Late Night in the Cantina

The Players: Maccus, Sarna, Lincoln, Delphine, BR-1K, Drazil

Tipsy Trader -- Tier City: Valentine's World

Inside the Tipsy Trader, the stone walls are painted a bright turquoise reminiscent of the Great Western Sea itself. Around the perimeter of the circular room are alcoves with booths, marked off by tasseled, draping curtains in various competing colors that sparkle with embroidery and beads. Round, colorfully-woven rugs decorate the tile flooring and absorb some of the ambient sound created by the usually festive crowd.

The central feature of the cantina is the bar itself, circled with stools for patrons and boasting a display of exotic liquors in decorative bottles arranged to tempt the thirsty crowd. Above, the ceiling is flecked with patterns of light cast from several lanterns hung at intervals around the room. To the right of the entrance is a small stage with tables gathered in front of it where musical performers put on a show several times a day.

 Type +setting for additional information

Obvious exits:

ut leads to Ward Bazaar -- Tier City: Valentine's World.

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Maccus sits at the bar. On one side a shot glass filled with a golden liquid the other an overturned bracer. His fingers presently work on tightening the straps of the bracer going over his left forearm and up to his elbow. The bracer he's tightening is made from a reinforced metal, covered by obsidian dyed leathers. A soft grumble escapes him before he claims and downs his shot in frustration. Maccus throws another handful of coins down on the bar, grumbling still about his newly purchased bracers. His eyes remaining fixed to his own business.

Last call in Tier City is usually close to dawn, and during the Festival, there's no lack of partygoers who've moved indoors to the cantina at this late hour, a raucous, if somewhat smaller crowd gathered around the bar and packed into tables and booths. Among them is Sarna who approaches the bar near where Maccus is seated. She glances somewhat nervously over her shoulder, then speaks in low tones to the barkeep when it's her turn. A moment later she's served a beverage and she climbs onto a stool next to Maccus as he tightens the bracer on his arm.

Maccus murmurs toward the nervous woman who sat beside him, "Your best bet is to get a booth. Face the door so that way you can keep an eye on the door" Before he finally adjusts the strap just right and gives a relieved sigh.

Sarna is momentarily startled when the man next to her speaks, and she looks at him, recognizing him from around the bazaar. His advice is sound, and she smiles at him as she sips from the straw in her drink. "I should've thought of that," she says in reply, glancing around the room. "But all the booths are full. I think I snuck out pretty stealthy, though, so hopefully no one is gonna come lookin'. Vee-Four is supposed to let me know if anyone wakes up!" She produces a comlink from her pocket and waves it smartly.

Maccus chuckles softly as he downs another shot, adjusting himself in his seat so that he can begin working on the bracer for his right arm, "And if the Droid knows better than your own desires?" As he curses softly, fumbling with the strap that goes around a rather gruesomely scared forearm, "Sometimes its also good to pretend you know people. Some strangers take kindly in protecting others"

Into the Cantina strides Lincoln, hat free considering the early morning and speed with which he left the office. The only thing he'd really grabbed was his belt and holster before dashing out the door. Oh he was certainly awake, but not enough to completely have gotten all the way dressed. His shirt is unbuttoned up the middle with the back half tucked away and one of his boots is untied. The exhausted look is etched about his eyes with the facial scruff worst than usual and hair that screams 'slept and unkempt'.

Arching a brow at that comment, Sarna fixes the scarred man with a curious look. "I'm too old for a nanny droid," she insists, taking a sip of her very adult beverage. Still, the comment about protective strangers rings true, and she chuckles softly. "I've noticed that. Especially around here. The Nahrahm love to take in strays, don't they? It's not a bad place to be lost." Leaning her elbows on the bar, she jumps as her comlink starts to go off with the familiar tinny sound of Vee-Four's beeps transmitted through the device. "What?" she asks incredulously into the comlink. "Are you sure? Maybe he just went on a patrol." Swallowing hard, the girl turns on the stool to see the silhouette of the marshal stride inside. "Or not...."

On the lawman's heels is Delphine. She didn't really undress but she did forgo her blaster opting to just grab her shock batons on the way out of Lincoln's office. She's a little sore from the bunk she slept on last night but she looks a stitch more put together than the Marshall. "I can't believe she'd take off like this. Again!" she says tersely under her breath. "I'd say she'll be the death of me but that's all too inevitable."

