Flapjack Firron's Bar and Grille, Logging Camp 37-G, Cardooine.

The swoop race was over, and most of the reveling loggers had gone home for the night. All that remained were a few old friends and a jukebox droid humming out a slow blues tune. The smoke of the night slowly was filtering out into the night sky, as the bartender idly cleaned a glass.

Arriving a bit late was Kar Heh, her hair wrapped back in a neat ponytail and her horns covered with a cap. She wore old combat fatigues, hands firmly in pockets. Scanning the joint, she spotted her prey over at the bar, beer mug in his hand. She sat down next to him. "Having fun?"

Crix shrugged. "I thought this was supposed to be a wilder joint than the Knothole Nest. Guess I was wrong." Kar nodded. She motioned to the bartender and ordered a glass of ice water. "Looks like they sent you to drive me home?" Kar sighed begrudgingly. "Yeah, I know, don't tell me about it. Trust me, this stakeout was boring enough that you'd think Dar would just give it to you. The morons there were just looking at a damn vid-screen anyway."

Kar took her drink from the bartender and looked back at him. "Sometimes I feel like he's trying to hold me back. You think it's because I'm a girl?"

"Nah," Crix answered, "probably because he thinks you're a kid. A kid with a rich and powerful dad, at that. Not someone you want to get on the wrong side of."

Kar rolled her eyes. "Please. My dad's a retired shock boxer. He's so punch drunk and concussed that he needs droids to find anything that isn't in his pockets. He's harmless."

Crix shrugged. "Still has money and connections. That's not something I want to mess with." Kar laughed, and took a swig of her water. "Not that I'm scared or anything. I could just see that sort of thing coming back to haunt me, you know? One thing you learn real quick in this business is to pick and choose your battles."

"So that's why you threw a decorated military veteran down a flight of stairs?"

Crix stopped. He took a large swig of his beer and turned to face Kar. "OK. First off, that 'decorated military veteran' was my dad. Second, he was a real scumbag piece of slag. Forgets my birthday, never comes to my school's events, never watched my games, but was quick to get his belt if I stepped out of line even once. So I think when he winds up in a wheelchair after he breaks his leg trying to fix our neighbor's roof, I'm entitled to a little payback." Kar nodded grimly. "Oh, and the kicker? Signs me up for the military without ever telling me! So yeah, frag that guy. 'Decorated veteran', my ass."

"So I get to be the one to listen to you vent your anger issues tonight?" Kar asked, kind of innocently. Crix loved to focus on the negative things in his life.

"Hey, frag off. You think it was fun listening to Dar talk about his ex-wife?"

"That's what I can listen to back on the ship."

"Well you're more than welcome to head back there." Crix gestured dramatically with his beer glass, pointing at the door.

"You know damn frakking well I can't leave you here. If you crashed your bike and died on the way back, I wouldn't hear the end of it."

Crix dismissed her concerns with a flippant wave. "Come on, you really think he'd miss me that much? Do you think anyone would miss me that much? I'm a dead man walking. Dishonorable discharge, multiple felony assaults, serial arson, attempted patricide, none of that stuff looks good in an obituary unless it's followed up with the guy who shoots you getting a medal. Face it, I'm not a likable guy."

Kar squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Crix was never happy when he was drinking alone. Sure, he was friendly when he was out with other lowlifes and there were plenty of other vices for him to pick from, but when it was just him and alcohol, it turned into an awkward therapy session. Daddy issues, uncontrollable temper, impulsive behavior, he could never shut up about them when he was alone and drunk. As far as Kar was concerned, Crix had all the makings of a Sith lord, but none of their legendary charisma.

"Look," she said as a saving throw, "you're the only one that psycho droid of yours even remotely respects. So as long as he's gonna be useful, so are you."

Crix rolled his eyes. "Real fragging encouraging there, Kar. Suddenly I am now worth about as much as a second-hand droid I bought from a shady old guy behind a bar. That really makes me want to think of myself in a better light. Hey, maybe you could run for senate, since you've got such a way with words."

The sarcasm struck a note with Kar. She stared into her water, spinning the glass to watch the ice cubes twirl. "You know, my dad actually told me I could be a senator one day. Said the entire galaxy was mine for the taking. Of course, after the Clone Wars and the new Empire he shut up about that. I didn't mind. Never did want to be in the senate anyway. Figure being a prostitute would be more respectable. At least whores actually satisfy the people who pay them." She heard a scoff from Crix. Looking up, she could see him suppressing a smile. "You're not the only one who has issues with authority, you know."

Crix finally gave in and let his lips pull back into a grin. "I'm from Naboo, planet of the boot-lickers. The Emperor himself was born there, so it's easy to see where he got the start. Everyone loves to do what they're told and kiss up to the Queen and the veterans and everyone who fought the Trade Federation. Hell, we even treat the Gungans like they're worth a damn because of that whole war twenty or so years ago."

Kar tilted her head in curiousity. "What's a gungan?" she asked, unaware that she just stepped on a landmine.

"Well," Crix suddenly snapped as if he had already recorded his speech, "let me tell you everything you could ever possibly want to know about gungans." What followed were hours upon hours of stories from Crix. First it was stories of the bizarre, eccentric, and often infuriating gungans, then to his childhood, his antics in the military, and even his days as a miscreant lowlife on Naboo. As Kar listened to his rants and raves about his scummy upbringing, minutes turned into hours. Before long, the bar had closed, and the iridonian upstart helped a wobbling naboo back to a silver airspeeder with a bright red bike attached, ready to head to their makeshift "home" for the night.