Log:Sips with Solo

Sips with Solo

OOC Date: July 24, 2016
Location: The Blue Light
Participants: Han Solo, Ambrosia Greystorm

The Blue Light - Corellian District, Nar Shaddaa

A few steps lead up through the doorway into this tavern in the Corellian District. Once inside one will immediately be bombarded by smells of smoke, people and even food. The sensory perceptions are not let down there though. Conversation also fills the air within this watering-hole's walls. There is a long bar along the back wall, furthest from the entrance, tables where patrons rest and booths on either sides of the tables.

Off to the right of the main entrance is a small set of stairs that lead up into a mid-level area where more tables are setup, but these are designed for the use of Sabacc or other games of chance. This is one of the most liveliest bars in the Corellian district, anyone who's anyone on Nar Shaddaa often comes in here.

The Blue Light was busy on a day largely considered an off-day for workers in the Corellian District, so the place was hopping with customers... Just what Han Solo liked, lots of people... But he'd been away from Nar Shaddaa for awhile, a long run, and it'd taken a lot out of him, especially at this age of his life.

Han trekked up the outside steps and strode into the bar, his eyes going around the place, seeing a lot of familiar faces who nodded at him when they made eye contact. Han was still a very tall man for his species, at least a good head taller than most of the others in the room.

He turned toward the bar, caught sight of the bartender and tipped his chin back toward the tender, who was already preparing his drink as Solo angled his way through the bodies of customers toward the bar.

Han slapped down a few credits but the bartender shook his head. "You don't pay here, Solo." He told Han. "Not after the life you've lived."

Han's eyes glanced down to the drink slid over to him, then smirked at the bartender's words and looked up at him, brows rising. "Guess that’s somethin' to hold on to you." He muttered in response to the tender, nodding once in thanks to the kid for the free drink.

There are others who do pay, for the life they've lived. And have paid well. Unfortunately, it hasn't killed her yet. At least...not permanently.

A metallic rap-a-tap accompanies every other footfall of the sorry pair of boots that follow some short while later. A calloused hand squeezes the cane's head with a talon-like grip. No chance it's slipping out, unlike the bothersome disc that's setting her nerves afire. The old 'Ice Queen Aderanne' is dead, far as most old contacts on this moon might know, but Major Greystorm is plenty alive, despite the First Order's best effort. And she's thirsty.

"Mm," Ambrosia grunts in way of apology after bumping shoulders with a drunk on his way out. She pauses just inside the entrance, narrowing her eyes in study of faces...so many faces. She'd put the lure out...it's time to reel it in.

Han lifted his drink glass up and took a big swig of it before he pulled a leather back off of his shoulder and dropped it on the bar top, when the tender came by again Han shoved the old leather duffle toward him. "Here." Han said. "Make sure you boss gets this. He's been asking for these for the better part of a decade."

The bartender walked over, peered inside the bag and released a low whistle before closing it up again. "You got it, sir." He told Han who looked up at the 'sir' part and smirked faintly. In the reflection of the mirror behind the bar Han caught sight of a face from the Rebellion days... or at least he thought anyway.

A quick look over his shoulder back and he stared at Ambrosia, Army soldier... tough cookie. If he made eye contact with her he'd not be rude, he'd raise his drink up in recognition of her and then turn back toward the bar.

Yup. An emerald squint locks eyes with the old smuggler just long enough to let him know he was in the cross hairs. A warning, which ought to be a relief for any who knew the Major in her prime, cuz if she were /really/ pissed...they never see it coming.

"Gimme a 'blue," Ambrosia orders when she finally finishes navigating the floor to arrive on Han's left. She doesn't sit, just keeps as upright a posture as can be managed. There's a slight, steady tremor afflicting her left elbow, probably originating from her overly tight clench on the cane.

Han took another shot of his drink just before Ambrosia arrived at the bar and then he sat the glass down quietly onto the counter's top. There were a lot of young people in the bar tonight, making Han and Ambrosia likely the oldest people in the entire place... Han observed this through the use of scoping the crowd behind them with the mirror behind the bar.

With a light exhale, he looked to his left toward her. "Did someone hire you to come and put a vibro shiv in my back?" He asked Amber, offering one of his classic trade-marked half smiles after asking her this humored question.

"Vibro?" A similar smile twists frown lines into submission. Ambrosia arches an incredulous brow. "Things can be a bit bulky, tough to conceal." Her right hand flips something free from her belt and she plunks a sports knife atop the counter. "Used it to gut some idiot Trando earlier this year. I trust it'd suffice." Her gaze meanders on that note, taking its time in traveling from Solo's boots to his aged mane. "Might not even need that, to be honest. General."

