Log:First Order/All: No Blasters
Another seedy bar (is there any other sort in the Hutt district?), another night. Actually, down here in the belly of the undercity, geographic boundaries are somewhat vague; maybe it's in the Hutt district, maybe it's in the Corellian district. Nobody really cares. The bar itself is infamous for its heavily armed bouncers and the 'NO BLASTERS' sign hanging over the bar; the bartender really, really dislikes blasters. People who use blasters end up blasted and fed to the porcine-like creatures the bartender keeps out the back. Or so the rumor goes.
There's a group of First Order goons here, off-duty, dressed similarly in the same style of outdoor casual workwear. Any doubt that they are indeed First Order is dispelled by the conversations; "I came in on his six and fired a short burst, took out his droid and his port engine, and he ran like a little girl until I blew his starboard S-foil off and kerplow!" and "I'd have loved to have seen the look on his face as I shot him in the back!" Good, mentally healthy individuals, the lot of them. On closer inspection, however, there are two distinctly separate groups. One is the louder, drunker group of individuals, cracking coarse and disrespectful jokes; the other is a quieter group centered around a young woman with olive skin, dark hair, a brilliant white smile when she smiles (which is rarely). She, apparently, is trying to educate her group in aerial tactics, her hands and some empty alcohol containers taking the place of buildings and ships. Occasionally she glances over at the other group, and occasionally they glance at her. There is clearly no love lost between the two groups.
Making her way into the Bar, dressed as she normally does, the CDF jacket worn proudly, Triz doesn't even stop at the door. Possibly she has been here before. The bouncers eye her over but the young woman makes her way on past "Come on, Rato, this is a cool place, I swear it is," she tells her friend as she makes her way to the bar. Only then, as one of the louder folks at the table of folks that are not only loud, but boastful and being educated. Her eyes settle on the female that that is doing the educating and a respectful nod is thrown her way. A nod yes but steely eyes and a firm jaw as well. "Corellian whiskey," she orders as she gets a stool next to another empty one for Rato.
At the door, FZ-4792 glances up automatically, as do a couple of her companions; perhaps they're in hazy territory as regards official permission to be here. Her eyes widen at the sight of Triz, her mouth falling open. But then she's distracted by a call. "Hey, Fuze!" booms one of the individuals in the more assholeish group (there's around six of them, with four including FZ-4792 at the other table). "You teaching your pilots how to fly as shittily as you do?" sneers the man as he gains her attention. He's a tall, hatchet-faced human with close-together blue eyes, a little bloodshot with inebriating liquor. "You cost me an X-wing, bitch." The temperature at FZ-4792's table drops sharply, and several of her companions look over. He continues, slurring his words somewhat: "But no, you had to wallow around in my field of fire. You know what? You know what?" He leans forwards, stabbing a bony finger in her direction. "Next time you get in my field of fire, bitch, I'm gonna take you out as well."
This strange, seedy new world is... Quaint, if you know where to look. If the time is taken to seek it out, one may find warmth in its grimy streets, may notice there is almost beauty in its struggle, and catharsis in its filth. Nar Shaddaa is... "This moon, it smells this bad always?" Rato waves a hand by her face as she enters with Triz. "Is like... Dead eel. But always." The Togruta woman's words of love for her new home are harsh, but the tone is conversational and pleasant - mere observations. "Never before have I wanted shoes, but is nasty here, no?" As they push their way in, Rato feels the tremor in the air around them, and her attention is brought towards the groups of First Order lackeys... Enjoying themselves; some louder than others. "Maybe we pick different bar?" She suggests, quietly, as she slips into the aforementioned empty seat. She tucks her toes against the bottom rung of the stool as she hums over the options - but a drink order is paused by the escalation amongst 'friends' nearby. "...Or maybe we stay."
Seedy bars on Nar Shaddaa? What better place to find young and naive Mon Calamari youth, Morth Biddengulp? The young Mon Cal is seated alone at one end of the bar, keeping quite to himself and by all appearances the model of bully bait, save for maybe the security that his Wayward Armor might bestow upon him. The groups standing about, the conversations detailing violence, pretty much the entire environment has the young'un on edge, and his large orb like eyes gaze around as he sips from his drink.
No bar could hold the ego, nay, the very presence of the magnificent Zhu Yan! This place was slightly less seedy than the venues he normally frequented. If only because there were less Twi'leks swinging around poles. Hey man, don't judge. He'd barely made one step into the place before two men who's chest could safely store whiskey stopped in front of him. "Oh, ferchrise..." he hissed to himself as he unbuckled the Bryar from its holster and handed it over to Big Bastard #1. Said bastard took it, and didn't move.
