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.

In the Arconan capital of Selen, there was a bar that the Clan’s Armed Forces had come to favor over the years, and for good reason. While its drinks and welcoming atmosphere were a definite bonus, what really drew the crowd in was the prospect of a potential fight between the various Force Users of the Clan that always seemed to happen within the bar. Such a fight was destined to happen today, unbeknownst to the few troopers that had come in that day. Sitting at the very end of the bar was a hulking figure who was engaged in a heated debate, if one could call it that, with the resident Rodian bartender, Mick.

Rrogon had grown tired over the past couple of weeks of being constantly pestered by K’tana over the most benign things imaginable. To be perfectly honest, it was starting to get on his nerves, so he decided to take some much-needed leave and go on a business venture to the Arconan capital of Selen. It wasn't a terribly unpleasant trip, to say the least. None of the capital guards gave him trouble and he hadn't run into any of the Inquisitors that roamed Estile City's streets.

He had decided to forgo Arconan attire for the civilian outfit that he had had made while in the shadowy port, with its flowing black trench coat, tight-fitting gray tank top, and tan cargo pants, along with matching combat boots. With his new look, it made him blend into the normal trader crowd that came out of the spaceport, his feet carrying him swiftly to the bar he had frequented whilst serving on the Nighthawk. It had quickly became his favorite spot, where no one would bother him.

It didn't take long for Mick to make his way over to him and take his order. Several shots of whiskey later, the Kaleesh had started up the conversation. It started with asking how the Rodian’s business had been doing lately, and after several minutes, the conversation changed from how Mick bought his product to overcharging rates that most of the dealers ran for their highest grade drinks. most of the conversation was answered with differing grunts but that's all it took for the point to get across.

“You know, Mick,” drawled the Kaleesh. “I run a bar on Port O’val and I brew my own drinks mostly, and everyone on the port passes through at one point of the day or another.” Taking a hold of the now-full shot glass once more, he tipped his head back and let the scalding liquid rush down his throat. With a satisfied grunt he set it back down and continued to talk.

“I know the outrageous rates the traders charge for the goods you sell, so let me make you a deal: I provide you with some of my product free of charge, and when you sell any of it, I get fifty percent of the profits…what do you say?”

Before the Rodian could reply, there was an earsplitting shriek from the entrance of the bar that turned everyone's heads, most clamped their hands over their ears because of how loud it was. A purple Twi’lek wearing a skintight black bikini top and matching leather pants stood in the doorway of the bar, the dark makeup she wore contrasting well with her skin tone and making her appearance all the more lovely.

Squealing again, to the dismay of the other patrons, the Twi’lek charged through the bar and leaped onto the back of the hulking Kaleesh wrapping her arms around his neck and shrieking.

“Skarbie, you know you can't hide from me!”

A low groan emanated from the Kaleesh followed by a loud thump as his head slammed down onto the countertop. “K’tana,” growled the obviously now brooding Kaleesh. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

The woman clung tighter to him, making the Kaleesh turn his head to the side to glower at her and, in doing so, he got a good view of the well-toned body that she sported in those revealing clothes. In the back of his mind, his libido approved greatly of the view, as it had been a long time since he had been with a woman, much less one as beautiful as the one hanging on his back right now. Not to mention he had downed several shots of whiskey; even with his high tolerance to alcohol, there was a very light buzz to his thoughts.

“Skar, you should know that you can't just leave the bar without telling anyone,” said the Twi’lek in a scolding tone as she let go and took a step back, placing a hand on her hip as she did so. “You know fraking better than that.” The look her in the eyes was a hard one but behind them, there was a flicker of amusement.

“Do you realize that all I do is stand in a bar all day and serve drinks, and for the last few weeks I’ve had you breathing down my neck for no reason other than to bug me? I…really just needed to get away from you and the port. Is that so much to ask for?” Skar spat the words in the direction of his Battleteam leader.

The words made the woman's face harden a bit as she took a step back from the Kaleesh. “Goddess, Rrogon, you don't gotta be so harsh all the time, you know. If you actually got fraking laid once in a while, you wouldn't need to run off like this!.” She was practically screaming at him now, and the irritation that brought him here in the first place was rapidly returning. “Now, Gatekeeper, I'm taking you back whether you like it or not.” As she said this she moved forward to grab onto Rrogon’s right arm to pull him away from the bar. Anger flared as her hand touched his flesh, and an electric shock coursed through his arm.

She had just tried to stun him so there wouldn't be a fight, but what she got instead was what she least wanted: the enraged Kaleesh spun around and backhanded her right across the face with his left arm, sending her tumbling off her feet and into the center of the bar.

Rrogon was on his feet an instant later and was reaching for the lightsaber strapped to his lower back when he heard the familiar click of the scattershot that Mick always had behind the bar.

“You know the rules. Not in the bar, take it out to the cafe.”

The Sith glared at Mick and then at K’tana, who was grinning widely at him and already making her way into the adjacent building.

“Fine, but I want a drink waiting for me when I get back,” he growled at the bartender.

