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| - "As you wish, Lord Draga," Johanna replies with as courteous a bow as she can manage, taking care to keep her overcoat around her lest she uh, expose anything untoward to the unfortunate people behind her, "We will speak in a while." Well, the Hutt had mentioned a drink. Drinks sound like a good idea! She moves over to the bar and curses the fact that her shoes keep her from walking over there with anything resembling purpose. Johanna half clomps, half stumbles to the bar and then hangs on for dear life before finding her balance once more. "I'm going to find the twit who designed this horrific footwear and make him or her sad they were ever born," she grumbles. The Side Deck is not your typical Nar Shaddaa bar. It is well-appointed and, at the moment, quiet - there is no rowdiness to be found, likely because the people who own the place prefer it that way and are heavily armed enough to enforce it. Del aims a sympathetic grin towards Johanna from behind the bar, gesturing towards a barstool. "Give them a few swift ones from me, while you're at it - nearly chipped a tooth because of a pair of those once. Can I get you anything?" She gestures questioningly towards a clean glass. Kaitlin nods in reply to Draga, murmuring a polite, quiet farewell to the departing Hutt, and then sets to dismantling her rifle back into its case with a series of quiet clicks. "This is why I never wear the blasted things," she says as Del and Johanna commiserate over the shoes. "Boots for me. If someone complains, a swift kick convinces them not to do it twice, usually." "Oh, I'm TELLING you... I just want to... I just... one day I'll kick this piece of..." Then Johanna remembers her manners and blushes a little. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to wearing this... this... GETUP, if you will. And yes, I could use something strong. Been a while since I last saw the likes of Nar Shaddaa." She maneuvers her way onto a barstool and sighs with relief as the pressure is taken off her feet. 'Wearing heels' isn't a skill that was ever covered in training. The pilot cannot help but think how it will be if she ever has a female apprentice, no doubt she'll teach her to stay far, far away from such horrid things! "Say, this is a really nice place. How long have you been open for business?" A glance is spared the fellow a few seats down. As the blasters are listed off it is plain to see on Xavier's face that he has no clue about a single one of them. He does nod politely though, but his face betrays his ignorance. "Hmmm one of those hold outs might be good. Have you any weapons like swords? I have always liked swords. I once did an entire paper on the history of the Rapier. It was a college paper you see, it was well received by sword historians. One day I will publish it for general consumption." As the skirted woman arrives Xavier leans over and reaches a hand out to steady her in case of a fall, not actually touching her, not at all, that would be rude. "I could tell you the story of who invented those shoes, but you would likely fall asleep. I have heard it joked that they were invented by a man to keep woman from running away. I can assure you this is not entirely true, however it is a jest I enjoy when I hear it." Xavier turns conversationally back to Del. "Oh I thank you for the warning m'dear. I have noticed some jibes aimed at my attire. I have yet to be physically harassed." Xavier smiles at the glance and orrates to anyone who is listening but mostly aims it at Johanna and Del. "Doctor Xanatos Xavier. By the way." It is apparent he thinks his name should hold some weight... "Coming up on two months, I think," Del replies thoughtfully, fetching a glass for Johanna and rummaging under the counter before holding up a bottle of Coruscanti whiskey and wiggling it questioningly at her. "Not very long, in the grand scheme of things, but we're getting settled in pretty quick. /That's/ the main attraction, though," she grins, gesturing towards the force field making up the room's rear wall which gives a clear view of the enormous repair bay a deck below. She looks back towards Xavier, her grin turning apologetic. "We do have a few double vibro-blades in stock, but those are pricey, around 2700 a piece. I'm hoping to get a contract with Merr-Sonn and SoruSuub soon, so we may have more options available.. just not right this second." She shrugs helplessly, then sets the empty glass down in front of Johanna so that she can extend a hand towards Xavier and Johanna in turn. "Del Marx. I'm the owner. Pleasure to meet you both." "I'd *hope* it's the main attraction," Kaitlin says wryly, opening the other rifle case to take her EKX-10 back out for a more thorough inspection. "I mean, I realize most people don't appreciate how remarkable the hangar really is, but I'd rather hope the starship facilities would be more interesting than the alcohol. Even if the bar gets more business." The doors to the Side Deck open with that *HISS* that's so familiar to us all, and for a moment, a shadow is all that appears in the newly vacated doorway. It pauses on the threshhold, black against the light let in from behind, vaguely humanoid but with strange protrusions where the head should be. After