The Citadel Cantina is located on the second level of the Arcona Citadel. The bar itself is small on the surface, but possess an expansive selection thanks to a clever servos-operated storage system built into the underside of the bar. A bartender only need punch in what drink they require (other than the typical stock) and within a minute the bottle is distributed transparisteel display panels. Relaxed, soothing music plays over the speakers, and a big-screen display terminal with access to the holonet sits across from a series of comfortable lounge chairs and stools.

The Cantina is full-service and is manned by a gruff, one-eyed Rodian named Mick. Mick is a grumpy, former sergeant who served in the Arcona Armed Forces years and years ago. He goes about his business with a series of grunts, gestures, and monosyllabic dialogue. Though a man of few words, he's a genius of alcoholic beverages and mixology. Mick has a very strict rule about no fighting or brawling within the Cantina. The mess hall, on the other hand, is a different story.

The Cantina opens up into a dedicated mess-hall that can hold up to a hundred sentients before it starts to feel claustrophobic. Open at all hours, the mess-hall has been sanctioned as an acceptable area for members to settle aggressions and other frustrations. The tables are all firmly bolted into the halls floor to avoid being thrown over, and are crafted out of durable material that has held it’s own throughout the years. At the far end of the mess-hall there is a pair of double-doors that lead to the kitchen and storage area. The mess-hall is maintained by a full staff of droids, and occasionally a new recruit who has earned the ire of the Rollmaster.

Cutlery clinked across the cafeteria dining space, rising to volumes that genuinely annoyed the hungover Ryn hunched over a tray of food. Squeezed between a pair of hulking, questionably bathed Obelisk, Kordath Bleu tried to keep his anger in check. He had forgotten just how busy the food court could get after a war or operation like Korriban, everyone wanted to remember they were still alive. Pushing the bits of overcooked foods on his own plate around with a fork, he wondered why this fare qualified for such a thing.

Sipping the caf he’d managed to get alongside his breakfast, a bitter and terrible concoction that he hoped would chase the remaining dregs of his headache out. Kordath sighed, pushing his tray of half eaten breakfast aside, and pondered laying his head down on the pitted metal table that was serving a dozen people and passing out. Despite his aching head, he could sense a familiar presence approaching with a mix of emotions being held tenuously in check. Anger, restrained yet simmering fiercely, was chief among them. With a groan, the Priest pushed himself up, working his way out from between the two Obelisk with muttered half apologies, trying to subtly check to see if the way to the exit was clear.

I do not need this poodoo this morning, gods just let me get back to my bunk….no, the ‘fresher first, yeah, then the bunk...I don’t got nothing important to do today, just...sleep, yeah, he thought to himself, shuffling his way towards the door. The Ryn could smell the fresh air, free of the taint of what passed for breakfast in the communal area this morning, when he hissed in pain and surprise, nearly stumbling into the door frame. Glancing back, he saw a booted foot holding the end of his tail in place. Eyes traveling up showed the sim, copper skinned leg and colorful skirts, causing him to heave a painful sigh.

“Atty, luv, I know you’re...depth perception, isn’t what some of us consider normal, but that’s me tail,” he said, tiredly.

“Oh I know that, Bleu!” she said, louder than was necessary, and with far more cheer than anyone should have so early, “And I didn’t want you scuttling off before we could have a chance to talk.”

Blinking back tears, he was almost certain the Miraluka woman was grinding the toe of her boot into his tail, through gritted teeth he replied, “Talk? About what? You know we don’t usually try and talk before midday, I’m incapable and you’re far to busy. Speaking of which, was going to pop off for a nap, I’ll be a much more stimulating conversationalist after that, huh? Now give me back my tail, Blinky, please?”

The Arch Priestess made a ‘tut tut’ sound her with her tongue, sending a chill up his spine as she moved her foot, before grabbing the back collar of his robes before he could get out the door. Pushing him against the wall, gently yet firmly, she leaned down a bit to speak into the shorter Ryn’s ear, “Now now, dear, we’ve got something to discuss, maybe you don’t recall some of the things you, quite loudly I might add, discussed in the cantina last night. Things that were never meant to be said aloud, especially not in a public place like the Tipsy Rancor, and most definitely not with the company we we’re keeping.”

“Ummmmm,” replied the Ryn, feeling the woman twist his collar a bit, mind racing to recall who was at the bar last night, what he’d said….”Was it it the bit about the ewoks? Ow, a no would work just as well as a slap on the ear, woman!”

“Not nearly as satisfying though,” he heard the hissed whisper in his ear.

