Log:Sabaac: Pakko's Place, Nar Shaddaa

Word on the Smuggler's Moon is that Pakko's Plac (someone really should replace that stole 'e' some day) is hosting a a Sabaac game. The bar's investor Colo Nell has even put down 10,000 credits to start the pot! Come on down for sort-of comfortable chairs, okayish booze, and some questionable company. Prize money will be split among First, Second, and Third places. Spectators welcome!

Sabaac: Pakko's Place, Nar Shaddaa

OOC Date: August 11, 2022
Location: Pakko's Place, Nar Shaddaa
Participants: Maelstrom (GM), Fyrris Vochar, Fshmaw, Colo Nell, Tamsin Cas, DJ, Ejnar Celchu

O-=< Pakko's Place - Corellian District, Nar Shaddaa >O-==-O-==-O-==-O-==-O-==

When stepping into this establishment, its hard to ever imagine that it was ever a nice bar.

A set of stairs lead down from the street into a trash filled entryway, the bar's door is generally always open allowing locals access in and out of the bar.

An old electric sign hangs over the rounded duracrete doorway and it flashes Pakko's Plac (the 'e' was stolen years ago).

Inside the bar its a fairly large room with tables and chairs scattered about, the sorts of folk you find in here are the drunk disasters that only a lifetime of sorrow could provide. There's very rarely any life here in this dark and dank establishment and the droid that operates the bar offers no conversation for anyone who sits at the bar.

A doorway in the back leads to an old card house where gambler's test their luck against each other.

O-=< 1 +View >O-==-O-==-O-==-O-==-O-==-O-==-O-==-O-==-O< 1 Offline Player >O-=

-- Maelstrom --

Pakko's Place has been made presentable to host this evening's Sabaac game. And by 'presentable' that seems to mean someone kind of, sort of ran a broom over the floor. Whoever it was didn't bother to move any tables or chairs in order to achieve this feat of sanitation, but what did you expect? This ain't the Taris Ritz. As made all the more obvious by the fact that some of the bulbs around the room's perimeter have burnt out and thus the table for tonight's event has been chosen by virtue of which lighting fixture was the most functional.

The table is situated in the middle of the space with the 'best' chairs the proprietors could find. They wobble the least. How fancy. Pakko's is otherwise a little busier than usual. Some patrons are here to see the spectacle and most others are just trying to drown themselves in booze before the acid rain of Nar Shaddaa drowns them instead.

Thik, the night-shift bouncer, has been voluntold to oversee tonight's game and make sure no one is cheating. A task he only takes seriously because someone has to sign his paycheck. But the looming man with one squinty eye sits at an adjacent table nursing his lum and watching the players take their seats.

-- Fyrris --

Seat cleaned, sanitized, cleaned and scrubbed once more by faithful, yes lets go with that, automata butler C4, Fyrris is clad in crimson suit, tabac stick in a holder clenched in his teeth and his lower hands resting on the grip of the elaborately decorated cane in his possession.

"Do we have the leveling lifts?" "Of course, sir." The droid already making to reduce Fyrris's wobble to the best of his ability once the codru has set down. Lower hands still on his cane and his upper right lifting a clawed finger to swirl through the hair threatening to dangle over his solid amber, sans pupil, eyes. Flicking it to hang over his left temple.

"Well then. Best of luck, gentles." head bowing slightly and a broad grin taking his features. Smoke curls from the corner of his mouth, tabac stick bobbing slightly while his head turns as if to give a sidelong glance to the bar, "Hmmm." "After?" C4 inquires. "Probably." "Very good, sir."

-- Fshmaw --

Fshmaw is in fine 'professional card-player form,' in an unbuttoned Felucian mushroom-pattern shirt, a porkpie hat, feather boa and sunglasses. His protruding gut is held in check, barely, by the grille of his translator. If he were any more willfully ostentatious and slovenly he'd be eating barnuts off a pile on his belly, but thankfully they are in a nearby glass. Likewise the margarita in a measuring-jug features an umbrella with equally garish print. All designed to dazzle and frustrate.