a moment, however, it begins to move, stumping into the light of the room. A Quarren is revealled, tall and broad, its facial tentacles waving gently like kelp in the depths of the sea, though no current is present in this fine establishment. Its gait is uneven, the left foot thumping harder on the floor than the right, but it doesn't seem to notice as it turns to the still-opened doorway. "Bill! Ye blasted barnacle, get in here! I fancy an ale after all this travenlin', and a stool to rest me weary legs. No thanks to you, you scurvy sea slug!" "I'm Joh," the pilot grins, shaking Del's hand and looking considerably more cheerful at the prospect of the whiskey before glancing again at Xavier and trying not to snort, "Invented to keep women from running away, eh? I hear the best way to do that is offer them a lot of money, or write poetry or some such rot. The money I can understand, though." No, Johanna is still a little unrefined, if by "a little" one means "very." An appreciative eye wanders to the repair deck. "I'd say it's a good racket. You have drinks and you have techs. So long as the two never meet while the techs are on duty, business should be booming." Not that she'd know anything about working on ships while drunk, since she never did that kind of thing while serving as a starfighter tech on the Deliverance. Sure! "An oasis of cleanliness in a desert of filth." Following just moments behind the imposing Salty_Jack comes another figure, also strong and burly, but slightly shorter, and dressed less elaborately. It is a calamari, his head wrapped in a bandana and one eye covered with a patch. Bill sidles up to a chair next to the Captain and raps on the bar with a closed fist. "Avast, comely wench," he addresses the woman behind the bar, "My matey and I want to swill a pint or two of grog. We have come a long way." "We get more business upstairs because it's cheaper," Del muses towards Kaitlin, winking at her as she pours Johanna a glass of whiskey. "I know we get plenty of people who would be delighted to give you some business down in the bay if they only had a ship to bring in." Once the drink is poured, she tucks the bottle back under the counter and grins at Johanna. "You could also kneecap them, but I imagine they might not be /happy/ to stay, in that event. Money and toys are safer." With a sage nod, she looks towards the door when it opens again, and just sort of... tilts her head at the new arrivals, blinking owlishly. "...I think closing time is approaching. The hallucinations have started," she says quietly, shaking her head and moving to fetch a pair of mugs as the pair make their way inside. She stops at the greeting, however, turning to eye Jack with an arched eyebrow. "And you'll continue wanting to swill a pint or two until you rephrase your greeting," she says smoothly, folding her arms and eyeing the pair expectantly. "Sluissi techs don't drink while performing their art, ma'am," Kaitlin replies to Johanna, not sounding particularly offended, though she sounds like she could easily have been. But her accent *is* the drawl common of humans native to the Sluissi homeworld, an accent that is increasingly uncommon in the last six years or so, of course. She watches the new pair of... gentlemen enter, quiet clicks sounding across the room as she removes factory seals from the heavy rifle in her hands. It almost sounds like a quiet suggestion, backing up Del's reply. The Quarren thumps his companion heartily on the back, letting out a hearty laugh as he slumps onto the barstool, then sighs with relief, though his legs are too long for his feet to completely lift off the ground. He tilts his hat back up off his face to regard the barmaid, or owner, as the case may be, and his hooked tentacle, seeming to operate completely independantly, reaches up to stratch the side of his face. "Arr, ol' Barnacle Bill were'nt meanin' ye no harm, lass. Ye should be glad o' yer looks, they'll assist ye a fair piece in this galaxy." He gives Del a wink, which perhaps could even be construed as saucy were it not coming from a raggedy-looking Quarren. "Could ye spare an old squid and his mate a pair o' drinks?" he continues, leaning one arm on the bar, "We'd be more than grateful to ye." Xavier finally decides on a course of action. "I think perhaps I shall save my credits and maybe purchase one of your fine double bladed vibroblades. I would wager people would look at this doctor a bit more politely werwe I carrying it. Of course, I'd be no good with it but that isn't really the point I should argue." As the doors open the Hapanian man turns to watch the odd couple enter the bar. They looked quite similar to the dregs that threw him out of the Beggar's Cove. No sense in drawing their ire a second time. Taking up his wine he sips it savoring the flavor of a fine make. "Exactly what I was in the market for my dear. It seems my hunt for a new watering hole has come to an end." That is unless the two fishy characters down the bar weren't going to object. The subtle clicks of the rifle draws the calamari's attention, and he frowns. It is, after all, the job of the first mate to protect his captain. Barnacle Bill swivels on his bar stool, reaching down for a weapon of his own, when he turns to find Kaitlyn with the large