“Fine, fine! Was it the thing about that band you liked back when you were still pretty heavy on the spice, and the tour shuttle, with the Jawas and the syrup and OUCH WHAT THE HELLS WOMAN?”

Kordath was almost certain he felt blood staining his white moustaches, after Atyiru had smacked his face into the wall, “Wrong again, Bleu,” she growled. The Ryn felt his whole core go cold, he’d seen Atyiru angry before, he’d even caused it before, usually he was quick enough to get her laughing again that nothing too bad happened. But he honestly couldn’t recall what he’d done.

Well that’s nothing new, thought the Priest, an angry, irrational woman who won’t even tell me why she’s about to bash my head in, what a great morning.

People who frequented Mick’s cantina and the attached mess hall were usually fairly smart people.

Or, at the least, smart enough to know that when some poor frakker came sailing face-first into a bolted-down durasteel table and, more importantly, their tray of mashed mystery meat ration, it was probably time to leave. Chow was over anyways, right? And that maintenance really needed doing. Right?

“I SHOULD TELL MICK THAT HE’S SERVING FRIED RYN FOR DINNER, EH, BLUE?!” shouted the irate Lady Aedile, looming over the bench she’d hurled the Ryn into.

Definitely time to leave.

Trays and forks clattered to the mad rush of stomping boots as everybody who valued their lives cleared out of the cafeteria.

Kordath rolled sideways on pure, tail-twitching instinct, his face peeling out of the breakfast slop with a wet pop as he dropped off the tabletop and down to the ground. His skull felt like it was going to crack open, and based on the way his entire face burned all the way down to the backs of his eyeballs, he’d guess his nose was nice and broken.

Freaking hells! Owwwowwowwo!

A hand at the back of his collar hauled him back up, and a heeled boot stomped painfully on his tail again. His legs splayed under him and the Ryn whimpered.

Atyiru leaned down and hissed in his ear. “You know I’m not usually one to hold grudges or expect you to know everything, Blue, but this time,” she ground his tail into the floor, pulling a yelp of pain from the abused Priest. “Either you dig up the memory in that booze-soaked pile of Hutt vomit you call a brain, or I beat it out of you.”

Tears, blood, snot, and worst of all, Mick’s cooking running down his face, Kordath wiggled desperately in the Miraluka’s hold, fingers scrabbling along the ground. His left hand bumped into what felt like one of the mess trays, and without thinking too much about it, he grabbed the thing and flung it over his shoulder.

The gods must have been smiling at him, for once, because he heard it make contact and Atyiru’s disgusted cry. The Ryn moved to dive forward, expecting her grip to be loose, only to find himself choking on his own shirt collar.

Grumbling, the Miraluka dragged him up to his feet and shook him. “What the frak was that, eh, Blue? Did you think you’d get mush in my eyes? Oh, wait.”

“Uuuuhhhuhh...oops?” the Ryn babbled. “Lookit, lady, fine, whatever, ‘m sorry, but let’s not do this, hey, and you can just, uh, heh, just, GET OFF ME BLOODY TAIL!”

His Aedile paused. He glanced over his shoulder to see her grinning dementedly. “There’s that spine of yours,” she said, shaking him again. “I know you have one, Blue. You’ve got to, to blab like you do. Must be pretty bold. Or just stupid. Or maybe you just get bold and stupid when you think you’re gonna die.”

Her voice was waa-haa-waaaaaay too cheery.

She stepped off his tail and he immediately wrapped it tight around his middle, touching the mangled tip and wincing. He still found himself uh, detained, though.

“So-so what’s yer point, B-blinky?” he asked, voice whistling through the cracks in his smashed-in nose. He spat on the floor.

Atyiru pulled him close again, resting her chin on his shoulder. The Ryn gulped. “Does the term ‘BlindChicks’ mean anything to you, Blue? Because you certainly seemed interested in talking about it in front of everyone last night.”

Oh. OH...Oooh, bloody freakin’ poodoo—

The Miraluka’s grip changed in a flash and then Kordath was sailing through the air again, his back and shoulders slamming down into the plated floor as his feet were kicked out from under him. She placed one of those evil, evil heeled boots in the center of his chest and beared down with just a bit of weight.

And really, despite everything, the Ryn couldn’t quite help but notice the particularly spectacular and, uh, exposed view he had. The tiny gods be praised for skirts.

“Uhh-ummmhuh uh, Atts, Blinky, lady, uh, ca-can we not, please, I’m sorry, no, not—” he coughed. She stomped on his ribs. “OW, WOMAN!”