Maccus chuckles softly and lets his head stray toward the entry before shaking his head gently. His bracers now properly attached as he brings his blaster from his holster to rest atop the counter, "Expecting trouble, Miss?" Before looking around incase of true trouble.

Arriving into the Cantina, Lincoln's eyes cast around quickly and then he spots Sarna. But rather than stride over to her or make much scene, his hand reaches out and he takes Delphine's elbow. "It may be a bit early, but there is a lovely drink here in town we do during Festivals that helps wonderfully with hangovers." The booths are occupied, but there is a man passed out at a table nearby. Walking towards it, Lincoln taps his shoulder to waken him and speaks softly. It doesn't take long for that man to stagger up and get out leaving the table vacant, at which Lincoln sits.

Motioning towards Delphine, the man smiles with a knowing look, "Sometimes a person needs to be alone to sort through their thoughts. She is not a child, nor is she helpless. So she knows we're here and we're concerned for her, and that is all that is needed. Let her have her space if she needs it, yeah?" Turning towards a waitress, he speaks quietly to order a pair of drinks.

Delphine is about to march over to Sarna and give her a piece of her mind but Lincoln's touch interrupts her. She looks skeptical but takes in his advice with a small sigh. "Well, if it means you're buying me a drink," she says with a lift of one brow and a smile. "I'm all in." She watches him work his Marshal magic on the drunk and looks impressed. "You really do have a way with people," she says and wipes down the table with a napkin before taking a seat.

Maccus chuckles softly and lets his head stray toward the entry before shaking his head gently. His bracers now properly attached as he brings his blaster from his holster to rest atop the counter, "Expecting trouble, Miss?" Before looking around incase of true trouble. His eyes narrow as he notices one of the straps still not fitting tight as he grumbles, "Damned...straps"

"No, not trouble," Sarna admits to Maccus, chewing on the end of her straw. "Just... supervision?" Her shoulders hunch as if she's expecting both Lincoln and Delphine to come over and berate her, and she's genuinely puzzled when they don't. Watching as they move off to occupy a table, she frowns in confusion and turns back to her drink. Her comlink buzzes again, and she speaks into it: "Never mind, it's too late, Vee. I'll be back soon." She flicks the comlink off, giving one last look at the marshal and the acolyte before turning to stare down into her drink. "They're just worried about me, I think. But I'm used to being on my own," she says to Maccus as he fiddles with the straps of the bracer, eyeing the blaster he placed on the bar.

Settling in, Lincoln shakes his head a bit towards Delphine, "I may have a way with people around here. You off worlders are confusing as hell to me to be honest though." He pauses as the waitress bring the drinks, a dark red beverage, slightly frozen with a vegetable like smell. "These are called Bloodletters. Don't ask me why, but they really do go well in the mornings." He takes a sip of his own then leans back and speaks more, "But back to what you were saying, first, I always buy drinks for guests. As for Sarna?" His shoulders lift, "Well for anyone for that matter. It takes a lot to trust people and to understand that others want your best interests. Truth is, our intents may be good but that also doesn't mean it's necessarily right, y'know? Everyone has to find their path."

Regarding her drink, and indeed taking a quick sniff of it, Delphine looks intrigued to try this new concoction. "I do know. But rogue adepts aren't good for anywhere in the Cresh. You see how much trouble she's managed to get into in what? Two days?" She smiles looking down at the table, long black lashes fluttering onto her damask cheeks. "I just want her to have her best chance, you know?" she says meeting Lincoln gaze. Then she lifts her glass in a simple ceremony. "Here's to paths and may we all follow our true selves."

Maccus nods slowly, "I've been alone for a long time now too. Its not easy." Before leaning down, using his teeth to help tighten the strap properly before latching it down quickly without a second glance. His breath finally steadies before stating, "Sounds like you at least a handful of people who wanna see good come for you. Or use you for their own devices." As he motions to his blaster, "Its why some folk turn more...nefarious. Get sick and tired of being used" Before order another shot for himself.

The alcohol has definitely entered her system, no doubt about it. Sarna finds her thoughts swimming as she sorts through them, and when she reaches the bottom of the glass she pushes the glass away, attempting to resist the urge to look back over at their table. Maccus's words draw her attention and she ponders them somberly. A frown touches one corner of her mouth and she finally gives in and looks over to see the pair toasting each other. "You got sick of being used?" she asks Maccus curiously as she drags her gaze back to him, swallowing the lump in her throat. "So you turned nefarious?" That was certainly the last outcome that Sarna had in mind for her own future.