gun. His frown turns into a lusty grin and he says loudly, "Ahoy, me proud beauty! That's the finest pirate booty I have ever laid eyes upon! Why don't you let Bill show you his gun?" "I'll see what I can do about keeping one in stock for you, doc," Del says to Xavier, smiling lopsidedly at him and inclining her head. "You're welcome here anytime. Folks shouldn't give you any trouble while you're here." She turns her attention to the Quarren, considering that for a moment before she gives a quiet 'eh' and pulls a pair of empty, clean mugs from under the counter and sets them down in front of Jack and Bill. "Not /quite/ what I was going for, but a good deal more respectful," she admits, smiling wryly at Jack. "We don't have what you'd consider grog here - the pirate-run bar elsewhere on the moon handles that sort of stock - but we do carry a good amount of your standard ales and whiskeys, if that would suit you this evening. Corellian, perhaps?" They border on swill, right? As Bill speaks, however, he only seems to succeed in making his Captain's life more difficult as she lays her hand on the holster of her own blaster. "Please advise your first mate to behave in my establishment, or he's welcome to take his leave," she says darkly to the Quarren, scowling quite unhappily at his companion. "My apologies. I speak out of turn sometimes. I didn't mean to imply that the service in the bay is sub-par," Johanna hastily offers, sensing that it's not something Kaitlin finds terribly funny, "It seems a fine establishment and a clever one at that. Of course..." Here she cannot bite back the expression of dismay that plays across her features at the arrival of the Quarren and the Calamari, "... It takes all kinds of characters to add color to a bar. I think you just got more color than you bargained for." Uncouth as she can be, she can hardly believe her ears at Bill's gumption. Irritating armed women with smarmy remarks isn't the wisest course of action! "Two hundred creds says Miss Del shows them the door before the next minute is up," she notes to Xavier. Kaitlin's eyes go dangerously flat, the emerald green looking like they might just manage to spear the Calamari with the same sort of green imperial destroyers use to such effect. "One reason you may not want to is the abysmal survival rate. And enjoy laying eyes if you wish, but try to restrain yourself to that. Anything else you lay on, you won't be getting back," she advises coldly, glancing to Del. "Thank you, Del, but I can handle my own kills if they become necessary. It has been a while since I last claimed a trophy," she adds, sliding a power pack into the bullpup blaster rifle with a smooth click, and the rifle briefly emits the climbing whine of charging capacitors. She gives Bill a chance to think about all that before she strings a shoulder strap to the rifle and slings it over her shoulder, opening the second case to start stripping a second rifle of its seals. This one appears to be broken into several parts when in the case. She seems to have left her reply at that, but it's clear she's not appreciative of, nor necessarily forgiven, the remark. As weapons are drawn and strong words are spoken the Hapan man takes up his glass to be sure not a drop will be spilled should the bar errupt in a blaster fight. "I'm inclined to take you up on that bet, I'll bet that she'll have them begging her pardon before they're thrown out." Sipping at his wine again he watches on to see which one of them would be leaving 200 credits richer. He is tempted to put an even larger bet on who was likely to be shot first but it would be inapproriate and he doesn't want to instigate. "Thank ye, lass. Ye be too kind to us poor seafarers. Why, there's nary a time when..." but at this point, he's cut off by his companion's less than gentlemanly remark to the young woman with the large gun. Jack makes a sound at the back of his throat that's hard to discern, though it might be a cough. Or something similar to a cough. Yes even before Del speaks, he reaches forward and grasps the Mon Cal by the shoulder, sticking his face in the other's and growling, "Ye best be shuttin' yer trap, Bill, or I'll get yer left eye as good as I got yer right!" He brandishes the manacing hooked tentacle dangerously close to the Mon Cal's bulbous pupil, the point glistening in the light of the bar, "Ye know if I bring her out she'll be hungerin' fer blood!" The Quarren turns to the now quite well-outfitted woman, and says, "My apologies, lass. Three months on the high seas and Bill's like ter go mad till he sets his feet on land. The Cals ain't like us old squids; the sea's in our blood and I'll not be happy till I'm back on it again." Barnacle Bill lets out a strangled yelp as his shoulder is grabbed. Attempting to lean away, his single eye struggles to follow the path of the hook as it dances in front of him menacingly. "Aye aye, Captain," he says loudly, and then, in what is clearly meant to be a whisper but the Calamari has some whispering disability where really his whispering is still really quite audible, he says, "Sorry, Captain. But Bill has been at sea so long. His hornpipe needs a-blowin." But despite this, he settles quietly into his stool and stares despondently at his mug, waiting for some