“Frak your sorry!” the furious Miraluka sneered. “I’ll care about yer frakkin’ apology when I’m done makin’ meself some bloody Ryn-fur boots!”

“Owowowow — y’know — ow! — don’t take this the wrong, ah, way, but that might be teh hottest thing you ever said — owwww!”

She lifted a foot again to most certainly shatter his ribs, and Kordath scrunched his eyes shut and reached for the Force like he’d reach for a whiskey bottle after three days of cheap beer. A barrier flickered to life over him, just in time for Atyiru’s heel to rebound off of it. She went tumbling back, unbalanced, and sprawled to the floor.

The Ryn sat up so quickly that his head swam and scooted back a bit, bruised shoulders bumping into the bench of another table. Atyiru pushed herself back up, bits of food staining her clothes and hair.

The woman growled at him. Kordath gulped.

Somebody save me.

Somebody? Anybody?

“Sorry about that, luv, really, seriously! But you’re...oh poodoo..” the Ryn said as he scrambled up the bench and onto the table. In a vain attempt to gain footing before the extremely angry Miraluka could close. “Look! Woman I seriously can’t...no no no,” he shouted, trying to reason with his friend as she placed one booted foot against the edge of the table. With surprising strength, amplified by the Dark Side and fueled by her anger no doubt, Atyiru gave it a good push.

Kordath stumbled, and attempted to jump back off the table and to safety. A moment before hitting the floor he got a flash of his immediate future and groaned. His foot landed squarely on a tray, still covered in the muck that had been served for the morning meal. The tray slid, and the Ryn followed with a jarring crash to the ground. Groaning, and wondering why the world hated him so much this morning, the Priest pushed up off the ground. The sounds of exasperation turned to a sudden outcry of pain as his Aedile stepped nimbly around a bench and planted a spiked heel on the top of his left hand.

“Okay! I get it, you’re mad! What the kark did I do!?” This is what the Priest tried to yell, though his jaw was clamped shut from pain, moments before Atyiru kicked him squarely in the temple. Vision blurred for a moment, Kordath had a sudden moment of recollection as his brain bounced against the inside of his skull.

”Comeon, Uji! I gotta know, you...you’re...yeah, you’re the only guy I know to do it. You gotta give me somethin’, for the..the book thing I’ve been working on.” The Ryn was drunk, but that was okay by his figuring, as his friend Uji was as well. They’d spent the last few hours drinking away memories of Korriban since they’d returned home, alive. Not everybody had been so lucky.

The Human, ex-Jedi attempted to wave his comrade to silence, gesturing towards the Miraluka woman at the next table. She’d been drinking with various groups all night, making the rounds and being sociable. Now she was simply sitting at a table alone with an untouched drink, and Kordath was convinced she was asleep. “What? Don’t worry about her, mate. Comeon, she’s out cold! Girls been drinking the whooole night, now it’s naptime.”

“I’m telling you, and for the same reason you’re asking me Bleu, I can tell when she’s asleep.” The Obelisk was exasperated, ever since the Valley of the Dark Jedi on Korriban his friend had been hounding him about his past relations with their Aedile. To Uji it was a topic not to be revisited, especially with her within ear shot. And he was certain she wasn’t asleep.

Kordath hit the table with his glass, sloshing a bit of whiskey onto the surface and showing an instant regret before pushing on. “She hasn’t moved in...in...well a while, whose timin’ it huh? I told you I was working on that little story for the holonet crowd, for my ummm, “special” audience, right?” The Ryn even held up two fingers on both hands while saying special, causing the Human to shake his head and sigh. “Blind Chicks has been a really popular story so far man, but I NEED some real, heh, hands on knowledge. Help me out man, I got people paying me for this garbage! Cut ya in.”

Blinking a few times, Kordath looked first at the heel that was threatening to go through his hand. Then he glanced up at the copper skinned woman who possessed control of said heel, and grimaced.

“Atty….Atyiru….Blinky? Oh gods I...I...think I remember last night now…,” he trailed off as she turned her ankle slightly, causing the pointed heel to twist.

“Oh, how lovely.” Her voice came out a bit too sweetly for his current situation, causing the Ryn to cringe and wait for the next kick to the head. “I’m guessing you’re going to apologize again. I told you I came here for some boots made from Ryn, what do you think an apology will gain you?”

Kordath turned his head up and fought back the tears forming in his eyes. With a weak and shaky smiled, he replied, “Stay of execution?”

Atyiru laughed, normally he quite enjoyed the melodious sound. This wasn’t one of those times. “Oh but Bluey, who said I was going to kill you?”

