drink with me Who: John Reese, open to all What: Having a friendly drink, and maybe digging up some info on the Resistance Where: Cantina near the Theed Spaceport When: Nowish Rating: TBD
It wasn't the seediest place John had ever been to; then again, it wasn't exactly the nicest either. But his years of shuffling around the globe had taught him to keep his standards fairly low when it came to watering holes - which, on occasion, had been literal watering holes - even if he'd been spoiled by his last few years in Manhattan on Harold's payroll.
The place he'd settled on had enough light that you could move around without tripping, but wasn't so bright as to disinfect the place. It was clean enough, and as he settled into a seat at the bar, he wasn't immediately bombarded with questions by an overeager server. There were a handful of other customers, looking like the kind of travelers he was used to - weary and halfway between destinations - even if some of them weren't exactly human.
Signaling to the bartender, he dug into his pocket for some of the credits he'd been given when he'd first arrived, once he'd been given the all clear by the medical staff on the station. His shoulder was still a little on the stiff side, and he'd added to the collection of scars on his body, but considering the shape he'd been in, he was grateful just to be alive.
"I'll take a whiskey," he told the bartender, casually tossing his payment on the counter. "Or whatever you have that's closest."
By the bartender's understanding nod, he figured he wasn't the first person to make that request. Given what he'd been able to piece together about what was going on Naboo and beyond, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be the last, either.