Log:Games Are For Grownups
Mulinshoot's 'Breakout' Club - Theed, Naboo
A popular hangout of local individuals in the ages of their teen years. This, once very respectable restaurant, now has recently fallen under new ownership and the new owners have decided to give the city's teenage young adults a place to socialize and interact in a, hopefully, peaceful way. The restaurant has different areas setup with hologaming tables ranging in starfighter simulation games, to no-gamble-card-games. The eating area is setup not far from the bar (which only serves non-alcoholic beverages and carbonated drinks). The place is always hopping with young adults and its quite popular.
There are currently 60 people here. `~---~`~---~`~---~`~---~`~---~`~---~`~---~`~---~`~---~`~---~`~---~`~---~`~---~
The Breakout Club doesn't boast an obvious sign outside it that reads 'YOUTH CAFE' or 'MUST STAND BELOW THIS HEIGHT TO ENTER' - but despite the lack of obvious monikers, its preferred clientele is obvious the moment one steps inside. Angouri Dros, normal teenager, isn't what one could call a 'regular', but this isn't the first time the amaran has found her youthful way into the Breakout. She stands on a chair, paws clasped around the controls of one of the holo-gaming sets, her ears pinned back and yellow eyes glued to the holographic carnage she wreaks across a a three-dimensional landscape. The music is bumping, her thumbs are flying across the - "carabast!" She yelps in agonized defeat among a chorus of groans and laughter from the small knot of fellow youths gathered around the young, vulpine sentient. Nowhere near the high score, she admits her defeat with a wave and hops from the stool to the floor once more. "I need a drink." She decides, grumbling, and flounces towards the bar - where they only serve non-alcoholic beverages to a rabble of teenagers that seem intent on pretending they are otherwise.
But this is... Normal. Familiar - something that the young alien hasn't had in several months.
"...Huh." Standing outside of Mulinshoot's, looking up like she's having difficulty reading is one hungry linguist. "Breakout..." Netep says aloud, sounding 1 part perplexed, 1 part unimpressed. This is not the restaurant she remembered! What happened to old Falhuun? Maybe his wife finally caved his skull in with the stew ladle like she'd been threatening for years. Maybe the old fart retired. Maybe both, things change, and they /especially/ change when you've not been back to a place for a number of years.
"Well..." Muri sucks a final drag off her cig and stamps it out under heel because wtf did the ashtrays go!?!?! "...how bad could it be?" She shrugs off her doubts, fluffs some hair, fixes a sleeve, and struts on in through the door.
"Oh, drek no."
Maybe today's just some holiday she wasn't aware of and all these kids are out of school, but the deeper she gingerly treads into the boistrous atmo, the more she gets that sinking feeling that she's landed in the wrong side of town.
The atmosphere immediately shifts at the newest entrance. The youths go quiet as Muri strides into their midst, their heads turn as one to watch her, eyes wide and unblinking. Kids are creepy. "Narc." One of them mutters under their breath, and a couple of their fellow giggle. One of those pairs of eyes belong to Ango - she has literally /only/ spent time with adults since she struck out on her own, and now they're here to ruin this too?! But this one looks... Confused. That yellow gaze narrows and she drops from her stool to pace a few steps towards Muri, and then she decides, a little too late, that she doesn't want to be seen. What if she is First Order?! What if she is a spy?? Suddenly, the vulpine teen ducks behind one of the holo-gaming machines to watch the adult that strides so confidently into their sacred temple.
Perhaps she would be well hidden if her tail were not poking out the other side of the machine, and perhaps even that would have been forgivable if she hadn't made her duck for cover in full view of the woman in question.
A horrible thought nags at Netep's mind (which is already trying to block it with the comfortable curtain of denial) while she stares right back at all those gawking, blemished faces in every color skin, scale, and pubescent fuzz imaginable.
There's no alcohol at this bar.
A few of her fingers gets twitchy and she hazards a glance to the gawdy, overhead menu scrolling by the bar/eating area's ceiling. Mm. CANT BEAT THOSE PRICES! Muri's here, she's been spotted, she's committed now to playing it cool. She resumes steps toward the food and such but one hand fingerguns at the cowering owner of that poof tail that all too belatedly played hide to her seek. I mean, that's what this is right? "Bang," she adds, "You're it." And then one of the many flashing noisy simulators snags her eye and she alters course for a casually curious inspection.
"THAT'S The high score!?" A scoff. "What are you guys, 'ten'? Sheesh." Muri's ass is in that chair now and she's swiping fingers left and right over the control board like she might've done this a time or two before and sets up her own username, preferences. "Let a real pilot show ya how it's done...." Bork those asteroids, yo. Capn' Muri's at the helm!
A pair of yellow eyes are barely visible over the top of the holo-console as Angouri approaches. It's in steps and slinks, but she does, eventually, find herself close enough to watch. Several of the other youths, too! They want to see who this old kriffer is encroaching on their space! "Yoinks and away; she's already beaten your score, Belly!" A young Naboo local scoffs, slapping her friend on the back. Her friend scowls.
