Jarok sits at the counter, the bright red plasticized faux leather bar stool squeaking beneath his weight. He looks around the dining area as he shovels another sporkfull of roasted garrshbeast into his maw. Slurping noisily, his eyes roam over the patrons of Al's diner, pausing to take in the group of spacecycle racers noisily eating their fried broschatten husks.
*Better wait until they leave before I set out again. Don't want to have to deal with them once I get back on the highways.*
He shifts his considerable bulk around to peer out through the armored glasstic windows, a loud roar drawing his attention. A massive custom spacecycle appears, weighed down with thick armor plating and bristling with more weapons than a Dar'Konian battle cruiser.
This thing obviously wasn't designed to look pretty, or fast, or sensible. It was designed to look MEAN. The man piloting the spiky craft looks like he was forged in the same smoke-filled chop shops as the monstrosity he rode in on.
As the vehicle noisily makes it's way to the diner's parking area, Jarok hears a muted whooping, even through the sound-dampening windows. The man's hair flies wildly behind him as he banks sharply before landing with a CRUNCH, flattening an entire row of expensive looking racing spacecycles. The bikers angrily rise from their booth, the fried insect hides clattering to the floor. Jarok spots one of the tidbits frantically crawling away, only to be crushed beneath the steel-clad boot of an angry Lortarian.
The scaly biker pauses, his skin shifting from an angry red back to a more subdued blue. His head drops as he turns to his comrades and bullies them back to the booth. A few words float over to Jarok.
"Damn, it's Lobo."
The antique brass contraption rings out as the door flings open, and the pale behemoth strides brashly into the room. As the shrill ringing sounds, Jarok winces, his ears sensitive to the high pitched noise. He'd asked the waitress about the odd thing. Her jaw furiously working on a wad of pink bubble gum, she had shrugged her shoulders and replied in a bored tone.
"Owner says it was a gift, says it stays up. So it stays up."
His memory fades as the muscular brute takes a seat next to him. He pounds the polished bar top loudly, calling out in a hoarse voice.
"Darlene! Get your pretty face out here and give everyone in this $#! a beer, on me!"
A cheer erupts from the bikers, some of them still chasing their appetizers across the checkered tiles. A voluptuous redhead appears from the back, her face set in a scowl as she shakes a soapy frying pan in the general direction of the jovial giant.
"Oh, hell no! You don't get to just come in my diner and act like you didn't start a damn bar fight the last time you were here!"
Lobo smiles, looking less polite than predatory. The effect is only heightened by his fierce yellow eyes as he chuckles. The snickers grow into a boisterous belly laugh, his hand slapping his knee while he catches his breath.
"I forgot about that, thanks for reminding me. Good times. What's the damage?"
Darlene raises the skillet to strike, and the man raises his hands in supplication, thick leather gloves coating the palms. White, grubby fingers poke out from the ends, their fingernails a glaringly black color. Lobo cries out.
"Hold up, gorgeous! I'm good for it, see?"
Reaching inside his jacket and fishing around in a pocket, he produces a credi-disk. Darlene snatches it out of his hands, slipping the device into her cash register while holding her face in a sour frown. Her eyes grow wide and her jaw drops open as she looks to the grinning madman.
"Who did you steal this from?"
"No one, I swear. I came by it honestly."
He winks, "Well, not entirely honestly. But the money was paid to me through a legitimate transaction, if that's what you're asking."
"Fine, I'm just going to tally up your total."
The machine beeps and boops as her fingers deftly fly across the interface.
"So, I've come up with what you currently owe us."
Darlene pauses to blow a spectacularly large bubble, the stretchy orb expanding before finally exploding over her nose and chin. She sucks the sugary mess back into her mouth, her pink tongue darting out to collect the last bits of the sticky substance. She resumes chewing as she continues.
"Aaaaand I'm just gonna add a zero on the end for good measure."
Pressing a final glowing blob on the screen, she pulls the credi-disk back out and returns it to Lobo. She gives him a painfully fake smile as the machine behind her begins printing a ridiculously long receipt.
