"Secrets like /how you got into my house/ should absolutely not remain a mystery," Oran is responding to something Hadrix has said. He is speaking in his native language, Complaint, and his voice suggests an origin on Coruscant. Posh, insufferable levels of Coruscant, not the cool shady under-levels. He is at a table with Domino and Hadrix, holding himself as though careful not to aggravate some hidden wound or other painful ailment. "Suppose someone not quite so pathologically friendly as you are employed the same tactics? I need to know, or at least she does." Gesture at Domino.
Domino stares "You did it while I was HOME!" She mutters, "That is the only way, I disarm the motion sensors when one of us is there. When you enter the enty code when you enter it disables the internal monitoring sensors!"
"Balcony. No rooftop sensors or cameras that I or Gripper can find. You think the height of that building is a deterrent?" he actually snort scoffs and downs another glass of wine in record order. "You weren't always home when I did it either." Hadrix looks sad to have revealed his entryway, "I suppose it's good I wasn't on kill orders... because... Heh..." he looks off to the side. "Those plasma bottles, that stuff is pressurized and it only takes a little spark..."
Arguing? Posh accents? Stiff posture? Seedy bar? If anything were to be gathered within a summoning circle in an attempt to entice a nosy teenager, it would be these things here. As such, Angouri Dros has arrived with no fanfare; the amaran wears simple clothing and orange-tinted goggles pressed down tight to her forehead, fur spread out around the rims and spiked in every direction with little regard to high-fashion. Regardless, the tiny vulpine has arrived, and slips immediately for a lone stool at the bar, satellite-ears twisted conspicuously in the direction of serious discussion. Is she eaves dropping? Yes. Is it painfully obvious? Absolutely. "You got soup here or summit? No, y'know what - I want that. Whatever /that/ is." Do they ID here? What /is/ the drinking age on Nar Shaddaa?
Oran adopts an expression of supreme exasperation, and makes a gesture back and forth between Domino and Hadrix. "You," to Dom, "Please Hadrix-proof my home." To Hadrix. "/You/," point, "Need to understand that if you have to go through the bloody balcony of a building several hundred stories high, then perhaps you either ought to /warn the occupants/ of your benevolent intention to refill pate, or perhaps undertake this task at a time more convenient to the privacy and solitude of said occupants. While I appreciate the motives behind your uniquely aggressive hospitality, don't do it again. Or if you do, at least let Domino know where the breaches in the security are." After a drink of wine, he seems to have noticed the little satellites pointed their way, and remarks dryly to the tiny, fuzzy teenager, "Hear something to interest you, Ears?"
Domino dips her chin and notes to Hadrix "Come whebn you are invited. Through the door. There will henceforth be a very high toll for breaking and entering." She exhales and looks to Oran, "You are lucky I am in your life or else you might get what I had when I was injured. Hadrix all but sitting you like a n expectant avian. You're welome or my saving you for his overly aggressive caretaking and hospitality."
Hadrix shrugs his shoulders slightly at Oran's tirade, "Maybe." head canting to one side "It was a good incursion exercise at the very least." frowning at them both over the rim of his glass after he refills it. "Oh by the way your balcony has an excellent angle for free fall drops as well. I recommend." looking the direction Oran's attentions turn, and actually going all big eyed for a moment before carefully getting his facial expressions back under control.
"Only that you lot got security issues an' fancy food." The teen replies earnestly, though beneath the shock-orange fur her face has flushed. Foiled! But not enough to be denied a beverage from the 'tender. It's brown and wheat-y and she has no idea what it is.
It tastes terrible, a sentiment which is readily reflected in the sudden squint of her eyes and wrinkling of her long muzzle.
"Yech! An' ye got a big bird'r somethin'." She adds at Domino's comment. Has she noticed the ominous robes? Yes. Yes she has. The teen spins her bar stool full around to face the group, her head tilted comically to the side. "You see somethin' t'interest you, Eyes?" She parrots, nodding at Hadrix's wide-eyed glance. Don't worry, she's used to it, ya racists.
"Just so." Oran regards Domino for a moment, then looks back to Hadrix. "How did we teach you to lie, dress well, detect untruths, appreciate Core-world classic /and/ contemporary composers, and we didn't teach you to use /doors/?" Brief flail. Then the previous tirade is summarized for succinctness. "Use DOORS!"
Back to Angouri, and Oran raises a brow. "Perhaps if our conversation interests you so, you'd be obliged to join us properly." He smiles. The surface is warm but the water gets cold down deep.