Han took another drink while the woman spoke and placed that weapon down on the bar top. He glanced down to it and then up to her and looked at her with a calm and even stare. He wasn't ever pleased about being referred to as 'General', sure part of him enjoyed it at first in the early days... some boyish remnants of his childhood where he pretended to be an experienced war veteran deep in the trenches of combat.... but in his adult years, he found it to mostly be a haunting constantly chasing at the back of his heels, wanting him to be more than he thought he could be.

"Might be right about that." He replied to her. "I can see you haven't lost any of your edge though, huh? What are you doing out here on this rock. Were you with the Republic forces that were here a bit ago?" He asked then.

"I've dulled a bit," the Major admits with a touch of melancholy before taking possession of her own arrived drink. Comes in a tall glass, and by the smell radiating off, it ain't watered down. She pays up. "But no. I'm not /that/ dull. Not sure I'd call the Republic forces "forces" anymore, truth be told. Besides, last job I did for them was as a personal favor, off the books. Got me a new knee, as payment. Or was it the elbow?" Pondering this at length, she finally shuffles around to prop her cane against the bar and return her 'baby' to its cradle against her thigh.

"Used to hole up here quite often, the last few years. A ghost among men. Maybe I enjoy the aroma of suffocating smog. Or maybe I couldn't quite trust my boy to make wise choices of company..." A small wink, on that note. See? She had dulled. Truly! "Turns out he did. Must take after his father." Offering Han a little nod, she takes a long swig, then 'toasts' it in his direction. "Sorry. Most words I've spoken in a long while, I do believe. No, 'Solo'," the name doesn't roll as lightly off her tongue, "I traveled alone, this time. Much to the despair of Medical, I'm sure."

Han noted the cane and he noted the woman's uneven stride. "I guess the cheap bastards didn't spring for one of those fancy knee replacements then huh?" He asked her. "What'd they do, stuff a mechanic one in your leg? Something from the Clone Wars era, left over from a battle droid?" He teased the woman, because if he knew her at all he figured its what she was used to and enjoyed. You can't really make it through an armed service life time career without good natured ribbing.

Han sat his empty whiskey glass down and pushed it toward the other side of the bar. The bartender sent his droid assistant over to help refill the glass for Han, the droid beeping quietly and shifting its brightly colored eyes between Han and Ambrosia.

"Just bits and pieces, really," Ambrosia muses around another lazy sip. One finger shrugs out of its drumming rhythm there. "Not all bad, though. Most of what's left of me just gets /younger/ with experience, is the perspective I like to view from." And the rest of the blue tonic disappears down the hatch. Chased by a little pill she fishes from her inner jacket.

"This time though, I told the cyber techs to piss off, after some asshole jerked me out of limbo. Rehab's gonna be a little longer, as that turns out. S'all right. All in a day's work, in service to the General." A sly glance sideways on that note.

Han accepted his new drink from the droid bartender and he didn't really even acknowledge the machine servant. He listened to Amber's words and leaned forward some on the bar, he wasn't sitting though as he preferred to just stand there for now with one foot up on the big metal railing along the floor.

"Well, at least you're still around." He said in a dry tone of voice. "It’s nice to see a familiar face in this place, who isn't some hotshot kid wanting me to sign an autograph or prove that they're a better pilot than me so they can impress their friends." He smirked lightly then and there. "So what sort've business do you have here on the Smuggler's Moon?"

"I don't. Not officially." Ambrosia raises a finger, then taps her empty glass. After a quick thought, a second finger goes up. She /is/ thirsty. "Maybe I just felt like chasing a rumor with my own two eyes. Might've gone so far as to respond to a certain ad." A scoff and smirk -- as if she'd be caught willingly on board /any/ craft for long.

Han had learned at a youthful age that most of the things people talked about were pure bantha fodder. People hid stuff, all the time. "Sounds like an interesting reason to come out to the arm pit of the galaxy. Especially after a giant battle just took place here..." He glanced then over to her. "So I've heard anyway. I wasn't here for it. Thankfully. Seen a few too many of those over the years... happy to avoid any more for the rest of my run, ya know?" He shifted his weight then and took another drink of his liquor.

"Please," Ambrosia snorts. "I don't have the patience for intel. Too much paperwork." Eyeballing her refill as it approaches, she lowers her voice, just a tad. "Tragedy or no, it may have been the wakeup call the Republic needed, anyway. The Resistance is feeling the strain of trying to carry this burden of military action in their stead. Under funded...risking handfuls of our best men and women on raids to steal the First Order's scrap for weapons..." A soft 'tsk'. "Whoever IS responsible for this 'acolyte cannon' may have just opened their eyes." A grimace and she takes a halfhearted sip.