Triangular ears perk as the vulpine teen watches Muri totally kill it at the youth's game. "You ain't bad fer havin' one paw in th'grave." She decides.
Netep doesn't really blink, unless you count a brief flash of nictating membrane across her left eye. Allergies, man. She 'swoops' through the terribly improbable rendering of asteroid belt and evades a patrol ship juuuuust barely. Its fired shot does +4 damage to her shields before it disappears in a blip and woeful squawk. Is that what crashing into a space rock sounds like? She wouldn't know.
"I've had one paw in there for 13 years, whatever your name is..." *BLAPBLAPBLAP* "Might be I've run a blockade or two in that time." Not entirely true, but she WAS part of the crew. Just...nowhere near the cockpit. Oooooooh....this is it up ahead! Said blockade. Final boss.
Does this woman ever blink? Ango watches, her own eyes starting to water emphatically. She scrubs at them as she straightens, a little more comfortable now - this woman doesn't seem the First Order type... Or maybe that's exactly what they would /want/ her to think? She shrinks back down juuust a bit, nose twitching as she sniffs at the air around Muri. The air, the aura... Whatever it is she is trying, it seems to solidify her decision that this woman isn't here for her. "Blockades, huh?" She sniffs again, gaze flicking between this strange lady and the game she is playing. "Real ones?" A pause. "Like..." Her voice drops. "Like... First Order blockades?" She is imbued with the single-minded and false self-importance of youth, aggravated and exaggerated by her own connections with the Resistance. The vulpine, for all intents and purposes, is hot shit. Or so she thinks, at least. "You a smuggler or somethin'?"
OHNO OHNO OHNO! 'You have been scanned,' warns the computerized menace. Not quite as imposing as the actual greetings transmitted from First Order fleets, but Muri can guess at the part that comes next. "Power down and prepare to be boarded..." Netep's teal-glossed lips mouth along with the order. In way of response, she issues the holo-game a vulgar gesture, makes adjustments to her shield allocation, then pretend-pilots the ship parallel to the obstacle, doubling back now and again to infuriate its targeting system, then....a micro jump.
She's pretty good at math and it times just right, slingshotting her through a presented gap. Is this a feat she'd ever risk in the Hermi? Hell no. Hermi don't have shields! Rather than bask in the glory of her NEW HIGH SCORE, Muri pushes back from the console and leans down to murmur "Or somethin'," to the Vulpine.
That 'aura' sniffable before is even more so when the heavy cloak of ornamented curls falls forward like a curtain to put the two of their faces in a private moment and place in time. Spicy. The aroma, that is. Lorrdian musk. A sign that Muri's probably been on her feet too long and her Core-World perfume is wearing off. When she stands, a little bit of that spice abates, making room once more for the stink of greasy sandwiches, fried kajaka root, and all those other kids' B.O. Who's hungry!?
High Score?! A roar of shock, glee, and dismay goes up from the teens of the 'Youth Cafe', interrupting the tentative return to normal activity that had managed to leak back into the space surrounding the /adult/'s entrance. Angouri, believing herself to be above such trivial matters now, is transfixed by the strange woman. "Or somethin'." She repeats, as if she agrees. She's got no idea what she is talking about.
"You smell bad." She informs Muri, instead of offering anything more constructive to the flow of conversation - she is just a normal kid here, after all. She is wearing a simple tunic, simple pants, no jewelry - just those goggles. "So..." She presses, scuttling from her place beside the machine to occupy the space beside the opposite side of the machine, instead. Muri has a shadow now, whether she likes it or not. "What is 'somethin'?" Those giant eyes blink conspiratorially and she places a paw against the holo-console; one of the names re-arranges to spell 'USTINK' and she withdraws it with a start. That was not what she meant to do. "You like, uh, some big-shot soldier or somethin'? Or..." She eyes the woman's clothing, circling her once. "Some politician?" Her nose wrinkles with that. Or something
Netep eyes that typo with narrowed eyes, a look that she shares with the mouthy teen when next those giant yellow eyeballs look back to her more human-proportioned ones. "You're rude," she informs the Vulpine matter-of-factly and vacates the holospace all together in favor of seeking something edible/legal to ingest. "What I am /presently/ is 'hungry'. What I am all other moments of the day or night depends upon who's paying...or what whim I wake with. Honest trader, haulin goods for fair pay, translator, taxi, tour guide, explorer in search of lost antiquity, or - and my personal favorite - free-loading sofa dweller." So not a big-shot anything.
"This," she tugs at her sleeves while helping herself to an empty chair at some youth's table, "is just part of the game. You dress to fit your surroundings, yeah? These streets aren't so rough and tumble. They have rules and nice things." She fingers through the self-order menu. "Had I known this was no longer the fine dining establishment *I* remember, I might've let a little more tattoo and spunk fly, yeah?" Still scanning the menu, "So how 'bout you, nosy? What's your excuse?"