grog. "Have to stand up for the integrity of my bar as well as my friends, Kait, but if you insist," Del muses, aiming a wry smile towards the redhead before removing her hand from her blaster. Well... and the speed with which Jack wrangles in his mate helps. "Your hornpipe can find a suitable player elsewhere on the moon. Can't remember which level the Pleasure Palace is on, but blowing is their speciality," she deadpans. She offers the Quarren another grateful smile and pulls a bottle of Corellian whiskey from under the counter and pours the pair their mugs. Kaitlin looks satisfied at the way Bill's been handled, clicking the long-barrelled hunting rifle together, and even smirks at the Calamari's not-so-whispered reply. "Doesn't have near the hips to take me on anyway," she mutters quietly, attaching another shoulder strap to the second rifle. And then, slightly louder, "If I wanted to eat fish, Maker knows I wouldn't be hanging around Nar, anyway. Wrong port all around, sailor." "Yeh had yer horn blown not two weeks past, ye slime-ridden landlubber! What happened ter yer green-eyed beauty whose ship we boarded off Hawaka? The two o' ye made enough noise ter wake the dead!" But Jack merely chuckles as he says this, turning back to Del and his long-awaited pint of ale. "Corellian'll be fine, lass, and many thanks we'll be givin' ye for it, too." He reaches for the tankard with his suctioned fingers, wrapping them around it and lifting it to his mouth, draining half in one long gulp. He sighs in what can nearly be described as ecstasy, smacking his lips, or what would be lips if squid had lips. "That's near the best thing I've had ter pass my gullet in nigh on half a year. The sea's a cruel mistress, ye never know what she'll be givin' ye, and what she'll ask o' ye in return." "Arrr," Bill mutters into his mug, turning it around and around on the bar thoughtfully, a whimsical grin coming to his face as he remembers his last conquest. But at Kaitlin's dig, his face falls again and he sighs heavily. "Arrr," he says again, this time his tone sad. "If only ye had let me keep her and not sold her t' those slavers. She was a wild one." At last, he picks up his mug and takes a long sip of it, draining the cup in one gulp. Slamming it back onto the bar, he lets out a few hearty coughs. "Which level is the pleasure palace on, me lovely lassie?" "Half a year? Good lord. Maybe I should offer you gentlemen a crate or two to take with you," Del muses, shaking her head solemnly and seating herself on a stool kept behind the bar. If she's heard Kaitlin's comments, she doesn't show it. Her expression /does/ cool at bit at the mention of slavers, however it's quickly replaced by a thoughtful one. "Can't recall, truthfully. Not my cup of tea. It's a short ways off from the lift, though, whatever level the damn thing is on." She spreads her hands apologetically, then glances between Johanna and Xavier with a wry grin. "Refills, or are we good?" Xavier smiles and shakes his head. "I think a glass of wine is enough for me this evening." Taking up the glass once more and finishing his contents he sets it aside and counts out the approriate sum for his drink and Johanna's. "Standing up he smiles and bows politely to Del and then to Johanna. "It was a pleasure meeting you two." Then lowering his voice "Keep your eyes on those two." Then Xavier shoots one last smile Johanna's way. "Johanna, Del. I'm sure we'll bump into one another again." And with that Xavier disappears out into the streets of Nar Shaddaa. She can't complain, really. It's more action than she'd bargained for here, but the evening has unfolded into something amusing without degenerating into a bloodbath. "Me? Oh, no thanks. I'm good. Here..." Johanna withdraws a sizeable handful of creds, much more than required to cover the single drink, "... for your ah... troubles. And the entertainment, however unintended." It's a generous enough tip, that's for sure! She slides cautiously from the barstool and makes sure her duster covers all the important bits before venturing a step forward. "I know where to come for a drink next time. Ladies, it's been a pleasure. And uh..." She can't call the squids 'gentlemen', as they certainly don't rate that high on anyone's scale, but she ought to include them somehow, "... go easy on the girls, sailors." The Quarren lets out a laugh as Bill reminds him of his role in parting the two starcrossed lovers, and he nods, hook tapping thoughtfully against the half-full glass with satisfying *clinks*. "Aye, ye be right, now I think on it," he agrees, repositioning his hat as it begins to slip backward off the head that it was obviously not made to adorn, "and a fair piece o' gold I got fer her, tis true. She were a hearty wench, though ye tired her out more'n I'd've liked." He picks up the mug again, draining the rest of it and setting it back on the bar with a thump. He also gets up from the bar, tipping the hat to Del with a grin, though on him it looks slightly strange. "Thank ye kindly, lass. If it's not troublin' yeh, we may be back a few times afore we put out once more." He turns to his companion, tapping him on the shoulder as he says, "C'mon, let's see if we c'n find yeh some entertainment."
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