Yan stared at them some more and said, "What?" He received no response. "I don't have it anymore." No response. He was starting to get flusted now. Well, fake-flustered. But liars gonna lie. "Look, I put that little blaster down as a wager on a sabacc game two days ago. Two days! And you know how good I am at sabacc!" He was getting visibly annoyed. The two bouncers looked between each other. "And you know what, he didn't even have the decency to leave it with me when I ran out of credits. So PLEASE. Let me past, so I can get a drink!" His impassioned pleas must have struck a chord, and they moved aside, failing to check him for the second blaster he'd left tucked away. Always with the insurance policy. Zhu Yan stepped straight up to the bar, ignoring the rowdy rambunctious roughheads and ordered himself some terribly cheap whiskey. Because Corellian.
The little one further down the bar with the close cropped hair and blue skin is smaller than the Mon Cal youth, but there's a street toughness in the posture, the half drunk posture, that makes one look on. Especially as it's difficult to tell which bits are under the tee and vest, the trousers too loose to give any hint there. The shot glass is slammed down upside down, and then the wroonian leans forward on elbows giving a shrug to the human nearby. "Sure, been there loads a times. Asteroids ain't so scary when ya know where yer goin'. Done lotsa business with them verpines. We got a good relations with 'em." She glances at the hostilities seeming to ramp up between the two FO factions and shrugs.
"Of course we will stay," Triz tells Rato. "And yes, it is a nasty, dirty, smelling place but as we were taught in school, a target rich environment." She nods for Rato to the two tables "You'd be surprised what you can learn in places like this." Indicating the First Order folks. "We just sit here and listen..." but then the loud mouth is all over Fuze. Something doesn't sit right with her. Eyes dart to the pilot that was yelled at then to the loud mouth. And in a voice that should carry the distance "Have you ever noticed that the ones that talk the most, and the loudest, actually accomplish the least? Amazing," Back to Rato "So, what will you have?" She asks as she spots the Mon Cal who gets a nod and then to the door where Yan pleads his case. The slamming of the shot glass, unexpected, causes Triz to jump slightly and a look over the blue skin fellow.
Fuze sets a hand on the arm of the man beside her who was moving to stand. "He's not worth it," she says calmly. Calmly, but in a voice that also carries across the bar, all the way back to Triz. Veed sneers, "Oh, I'm worth it. At least, that's what FN-4126 said."
Fuze reacts poorly. She snaps acidly, "You'd have to actually be /in/ a dogfight to shoot me down. Where were you on Felucia, Veed? Oh yeah, that's right. You never actually took off." There's clearly buried history behind that statement, for Veed's face darkens. He stares at Triz Dermout, then back at Fuze, and the finger is stabbed again, "Because the grapple was inop!" he snarls, standing abruptly, shrugging off a restraining hand from someone, and stalking around to where Fuze is sitting. She is ignoring him now, which is raising his blood pressure even further. He growls to his companions, "And someone shut up the CDF wannabe."
Violence is bubbling up like one of the bartender's special concoctions, and all the first group of Stormtroopers rise to their feet, two of them - a weaselly fellow with a red nose, and a hard-faced woman with slicked-back hair in a topknot - head towards Triz, while Veed towers over the seated Fuze.
Little tells of character are littered about with each new person of interest - the ambiguous Wroonian, the fish out of water, the loud one (with two guns, she's sure), and of course: their First Order friends. "Hm." Rato agrees before unapologetically requesting a water from the bartender - it's not that ridiculous, okay?
Resting her elbows against the bar top, Rat spins to face the open bar, gently sagging back to rest her weight against the too-low stool back and the section of bar that juts forward to meet her spine, feet still stuck through the bottom support of the legs. It's quite comfortable. That is, until her quiet observations are halted by her companion's outburst. "Ni'cha -!" Rato hisses, sitting up straighter as a splinter group veers in their direction. "Now they come here." She chides; but at least her water has arrived.
Morth is sipping from his drink, or at least that is how it would appear, all the while his eyes are gazing out of their peripherals at what is going on. He notes the Yan. He wants to call out to him, but even he knows it would be unwise to draw undue attention to himself just yet. His right hand is busy on his lap for a moment, slipping into his pocket as he watches the action going on around him before he pulls his hand free and keeps it stealthily held beneath the bar top.