-- Colo --

Presentable is all in the eye of the beholder. Pakko's had a cleaning droid run over the place a good fifteen minutes and not a second more per Colo's orders, mostly to get the stickiest spots off the circular tables that have been set up for a makeshift Sabacc tourney. Naturally, the investor/owner/absentee-landlord has also seen fit to make sure that the house is dishing out one free drink (watered-down) per patron and judiciously stamps the hands of those that have received one already. With hospitality down, there's just the mere matter of mingling.

Colo's dressed tonight for just such an eventuality, albeit not in his usual, fussy finery so much as a simple, blue button-up with long sleeves and a simple, semi-frayed vest. The cuffs on his shirt are rolled up per the venue's rules and the only tricks he's able to pull with his sleeves now are ensuring a small pack of cigarras are stuffed for later filching. He smiles amiably enough as he marches up and finds a pre-assigned table where some of the higher-rollers have been assigned to ensure they are watched by none other than the rent-a-bouncer. All that's lest for him is to be amused at Fyrris's fastidiousness-by-droid. "You know, the seats aren't infectious yet," He chides with a playful air. A glance at Fshmaw confirms that it might be an eventuality.

-- Tamsin --

Despite the fact that the Good Doctor Cas did not look at all like the sort who would make visiting such an establishment something in her regular routine, she never the less, looked entirely at home, at the spot she had taken up at the bar, her medical bag resting in her lap, her right hand resting on it's clasp, the left dangling from the bat where her arm sat, crook-elbowed, a bottle of water not far from her grasp. It was clear that she was no participant in the forthcoming festivities, but her attention was, in the main, focused on the table around which the competitors were gathered.

-- DJ --

Ah, a card game tournament. DJ ordinarily would enjoy a drink, maybe try his luck at the slots, but he's here as a spectator for other reasons, tonight. He's got a glass of beer he's not drinking in his hand as he people-watches from the comfortable vantage point of the bar.

The gamblers are given a brief, studious look, then the security guards. Because it's the Smuggler's Moon, so it's not necessarily beyond anyone's imagination that something, somehow, will end in violence.

A sip from his beer, and he glances over to the doctor; in recognition of her, he nods a greeting.

-- Maelstrom --

With that table set and the players having diligently paid their buy-ins, the trio sit and wait for the dealer. It is a bit of an awkward silence before eyes starts sliding towards Thik who just happens to be looking up over his lum. "Whut?" He glances around and then to the bar where the bartender is giving him a nudge. "You di'nt say I hadta deal!"

"Moxie didn't show up today. I think she might be dead."

Thik snorts. "Oh, and suddenly that's an excuse?" The look he gets in return earns a long, agonized groan from the lump of a man. "Fine, damnit! But I want ta see it reflected on mah payment."

He stands up from his chair with a loud SKRRRREEEE of wood against wood then yanks out the fourth seat at the table to plop down. "No funny business, a'ight?" One more chug of his lum and he starts dealing the first hand.

-- Fyrris --

"Yet." Fyrris notes tapping ash in a tray. "That's the key to the whole of the situation, mmm?" upper thumbs running down his collar and one over the closing seam of the suit jacket, "I prefer lower cleaning costs as well." shifting where he sits so that the lighting causes the cloth of silver threads mixed into the cloth to shimmer and run like waves are cresting and falling across his form.

Four cards in two hands that go through a small series of jumps and spins between fingers, lining up and moving on again while his softly glowing eyes seem to peer across the table at Fshmaw, at present. Stopping finally and three being laid face down, the fourth going into the scrambler field for a draw.

"You know this reminds me of the time I got onto a tramp flight from Eriadu to the deep core. Self-Made cruise ship, hitting spots to pick up and boot off. Did you know there's a species where the males and females -both- have mammary glands? This guy with the brut-est face I ever saw with the second biggest set of Gogo-Melons. Sits down at the table. Everyone was confused as fwits in a bag." yammering on while chips are slid out into place.

"I almost asked for his comm code. Because curiosity. He was in a lower top than any of the ladies on the whole cruise, I swear."

