Here is an ongoing story I have been writing, with the intention of it being a Novella called - Night In The Western Wastes.
I used November as a way to participate in NaNoWriMo, I did think I'd have this finished by the end of the month, but here we are in December and I'm still chipping away at it. I don't mind that though, because I am enjoying the story and characters.
The bar was the cleanest spot in the entire place. It did have some engrained filth in the wood, but the lights helped to cover it up. Behind the bar itself, was a range of drinks, both rare and common. Elixir's from Dosha, swill from Scoosha, and even some from old Rotchnok; Rotchi Blasters. It was a nasty drink altogether and had an effect on the mind, that was usually typical of narcotics. Gloopy white stuff, with blue crystals throughout. The texture was thick and gritty.
There was only once in his lifetime that M'Trada tried the stuff. One shot to finish off the night. It finished it all right. It took him a couple of days to feel normal after the ordeal. Everything was blank after the glass landed back on the table. The fear kicked in when he woke up to vague recollections of the previous night.
"You thinking of going for that Rotchi stuff?" Arien must have noticed him focusing on that particular bottle.
"I think not," he replied, as he turned away from it to see what else was around. Nothing jumped out at him. "I'll have whatever you're having." He said with the wave of a hand as he looked around the bar area.
There were numerous comfy-looking seats, that didn't match each other. Laying on one couch was someone who seemed to be a servant. They were dressed in normal clothing, dark trousers, a fitted deep red jacket, and beneath the open jacket was a black shirt. One of their sleeves was raised, and beside them on the couch was what seemed to be a communicator. The person wasn't awake, or asleep - not fully anyway - instead, they seemed to be somewhere in between. Occasionally twitching and moving. There was a steam of old blood dripping down their forearm.
"What'll it be," a woman asked as she banged the bar.
M'Trada jumped to attention and turned to face her. She was an old Zun-Kulla, and her green skin was pale. Eye yellow and shallow, her jawline was broad, and her black stringy hair was down in thin curls.
"Do you do Aldani Fire Bombs?" Arien asked as she leaned on her one arm resting on the bar.
"We do everything here, Human." The woman turned to throw a glare at M'Trada. "What about you, Lizard?"
He would have taken offense to that, had it been said anywhere else. "Same as her." His voice was thin.
Without hesitating the woman shuffled away to prepare their drinks.
"He has a nice collection of people here, doesn't he?" Arien said as she stared at the bar. "The leader of these mines."
"Seems to have people of every known planet, employed in every position possible." M'Trada said as he turned to her. "What is it with you? I get that you're working for Crovin. But, why lie about who you were? What was the point of that?"
Arien shrugged and looked up. "I just like to play games with people sometimes. My job is all about blending in, and becoming whoever I need to be for the situation." She replied, with no hint of a smile in her eyes. She was plain, barely readable. "I figured you'd respond well to the naïve helper, rather than some know-it-all. Which was going to be what I went for until you woke."
"Well, who are you now?" M'Trada asked.
"Who I need to be for this situation." She gave a hint of a smirk. "In certain places, you have to act a certain way. If you don't play the role right, you'll get walked all over, or worse."
The Zun-Kulla came back and placed the drinks in front of them. Thin tall glasses, filled with a red liquid that grew darker near the top.
"What brings you here?" She asked while crossing her arms.
"Just here to pickup up something, for someone. All we have to do now is wait." She threw a thumb back up at the throne.
"Oh, you might be waiting awhile. He jabbed himself with some stiffener. Hopefully, he manages to finish. He can be a bit of a nightmare when he doesn't.
"Delightful." Arien said as she took a drink. "I can imagine it's unpleasant to be around him like that."
The bar woman shrugged. "No big deal for me. He doesn't have a taste for Zun-Kulla's." She said in a flat tone as she walked away to tend to another person as he strode to the bar. A Trisken, heavily scarred, wearing full battle armor.
"What are you looking at?" He asked as M'Trada continued to stare. The knee pads were odd, adorned with teeth around the edges. His chest plate had much larger ones protruding from the sides. Gnosian teeth by the look of them.
"Nothing," he replied.
"Keep it that way then. Mind your drink." The Trisken hissed as he turned to start speaking with the bar woman.
"Friend of yours?" Arien whispered. "Distant relative perhaps." She continued, with a light escape of breath.
M'Trada ignored her, to focus instead on the drink in front of him. He didn't feel like drinking it but figured it was strange to sit her with nothing.