The Ryn stared at her for a few moments, his smiling face becoming a rictus mask of fear. Opening his mouth to state further argument, he paused. Another familiar presence was approaching and it very nearly gave the Priest a spark of hope. A Human Obelisk wandered into the mess hall, his eyes sunken and darkened by the shadows of a hangover. He looked at the mess in confusion, before locking eyes with the pinned Ryn. Taking stock of the situation, he froze.

“UJI! A bit of help, mate?”

“Ooooh no, no no no, you did this to yourself Kord.” The Prelate looked from one Krath to the other before backing away towards the door.

“Ya know,” said Kordath, just loudly enough for the angry Miraluka to hear, “He did give me some...’insider info’ later on in the night after you went to bed.”

Atyiru turned her vicious smile and eyeless gaze towards the retreating Obelisk. “Oh? Well now I’ve got to add him to my list of things to take care of today.”

“Right! Taking care of things. You should go get him before he can get away-OW!”

“Not done with you yet, my furry friend. You managed to insult me.” She held a hand up as she spoke, a finger going up each time she added something. “Ruin this dress, I’m almost certain the stains won’t come out from this muck. And no, Bluey, do NOT make a joke about me not being able to see them anyways. And waste much of my morning by groveling and making empty apologies instead of simply taking the beating you deserve. How do you intend to make this up to me?”

Nothing ventured...nothing gained, thought the Ryn, figuring he couldn’t get into any further trouble at this point. “Weeeell….gimme an hour under the desk later while you’re meeting with Cethgus and I’m sure you’ll be happier with me.”

I just meant a foot rub… the Priest thought as the Miraluka’s booted foot rendered him unconscious.

“You know the really funny thing, Bleu?” she hissed, darting forward on hands and knees and grasping his tormented tail. She yanked once. “If you’d just asked me all those things you and my ex decided to blab about, I would’ve told you. Sithspit, I would have demonstrated!” She yanked hard on his poor tail again, drawing a pitiful cry. “Instead, you went behind my back and then told everyone about it!”

Yeah, he was gonna die today. If it could just be a biiiiit quicker though…

“And, gee, ya know what? This morning, I had four journeymen — four! — and one admittedly very brave mechanic ask me if I could show them the ‘sparkfingers thing.’ One of them even asked if I had two extra holes behind my frakking blindfold!”

Kordath opened his mouth, but all that came out was a whimper. He paused, coughed, and tried again “Uhh, yuh, B-blinky, look, I-I’m sorry ‘bout the, ah, not askin’ you, b-but there’s no guarantee I wouldn’ta talked about it if I had and ‘m not helpin’ meself here, am I?”

She answered by way of standing and kicking him hard enough to send him sprawling.

“Ow! Enough, woman!” cried the downed Ryn, gasping in pain. “Why ain’t ya pickin’ on Uji, huh? He’s the one that told meh!”

“Oh, he’s next,” the Miraluka promised darkly. “I applaud your blatant willingness to throw him under the speeder, though.”

“‘s every man fer himself!” yelled the Priest as he scrambled under the closest table, tail wrapped tight around his middle, and prayed he was out of her reach. Her heels clicked as she paced over to him, stopping just next to the bolted-down bench. He heard a lightsaber activating.

“A-are you reeeeaaallly that mad? C’mon, B-blinky, we can stop this—”

“Kordath, if I had you, the man who murdered my baby cousin, and the man who murdered S’nar in the same room, and I only had two charges left in my blaster, I’d shoot you twice. Don’t make me cut you out of there, you spineless, weak waste of recycled air.”

“IT’ ME FORT ‘AN I’M STAYIN’ IN IT!” Kord shouted in desperation.

“I’m going to show you how a blind Force-sensitive chick inflicts pain.”

And that was when the innocent table was introduced to a plasma-cutter.

Kordath cried softly.

“Atty?” came a new voice from the far end of the mess hall. “What...are you doing?”

“Celevon, dear!” cried the Miraluka with evil, manic exuberance. The molten metal hole line above the Ryn’s head slowly circled around. “I’m about to skin this stupid bastard on an operating table and make myself some boots. I don’t suppose you know anything about leatherworking?”

“A thing or two. Really depends on the material you’re working with, and your tools. I know you have a whole cadre of surgical implements, but do you have any leather needles?”

“Well…” the saber buried in the table paused, and Kordath took the opportunity the gods had given him and quietly, quietly scurried out from underneath his hiding place and straight towards the door.

Clutching at his injuries, the Ryn broke into a dogged sprint. Over his shoulder, Atyiru’s head snapped around.

“OI! GET BACK HERE, BLEU!” she shrieked, running after him.