Raucous laughter rang out from the crowded corner of the cantina, causing the lean Chiss to wince. The scene was disorderly, loud, and smelled of smoke and spilled liquors. Tabriss held his cloak close as he did so, not in an attempt to hide his identity, the blue skin and red eyes marked him obviously enough, but to avoid snags. He picked his way carefully through the tables, careful to keep his well-cut uniform away from any damp tables or the chaotic waving of animated smokers. His nose wrinkled in disgust when he finally reached the back corner, eyes skipping across the assorted uniforms marking the merrymakers as Arconan military. Sabaacc cards littered the table, as did small piles of credits, knives, and other weapons. A particularly jovial looking Twi’lek was leaning back in his chair, hands resting behind his head with a smug expression. His cards lay on the table, an impressive array that would be nigh impossible to beat.
An impressive pile sat before him, both of money and other items. Tabriss picked out the set of vibroknucklers that he was quite familiar with in the mess of credit chits and personal trinkets. The smell of alcohol pervaded the corner and several of the card players looked ready to fall from their chairs. Sitting across from the Twi’lek gambler was another Chiss, though none would mistake he and Tabriss for one another. Broad shoulders, gleaming scalp, and a robust mustache marked out Stres’trong’armis, the Shadow Lord’s personal guard. It was his knucklers that lay on the table, the butler was certain of, and he shook his head as he took in his fellow Chiss.
Where is his shirt? Or his undershirt? Does that Neimodian sitting to his right have his boots?
He cleared his throat and leaned in to speak to the hulking man.
“Strong,” he hissed in the man’s ear, “you are not only being, as the lower born say, ‘taken for a ride’, you are also making a fool of yourself.”
The big man turned to look at him, gleaming smile widening. Tabriss caught a waft of what he suspected was whiskey, a vice the bodyguard was picking up from his master.
”Friend Tabriss! Did you intend to join the game? These fine fellows are most welcoming, even to those who lack luck and skill!”
Tabriss glanced at the Twi’lek, who’s smug look slipped for a second as the servant’s red eyes drilled into him. An eye flicked to the exposed wrist of the gambler, who quickly lowered his hands. The Chiss hadn’t even actually spotted any kind of tool to aid in the sleight of hand when it came to cards, but the reaction confirmed many of his suspicions.
“You all are aware of who this man is, yes?”
“He joined the game under his own free will, friend,” spoke the Neimodian. The bug-eyed alien paused in his not-quite frantic act of funneling his own take into one of the large boots he’d won to stare at Tabriss. “What? I won this all fair and square, I am no cheat!”
”You are making people uncomfortable, Tab! We are having a fine evening, please, join us, I shall acquire you a drink!” boomed Strong, pushing away from the table and standing. He swayed in place for a moment, blinking in confusion. ”What was I doing again? Ah! Tabriss! How are you, my friend?”
Tabriss pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“Firstly, do not call me Tab. Secondly, Strong, you are embarrassing yourself—” he began to tiredly explain, before being interrupted by the other Chiss.
”Nonsense! I am just having an amusing evening off from duty, much as these fine soldiers!”
Tabriss waited for him to finish speaking before continuing his own statement, his tone growing harder.
“You are embarrassing yourself, your Master, and my Mistress!” he spoke, his voice low and threatening. “Your name is known, Garmis, and your associations are as well. Playing the drunken lout is all well and good for your Lordship. But as a,” he paused, his mouth thinning in distaste as he spoke the next words, “suitor of the Lady Vasano, you are acting most disrespectfully.”
Strong blinked in confusion once more, leaning towards the butler in an attempt to be at face level to speak with him. Tabriss’s body tensed, momentarily worried that the other man would lose his balance and drop his bulk upon him. The bodyguard swayed, looked confused once more and straightened up to his full height.
”I believe another drink is in order! Oh, Tabriss, I did not see you, friend! Would you care to join me?”
Tabriss let out another annoyed sigh and grasped the taller man by his the arm, trying not to think about how solid the mass of muscles felt. He pointed towards the well-lit cafeteria outside of the smoky cantina.
“You have had enough, friend Strong. We should leave before you bring more dishonor to my Lady’s name.” The butler took two steps towards the entryway before checking to see if the other Chiss was coming along. Instead, he felt the muscles under his grip tighten up, and a large hand wrap around his wrist.
”I have no desire to leave yet, and a Son of the Garmis family does not go where he does not wish!” shouted the bodyguard, puffing his enormous chest out. A couple of nearby pilots watched the pair of Chiss with greater interest, smirks on their faces and appreciation in their eyes.
“Strong, do not make me force you,” hissed Tabriss, trying to withdraw his arm from the larger man’s vicelike grip. “Release me, Garmis. Is it not enough that I’m forced to put my Lady’s household back in order after your visits? The morning trips to the tailors to have her dresses mended? You are ill-suited for a woman of such standing, you ignorant brute!”
Tabriss’s jaw clicked shut, realizing he’d allowed his temper to get the better of him. He took in the set of Strong’s shoulders, and while the other man did release his arm, it was obvious what was coming next.
”You would insult me, here, in public? I shall attempt to make this lesson memorable yet without per...per...lasting injury!” shouted the drunken bodyguard.
Tabriss threw his worries about maintaining his impeccable appearance to the wind as he rolled backward, over a table full of drinks, away from the wild swing that Strong punctuated his threat with. He kicked the same table over when he landed, hoping to slow the other Chiss, who was now stomping forward in obvious anger.
“Insufferable simpleton,” sighed Tabriss, his hands dropping to his pistols, but hesitating. There were far too many people, and his association with Lady Vasano had been clearly declared. Accidentally wounding, or killing, Arconan soldiers would reflect poorly on the household. With gritted teeth he instead drew his daggers, activating the vibro-units within. The quiet thrum of the blades was lost to the sounds of the crowd, which was growing lively. Bets were changing hands, and what little he caught of the odds did not encourage him. He sidestepped when Strong kicked the knocked over table towards him, ignoring the shouts of those who’d been behind him, and dashed forward.
The pair had done little more than spoken in the past, Tabriss making snippy remarks that flew over the nobleman’s thick skull. But the servant had more than once played this sort of scenario through in his mind. First thing was first, and that was to slow the larger man down. The alcohol was already dulling his reaction times, but more could be done. Tabriss barely ducked under Strong’s attempt to grab him up with both arms and lashed out with his blades across the front of the bodyguard’s thighs. Blood blossomed across the man’s pants, and a shout of pain filled the cantina.
The servant began to pivot, putting his K’thri training to good use in an effort to get out of the drunken idiot’s range. As well-honed as his senses were from years of being an excellent butler, even he could only track so many things going on at once. As such, his gleaming, well-polished shoe slipped just slightly on one of the drinks he himself had spilled while dodging Strong’s opening blow. A powerful hand grabbed his cloak, the slip up slowing the smaller man just enough to leave him open. The world whirled, a kaleidoscope of smoke and lights, laughing faces, as Garmis used his grip to heave and throw the other Chiss across the room.