-- Fshmaw --

Fshmaw doesn't make any 'gambling mistakes,' as such, but his attempt to relate a story-in-kind gets farcically unbelievable, hyperspace-fast. "Ah, if breastfeeding is the topic, allow me to regale you with a humorous anecdote from a species as secretive and violent as my own..." How the droid soldered to his belt in a pancake gets that from a short series of barks under his breath is staggering. Truly. Perhaps there's a shorted wire?

-- Colo --

Colo's eyes flash with no small amount of amusement over the others that have ambled up to the table. A few patrons rubber-neck a while and he's happy enough for that. Mostly, this whole event is to infuse some sense of unlife in the old dive bar. For that--and for the drinks that are soon delivered--he's amiable enough even if the wrong dealer shows up. A flicker of green eyes catches Thik shifting from bouncer to gambler mode with a modest amount of grumbling. "Ah, Mollie, you're looking unwell. Bad lum?" He teases, and promptly sticks his nose down to look towards the Sabacc chits.

Mainly the ones that are flashing through the Codru-Ji's fingers. There's only a modest distraction as the light catches his cloth and Colo squints at the combined effect. "S'not a light-show, Fyr," The Corellian chirps with an amiable air only to squint harder still when his cards hit him. Chips are slid out, then some more, but he inevitably buckles when the Aqualish doesn't take the bait.

Colo folds the hand and chucks his cards with a softer smile than before and a quick snap up of his complimentary lum. "Only wallets to milk here, Fyr. Maybe go a little easier on ours." A beat, then: "Or do I need to get that chap's number for a proper distraction?"

-- Tamsin --

There was no look of the better or the avaricious onlooker to Tamsin, as she waited at the bar. A nod was given to DJ, as he settled into his place, but it seemed that the doctor was only too happy to wait and watch. The cards, as much as the players. This was, in a way, a game of numbers and logic as much as luck, and that likely appealed to the muun-ish doctor.

-- DJ --

As the first round happens, DJ looks about to see the reactions of the crowd, and then measure the expressions of each gambler when they have their shuffled cards revealed to them. It's always interesting. So interesting, in fact, that he sets the drink on the counter and waves it away to the bartender with a nod. Who will take first?

-- Maelstrom --

The squintiest of Thik's two eyes sliiiiides over towards Fyrris as the Codru-ji spins his yarn. The thin line of his pressed lips find gravity and drag into a grumpy frown. He might -- MIGHT -- be about to say something, but then Fshmaw pipes up and that squinty eye griiiiiinds over towards the Aqualish. No. No, Thik does NOT want to hear about breastfeeding or secretions.

Now an actual grump makes it to the forefront and instead he grumbles to Colo, "Jus' dealin' tonight, pretty boy." He doesn't want to think about /any/ of these gentlemen lactating. The next hand of cards are practically flung at each of them.

-- Ejnar --

Trashfilled Entryway, an open door. Dark lighting and a broken electric neon sign. Perfect. It was hard to say what brought the Alderaanian Lord to Nar Shaddaa. Perhaps looking for one of his unsavory Squad-mates of lesser status to pal around with or just some need to get away from the pomp of daily life on the core. The point was, Ejnar Celchu was here at Pakko's. The Corellian district was relatively safe. He entered through that squeaky door and made his way towards the bar, his non descriptive VOID armor on, helmet and all for the time being.

A quick talk to the bar keep as he ordered his drink and the news of the game going on in the back was spread put him in that direction. He entered with drink in hand and now helmet off showing off a normal human face, if not slightly handsome. Clearly angular and noble. Blue eyes looked on as he observed the players, drinking from his ale in silence.

-- Fyrris --

"Oh by no means, that one is long gone and their exceptional, if mysterious, chesticocalese with them. Never to be. Never to be seen by these simple eyes again." one brow wiggling, his expression remaining locked and the never-present grin having all of the connotations that he is your best friend. The bestest.

