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.

Kordath Bleu soaked in the atmosphere as he entered the Citadel dining hall for the first time in months. Ever since the move to Port Ol’val, he’d been too busy to visit Mick’s little cantina for a few drinks. The Ryn was already tapping a cigarette out of his pack as he crossed into the small, low-lit area adjacent to the mess hall, before stopping in confusion. He had a couple hours yet before having his meeting with the Blind Boss Lady, and had figured some quiet drinks would help settle his nerves. Instead of the usual old war veteran of a Rodian, Mick, tending bar, Bleu spotted a familiar face. Mask. Face with a mask on it.

“Skar, mate, is that you? Where the hell is Mick? Wanted ta get a few in me before havin’ to see her Shadowness, yeah?”

Rrogon Skar looked up from the glass he was wiping, as all bartenders do while attempting to look busy, and locked his crimson eyes on the Ryn. “You are aware I run a bar on Ol’val these days, Kordath? We’re on the same team, even you should know this.”

“Aye, but that’s on the Shadow Port, lad. What’er ya doin’ standin’ where Mick should be?”

“Mick had a thing, I was around, so I offered to step in. My shuttle back doesn’t leave till the morning, anyways.”

Kordath shrugged and settled into a stool, slightly annoyed that his feet swung like a child’s as he perched upon it. “Well, set me up then,” he muttered around the cigarette in his mouth, covering it as he worked the lighter.

“What will it be, then?”

The Ryn shrugged, and spoke words that he should have really known better than to have said.

“Surprise me.”

Kordath exhaled, streaming smoke out as he spun in his seat, placing an elbow on the bar and leaning back. It was early evening, yet the place was surprisingly empty. Figuring that was due to the regular barkeep being out, Bleu shrugged and turned his stool back as he heard a glass placed on the bartop. The Ryn lowered himself until his head was level with the counter, peering at the murky red liquid.

“The ‘ell is this, Skarbie?”

“A surprise. Try it. You’ll like it, trust me, I know what I’m doing,” spoke the Kaleesh, having turned his back to put some bottles back.

With a shrug and a silent prayer to whatever higher powers might be listening, Kordath lifted the glass and toasted to his teammate’s back. Following this ritual up with downing the drink, he choked and nearly lost his seat. With a cough and a wheeze, he dragged himself back up to a sitting position, slamming the glass down and clutching the edge of the bar for dear life.

“Oh my gods, so that’s what the soaked rectum of a Wookiee tastes like after its been left in the Tatoonie sun for days,” he sputtered in Huttese, trying to fight past the taste in his mouth and praying his throat didn’t close up on him. Moments later he was hoping for the opposite as his stomach attempted a rebellion. His vision finally began to clear as blessed clean air filled his lungs, hacking a bit still as the flavor remained, to find Rrogon watching him. The Kaleesh had both of his hands firmly on the bar, his dark knuckles taut.

“Uhh, that was, umm, interestin’, Skarbs, truly was. Maybe just a whiskey ta follow it up, eh?”

“What was it you said?”

Bleu blinked at him a few times, eyes still watering, “Eh?”

“Right after you tried it,” spoke Rrogon, quietly, “what was it you said?”

“Oh, that? Old, uhh, Ryn toast, that’s all, mate,” lied Kordath, trying to force a smile through the haze of whatever he’d been given.

“Huh, never knew Ryn sounded so much like Huttese. Who knew you had the same words for Wookiee and rectum?”

Kordath swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched his noticeably taller and more muscled teammate loom over him. “Didn’t know ya spoke the language of the slugs, mate. What else don’t I know? Let’s talk, have a pint, got some time ta kill.”

Reddish-green clawed hands grabbed the front of Kordath’s coat, pulling him up off his stool and forward over the bar. Bleu’s feet kicked fruitlessly above his seat as he was brought closer to the glowing red eyes behind the black mask.

“No,” growled Skar, gathering the Force into himself before using it to fling the much smaller Kordath across the cantina. The Ryn slammed into the opposite wall with a dull thud.

Bleu groaned as he slid down the durasteel surface, wondering if he’d left a dent or if that was just the future concussion messing with him. With the aid of a table, he staggered to his feet and stumbled a few steps sideways before coming to a stop against the muscled frame of the Kaleesh.

“Oh no,” he muttered as Skar swatted him on the side of the head, sending him sprawling to the floor again.

“Ungrateful little rodent,” growled the temporary bartender as he advanced on the fallen Seer. “Ungrateful and insulting.”

Anger is a funny thing, it can cloud one senses and outward perception on events going on around them or, for some, it's a focused wave of pure terrifying clarity of everything around them.

For the Sith Juggernaut, he fell into the later category. As the rage pulsed through his body, his perception of reality clarified. Colors and smells were sharper and easier to pick up on, the slightest sound could be heard within the room. However, all of his focus soon came to rest on the small Ryn sprawled at his feet.

In the back of his mind, some reason of clarity told him he couldn't kill the tiny alien even though the rest of his body and mind wanted to. No, he wouldn't kill his teammate, but he would make him learn a lesson that their shared master failed to instill in him.