“That's if you come back!” shrieked K’tana once more from the other room. Growling from deep within his chest, Skar made his way into the cafe and ignited the emerald blade of his lightsaber as soon as he stepped over the threshold.

Silence bore down on K’tana’s mind and brought with it a sense of comfort and anticipation for the impending violence. The pain that throbbed over her cheek and jaw seemed a distant memory after the rush of adrenaline that had flooded her system. The Mystic stood motionless and quiet, hushing the chaos in her mind as she surveyed the mess hall.

She watched a small group of Arconan students and instructors move into a semicircle to watch the fight as Skar walked in behind her. The Twi’lek stretched her shoulders, keeping her back to the Kaleesh as she felt him move closer.

K'tana heard the saber-wielding Kaleesh move into the bar, quietly relishing the chance to teach her subordinate some respect. She had spent too much time reading and filling out paperwork. The boredom and stagnation had been internalised into a tipping point of agression. She had grown restless and the accumulated energy required an outlet. The Gatekeeper had not only been unnecessarily rude but also discourteous.

“Skarlette, darling,” she cooed from over her shoulder, “are you sure you want to do this with me? I’m not gonna go easy on you.”

The Mystic’s condescending tone had the desired effect, enraging the Kaleesh. He let out a defiant roar as he charged with abandon. His lightsaber hummed as it scythed towards her neck. K'tana was ready for it though, and in the space of a heartbeat was already moving to dip under the powerful swing. The violet woman ducked down and spun to face the Warrior, balancing on the balls of her feet as his emerald blade swept close enough to her face that she could have chomped down on the plasma were she so inclined.

The Twi’lek tumbled backwards, leaping off her hands mid-roll to drive her pointed heels into Skar’s abdomen. The Kaleesh grunted with pain, but recovered quickly, his lightsaber arching towards the Mystic’s face again. The Gatewarden dropped to her stomach and then pushed herself away, rolling beneath the table as the as the Kaleesh moved forward. K’tana continued her roll until she came out of the other side of the table, somersaulting into a hunter's crouch as she drew her lightsaber a smile.

The Gatewarden licked her lips and inconspicuously hooked her ankle around the leg of the closest chair. Skar growled in irritation and brought his lightsaber down against the table, letting out an enraged roar as he realized it would not simply carve in half. K’tana watched the Kaleesh struggle for a moment before he realized the futility of his actions and chose, instead, to storm around the immovable object. The Mystic drew a deep, amplifying breath, lifting the chair with her foot and heaving it at the Gatekeeper. He heard her giggle a moment before he ducked the flying object.

K’tana leapt onto the table and activated her lightsaber with her right hand as Skar recovered. With a few brisk steps she was close enough to stab but she waited until the Kaleesh had regained his senses and let him slice at her first. The Twi’lek stepped back with a mock-look of shock, allowing the male get another near miss before switching hands and aggressively striking at the him with a flourish of blows.

The violet blurr before Skar’s eyes caused him to take several steps back, giving her the opportunity to leap at him from off the table. The Kaleesh rocked back on his heels and then reversed his momentum, pushing back towards K'tana as soon as her feet touched the floor. He knew she would not be able to withstand the strength behind his blows so came at her with an unrelenting viciousness. His hard strikes carrying the full weight of his large muscles. K’tana twirled and weaved away from him, rarely letting her lightsaber make contact with his.

The Gatewarden knew her defensive dance would not hold up against the furious male. K’tana knew that she was not going to wear the big man down either. So she changed tactics and ducked beneath his lightsaber, her own blade spinning up towards his neck as she twisted her body closer to his.

Skar knew the upcut would be fatal so he brought his lightsaber up under hers, slicing her hilt in half and disengaging the blade - but not before she drove her right hand against his chest.

Skar froze, a brief moment that lasted an eternity in both their minds, as a simple realization flooded him. He would not be fast enough to bring his lightsaber down on her before she could unleash her favored power directly into his weakened heart.

I warned you.

K’tana’s voice rang in the Warrior’s mind as a sudden burst of blue and white energy coursed from her palm. Skar heard nothing of her anger-fueled shriek as he dropped to the floor, his muscles twitching and his heart palpitating sporadically. The Twi’lek gave the gasping Kaleesh a cold and detached smile as she sashayed up to him, kneeling down and kissing the forehead of the Huk bone mask.

The Gatewarden watched her Gatekeeper’s clawed hand clench and unclench as his muscles spasmed uncontrollably. She lay a violet hand over his heart, feeling the arrhythmic pulsing of the organ as it fluttered in his chest.

“Uuh, I think I need a medic! Like, NOW!” K’tana’s voice was loud, but her face was calm as a few people moved forward. The Tyrian Twi’lek kept her hand on his chest and she looked into Skar’s crimson eyes.

Don’t die on me yet, darling. You must live to learn this lesson. Never. Underestimate me. Ever. Again.

Even after the medics had taken her place at Skar's side, K'tana's lilting voice kept ringing in his head like a ghostly echo. Some part of his mind understood the words but as he struggled to hold onto conciousness, her words began slipping away as the darkness took hold.