"As for the secretions of varied secretive, obscure, cleft-faced and curiosities scattered hither and thither in this wide galaxy - please no. It isn't that which is produced that was the attention theft as much as the producers! This one, I tell you. He acted as if he didn't want attention called, but the moment cards were out he was..." suddenly all four cards are in the air, twirling up to his shoulders while his lower arms push in as if to boost his invisible cleavage, "BAM. They were all up in your face, just... there. I swear I almost dropped a card." upper hands snap his pell-mell cards from their disorderly wheeling and put them back on the table, face down with his draws in the scrambler field and more chits being tiddly-winked to the pot by lower thumbs.

"But it was majestic, I think Phia and Mollie wouldn't be able to talk and your Mr. Raj would have just collapsed." shoulder pairs shrugging out of sequence and the damned Codru just... keeps talking.

"There was this pair from Tanaab too, I think they enjoyed playing all fields - not that I judge, I don't care - and they lost steadily everything to me because their eyes were halfway down his top and his pot kept tumbling into my pocketses."

-- Fshmaw --

Fshmaw gambles less effectively, for sure, but the level of absorption and detail he provides in his distracting banter finds a much-less fraught purchase. Psychologically. "You ever hear of Juggler's Rot? It affects mainly the quick-fingered. Card-dealers, bullshitters, confidence men. The symptoms are so insidious one barely notices the progression of such a silent and implacable killer. Very slow, very purposeful. Always fatal. Just... *agony.*" He starts recalling a list of symptoms, which may-or-may-not be based on cues he picks up from Fyrris' present physical state and health...

-- Colo --

Colo's unable to resist a bit of deliberate sniping now. He makes a kissy-face at Thik just for a moment before breaking into a soft laugh. Even if he's losing, his mood is upbeat, indefatigable, and at least a little boozy as he downs what remains of his lum. Inspired by a little liquid-courage, then, Thik reaps a further reward: "Tonight a deal, tomorrow a romance perhaps? Promise I'll wear something -dazzling-, just for you." Even as he casts the words to the dealer, however, Colo's eyes drag on over to the four-armed wonder doing a bit too much dazzling. Sotto voce, the Corellian quips anew to Thik. "Not as dazzling as this one, though, handsome. Have to pay four times as much for twice the arms I think."

Even as he derides, Colo does listen with an amused smirk. His voice picks up, dispensing with the faux silence. "Raj would have needed smelling salts and a shower." Confirmation given, Colo reels in his next hand and...promptly reels back out, letting the bait be got at no gain to the fisherman but a modest reel in for the...fishier of the other two gamblers. Only a mild look of consternation crosses his dark brow as he casts the cards back to the pit and an accusation to Fyrris. "You didn't send Thik the holonet of this monument to mammaries, didja? Seems to be running pretty cold to me tonight."

Fshmaw, meanwhile, gets a sympathetic nod in agreement. "I hear the first thing to go is the sense of shame."

-- Tamsin --

As talk turns from mammaries to medical symptoms, Tamsin attention shifts from the players at large to Fshmaw in particular. There is just the slightest tilt of her head, as she observes the Aqualish, but seated as she is at the bar, she remains there. Certainly, if one were to look at her, there was no indication that she thought that anything was amiss with any of the players. her head straightened, and the sealed bottle of water that had been near her left hand was take up, broken, and a sip taken before it found its way back onto the bartop. Alas, that there was no work for the doctor yet. What sort of contest was this?

-- Maelstrom --

There is a lot of prattle now amongst the Sabaac players. Chitter and chatter and stories being shared. Distraction? Friend-making? A means for throwing each other off? Is that one hitting on him?! Are they /all/ hitting on him? Thik has no idea. All Thik knows is that this is not in his paygrade.

"Double!" Thik screams over his shoulder towards the bar.

"A double shot this time?"

"No, you rekker! Double my pay!" A pause. Two braincells smash together and he adds: "Also double shot!" Yeah. That's more like it.

He doesn't even look at Colo now and he /can't/ look at Fyrris without glances at the four hands. No no no. "Next hand, kriff."