Lobo grins back, "Did you remember to charge me for all my friends' beer?"
"Don't worry, I went ahead and opened you a tab."
He lets loose a mighty guffaw, pounding the table once again. Jarok's smashed froltaters jump clear off his plate before splatting back down. Flatware and dishes up and down the bar clatter as the man replies.
"Oh, yeah, give the guy at the booth a fresh pot of coffee. I know he doesn't drink beer."
The printer goes silent, the paper piling onto the floor below as it cuts the completed receipt loose from the spool. Darlene absently kicks the garbage beneath the expansive liquor cabinet.
"You got it, big guy."
Jarok returns to his meal, pretending not to notice as Lobo pries at his eyeball, finally extracting a complicated spectro-lens. Extending a finger on his right hand, the fingernail peels back, and a thin metal rod telescopes outward from the digit. He touches the stylus to the minuscule disc, delicately tweaking the intricate machinery. His blood-red eye squints closed as he peers through the other lens, intent on his task. With a grunt of satisfaction, the man pokes the device back into his eye, covering the garish red orb with the equally unsightly yellow of the contacts.
Darlene slides two frothy beers across the counter, flashing Jarok a polite smile and simultaneously sending a rude hand gesture toward Lobo. Giving the waitress a sarcastic wave, the burly man takes up his glass and clinks it against the beverage in front of Jarok.
"Drink up, it's a good day."
Jarok sips at the foaming drink, savoring the bitter concoction. He inclines his head to his neighbor, hoping to make a bit of polite conversation.
"Thank you, sir. Mind if I ask what the occasion is?"
"Ha! Sir!"
Turning, he calls out to the redhead.
"Hey, Darl, get this! This guy called me sir! Also, bring me another beer."
Facing Jarok, he continues, "Got me a damn good payday, wanted to celebrate."
He drains the rest of his glass and slams the empty container onto the bar. Jarok flinches, expecting it to shatter, but the thick mug withstands the impact. Lobo wags a finger in his direction.
"How 'bout you? What brings you to my bar?"
"Your bar? I thought this was Al's Diner? His name's on the front."
"True, true. But I was this joint's first customer after they opened. This place is like my home away from home."
He nods in appreciation to Darlene as she places another drink in front of him. Tilting his head back, Lobo gulps the liquid down in a matter of seconds. He sets the empty glass down, belching loudly. He looks to Jarok expectantly, awaiting his response to the question.
"I'm taking a slag-haul out of the Orion-Spur, over to the Sagittarius Arm for recycling. Boring work, but it pays the bills."
The man's yellow eyes narrow, his face losing it's jovial demeanor.
"What's out in the Orion-Spur that's so important?"
Unnerved, Jarok sips at his beer to stall for time. He wishes the man would return to his more friendly, if loud, personality.
"Just this little startup asteroid mining operation. Some family clan bought a bunch of rocks, and think they're going to strike it big. I took out a load of mining equipment and picked up their slag-dump for a return haul."
"Sounds like a lot of work for a little money,"
"Eh, it's not so bad, really. This kind of gig is good for word of mouth. I'm independent, you see. Every load I take is up to me to secure a contract for."
"What a coincidence, I'm something of an 'independent contractor' myself."
Jarok decides against inquiring as to the other man's line of work, reckoning that it's probably best he not know. He glances around for a distraction, hoping to steer the conversation into friendlier territory. In the corner booth, a sullen man stares into a cup of coffee, absently stroking his goatee. The man looks up as Darlene sets a steaming decanter of the black liquid on the table in front of him. Jarok cannot hear the words as the waitress speaks to the dark haired man.
The man looks across the diner at Lobo, raising his mug. Lobo raises his empty stein in response, waggling the glass in Darlene's direction, who rolls her eyes before disappearing into the back of house. The man's tired green eyes become unfocused as he returns his gaze to the tabletop, occasionally sipping at his beverage.
Jarok speaks, a suitable change of topic finally located.
"Whats with the guy in the corner?"
"Who, old pouty-face over there? He's been at this dump longer than I have. He's kind of a local legend."