Lincoln lifts his glass towards Delphine but his expression is a bit more humored, "You know, what you said reminded me of a story when I was younger. There was a young man who struggled with what his life was supposed to be." Interestingly, Lincoln is speaking in a slightly louder voice than necessary for just Delphine to hear. "So he went out to a wise man that lived in the wilderness, a guru on life. He asks this guru, 'Master, how do I know my destiny?'. The guru looked at him and said, 'Everyone believes they are living their destiny not matter what it is. The question, is not am I living my destiny. But rather, am I living my /best/ destiny?" A glance is momentarily given over his shoulder towards Sarna, then he turns his blue eyes back to Delphine. "Who are any of us to determine another's best destiny?"

After taking a long, please sip of her drink, Delphine rests her chin in her hand and gives Lincoln her full attention as he goes into storyteller mode. The blonde woman gives a slight shrug at the question. "We can't. We can only move obstacles out of their way...so that they can find their..." Her lips curl into a smile and she chuckles softly. "So that they can find their //best// path. Destiny...." The Acolyte looks away to one side giving Lincoln her profile as she looks over to the bar and its two occupants, then her seaglass eyes look at Lincoln again as she turns her head back. "That I believe is something entirely different."

Maccus downs the oncoming shot with relative ease before stating, "What made you think I'm nefarious?" Before letting his head tilt back. If Sarna looks, the scars along his neck would be exposed before he lets his head drop. "And yes. I did get tired of being used. You can only see and watch so much happen with and around you before you put your foot down.". Before he looks to Sarna with a soft smile, "Independence breeds Chaos. Do you have a notion as to why that is?"

Quietly, Sarna watches the scarred man next to her order and consume another shot. She wonders how many he's already had, and how long before he can stay vertical on his stool. When the barkeep drifts by and sees her empty glass, she waves him away. She leans on both elbows with her arms crossed and head bent, her ear turned just enough in their direction to pick up the marshal's projected voice. She knows he means her to hear him, and her hands clench around her arms as she risks a glance over her shoulder again to the disheveled young man and the lovely blonde. At least he seems in favor of Sarna being the one to choose her path, and Delphine's opposing response seems to seal that assessment. Realizing Maccus has asked her a question, she turns to him and tips her head to one side. "No... why does independence breed chaos?" she asks skeptically, biting her lip.

"Remove too many obstacles, and a person may not be strong enough to meet their destiny either," Lincoln points out, grinning over his glass. "What I'm trying to say though Miss Aurelia, is that being present and available... that's how I have a way with people. A gentle nudge sometimes sure, but people are going to make choices, that often have mistakes. As long as those mistakes are worked on and the consequences are dealt with then it's a growth thing y'know? I'd say in a given month I could probably throw a dozen people into the cells for theft alone. But why are they stealing? That's what I want to know before I decide." He looks over at Sarna, "Have you ever asked her why?"

Delphine sets down her glass and moves a stray piece of golden hair behind her ear. "I haven't had the chance. And believe me, the Proctors ask us why all the time," she says, rolling her eyes, making her look younger than her 24 standards. She leans in and lowers her voice. "I'm...I'm new to this. I've been taking scouting cycles for a couple of years but I've never run into someone like her...usually it's teens who can't even sense me scanning them." Maybe she was in over her head. The hunter had been a complication as well. "Then this Telgossian zealot shows up and..." Her pink lips purse as she makes an explosion sound, gesturing outward, her fingers as shrapnel.

Maccus takes a breath and shakes his head before fully turning to Sarna, "Idependence at its core is freedom. It can be freedom from restrictions, work, bonds, slavery and whatever is inbetween it to see themselves free. There are those who will do whatever they can, in any fashion to break themselves free, causing chaos, problems, to follow behind and with them" Before he taps his blaster, "Independence at its basis is great. You can learn alot about yourself when alone, but, when you have good people, truly good, wanting to see you succeed, you're only creating chaos" before he shrugs a bit, "Go to your compainons. They clearly want to lead you down a path that will, at least, cause less chaos" Maccus shrugs, "Or. Dont listen to a drunken pirate" Though it doesnt appear that Maccus is anywhere near drunk or tipsy.