Zhu Yan pretty much straight up winced as soon as he listened to the fight, his back to it as he nursed his tiny glass of terrible Corellian whiskey. Sithspit was about to go down and the freighter jockey was trying to blend in with the bar. Not so easy when you're wearing light coloured pants. "Schuttas trying to get themselves killed," he said quietly to himself, glancing about the bar, noting the bartender, the Togruta, the hot one, and the... "Oh sithspit." The fish was here. Balls. They were all gonna die.
Triz looks at Rato "Oops, guess they heard me," Triz says with a wink as she downa the shot glass of whiskey then turning to the two new guest that come up to where she and Rato are sitting. "Hi, there," she greats with a smirk. "So look here, we ain't looking for no trouble and tell you what, let me buy you both a drink and we can discuss, oh, I don't know, something that maybe you wish to talk about?" A glance to the big guy that moves to Fuze "FN who, what? Is that a droid or something?" Fake ignorance clearly. "So what do you say, a drink then? What'll you have?"
As the woman at the bar raises her voice, the Wroonian frowns. "Didn't need ta bring that fight here," is muttered to the same human, and a hand lifts to wave off the next round. "Prob'ly get spilled 'fer I can drink it, ri'?" Turning on the stool, feet slide to the ground and black eyes assess the splintering of groups, and a hand reaches to a pocket for creds.
"A drink?" Topknot smirks at Triz, while the Weasel eyes Rato with a sneer. Topknot pushes a finger into Triz's chest. "You're too young to drink, kid. And you're too young to be CDF. So take off the jacket and buy /me/ a drink and maybe I won't make you regret what you said to Veed." The Weasel beside her chuckles nastily. "Make her regret it. I would."
Veed is standing right behind Fuze. That puts his crotch right at elbow height. "The main thing," she tells her companions, "is to take the enemy unawares." And she drives her elbow back. Veed's eyes bulge as he staggers backwards, letting out a mewl of agony, tears trickling down his cheeks as he clutches his privates in his own private agony.
There are some situations where it is best to speak, and others where it's best to keep your damn mouth shut. For Rato, this is one of the latter. With just a nod to Triz, she watches the approaching FO guests with curiosity snd mounting dread while the Wroonian slips from the bar beside them. She is wishing, now, that she had the sense to move away before being cornered against the bar by this weasel-faced individual. The howls of manhood-wrenching agony are welcome, but she doesn't show that. "I am thinking your friend is in need of help." She advises Weasel before twisting her gaze to Triz and the finger jammed against her chest. "What is CDF?" Rato interjects abruptly, pushing herself to her feet and looking between Triz and the two troopers that have them corralled. Her head tails twitch nervously against her shoulders, but drink in that subtle awareness of her surroundings. The Mon Cal, tense at the bar, the loud one - she keeps note. It may matter very shortly.
Catching Zhu Yan's glance his way, Morth makes eye contact and shares a brief, discreet nod with the man. His message is unmistakable... Don't worry. I've got your back. His eyes move back toward the First Order soldiers as they move toward Rato and Triz, and he places his feet on the floor (which admittedly requires him to slip from his stool to do so). He keeps his metal knuckle clad hands as hidden as he might but it is clear that he is trying hard to keep himself from rushing to Triz and Rato's aide. In the end, it seems that he cannot and he begins slowly to shuffle along in their direction.
Sithspit. Yan was running out of swear words to use. Also ways to get out of this. He had a holdout, but that was last-ditch. He was more worried about Morth having his back than about being alone! After all, he'd heard the story about how he and Tarion had almost turned each other into fish-sticks! Almost! Whereas Morth was shuffling towards the danger, Yan was carefully making his way AWAY from it. He didn't know these people, honest!
And the Wroonian was making way in neither direction, towards nor away. But the search for credits is halted as the fingers start jabbing and dark eyes seem to round as violence is in the immediate offing. Not only that, but the soft fish seems to have an idea that he can join in, which might spread the brawl even closer to where the slight youngster stands.
Is it really that big of a suprise that when a bar-fight starts up, a Mandalorian happens to be walking into the room? Catching the sound of the yelling, raised voices and clashing violence the woman wrapped in her people's armor simply pauses for a moment before exhaling. First Order fighting amoung themselves? Seems even brainwashed soldiers are soldiers. Noting a few familier faces she calmly slips her helmet off her head, walking deeper into the mess.