In the holotapes and stories, the self-proclaimed 'special' kid has a chance encounter with an enigmatic stranger; they show them the ways of the world, and then they... Save it, or something. Angouri is pretty convinced that she's already had that experience - but it doesn't mean that she isn't always looking out for the next best run at it.
"Yeah, I get that a lot." The amaran shrugs, following Muri. It's not an apology. "Sounds like you do a lot." She presses. "'Nough to afford nice clothes an' fancy places, at least." She sniffs again. "Been all over, too." Her nose wrinkles and she slinks into an adjacent stool, that obtrusively intense stare never diverting. It's unnerving. "Excuse?" She frowns, whiskers shifting with the droop in her expression. "I don't make excuses - I'm jus' here 'cause my rides here. Then I'll be somewhere else, same as always." She gives a wide shrug. "So you 'ere as an honest trader, goods hauler - at a fair price - translator, taxi, tour guide, explorer, or free-loading sofa dweller, now?" She continues her incessant questioning with an obnoxiously accurate repetition of Muri's previous list of professions. "Don't look dressed for no couch dweller or explorer."
"I'm exploring this menu quite thoroughly, actually," Netep informs her fluffy shadow, unenthusiastic about what she sees upon it. Cheap food's cheap food! So she punches in an order for a classic nerf patty and fizzipop. "My ship's dumping a load as we speak, so let's just go with 'trader'. Come morning, we'll see if I've ended up on a couch." Or floor, fresher...depends on the bottle! "Sounds like you do a fair amount of travelling then. You somebody's deckhand?" Finally the menu gets ignored in favor of looking at her small companion. It's weird, feeling tall.
"I'm what they call a 'genius'." The amaran replies, flashing a smug grin. Her tail seems to get just a little bit poofier. "Eventually some folks took notice." Because she stalked and spied on them until they were forced to do so; Angouri Dros is annoying, and it tends to work out in her benefit. Which is even more annoying. "I get t'see more of the galaxy, and in return I make their stuff work better an' some other things." She puffs up, inflated by her own self-importance. "They just don't always /get/ my methods. Yeah? Sometimes y'gotta crack some eggs t'hatch an akkdog." Her exact meaning isn't clear as she waves paws dismissively. "What kinda ship you got anyway, eh? S'it a good one? Can I see it?" She pauses in her inquisitive tirade to glance over Netep. "Did that hurt?" She asks, pointing a claw at her own chin to signify the stud embedded in Muri's.
"Yeah, I weirdly can empathize with that..." Muri mumbles about the misunderstood methods and glances to her chronometer. This kid is a bizarrely hairy reflection of her own self at....some age. How old is it? She doesn't know. "It's a plenty good ship an' fine replacement for its predecessor. An old 'classic'. Ghtroc 720." Now it's the human-lite who's puffing her chest, folding both arms behind her head with a streeeeetch back in her chair. Something pops.
"Did what hurt?" Muri squints, reaching with a hand to clumsily feel what the Amaran's miming about. When her fingers find it, she goes bug-eyed in a bit too exaggerated a fashion and yells "DROYKIN DRUYZA what is THAT!?" with a mock look of terror. Hahahahhaa, yeah no, it only lasts a few seconds before her expression flatlines with a wry eyeroll and gives the stud a little tug. It doesn't pull free, but the skin wiggles a bit. Firmly attached! "No. Not much does, when you're halfway through a bottle of Old Janx. /THIS/ on the otherhand..." she brushes those fingers upward to pet her own cheek/temple where some of the tattoo scrawls. "This took a whole bottle." Or so she was told. Most surprising surprise of her life, looking in the mirror that morning after!
Suddenly, there's a plate of overcooked meat on a bun being plopped down near her elbow, fizzipop to follow. "Keezx," she gives thanks in Bocce and then not so stealthily slips a lil flask of Ardees Juice from her bag to 'flavor' the carbonated sugarfix.
But is she really that much more hairy? Angouri continues to observe the human with an overly-intense stare. "Dunno why I asked, I don't know splat 'bout ships. Now - droids an' computers? I'm your thing." She juts a thumb into her own chest. "Sounds fancy 'nuff though." She raises a paw to scratch behind one of her ears, eyes rolling blissfully back for the briefest flash of a moment before the stare returns... Muri's antics do not change her expression any, though some of the light seems to leave Angouri's eyes - it's the worst when the old folk think they're funny, isn't it?
"I wish I could get tattoos." She laments, twisting to look at Muri's. "I mean, I /can/ but they won't show. 'Less they're here -" She points to the soft, pink flesh of her inner ear. "An' what's the point'a that?" Something buzzes in her pocket, and the amaran sits up straighter than a Firespray in flight. "I must be going now." She informs Muri, robotically and without looking at whatever alert she's recieved. "You don't have to try and hide yer alcoholism now." And then she's just - gone. It's easy to blend into a crowd when you're waste high.
"Ah, well.." A little wave goes to where the lil pest /was/. "Best news I've heard all day." Glug, glug, Muri. She adds a capful more, then puts the booze away and chomps into her first bite of sad food. At least she can claim high score. USTINK, forever!