A Bad Night's Work

From TFC Galactopedia

The cantina pulsed. Tonight’s ear-blaster of choice was a terean “shrieking claw” band. Their ‘music’ sounded more like a primal hunting band after a hard run and too much ferment. The youngish crowd that packed the establishment did not seem to care. Most of the patrons wore home defense force insignia on their jackets. Mystie’s Flameout Cantina was a favorite haunt for lemorian pilots and ground crews alike, and tonight was no exception. Mystie, the heavyset, rawboned proprietress, worked the bar herself to help her tenders keep up with the demand for drinks. Her gray furred ears flicked back in momentary annoyance as the door slid open to admit yet another clutch of blue garbed pilots.

“As if we weren’t busy enough already.” She muttered under her breath, mixing her twentieth Bantha Blaster. It seemed they had underestimated the draw Sorch Blaest and his band had on the younger set. Her glance flicked to the burly, shirtless, tawny furred terean on the cantina’s tiny stage. He bellowed out incomprehensible lyrics as if caught in the throes of a towering rage. His reddish mane had long since escaped its thong and straggled, sweat damp, around his face. Mystie huffed and concentrated on mixing drinks. Their music might set her teeth on edge, but custom had never been so good. She glanced up again to see if the new bunch of pilots had found a seat yet. They had. All six, mostly females by the look, were crowding into a booth built to hold four at most. Mystie sighed, and then frowned in consternation as she caught a flash of white fur from the group. What? An Aristo? Slumming here with the common folk? Eyes narrowing, she prodded her nearest tender.

“Corwin, you tag that bunch what just came in?”

The slim black fox looked up from the Durindfire he was mixing. “I noted ‘em.” He replied and squinted at the bunch. “That’s a group from Forth squad. Heard they just got a new captain, fresh from Coruscant.”

“That so?”

“Yep.” He slid the fruity drink to one of the wait staff and started on an Ithorian Mist.

“Thought I saw an Aristo in that bunch.” She mentioned off hand, pouring a shot of Corellian Brandy for an already tipsy pilot and placidly removing his hand from her arm when he decided to get ‘friendly’. Her ears flicked back involuntarily as the band struck a decidedly sour chord on their instruments and the howling rose yet another decibel. There was no accounting for taste in the young.

Corwin waited for the music to sink back to a slightly more tolerable level before answering.

“You did.” He set a pair of glasses on a tray and filled them with juri-juice. ”The new captain’s Zannah Lyles.”

Mystie did a double take, nearly dropping the brandy bottle. “Zannah. You mean-“ She broke off, knowing exactly whom he meant. Zannah, or rather, Roxzannah, was the Queen Mother’s eldest daughter, the heir to lemoria’s hereditary throne. She had no business associating with commoner pilots or slumming in a place like the Flameout. It just was not done.

“Yep.” Corwin said just above the roar of the music, handing off the tray with practiced ease. “I wouldn’t make a big deal of it, though,” he cautioned. “Somehow I don’t think she’d appreciate it much.”

Mystie shook her head weakly as Corwin went back to mixing. Times had certainly changed since she was a girl. What was the world coming to?

Zannah sat with her squadmates and felt herself laugh genuinely for the first time in weeks. She loosened the collar of her flight jacket. The cantina they had brought her to was rather on the warm side.

“Oooh, aren’t they lovely?” Seira sighed, attention rapt on the terean band tearing up the Flameout’s stage.

Talen poked her wingmate in the ribs. “Stop staring. You’ve got their holo-posters plastered all over our quarters as is. You can see them any time you want. Besides, they sound like ten kilos of pissed off furzen in a five kilo sack.”

Seira cast the red furred vixen an injured look and went back to mooning over the band.

Zannah chuckled to herself. Fems were fems the universe over, though privately she tended to agree with Talen. Still, the slender, taupe-furred singer near the main vocalist had a lovely voice when he put forth. She liked him better than the burly hulk who growled out most of the nearly unintelligible lyrics. The rest of the pilots offered their own comments or opinions, broken off only when one of the wait staff approached them for drink orders.

Several minutes, three mugs of lomin ale, one lum, a Corellian brandy, and a Bespin Berry Fizz later, all six pilots were happily chatting it up. The band pounded on. The patrons added to the din. Flight groups traded jokes and jibes between booths and tables, and the entire atmosphere was generally one of relaxed merriment. Zannah let out a pent up exhalation. How long had it been since she had truly been able to loosen up and enjoy a few drinks with a crowd like this? She stretched and studied her glass. The brandy swirled within, a few drops clinging to the sides. Far too long, she decided.

Hours passed. Eventually the band began to wind down and patrons trickled out the door in groups of two or three. Two of the Forth squad pilots had excused themselves an hour earlier for duty back on base. Two more eventually wandered off into the crowd to mingle. Only Zannah and Seira were left in the booth, the latter with her attention still fixed on the band. The yellow furred vixen chewed her lip anxiously until Zannah laughed aloud.

“Go on,” She waved Seira toward the stage where the band was beginning to break down their instruments.

“Are you sure?” Seira looked like she wanted nothing more than to bolt up to the stage and gush at the tereans. “I mean, we all brought you here, and I feel bad about abandoning you like this…”

Zannah chuckled. “I spent my downtime in plenty of bars with other cadets on Coruscant, Sei. I’m a big girl. I can get home by myself.”

“Well, ok.” Looking considerably happier, Seira trotted off in the direction of the big terean.

Alone in the booth now, Zannah shook her head and smiled. It had been a nice evening out even with her squadmates bugging out. She didn’t mind. They were enjoying themselves and she had had fun herself. Amused and relaxed, she slipped out of the booth, leaving a tip on the table, and headed in the direction of the door. She’d only gotten one arm back into her flight jacket when someone caught her free hand and tugged her toward another booth.

“Wha-?”

Her ears pricked forward at the telltale hiss of a hypo injector and her eyes widened at the cool rush against her white furred skin. Another tug unbalanced her enough to send her sprawling into the booth and the arms of the black-cloaked figure within it. Malicious green eyes glittered centimeters from her own and a vicious smile curled on his lips.

Shaunon!

She tried to jerk away and discovered a strange lassitude had spread through her muscles, preventing movement.

“Hello there, pet. Didn’t I promise you I’d see you again?” He murmured in her ear.

“What have you done to me?” She managed a whisper but nothing more.

“Nothing permanent,” he chuckled darkly. “Not yet, anyway. Just a handy little drug to insure your obedience. Your baby brother won’t be running to your rescue this time, my dear. Now stand up.”

Though her mind rebelled, her body obeyed the command and Zannah found herself standing. Shaunon draped her flight jacket over her shoulders and guided her out of the bar. Inwardly she cursed him, her own helplessness, and everyone around them for failing to realize something was wrong. Outwardly she obediently let Shaunon lead her out of the bar and into whatever he had planned in the darkness beyond.