It was time for Kordath to learn some respect. A low growl emanated from the Kaleesh as he strode toward the Ryn. Plans were running in his mind as he drew closer, ways he could inflict pain on his teammate that wouldn't get him thrown into a cell again.

Rrogon had finally settled on shaving the poor Rollmaster when a blinding light exploded before his eyes. Cursing, the Kaleesh moved his hand to block the light and at the same time he reach out with the Force to make sure the Ryn didn't try anything funny.

He could feel his opponent moving around him and the sound of metal leaving a sheath could be heard ever so slightly. With a jolt of clarity, the Sith moved a step over just as the other Gatekeeper tried to drive the Sith dagger he had into his lower back.

In a blur of motion, the former Gladiator’s hand shot out and seized the wrist of his teammate. Kord let out a shriek of fear and pain as the kaleesh dragged his body around, bringing them face to face once more.

Slowly, the Juggernaut opened his eyes and began to blink away the spots that were still clouding his vision. Two seconds later, he could finally see once more. His eyes locked on the Sith dagger that had almost been impeded in his spine.

A primal rage burned in his chest as his head moved to gaze at Kordath. The Rollmaster was struggling to free himself from the steel grip of his teammate, the fear and panic that emanated from him was exquisite. With a snarl, Skar pulled the Ryn closer and slammed his Huk mask into his friend's face.

The sound of breaking bone could be heard as the Ryns chitnis nose cracked under the force of Rrogons strike and an instant later Kordath howled in anguish as blood began to flow freely down his face.

“Ya broke ma fracking nose mate, what is your carking problem!” screamed Kordath as he weakly kicked at the kaleesh holding him.

Rrogon said nothing and moved to the entrance ofthe cafeteria attached to Mick’s cantina. With little effort, he launched the Ryn into the dining hall and seconds later grinned at the sound of crashing tables and chairs where the small Ryn finally landed.

Reaching behind his back, the Kaleesh drew his Dl-44 blasters from their holsters and slowly walked into the mess hall. He casually flipping the safety off of his blasters. Time for target practice.

Amidst a tumble of chairs, Kordath Bleu groaned in agony. His entire face hurt, his body hurt, and the taste of whatever it was Rrogon had given him still hadn’t vacated his mouth.

Ta hell with my meeting, ta hell with Estle City, I’d like ta go home now.

With another groan he tried to disentangle himself from chair legs and backs, slowly rising to a sitting position. Glancing over the path he’d taken to land where he had, the Ryn grimaced at the dent on the nearest table. Probably why his back felt like he’d just gotten off a three day bender and woken up in an alley behind the local brothel. Slipping and sliding, he managed to find his feet among the pile of broken and twisted seats, holding a hand to his back he straightened with a moan.

The vision of Skar, a pistol in either clawed hands, approaching him made Bleu to sigh and send up a small prayer to whoever was listening. Scarlet bolts of energy cracked from the twin DL-44s, causing Kordath to grimace and bite his lip to ignore the pain as he scrambled towards a nearby table. The smell of burnt ozone and the sound of blaster bolts impacting the durasteel tables forced the Ryn to fully understand the trouble he was in. Huddling under the table, he heard more shots slam into the top of it.

“Why’d I pull a bloody knife on him? Paranoid, angry karking Kaleesh probably thought I was gonna shank him, just wanted ta cut his belt, buy some time so I could run. Bloody stupid move, Bleu, stupid!” he muttered to himself, trying to think his way out of the situation. His face throbbed — like it would for days to come, he was certain. Trying to ignore the pain and the incessant sounds of blaster fire he focused on the Force.

Another round of fire scorched the table even as Skar spotted Bleu scurrying out from under it, the Ryn climbing with surprising quickness over the next row of tables. His blasters tracked him, spitting scarlet death after the nimble Rollmaster, and he was certain he’d tagged the tailed Arconan. No cries of agony accompanied the shots though, and it was quite unlike the Ryn to be so silent when in pain. From off to the Kaleesh’s left came Kordath’s voice.

“Look, t’was a misunderstandin’, mate! What would Nath say if she saw us actin’ like this?” shouted the Ryn from under another table. His illusory double had bought him enough time to move, at least, and possibly talk down his teammate

“Mother would say not to be taken in by the Ryn’s quick tongue,” growled the angry Agrona.

“Hah, fair point. And we talked about callin’ our former Master ‘mum,’ didn’t we?”

“She cared for us both, Kordath, she taught us both!”

“That don’t make her mum! And she calmed down a lot by the time she got ta you, I guess!” Bleu shouted from under his cover, moving slowly to prepare himself for another run. “Not ta mention, after that last party a few months back, thinkin’ of her as ‘mum’ don’t scan with me.”

A rapid succession of bolts peppered the floor near Kordath, causing him to scuttle back once more.

“Are you trying to anger me further, you walking womprat? Do you really think that’s a good idea!?”

Well talkin’ him down didn’t work. Make him madder? Maybe he’ll lose focus. Bugger it, maybe I can get away then.