"Wait, I thought you said you were their first customer."
"First customer AFTER they opened. Rumor has it this guy has been here before Al even built the place."
"That's right, he has."
Darlene appears at the counter, setting another glass down with a soft THUNK. She leans over the bar, resting her hands on the low countertop. Jarok makes a concerted effort to keep his focus on her face, and not the plunging neckline of her blouse. Lobo makes no such concessions, leering obviously as the woman continues.
"Al once told me that the day he landed on the asteroid, shortly after buying this rock at auction, this guy was just waiting on the ground. Sitting on a boulder, reading a book, like he was at a spaceport waiting for boarding."
She slides a menu over from an empty seat, propping the plasticized pamphlet in front of her chest to block Lobo's view.
"Al asked the guy what the f#$ he was doing here, and our man over there just looked up and said 'I'm waiting for coffee.'"
She glances over her shoulder at the man. Jorak takes in the man's disheveled clothing and the frizzy, unruly hair sprouting from the top of his head. He idly scratches the short hairs at the back and sides of his scalp before returning his hands to the warm mug before him. Darlene turns her attention back to the pair at the bar.
"So Al decided to build a diner. The day the first booth was delivered, Mr. Coffee got up from his rock and sat down at the table. Took out a half a bag of coffee grounds and hands 'em to Al. Guy says, 'Use these, they're my favorite.'"
She pauses to slap Lobo's hand away from the menu as he stealthily attempts to remove the obstruction.
"So Al brewed it up, and wouldn't you know it, that same damn bag of grounds is still going strong. Then this $#hole shows up one day, demanding we serve him beer. Al had a few cases in the back, and business was non-existent. So we gave the guy a drink, and now he won't leave us alone."
She throws a withering glare at Lobo, who smiles back innocently, batting his disturbing eyes at the woman.
"No matter how much we let him know we hate him."
"Aww, you're gonna make me blush, darlin' Darlene."
Lobo ducks as a kretschap bottle sails past his head, thrown by the waitress.
"Anyway, that guy's our best customer. Lobo here is a distant second, in terms of money spent."
Jarok frowns, confused.
"How does drinking only coffee make him your best customer?"
"Because we don't give free refills."
Lobo erupts with laughter, clapping Jarok on the back as the trucker takes another sip of his beer. Darlene leaves to provide a menu to a group of customers as they enter the establishment. Jarok chokes and sputters while the other man speaks, oblivious.
"That's why I love it here, all the comforts of home, and they treat you like family!"
Jarok manages to catch his breath once again, desperately gulping air down his gullet. Lobo's grating voice continues.
"I'm actually heading down to the Orion-Spur, myself, right after I pick up my shiny new ship. Any sightseeing suggestions from a long-haul veteran?"
His breathing back under control, Jarok responds.
"Nothing in that entire arm is worth the fuel it takes to get there. I'd say get whatever job you have out there over with, then go to your favorite casino instead of wasting your time in the armpit of the galaxy."
Lobo's laughter once again rings out across the diner, interrupting conversations and overpowering the sound of the ancient music player in the corner.
"I like you, guy. You be safe out there, it's a dangerous universe."
The barstool squeaks as Lobo lifts himself from his seat. He flags Darlene down and pretends not to notice the disdain in her eyes as she glares at him.
"I'll go ahead and close out the tab, darlin'. Give yourself 50% extra, for being so damn sweet."
Sticking her tongue out at the man, the waitress manipulates the register again, and the machine begins it's song of printing. This time it runs only two lines before completing it's task, Darlene snatches the slip of paper and wads it into a ball. Lobo catches the crumpled paper and slips it into a pocket with a wink.
Tipping an imaginary hat to Jarok, Lobo turns to exit the diner. The door opens, held by a bipedal robot that somehow manages to look depressed, despite a total lack of facial features. The large man slips by the android, stepping past a bewildered looking man in a bathrobe, clutching a ratty towel. Jarok turns his attention back to the greasy plate in front of him as the throaty roar of Lobo's spacecycle overpowers the sounds of the bar patrons.
*I've gotta start finding better places to eat.*