For competition: https://www.darkjedibrotherhood.com/competitions/13589
Kordath Bleu could count on one hand the number of cells he’d found himself that was this nice. Everything about Canto Bight had been over-decorated and ostentatious, the holding area was drab by comparison. But it was warm, the bed was wide enough that he wasn’t cracking an elbow against the wall everytime he moved, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the food was above average. The guards might not even spit it in here.
He laid on the bunk, glaring at the ceiling above him. A Human in a suit that could pay for a bloody platoon was on the other side of the cell, sitting on the floor. Sprawled, was a more apt description, his tie undone and one arm on the bench-like bed in an attempt to pull himself up. He gave up and rolled his neck, before looking at the Arconan.
“So, whadtya do?”
“Whatdidya doooo?” spoke the drunk once more, words coming slower yet not any clearer.
“Nothin’,” grunted Kord, rolling over to present his tail to the man, lashing in irritation.
“Oh, sure, yeah, nothing! Me too!”
Kord felt his eye twitch in annoyance. It wasn’t fair, he’d actually done nothing this time. His hands had been full with a drink in each one, trying to get from the bar back to the table that had contained the Odanite boss types. Conversing about offhand matters in an attempt to look casual had lead to the Ryn needing to take a walk to avoid having the white-haired woman or the Zeltron from shooting him for his comments.
Hells, the drinks weren’t even his, peace offerings for the ladies they were. He had to squeeze past a pair of Gamorreans in evening wear that were at one of the gambling tables. That the male porker had found a tuxedo that fit his bulky form was astonishing, that he’d had it tailored so well even more so. Kord had even tried to compliment the tusked man when his companions…wife…sow? The Ryn wasn’t sure what kind of relationship titles that species used. Her, wearing a gown that would haunt his dreams to the end of days, began having a fit when he tried to get by.
Security droids appeared as if by bloody conjuring magic and demanded he hand over whatever he’d stolen from the woman. When he insisted, quite loudly, that she had nothing he wanted, she had slugged him.
He paused in his reminiscing to rub at his sore cheek; the big girl had a helluva right hook.
It had seemed a little too neat, one moment he’s trying to not drop his drinks and the next he’s sprawled on the fancy floor covered in them and being detained for being drunk and disorderly. It wasn’t bloody fair, he’d barely had anything to drink himself but the security droids’ sensors were tripped and now he found himself down in the bloody cells. Bereft of comlink or anything passing for credits. At least they’d left him his ID and the keycard for his room.
Kordath sighed again as the drunk behind him wouldn’t just pass out, and hoped that the Odanite ladies weren’t suffering too much from him not being present.