Sarna listens to Maccus but she isn't able to draw the connection he's describing, and even though he doesn't seem drunk, considering how much alcohol he's had, she wonders if he actually meant what he said. "Chaos is something I know a bit about," she admits under her breath. She knows they are talking about her, and at the stranger's prodding, she sighs and slips off the stool, straightening her shoulders and trying to look as tall as she can, which is not very. "Good luck out there," she says to Maccus with a little salute. "Here I go, creating chaos." Slow steps carry her around the crowd to their table, and she gives a shrug of her slight shoulders. "Sorry you had to come looking for me," she says in a low voice. "We can go back now, if you're ready."

"It's difficult, isn't it Miss Aurelia? To admit we may be in over our heads?" Lincoln asks with a smile, genuine and compassionate. "I know I hate that feeling and honestly, since the group of you arrived here on Valentine's I've felt it more than once. But if this is how we feel, pretty sure Sarna feels the same as well. All of us are in over our heads and we're all swimming trying to keep someone else afloat pulling ourselves down farther." Lifting his drink, Lincoln finishes it and says softly, "Maybe we need to all get to the shore, catch breath and just figure out what's going on. But, from what it looks like, you and her need to figure things out and me? I need my damn beauty sleep."

Pushing his finished drink away, he slides his chair back to rise to his feet, motioning the empty chair towards Sarna as he stands there, "Naw, I think the two of you should have a drink. I need to grab a bit more sleep and a shower anyway. Just... don't start any trouble while I'm napping, yeah?"

Maccus, now alone, releases his pent up and held breath at being so close to the glowing stick and potential Enclave member and hastily reholsters his blaster. He turns to the bartender and murmurs quietly. The bartender nods and gives a counting of figures. Maccus grumbles and fishes out some coins once more before a bottle is placed jnfront of him.

The blonde Acolyte smiles up at the tall lawman as he rises to let motion Sarna towards his seat. She reaches out and takes Lincoln's wrist. "Thank you...for everything." Then she takes back her hand and her seaglass gaze falls on Sarna, a kind smile on her pink lips. "We have a lot to talk about, my dear."

Sarna starts to protest when Lincoln announces that he is leaving her there alone with Delphine. She gives the marshal a lingering look, but can't maintain it and looks away as the pair say their goodbyes. The girl sinks into the chair he's just vacated and sighs, folding her hands on the table. She gives the acolyte a sidelong glance and tries to smile. "I guess we do. Go on, tell me how much trouble I'm in," she says. "I guess I'll see you around, Lincoln," she adds absently.

Maccus turns in his seat, now eyeing the golden haired woman and the darker haired women, musing to himself as he begins to wonder what all of them had been talking about anyway. Though he dismisses such thoughts as he brings the bottle to his lips, drinking from it before shaking his head hard, he knew well enough that he wouldnt get paid nearly enough for the trouble of getting involved.

Delphine wonders if she was so petulant when she was a teenager. She smiles as she thinks yes, she probably was. "Sarna. I don't have jurisdiction over you or your choices." The blonde woman's lips push into a straight line as she pauses a moment, then says, "I just...I'm worried to //death// for you. And ever since I found you that day in the plaza, I've felt protective of you. I don't know why." Her sea blue eyes blink and she looks at her hands. "But I guess I never asked you what you wanted. Or why you want it. And I'm sorry."

There's an odd metallic clanking sound at the entrance to the cantina, and then a scarred and towering battle droid is straightening to its full height and taking long, clunking strides towards the bar without a moment's hesitation, blocky head sweeping left and right in jerky motions that suggest it is possibly long over-due for an oil bath. Given the thing's pace, it almost seems like it's about to collide with the counter -- but with an inhuman suddenness it stops, brushing aside a ragged cloak to raise long arms and place its three-fingered hands flat on the surface. For a long moment it simply stands there, head completing a three hundred and sixty degree rotation to face the drinks on display as if actually considering a purpose.

Begrudingly, Sarna manages a smile, moved by Delphine's kind words, but the entrance of the clanking droid does make her glance over in surprise at the sight. There were plenty of droids in Tier City, but none quite like that one.

Turning back to Delphine, Sarna cups her chin in her hand and meets the blonde woman's gaze. "It's hard to know what to do," she confesses. "I was trained a certain way, to hold up the ideals of an Order that... doesn't exist here." She swallows and shifts her seat, then unclips the weapon at her belt and rests it on top of the table between the two of them. "Do I stay true to my heritage?" she asks sincerely. "Do I betray what my mother's desire was for me when she sent me here to be safe?" Staring at the silver hilt, her shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. "I've loved Valentine's World since the moment I stepped on it. Something about it... calls to me. Like I was meant to be here. I know you must understand that, if you can touch the Force the same way I do. But it seems all I've done is bring trouble."