-- Ejnar --

There is a moment as Ejnar just watches the game, catching just bits and pieces of what the gamblers are saying to each other. It causes him to smirk. However, a voice from besides him captures his attention.

"There you are." A husky voice, feminine and soft. A well figured blond in a rather nice dress. She's got two drinks in her hand. She pouts, "I got you a drink and everything but" She notions to the bottle of ale in his hand

"Hey I didn't know... here" Offerd the Alderaanian Ace. He takes the offered glass anyways in his free hand. Clinks it with hers and downs it all. "I don't get out here much anymore."

"I thought it'd be fun." The blond offers before leaning up against the bar close with Ejnar as they watch the game of sabbacc.

-- DJ --

If only DJ could hear Fshmaw from his place at the bar. He might be amused for a change about the appeal to hypochondria. As it is, he can only watch from a distance, glancing between the Aqualish and the other gamblers, leaning forward. Sadly, he did away with his beer, so he has absolutely no idea what, if anything, will come of this. The blonde with the Alderaanian is given a glance, before his attention returns to the game table.

-- Fyrris --

"If it has a vaccine or antibiotics... or gene treatment I've likely already had it and had it cured." Fyrris offers to Fshmaw, wiggle waggling his brows and his utterly Puckish demeanor barrels on in full, unmitigated, force, "Besides, you know that casting about the threat of diseases are the means for one to summon up bad luck. You'll have Jawas in your gear and maybe kelp or noodles stuck in your..." head tilting to one side.

His cheek almost touches his shoulder with how far over the tilt he gets and the cards that come his way are caught on sharpened claws and fingers flicked back to send them rolling up to his wrist. They are grouped, fanned, flipped so fast that only the 'foil' reflections can give a dazzle to the flare of his suit.

"I want to call it... cranial recta-masticators." still looking at Fshmaw's face. The cards flip up and over and are held in a shallow fan before his eyes. Right side up, then slowly canted until lateral, so that they're upright for him, his head still sideward. "I bet that's not right, but they look like that. I think it would stick. Does anything gross happen when you burp? Do they flap?" noggin turning slightly towards C4, "I bet they flap." to Thik, "Whatcha think, tall, dark and likely to murder the lot of us." then to Colo, "You bet they flap. Yeeeeaaaah. I just bet you do. You love it when they flap."

Making a loose lipped raspberry, like an equine blowing before it would stamp its hooves.

"Admit it, Mr. Fshmaw, they flap, don't they?" no cards thrown in the scrambler and more chits doled out.

-- Fshmaw --

Fshmaw keeps on with the list of symptoms, dry as the desert and stonefaced. Not that anyone could read a walrus-tarantula's expression. Clearly Fyrris was attempting to make hay in an attempt to make Foosh veer off-course. "Extreme fingernail growth. Rampant self-assuredness. Breath ever-so-faintly sweet-- that's the terminal stage..." he continues, practically drawing Fyrris' portrait like a sketch-artist as he drones on...

-- Colo --

Poor Thik. At least this time around he doesn't get Colo's teasing, mainly because the Corellian's too busy moderating his attention between fish and shark, respectively. Fyrris performs another dazzlification and catches the Corellian first rolling his eyes, then secondly working his hand into view without much thought. A passing glance studies, catches the values, and he pitches a few cards to the muck for proper replacements before rejoining the banter.

"Do you really have to use words that you just made up? Basic is butchered enough as it is, Fyrry," Colo chides without looking up from his hand. He's chewing at his bottom lip in a faux-tell, giving off fake signals almost as reflex. But with those also comes a pile of chits being pushed into the pot as well, confidence shown as much as his cards will be soon.

Colo's eyes snake up a beat later, this time to the Codru-Ji. "Flap your gums much more an' you'll fly to Nal Hutta. You playin' or pissin'?"

-- Maelstrom --

There is a vein in Thik McRunfast's temple that sticks out rather prominently. It begins just at the corning of his less-squinty eye and trails jaggedly past the hairline and to the top of his buzzcut head. This protruding line is thumping harder with each passing hand; all the more suitable for his stone-stiff expression that is starting to resemble two granite slabs colliding while simultaneously crashing into a mountain. All crags, fissures, and rage.

