You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. A popular drinking and dining establishment located in the city of Mos Eisley on the desert world of Tatooine, Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina is run by the Wookiee Chalmun.

A single story building made of sandstone, the cantina consists of a bar area, private offices, a VIP lounge, a private hangar, a basement, and a phony shop in the rear. It caters to all sorts from across the galaxy, with spacious areas and wide arched doorways to allow patrons of all sizes passage. Unsurprisingly, a fair share of these guests lend to the cantina’s seedy reputation.

Entering through a small portal on one side of the building, a small passage curves around into the main bar area. Featuring many themed spigots resembling the heads of IG-series assassin droids, the bar is capable of producing several dozen drinks of Chalmun's own concoctions. Surrounded by eight different alcoves filled with stools, tables, and even a bandstand, the bar wraps from the public area around into the private back room.

The cantina shook with the energy of those inside it. Even from down the street wrapped in his poncho Flyndt could smell the flavours of the local cuisine wafting out the small building. Music blasted, face paced and intense.

He turned to Mal’nies, the small droid floating and taking in the sights around it. “Seems interesting enough, eh?” The droid made some beeps and whirrs, and while he didn’t know the exact meaning it sounded optimistic enough. “Let’s go then!” He paced forward, down the street and pacing a group of Jawa’s carrying in what appeared to be a chunk of meat the size of a small car on a gravity plate.

Pacing inside, he found his target lounged out on a seating booth nearby. The young Ewok sat up. “Flyndt!” He grinned widely, exposing twinned ranks of bright teeth. “You got my message?”

“I could hardly miss it. Your dad hardly messed around in sending messages. I’ve still not replaced that datapad.” Flyndt said, raising a dark eyebrow at the tiny humanoid.

“He’s not my dad!” Tyk said, laughing. “And he can’t help having no social skills. C’mon, I haven’t eaten in two days!” He stood, taking Flyndt by the arm. He sighed, following the Ewok.

“You’re that competitive?” The Omwati replied, looking down at the Ewok dragging him along toward an eating table in the middle part of the cantina. As Flyndt looked around he saw massed heaps of food on each one, but the same pattern to the food. Each table had been set with matching amounts of food on each side of varying amounts. The table Tyk was going toward was…

“Tyk, that’s ridiculous. We can’t eat that.” Tyk let go of his arm as he said it.

The Ewok smiled playfully. “Can’t do it birdman?”

He sighed. “It’s the size of you. The food is bigger, then you.” The table beside them was stacked with dishes of various cuisine, the most concerning being a foot long and almost as wide slab of “steak” in the middle.

“I can do it!” Tyk jumped in the air, pumping his fist. “Can you?”

Whether or not the black-furred Ewok has merely intended to share his optimistic enthusiasm, he has managed to thoroughly goad the Omwati. A tsk left his inked lips, his sunset eyes narrowing. Flyndt clenched his fist before his chest and proclaimed boldly, perhaps a bit loudly in a way that startled the L0-LA hoovering beside him.

"Of course I can! I can clear more than you too, yes!"

If this was a team event, the avian man had quickly set a more personal challenge to his acquaintance.

Tyk hooted with joy and turned to clamber onto one of the chairs, using it more as a step stool than to sit to better reach the mound of cuisine before them. Flyndt joined the young scavenger, wood creaking and scraping on stone in his haste. Mal'nies fluttered onto the table beside him, the little 'wings' of its casing flapping gently while the ocular lens narrowes in on the food display. Across the way a Rodian and a Gamorrean settled at the opposite table. A wookiee with a thick grey mustache stepped up, Chalmun himself, and uttered a few words, gesturing to drive up the cantina's patrons' hype. Flyndt did not know a lick of what the host said, but even if he could understand it he was too full of vibrating eagerness to prove himself.

A red handkerchief was raised and held in suspension. The Omwati glanced over at Tyk, who flashed him another wide smile. Flyndt could not help but give a determined smirk of his own. Several seconds later and one hairy arm pulled the crimson flag down sharply, a universal sign the competition has started.

Right away, both teams dug into the plates before them. Tyk's small hands scooped up handfuls of minced meat and diced root plants, the gravy like juices seeping into the fur around his palms. Flyndt narrowed in on a bowl of chopped fruit and seeds. Despite the difference in their size, the Omwati certainly was grabbing smaller portions than the Ewok. Finishing most of the chunks, he lifted the bowl and upended the remaining seeds into his mouth. It clattered lightly on the table when he set it down unceremoniously.

His gaze flicking over to his teammate and challenger, he found Tyk was already halfway through his next dish. It stirred his competitive bone, the need to catch up and surpass the youth. However, a fine dusting of purple dustbon the table caught his eye. It shifted over the metal, slinking to the gathered dishes before carrying off tiny specks of food off the table.

That ewok was cheating!

An olive hand lightly smacked Tyk's shoulder before gesturing to the microdroids then pointing two fingers towards the sky -- a signal of warning unique to the Omwati's people. He hissed quietly, "What are you doing?"

"Taking a page out of Work't teachings. Look," Tyk whispered back, jutting a furry chin toward their opponents.

A pile of metal dishes had started stacking before the Gamorrean. Flyndt gritted his beak, lips pursed at the sight. He was caught between the need to win this competition or best his acquaintance. Did he take a dirty trick approach? And who would he hinder?

Crimson feathers raising in a flutter, the Omwati reached out with the Force towards the boarish man's mind. Using part of his concentration, he wove an illusion of extra food on the table. A hopeful stalling of their progress.

Satisfied that would do the trick, Flyndt dug back in alongside Tyk.