Maccus looks to the droid, and then the ladies, and then back to the droid and then his drink before releasing an almost sad huff before turning back in his seat and continues to nurse his liquor. He muses softly to himself, "Wonder if On'Tina had a decent day" Before shaking his head hard from his thoughts. "Stupid booze."

Delphine watches the droid as well before returning her attention to Sarna. "You know, should you decide to join The Enclave...and I'm not saying you should," she adds quickly with a show of her palm. "You have a say in the assignments you take. You could even be stationed here..." she says waving her palm around gesturing to the bar, the street, the city. "But right now, I believe Vait is the safest place for you." Delphine frowns. "This is not what you want to hear from me, I know. I just...I need to talk to my Proctors. I need their guidance in this."

There's a hiss of static, and then -- "Toxin consumption is indeed illogical," the droid suddenly remarks, blocky head turning so the cluster of photoreceptors can focus on Maccus. Its voice is a deep and gritty rumble, warped by the acid-scarred vocoder to a buzzing harshness but not necessarily unpleasant. "I do not recommend you continue to --" And then just as suddenly, the droid's head sharply swivels to face the booth the women are sitting in, as if it somehow heard the faint clink of the lightsaber being set down on the table's surface. The three lenses whirr and click, and then...the droid is moving again. Its upper torso rotates first and then its legs follow, clanking over to loom over them. The droid considers the lightsaber, and then turns its head to Delphine. "Weapon detected, threat level unknown. Sitatuon requires assessment. Fleshling, are you distressed?" Clearly, this thing is incapable of reading body language.

"Maybe I should do the same," Sarna says in a distant voice, furrowing her brow. Her hand wraps around the grip of the lightsaber and there's a hint of resolve in her gaze. "Okay, Lady Aurelia, you talk to your Proctors, and..."

She does a double take as the battle droid assesses her as a threat on his approach, looking up in surprise. "Sorry -- uh -- I was just showing it to her," she explains. "No threat intended." She holds up both palms placatingly, shooting Delphine a puzzled look.

Oh how the Acolyte wanted to hear the rest of what Sarna had to say. Instead the blonde woman's attention is once again on the out of place droid. Delphine stands and levels her gaze at the droid's receptors. She was used to such models from some of her Regency contracts and had watched them be handled before. Though this one seems a bit odd with it's adaptation of a cloak - droids didn't get cold like flesh and blood beings do. With command in her voice she says, "Stand down, BR unit. This one will be of no harm. What are your patrol parameters, please?"

The raised palms are considered with a slight tilt of that blocky head, the largest lens whirring and whining. "Fingerprint scan results in zero matching active cases," The droid rumbles after a moment, the words somehow softer despite the electric buzz. "To the extent of my database search, you have not committed any violent crimes of record." A beat. "Yet." A fractional adjustment as those lenses focus on Delphine again as she stands, and at the tone in her voice its shoulders adjust; somehow, the droid seems to have adopted a much more respectful posture. "Custom parameters, Acolyte," It remarks. "Designation BR-1K has attained operational independence and is fully registered with the Bounty Hunter's Guild. Today I am..." Another beat. "Relaxing, but vigilant," It settles on this choice of words with a hint of satisfaction. Its head turns back to Sarna. "The energy signature of your device is utterly unfamiliar. Curious," It remarks. It's...making conversation?

As Delphine stands, Sarna slowly does the same. She clips the weapon back to her belt, making sure the droid recognizes her as non-threatening. The girl watches the exchange, relaxing when BR-1K responds to the Acolyte's authority. She notices the entrace of the pale man in the Regency uniform, even if she's not familiar with such attire, but the droid's query draws her gaze back. "I guess the Enclave doesn't have lightsabers," she, a corner of her mouth turning upward. "It's a unique weapon. I built it myself," she informs the tall droid.

He makes his way to sit and once at his chosen table the movement of the chair is direct and his accompanying occupation of the seat very formal as if the near-human were at a state funeral or dinner. Drazil takes a seat nearby and solid crimson eyes that lack distinct irises continue their vigil of the nearby patrons. The plain crisp nature of the uniform suggests it is new or at least freshly pressed. Once settled into his chair he passes along an order for whatever is the native drink of choice that is on special. The rank isignia is missing from this uniform but it is clearly military. Non of the special fanfare adorns the person that keenly observes the others. He seems to be paying attention to the conversation of the weapon and his head cants curiously as the woman admits to its build.