A hand slips under the table.

"Thik!" The bartender barks.

The hand returns to the surface empty and clenched in a fist. His response: a low, droning, lurch-like "Nnnnnnnnnnnnn." And the next hand of cards are dealt with the wrist-flick of a man wishing he could aim for major arteries.

-- Fyrris --

Head thumping the table at the slap, Fyrris is laughing when he says "Meant to do that." snickering and flopping his cards about as chits go in, turning his face to C4 when there is a 'rrrikpt' from his face coming off the table, "Ugh... ugh. Clean. Please. I'm going to have to go back to the estates on Thyferra after this. Soak in the family tanks." leaning into the scrubbing of his face, making a sour pull when the disinfectant comes into play.

"Next time the T&P Hosts, where we have working lights and less..." gesturing vaguely at the aqualish, "Whatever did that to him" tossing his cards into the stabilizer field without looking and likely to his detriment, "Colo, dear, I'm always pissing. That's why I have the catheter bag. You know until she disappeared into the aether of space I was living with a fit little Arkanian lady. She ran me through all sorts of medical experiments. It was a side effect."

Pause for effect,

"It's also why we moved my sleeping harness to the main quarters... iiiffffyuknowhattamean?" he's still shuddering over his face being cleaned.

-- Ejnar --

Ejnar looks towards the Sabbacc table as things start to wind down, a winner was near. "Think we should go get some grub at that diner down the road a bit?"

"Actually that sounds really nice." Pyretta says to her companion. "I could really go for a Nerf melt and some tubers right about now."

Ejnar laughs, "I'm really happy you ant shy about eating." His stomach growls.

-- Tamsin --

Tamsin's expression, as she sipped her water was a mild thing, eyes moving between the three competitors, pausing each time the words were thrown, paying little attention to the cards that were actually being played now. Perhaps she was simply not skilled enough in the game to understand the hands that were being played, or, perhaps, it seemed that the game was in the words and not the decks themselves. In either case, it was at least an engaging performance to watch.

-- DJ --

"I guess it is a long con for the overwhelming majority." DJ muses, an aside meant for Tamsin, since he's been silent for far too long. But-- he heard something about a catheter and Arkanian ladies and medical experiments. His expression immediately twists into a mild disgust even as he tells the bartender, "You win. Give me some brandy."

Sabacc, also known as 'who blinks first loses'. "A lot of skin on the game, there. Hopefully they start waging their own ships or something of the sort. It would be amusing."

-- Fshmaw --

Fshmaw *scoffs.* "I assumed your schedule was full manually pleasuring eight Ewok toms at once. Two with each hand." He only... vaguely... makes the expected gesture, lest anyone believe he'd thought too long about how it would obviously happen. "... but speaking of skiing, I was on a chalet on Byss working as a blackjack dealer for six months, and let me tell you--" his story continues, long and meandering and ultimately pointless and/or offensive...

-- Colo --

Colo spends a moment unrolling his sleeve and plucks a cigarra from it the moment after. It's plunged between his lips and merely held in place while he rolls his sleeve back up. En route, he manages to feat of talking without losing the unlit stick. "Explains the smell," He quips, gruff and grunted because of the muffling. With his sleeve back up, however, he rustles for a lighter just in time to flare up before the next hand is dealt and the next round is served up by a passing bar-droid. Not even a first look is paid to the droid, not when he has another comment already floating up to the top in the wake of Fshmaw's challenge.

One solid, long puff at the cigarra given, Colo hefts it from his mouth and flicks ashes in a random direction with the same hand that's holding his cards. A faux pas, maybe, except that he's flashing one of his cards on purpose. "Eight at once? What, do you run a moon-bear breeding ground or somethin' to know s'much, there, Gilly?" The jab is tossed without consideration for the shaggy dog story that spills out of the translator. That just gets him silencing himself behind the cigarra again.

Next hand should be a worthwhile one!