“Make ya mad? Mate, you’re always mad! ‘Sides, what was we talkin’ bout? Oh, right, Nath, yeah. The party, you recall?” Kordath let out a sigh as he pushed out with the Force, scrambling one way while another projection ran the other. Luck was with him this time, Skar choosing to fire at the double as he dived under another table. “That party, with the dress, yeah? Well, if ya could call it a dress, hah!”

This time the only reply was more blaster fire and a loud growl.

“More like a collection of wee leather straps. I mean, you could bleedin’ hear it creak whenever she moved. And how she could move, eh, Skar me boy? You trained more combat with her than I ever did, you know how fit she is!”

Again Bleu gathered the Force, taking a deep breath as he and the illusion he summoned parted ways. This time the Ryn felt a searing pain his shoulder, a blaster bolt spinning him around and throwing him to the ground again. With a groan he rolled onto his back, looking up to find Skar standing above him.

“Was just a drink, mate, didn’ mean nothin’ by it,” he managed to mutter out.

“Your illusions lack heat, Kordath. You would be wise to remember I can see in that spectrum. And it wasn’t ‘just a drink,’ it was a cordial. You were meant to sip it, not down it like one of your whiskey shots, you filthy hobo of a Ryn.”

“Why,” gasped out Kordath as the Kaleesh put a boot on his chest, “would ya give me a stuffed shirt drink like that, mate? Good barkeep knows what his clients want, your fault more than mine.”

“You insult my talent as a bartender, you insult our Mother with your comments, and you insult my intelligence by sending your illusions out in an attempt to scurry away like the rodent you are. You’ll be crawling when you go to your meeting with the Shadow Lady,” snarled Rrogon, lifting his boot off the Ryn’s chest. It came down, hard, on Kordath’s left ankle, sending a snapping sound throughout the quiet mess hall.

Kordath’s screams of pain and anguish filled the cantina, and they were satisfying. And yet, at the same time, some small part of the Sith felt pity for his teammate. Rrogon knew that his actions would have ramifications later on, and he resigned himself to the fate that awaited him. A slow sigh escaped from his lips as his crimson eyes locked onto the Ryn’s gray orbs.

“Kordath, let this be a lesson to you. One day, your mouth is going to get you killed. So next time, think before you speak, and remember what happens when you don't,” growled the Kaleesh as he removed his foot from the Seer’s ankle.

The anger that burned in the Juggernaut’s chest slowly began to fade away into cold nothingness as he took several steps back. His gaze was focused on the Ryn as he laid on the floor, curled up in pain. Looking down, the Kaleesh flipped open his comlink and keyed in the frequency for the nearest Arconan medical center.

Steeling himself, he activated the channel and waited for a response. It took several minutes but soon someone answered. Not wanting to waste any time, the Sith spoke briskly into the receiver.

“This is Rrogon Skar. I need a medical team sent down to Mick’s cantina immediately. And inform the Consul that she should come as well, with a security team.”

Shutting off his comlink before the operator could respond, Rrogon calmly walked over to where Kordath was and effortlessly picked up one of the durasteel chairs, setting it down close to him.

“Wha are ya doing, mate?” he heard Kord mutter next to him. Several seconds passed before Rrogon responded to the Ryn’s question.

“I am helping my teammate,” answered the Kaleesh

“After all that, ya still going to help me?” inquired the Ryn as he stared up at the hulking Kaleesh next to him.

“Yes. You see, despite all the things that happened, everything you said, you are still an Arconan, and a part of Shadow Gate. That makes you family and a friend, despite your infuriating disposition. I will never just leave you to be found by someone else.” The Kaleesh trailed off, and when he finally spoke again, there was a deep set of self loathing laced in his words. “I am many things. A savage, a killer, a cold-hearted gladiator. I am Arcona’s monster, ready to be set loose on her enemies. Yet despite all these things, I see Arcona as my family, everyone from you, to the new acolytes, to Atyiru. You all are family in one way or another. And I never leave family behind.”

Reaching inside his overcoat, he pulled out his silver flask and popped the lid off of it. Tilting his head back he took a long drink and relished in the burn that the whisky gave as it trickled its way down his throat. Looking down, he saw the Ryn watching him closely.

A small hint of a smile touched his lips as he handed the flask over to the Seer who happily gulped from it to dull the pulsing pain that coursed through his body.

The medical and security teams showed up a few minutes later with Atyiru following close behind. Kordath was taken to the hospital while Rrogon was placed in Force-nullifying cuffs until the Ryn was taken from the room.

“Tell me what happened, Rrogon,” murmured Atyiru as she she sat down next to him while the security team moved off to cover the doors and make sure that it was only the Kaleesh and the Consul remaining in the room.

“Kordath’s mouth got him into trouble again, and I let my temper get the better of me. Is he going to be okay?” The question was asked with a sincerity that brought a smile to the Miraluka’s lips.

“Kordath will be fine, Rrogon. It's you i'm worried about—” she tried to continue, but the Kaleesh cut her off.

“I’m fine,” said Rrogon with a sense of finality on the matter.

“...Very well., If you ever want to talk, I'm just a holocall away.” She stood up and moved to one of the exits that led out into the rest of the complex, leaving the Kaleesh alone with his thoughts.