"Corellian Defense Force," Triz tells Rato before looking at Topknot. "And no, I will not take it off. I earned it, it stays on." It is about then that loudmouth howls in pain "I think, my friend here is right. Your buddy seems to have come to a painful conclusion that it's not wise to fool with a smarter and more agile opponent. One that clearly has the tactical advantage." A nod to Fuze is quickly thrown. Hoping that Topknot turns to look, Triz quickly balls up her fist and jabs at the face of the FO before her. She connects, then shakes her hand as she also received some of the pain from the swing.
The First Order goon with the Topknot does indeed turn at Veed's cry of agony, and so there's a satisfying crack as her nose breaks. She stumbles backwards, sitting down heavily and clutching her bloodied nose with disbelief in her eyes. Her companion, the Weasel, snarls angrily and swings at Triz, connecting his fist hard; so much for chivalry.
Another of Veed's friends, a burly man with his hair in cornrows and a scar on the bridge of his nose, picks up a bottle to swing at Fuze, but Fuze, on her feet quickly, ducks the swing and kicks him in the knee, his leg folding under him.
The bartender, a disreputable looking fellow, bellows "No blasters!", and his bouncers bring their rifles up threateningly from several sides. But it's a roar of warning, not of prohibition, and a Chiss simply picks up a bottle and slams it over the head of a skinny befreckled First Order Stormtrooper; her eyes glaze and she topples forwards, blood smearing her strawberry hair.
"Ah, I see." Rato muses to Triz' explanation, though her aversion isn't diffusing the situation like she had hoped it would. "This - e'tch a ka! We are hitting now?!" The Togruta hisses and recoils in surprise as Triz slams a fist into the offendor's face, leaving Rat to quickly scramble sideways and squeeze away from her bar stool as their side of things rapidly descends into fisticuffs. And then /everything/ descends into fisticuffs. "Na!" She snatches her water from the bar and flings its contents at Weasel as he smashes her companion.
There is an unravelling that exists at the base of so many being's psyche - it starts in violence, and degrades to war. The little wars they rage within themselves, the large ones populations wage against each other, and those in between that are released in feral bar displays just like this one. There is madness in them all!
Yellow eyes flash over her shoulder, locating Yan, Morth, and Idony - Rato doesn't want any hands at her back if she doesn't know where they align. "Is this... A common pastime, on this moon?" She asks no one in particular as she clutches her empty water glass like a weapon.
Even as Rato slips from her stool and slings her water as a weapon in attempt at helping her friend, little Morth is darting forward and skirting around the Togruta in attempt to get in and aide Triz. He has seen her with the Waywards, after all, so she must be at least half alright. I mean... he /does/ think the Yan is a hero, so his view might be skewed. As he runs forward, he lets out a wild whoop to attempt and gain the stormtroopers attention before he jumps, better to give himself an angle at the trooper's face and throws a wild metal knuckled punch at the man. As soon as he lands, he is throwing another, this one centered right between his legs, seeking to crush the family jewels.
"Aw man not the redhead," Zhu Yan groaned in dismay. She was an alright looker and it was a shame to watch her get taken out of the fight. Or even in the fight to begin with. But still, she was First Order, and their attractiveness was matched only by their EVILness. And gingers were especially evil.
Except that one. The magical form of Narsai Ordo beheld herself upon the eyes of Zhu Yan. She was the ginger from heaven and Yan witnessed her in a moment of sheer boyish awe for a moment. As the old words of wisdom went, to impress a chick, helicopter d... no! Not those words! Different ones! To impress a chick, especially a tough one! You gotta be TOUGH! You gotta have BIG BRASS BAWLS! And also because one could only wait for senpai to notice them for so long. And so it was for that reason that Yan used his greatest weapon. His mouth.
"HEY!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, over the roar of the bartender and the shouting and the fighting and the oy vey! "WHAT IN THE BLUE HELL DO YOU GUYS THINK YOU'RE DOING, MESSING UP A NICE ESTABLISHMENT?!" He sounded absurdly annoyed at the very prospect of someone being so completely disrespectful to this venue! So disrespectful! It was so rude! Guilt. Guiiiiiiiiiilt. "We're all here for a LOVELY time having a FEW drinks, MAYBE MORE, and y'all gotta go punch on! GUYS! DRINKS! COME ON!"
And that is what Idony was waiting for. The search for credits is abandoned altogether as the bartender moves down towards the fight, and the little blue person slips away from the stool and down around the edge of the melee. However, as it often does, once one of these brawls starts, it seems to be a signal for everyone to just start randomly punching other people. The street rat is almost blind sided by one such attack as a human seeks to throw a bottle towards the fight, and only manages to get a forearm up at the last moment, catching it and grimacing it as it breaks against the blocking limb.