-- Maelstrom --

A double shot arrives to the table and Thik grabs it with a snap of his mitty hand and unceremoniously drops it into what remains of his half-empty -- Yes, half-EMPTY -- mug of lum. The shot glass hits the bottom with a crack that doesn't quick split the glass but certainly could if dropped enough times. Then it is all chugged down in one, throat-bobbing go.

"Aw right!" BAM! The empty mug hits the table and rattles every stack of chips, causing them to fall over. "Last round and I'm clockin' out." And by the sounds of him, maybe clocking someone on his way out, as well. A quick, fumbling shuffle of the cards and the final hand is thrown out with a fatalistic velocity.

-- Fyrris --

"You shouldn't project, it's unbecoming." tipping a wink at Fshmaw when the final hand is delt. His lower left hand holding his cards after the draw cards are locked. The tabac stick in his holder switched for a fresh one by D4 and lit in short order for slow curls of smoke to roll from his nostrils.

"But in all honesty, it's hard to visit home right now. Sith fleet. First Order. Terrorists poisoning Bacta. But it was Xucphra. They're stuff is poison anyway. Utter garbage. Not like Zaltin make, that's the stuff - good to the Vratix; good for you eh?" credit chits are coming off the table in flicks that send them into the air, rolling along his shoulders, down his arms and across the backs of his knuckles in a nigh endless swirling loop of flashing coins that bounce and sing through the air.

"Imperial and then Order sympathizers, the Xucphra, you know. Scumbags. That's why I'm healthy and they're all pail and... well."

One by one the coins leave his juggling to land on the table. Flat rather than spinning on edge, piling onto one another in three fairly straight stacks before him. "Rekcon that's my bet there boyos."

-- Fshmaw --

Fshmaw nods. "Ando Prime. Polar bear challenge. Envigorating and healing, most especially the coma as vitamin A cytotoxicity shocks the system. Bacta is for... lesser men." Though his gambling has been sub-par, inexperienced and tentative, the heady mix of stories and cutting personal insults appears to have borne some fruit!

-- Colo --

Alas for all his efforts, Colo ends up slightly down in chips from the beginning of the night. A strong finish doesn't make up for his sucking wind earlier in the evening, but at least he can console himself with Thik's frustration. The gambler grins and ashes more of his cigarra before luridly eyeing the hired-help. "Mollie, you've been truly wonderful tonight. We will be sure to have ya back another time, yeah? Wear something a touch more revealing next time, though, would ya? Only way I'm gonna grab a win offa this one," He remarks with a lazy gesture towards Fyrris.

Teasing done, the Corellian pushes back from the table and moves to stand with an amiable air about him. Losing credits doesn't seem to carry much a sting in his current mood and he adds to the pleasure by polishing off what's left of his lum glass. He eases the container back to the table a beat later and nods approvingly, first at the Aqualish, then to the grand winner of the eve. "Next time at your place, Fyr? Just make sure the twins are working, wouldja?" As for Fshmaw? Colo regards the Aqualish with a skeptical eye. "And you, er. Bone up on the xenobiology? Someone's gotta keep those Ewoks fertile."

-- Maelstrom --

"Right! That's my lot." Both meaty hands slap onto the table, nearly flipping it if it weren't already so bottom heavy. Just like good Nar Shaddaa company, amiright? Thi isn't sticking around to ponder it. His chair is knocked over with the power of his about-face and Mister McRunsfast is about to show the entire bar just /how/ he earned that unique surname.

Colo's words stop him in his tracks. He slowly begins to turn, hand hovering towards him hip--

"Thik!"

"Nnnnnnnnnnn."

The hand, still, remains empty and the burly, surly bouncer makes a one-man stampede through the maze of tables, behind the bar, and slamming the door in his wake.

The bartender coughs gently into his fist and gestures to the three players. "Ah, you can receive your winning with me, sirs."

The denizens groan with disappointment. No bloodshed tonight. Though plenty of verbal wounds to go around. A dinner and a show. Only the best on the Smuggler's Moon.