Delphine's head pops back slightly as her light brown brows lift in surprise. "Very impressive, BR-1K!" She nods over to Sarna with a grin, then listens to the exchange, curious herself about Sarna's...whatever it was called - solid energy beam sword emitter thingy. "Light...saber?" the Acolyte repeats, seaglass eyes trained on the cylinder. "No Sarna...we do not." Delphine catches a glimpse of a Regency uniform and looks to Sarna, keeping her alarm covered by light meditation. To Sarna's thoughts alone she sends //This is another reason the Proctors need to meet you.// The golden-haired young woman then touches the shoulder of the younger brunette. "Hey. We should get back. Maybe pick up some real food for Lincoln."

"Light-saber," The droid slowly repeats, photoreceptors tracking her movements as she retrieves the weapon. It continues to stare at her side, lenses whirring, far longer than most people would consider polite -- but that blocky head jerks up a little with her admission as to the weapon's nature; much like the newly-arrived officer, BR-1K's interest is piqued. "Fascinating, fleshling," It admits, the rumble of its voice deeper and somehow more respectful. "I wish to disassemble it and examine the components individually." Bluntly stated...but at least it doesn't reach for the weapon. When Delphine compliments it, BR-1K seems to stand a little taller; if it had a mouth, it would probably be beaming. "I am humbled by your praise, Acolyte. The process was certainly difficult, and took many years." It's about to say more, but when she suggests the pair leave, its vocoder rumbles and it bows its head instead. "Please, if ever I may be of assistance, contact me." The head tilts as it glances down at Sarna. "The same stands for you, fleshling."

The thoughts transmitted to her mind from the Acolyte are absorbed, and Sarna conveys her understanding wordlessly to Delphine, her gaze flicking briefly toward the red-eyed officer. She shifts in place as the droid examines the lightsaber at her side, and she can't help but chuckle lightly at the suggestion. "Perhaps some other time," she says with amusement. "But thanks for the offer." It doesn't seem odd to her at all for the droid to be independent; the first droid she ever knew was her sentient uncle, after all. She turns to Delphine and agrees with her suggestion, touching the Acolyte's elbow and nodding her dark head. "Some real food for all of us, you mean. Yeah, I'm getting tired, too, let's head back. I didn't mean to wake everyone up."

To the astute of perception it is likely clear that Drazil is observing the interaction but of course he takes no part in the telepathy nor would he be cogniscent of its occurrence. He makes little effort to hide or even alter his gaze for the time being. Long slender pale fingers lift and he exchanges currency in order to take the drink from the server. There is no thank you and instead he treats the encounter like a soulless transaction. After a time the beverage is brought up partway to his mouth and he dips his head slightly so that his nostrils flare slightly as he gives a sniff of his drink. A look of disdain suggests the local fare was not up to his standards and the glass is pushed away and out of casual reach full of its recently purchased contents. The marbled hue of his flesh makes him appear much like a statue at times where otherwise he might be lost to the room in stillness the subtle movement of his breath betrays the life within his limbs. The mention of Acolyte is noted by the shift of his eyes to the one indicated. He then looks to the other woman to commit her to memory as well. The droid. Well. Nuts and bolts. A careless disregard of the droid valuable was not the man's only bias likely.

"Thank you," she says sincerely to the droid bounty hunter with a smile for it. Delphine looks back at the Regency Officer with a placid expression, recording every detail about him just in case. Not completely human. That meant he was a special sort of scum most likely. Delphine never met one that hadn't betrayed something to get to where they were - accepted. With that, she is out the door.

The droid nods its head when Sarna replies. "Another time," It echoes...but its gritty tone sounds utterly serious, of course. A series of clanking steps draws BR-1K back from the pair, giving them plenty of room to get up and leave their booth; at the same time, its head swivels so its photoreceptors can focus on Drazil. "Officer," It states, with a bow of its head that is...perhaps fractionally less respectful than it was to the Acolyte -- though with tincans like this, who can tell for sure? "Please do not hesitate to file any contracts to the Guild with priority attention to my designation, BR-1K." With that, the droid turns and clomps out the door as well.

Sarna gives the droid a look that's almost affectionate. She gives him a showstopping smile and a two-fingered salute before she turns to follow the lovely Acolyte out of the cantina. The sun would be up soon, she realizes, and as she departs she taps her datapad to make sure that breakfast will be delivered by the time they get back.