So far, noone had taken a swing at the Mandalorian woman...so it seemed she was staying out of it. Almost amusingly calm, as if she were pretending all was perfectly normal, the woman holds her helmet by the rim with one hand while the other waves, trying to draw the attention of the bartender and mime for a drink. The barked warnings of no blasters? They make her raise an eyebrow, but it's Zhu Yan's sudden demand for peace that really makes her blink and lean back against the counter. Hey, worth a try right?
So far it seems that she's not being attacked, so she's staying out. But all it'd take is one drunken idiot picking her for a target...
The look of pure satisfaction of seeing Topknot with blood gushing from her nose is quickly replaced by a snap of Triz's head, a look of surprise and stars flickering in her vision. Yep, that's gonna be a nice black eye in the morning. "Yes, Rato, we are hitting now," she gets out after a yelp and shaking the stun of the blow off of herself. Then she blinks as the two Weasels get taken out by the two Morths, double vision you see, "Damn," she mutters. A huge smile is given to Morth "Thank you," she tells him closing one eye so there is but one of him. She is about to go after...well someone or something when Yan's voice cuts through the din "Yan?" she stops, blinking in surprise.
A good half of the combatants stop fighting, or at least pause their fighting at Zhu Yan's bellowing. One of those that pauses is Fuze, her gaze flickering between Zhu Yan and...searching for someone else, her eyes coming to focus on Triz, widening at the evident injury to the Resistance pilot. So she doesn't see Veed, turning and throwing his full weight behind a punch that hits her under the jaw, lifting her up and sending her crashing down on one of the tables, bottles and glasses smashing and scattering, the table tipping over as she rolls off face-down onto the floor, unmoving. That's gonna hurt in the morning.
The Weasel goes down, bleeding from the mouth, curling into a groaning ball as a dark stain spreads between his legs; it might be pee, it might be blood. Only the Weasel knows, and he isn't telling. Topknot scrambles to her feet, snatching up a bottle, smashing it on the bar to create a jaggedly evil weapon that she turns threateningly towards Morth in the pause.
A civilian, a tall willowy near-human female with green skin and green hair, eyes Narsai speculatively, moistening green lips hungrily. Perhaps she likes the armor.
In a twist of events, the nondescript Mon Calamari from further down the bar dramatically and effectively takes himself out of the 'threat' category and thrusts himself among 'allies'. It seems like he has this handled? Crouching low, Rato hisses and scuttles sideways, close to the ground, to plant herself under the table of a nearby booth, swatting at the boot that seeks to shove her back out. "Hush! I here now." She chides the faceless appendage. Surprisingly that's the end of it, perhaps because the disgruntled patron is now distracted by another outburst. "Listen to this loud fool!" She calls from beneath her cover, lending her support to Yan's ambitious peacemaking. When peace does not seem to be an immediate reward, she hisses to herself and slinks forward, remaining in the shadow of the table and on all fours on the sticky bar floor. Gross. From her hidden vantage, she sees Ibony take a bottle to the arm and throws caution to the wind. "You! You come, get down!" She waves for her to join her in sweet, sticky sanctuary beneath the table while she scrapes a chunk of glass from that bottle off the ground. Just in case.
Now somewhat armed, the Togruta woman lurks beneath the booth, watching blows pass by above her with a narrowed predatory gaze - with special attention on Topknot. "Ki'ssha." She growls, adjusting her grip on the shard nervously as she waits for an opportunity, or a resolution.
"The Yan calls for peace!" Morth cries over the din of battle. "All pay heed to his wise words!" The young Mon Cal holds his fists up protectively before him, and then he points with a finger toward the Yan, standing proudly like a glorious peacekeeper. "He speaks truth, friend," he says toward Topknot. "War is not the answer!" And then he moves, darting forward and hoping to get inside that sharp bottle before he gets stuck. Bop, Bop, he throws a pair of wild metal knuckled punches aiming for Topknot's nose.
"Oh frack me dead," Yan hissed in exasperation at Morth's CONTINUED hero worship. One day he'd get a rude awakening. But still, he was making a name of himself and making Yan wonder how Tarion had ever beaten this kid in the first place. Maybe it was an off day. Still, the peacemaking didn't work nearly as well as Yan intended. But one of the Imperials was taken out by another Imperial so a win's a win, right? Then someone called his name. "Who's asking?" he called back, eyes darting around looking out for any cheeky bastards that were going to come at the stocky little freighter jockey.