Domino watches Oran curiously and then looks towards Angouri, "Careful, getting nosey sometimes carries a toll around here." she offers a fingerwave to Harix as he departs.
Hadrix chuckles, "Neither of you two accept it when I try to do something. It's always 'Hadrix you don't need to, Hadrix why are you bothering? Hadrix myeh myeh myeh" actually lifting one hand to flap it like a sock puppet at those last three sounds, even as a part of his armor gorget lights up and he looks down into it.
"Excuse me, I need to arrange for the Doctor's transport security detail." lumbering up and nodding to Dros "You're absolutely adorable." and then he looks back to Oran "Doors are for plebs." and then finally to Domino, "I'll bring this by your place, by the door if I absolutely have to." indicating the dolly before he sets off to do things that he had noted he must do. Because promotions...
"I'll worry about m'own nose, I thank ye kindly." The amaran drawls as she approaches the table at the invitation. Angouri is... Cautious, though she tries hard not to look it; un-trained and spontaneous as she is, caution is something with which she tends to struggle. A belated "...Thanks?" Follow's Hadrix's departure, those telling ears flicked back momentarily before resuming their perked-upright position. A moment's consideration is given over Oran, and her thoughts reach out almost of their own accord; but the fledgling trainee finds nothing, and says nothing. She shrugs, her wolfish grin returning to her muzzle. "Ye ever thought'a greasin' the balcony?" She offers the pair. "Folks used t'grease th'ships t'keep mynocks from droppin' poo on 'em too much on long landings." The rustic charm is... Overwhelming. She takes another hesitant, grimacing sip of her acquired beverage. "You lot got names, anyhow?"
"He requires further instruction," Oran dryly remarks to Domino. "Boundaries. Boundaries are a concept." Angouri is receiving a far more aloof demeanor from Oran than he employed with Hadrix, but it's not uncivil, exactly. He even pours a glass of wine for her and scoots it over, one brow lifted slightly as though this is a test - she'll drink it or she won't (or she'll drink it but she needs a straw), and either choice will provide another little datapoint on some system of metrics being constructed. "My name is Oran Arcantael." Whether Domino chooses to introduce herself will be up to her; he doesn't presume to make an introduction there. "Who is it that I have the pleasure of addressing in return, Miss....?"
Domino lifts an eyebrow and watches Hadrix "It's such a shame to have to teach him about boundaries the painul way." shea Domino asides to Angouri "Peaches."
"Bish." The amaran replies, quickly, as she reaches for the offered glass. She happily slides her own brown-ish drink to the side and picks up the wine (in both small hands) to try a sip. It's... Not as bad, but she clearly has no taste for booze. "Yer name is Peaches?" Angouri - Fake - Name - Dros responds, raising an eyebrow, all the while cursing herself silently for not thinking it up first. They would have believed that for sure, she's cute and fuzzy, isn't she? Play to your strengths, Dros. Peaches... Damn, that's good.
The Coruscanti human raises a brow again, and looks unimpressed. "Really," he replies in a tone as dry as the dead sands of Jakku, then he smiles at her. "Lying to me is a poor way to begin our friendship, and it does make me wonder why you should feel you need to." He toys with the wine glass he's working on. "Would you like to try again, Miss Bish? Or ought we to proceed with your fake name, and the assumption that you have a duplicitous nature and something to hide?"
Domino notes "As distinctive as you are it will be easy to learn more and like our big friend sometimes I start to cross boundaries when nosey."
"Well, my name is /actually/ Peaches, but it woulda sounded fake iffin I said it after that'un." The amaran lazily gestures at Domino. "But assume all ya want." She shrugs, taking another sip of her wine. Her paws shake, however - this isn't great. She saw the robes, yet she poked the akk dog anyway in true Angouri fashion. It's obvious that no one is buying her fake name, and she sighs, letting the wine clink back to the table.
"Angouri Dros, local weaponsmith, if it please ye. Flubbed up a few orders - faulty workbench, ain't my fault at all - an' I'm hopin' t'keep my reputation from bein' tarnished lest I need t'find work elsewhere. I'd appreciate if ye didn't let th'boss know, he's a real stickler for credits." The vulpine teen rolls her eyes, nervously toying with the fabric of her tunic beneath the table. "But I cin see I've clearly interrupted yer private dealin's, I'll just be on m'way..." She tries to drain the wine in one fell swoop and gags, long tongue lolling. "Wow, gross. Er - thanks, I mean."
