising as he does. "Meet me on Tatooine tomorrow." he informs Jaspar slowly. "Unless you would rather travel back in my vessel..?" A step is taken towards the exit, and as he begins to move, he glances back to see if the Spacer will follow out after him, or remain on Nar Shaddaa for one more day.

The smuggler motions to the barkeep, indicating he's finished drowning his demons.. for now. Jaspar rises, and moves to follow the black-clad man out. "After you, sir."