Shaking the bottle battered arm, Idony growls and ducks again. At the invitation, there's a quick shake of the head, dark hair tumbling over equally dark eyes. "Gettin' out while tha gettin's good," the wroonian hisses to the togruta, then makes good on the plan, scampering low without touching the sticky ground. Quickly sidestepping the flying pilot and the table she shatters, Idony manages to save one of the glasses and drain it on the way out the door. It's an almost painless way to escape paying for drinks you don't have the credits to cover, and the door closes behind the street rat.
Yeah...that worked about as well as Narsai thought it would. Sighing a little, Narsai sips her drink and then places it down, watching Fuze go tumbling from the blow. This wasn't her fight though...so best of luck to both sides. Spotting Idony's quick exit makes her chuckle and she shrugs her shoulders, casting a sidelong glance at the near-human beside her but otherwise her attention is focused mostly on the 'show' before her.
Triz sees the big guy lay Fuze out and makes a beeline towards her, forgetting both Rato and Yan for the moment. Though she does have much to say to Morth for once again saving her butt. On the way she grabs one of those heavy beer mugs and she she nears she takes a swing at Loud Mouth. Seeing double with one eye watering, there was little chance in hitting the brute. Still she stands there, protective near the prone Fuze. "Enough, she's out." She yells at him.
Topknot goes down, bleeding from the mouth and nose and ears, and looks to be in a bad way. Fuze groans, rolling onto her side to try to forestall any further blows that might land. Veed stares at Triz, then at Fuze, his eyes widening in (mis?)comprehension, and he opens his mouth to say something. Probably something unpleasant.
But then the front door crashes open. White armor. First Order Stormtroopers, with the red flashes of a Shore Patrol. They have blasters, they have shock sticks, and they have attitude. One of them, his voice amplified by some hidden speaker system, roars "This establishment is hereby closed! Go back to your homes!" Hereby. Pompous prick. Veed and his cronies quickly grab Topknot and start to drag her towards a back exit; Fuze's companions grab the downed strawberry blonde, and two of them move up, looking like they're going to push Triz out of the way. The Shore Patrol are being obnoxiously bureaucratic as they argue with the bartender, who is standing his ground.
So the Mon Cal is a... Religious fanatic? No, that doesn't seem right. Triz had said the same name when the man spoke; and thus 'The Yan' becomes the name attached to the face. Rato, who still lurks beneath the table with her potential shank, waves Ibony off as she declares her intent of escape. "Ah - be quick!" She advises anxiously, but Triz's voice breaking through sounds... Strange. Snaking free from her burrow, the Togruta's eyes narrow. She defends this enemy? The call to action instilled by her position as teammate ushers her further from the safety of her niche, still clinging to her shard of glass and to Triz's side. "They wound their own, is not our problem." Rato mutters to her, confused by this show of loyalty to the prone pilot - and then the doors burst. "Na!" She repeats, feeling the panic grip her chest. They are confronted with the armed, nasty kind now - and she stands without armor, and nothing but the shard of glass slowly slicing a small line of red through her palm as a weapon. "We leave now, yes?" Rat urges Triz, already starting to stalk backwards.
Triz nods to Rato when she comes up "I have my reasons," she tells the Togruta. "I'll explain later." It is then the door flies open "Yep, there is our cue to get the hell outta here." She looks at one of the other's that was with Fuze "get her out of here, safe," He orders and then turns to do just that, get the hell outta here.
Morth yelps as the door bursts in and more First Order soldiers arrive and state that the bar is now closed. His metal knuckles have mysteriously disappeared, and looking toward Triz, he gives her a 'look' before he makes his way hurriedly to the exit. As he passes the bar, he whispers dramatically, "The Yan! We must be gone! They will recognize our heroics." He seems completely serious as he gives the man a pained look of shared mutual pain before he hurries out of the door.
"Get out of here and split off. We'll reconvene later." Look at Zhu Yan, being all leader-like! Still, go time! Yan moved quickly, weaving between individuals with the typical utterances of "Watch out, coming through, 'scuse me." This place had gotten too dangerous too fast and Yan was not keen on burning a false ID getting out of here. "Blaster please," he said to the bouncers, who handed it over now that they had been pushed to the sidelines. And like that, he was out the door
Well...looks like the party is over. Standing from her position, Narsai actually looks around the collection of destruction that she didn't really contribute to. Shrugging shoulders, that helmet finally goes back onto her head and she begins to walk, headed for the door before she pauses and fishes for a credstick, tossing it to the bartender. "Good drink, have a pleasent evening." With that, she's out the door.