Another fake name, another dodge and a game, trembly paws. Oran's gaze is unfocused for a moment, as though the little vulpine alien is a window, one he's found reason to peer through. Then the man abruptly refocuses with a blink, and for a moment she can enjoy the fact that he's taken him completely by surprise. "Angouri Dros," Oran echoes, with a smile. It's not even trying to be warm this time, that smile, though it does have a hint of amusement about it that seems genuine, if unkind. He stands, which at first seems chivalrous, as though he might be doing so because she's going along her way. It gets unchivalrous real fast when an unseen force out of nowhere pastes her right out of her chair and onto the floor, hard, mean. Stuck. "Really must insist you stay," Oran continues in a conversational tone. "The gift is wasted on you. As was the wine, apparently. Such a shame."
"Workin' on it, eh? New here an' all that." Angouri replies, nerves still evident, to Domino as she makes to stand... And is thrown to the floor. There is no surprise there - after all: those robes. From the floor, the little Jedi grits her teeth, struggling gamely, but is unable to break Oran's superior grasp of the Force. The glass, almost empty save for the swill of blood-red wine at its bottom, bursts in a brilliant spray of glass - though it was hardly her intention. "Hoi, least we're agreed on summin." She snarls, fists clenched at her sides. "Don't got nothin', if yer hopin' t'gain. Ain't got a saber 'r information 'r nothin', just a smithy like I said."
Domino winces "Aw, Kriff girl, youve made a nasty mistake."
"The one that matters," Oran replies to Domino regarding what gift he's talking about, walking out from around the table to come closer to the poor little teen he's smashed into the ground. "Here's the thing about being the cleverest one in the room, Ears," Oran remarks, dryly. "Really depends on the room. This could have ended so differently for you, if you were a little wiser, a little less self assured -- but here we are. It surprises me not at all that you lack a saber, but information, possibly. It's not what I want, though, do you understand? I don't want to know about your existence, little one. I want to end it. You are chaotic, you are unclean, and you are unworthy." The telekinetic grasp shifts to her windpipe and the edges of the world start to blur, little dark spots in the vision.....
Here's the thing about being the cleverest one in the room though. Really depends on the room.
This district has suffered pain at the hands of the Order this week, and at least one person here can't stand for it any longer! A tall, muscular Twi'lek woman in smuggler-type clothing, with lovely blue skin, stands up and yells, "NO!" She holds out a pistol and fires, catching this Knight off guard, connecting -- he hisses in pain and the grip vanishes, same time as the whole bar erupts into chaos. No one will remember this woman's name, maybe, but it is Maika'i, and she yells at Angouri, "Run, run!"
"Well, ye've got a penchant fer th'obvious - eh, Peaches?" The amaran snarls from the ground, looking more and more animalistic as her panic grows. These are the times that she is meant to clear her mind and listen only to the light and the Force within her - and, as always, she is unable. Reaching for it, she finds the only the screeching of her fear, high-pitched and incessant as the tolling of a copper-plated bell rolling down a hill.
She can't breathe.
Her claws gouge lines through the Den's floorboard, scrabbling and desperate, and growing weaker... And then she is free. Angouri does not require any more encouragement - she is gone, scrambling on all fours under tables and through legs and out the doors, gasping deep gulps of air.
Domino makes a startled shriek and her chir topples over an she is just GONE-in the commoion it' not clear where she's gone but she is presently obscured from view bu somehw still in this very room.
Maika'i made a fatal mistake when she shot the guy crushing innocent teenagers with black magic, but that was something she no doubt knew when she fired the shot. Her life for Angouri's, she knew what she was doing. Heroes aren't people who save the whole galaxy, just people doing what they could, when they could.
Bar patrons shriek and scatter in panic as a red lightsaber blade snaps to life and comes down hard on the tough blue Twi'lek woman -- pain, anger, these things are fuel on the fire for those who draw on the dark side of the force, and she's shortly cut in twitching halves from shoulder to opposite hip. Angouri has succeeded in escaping in the chaos, and Oran is bleeding, furious. "ANYONE ELSE WANT TO ARGUE?"
No one else wants to argue.
The saber disappears, and Oran points at the door where he's imagined she lit out. "BRING. ME. THAT. BISH." And thus begins an exciting new chapter of Angouri's life, right?!
Domino remains concealed behind a halfwall that leads back to the utilty closet an bathrooms-for now.