"I took myself outta the line of fire for a couple decades...then some feisty little woman lured me out to Corellia, on the pretense of sharing a drink with an old friend." *Sip* "Hers was the last face I expected to see take a seat across from mine, but there she was. A former face of peace, asking this old bitch of war to come back. Bring what I do best to the table, help her whip our kids into shape, and kill theirs." Furrowing her brows, she sets her glass down and fishes around inside it before pulling out a flake of who knows what. Paint? Skin? "Maybe not in so many words, but...well. I'm not here by anyone's order. Just needed a break."

Han had assumed that Ambrosia was still WITH the Republic, but now he gets the full scope of things. The Resistance. Great. He drew a breath in through his nose and sipped his drink a little more. "Yeah, well." He started, ignoring the part about the woman, not wanting to ask Amber 'what woman' for fear of it being a conversation about a very specific woman... someone he did not want to talk about.

"Lots of stuff here on Nar Shaddaa that might be able to help the Resistance out, but none of it is cheap, that’s the problem." He idly added, not sure precisely what to say to avoid the topics he wished to avoid. "Rumor has it that whoever built that little laser was killed in its destruction. They say it wasn't even completed yet when it blew. So maybe they're right, maybe that madman that designed it went up with it. I don't know. Not really my problem." He muttered that last part and took another drink of his whiskey.

"It's never so simple," Ambrosia mutters her doubt before taking another hesitant but longer draw from her glass. So what if it was contaminated with something off the bottom of some bar back's shoe? She's survived worse. Grenades. Flamethrower. An angry little shit hiding behind his lightsaber. A sniper blast through the spine AND chest, being buried under a hundred tons of collapsed rubble...and all in one crummy day, to boot. So. Floaters in the drink? Bring it on.

Or not. No, definitely not. Corellian Blue sprays violently back into her glass, followed by a colorful sputter of swears - some Huttese, some Basic, some just plain incoherent. A swiftly darkening scowl contorts her face by way of murderous glare across the counter. It's one she saves for the most incompetent recruits, one that earned her nickname those decades ago by a very UNsmooth Lando Calrissian. "You scoop this from a puddle out back?" She growls to the droid, as it's the nearest, blinking thing staring back at her.

"No." Han replied to her initial words, followed by a light exhale through his nostrils. "No, it never is." With his eyes downward a bit as he leaned there on the bar he took another sip of his drink and then pulled a small data pad out of his black leather jacket's front pocket and he set it down on the bar in front of him.

"Well, whatever your not-mission is here, I hope it goes smoothly and you get what you needed." He tells her, looking over to his left toward her again he offers another light smile. "It’s good to see you though. Tell anyone else, that we may both know, back wherever you're going that I'm wishing the best for them." It was true, he was. Even if part of him somehow felt like he'd abandoned them... that was a part of him he stuffed down deep inside him. He'd helped destroy TWO Death Stars, he'd given years and years of his life to the Rebellion... but somehow there was a sliver hiding inside of him that said he 'owed more' and he hated it.

"Foul sputum notwithstanding," Major Greystorm spits into her regurgitated drink, then slides it roughly over to the 'tender, "I think it has." A soft, knowing smile creeps into her surly stare and she flicks a harmless glance down to his data pad. "And I will." Though she has a feeling Leia won't be so easily convinced. "If only wishes could cure what ails the galaxy...I might finally get some rest."

She takes up the cane again. Probably, she's wishing she'd left the hoverchair outside, rigged with a special surprise for any would-be thieves. But she hadn't. Pride brought her in on two legs, and pride's gonna have to suck it on the way out. "You uh, you don't happen to still keep in touch with slick old Calrissian, do you?"

"Lando?" Han repeated then as he sipped at his drink and shook his head. "It’s been awhile." A light breath was taken then. "Last I spoke to him he was just about to head off with his family for a beach vacation somewhere. But that was... quite a long time ago." He lofted his graying eyebrows at the realization of just how fast the years fall off the calendar when put into perspective like that.

"I'm sure he's out there somewhere, with some scheme cooked up and half-finished. Probably thousands of credits dangling on the end of a wire." Han sat his drink down then, mostly finished.

"Family?" Raising an appraising brow, Ambrosia looks down to fuss with something on her jacket collar. It's a com, and it's starting to fuss with static. True to her nature, she simply turns it off rather than answers. "You mean to tell me that somebody out there actually fell for all his strutting and nonsense?" She shakes her head, a rare and bewildered smile showing teeth. "Well...well that's good for him. Good for him."

A bit of an awkward pause follows, then she takes a small step backward. Her eyes turn to study the assembled crowd behind. "Give Chewbacca my regards. And good luck with the biz. You're gonna need it, if Greystorm Shipping Co grows any bigger..." Let him mull over that bit of competitive BS, for a moment! A wink punctuates her solemn delivery before she turns to rat-a-tat disappear into the crowd. As best an old rebel can.