On The Outer Edge of The Law || Caij Vanda & Cad Bane
The warmth and humidity of Koboh are just perfect for a Nautolan like Caij to thrive in, the peace and the quiet... not so much.
It got boring, there's no denying it. She'd lost count of how many afternoons she'd spent just dozing in a booth at the saloon– HER booth, because she had long since claimed it for herself, decorated to her liking with some souvenirs from her victories around the planet, ridding the galaxy of a few pests, a blast through an imperial trooper or separatist droid at a time. But even those little hunting trips were sporadic. After all, she's supposed to be lying low. Keeping her head down so it doesn't get shot off.
It's damn near torture. But it's also the only price she's willing to pay for what got her into all this trouble. She keeps having to remind herself that things could be much, much worse. If the Empire finds her, then there'll be real torture involved.
So she waltzes her way back into the saloon, carrying a bag of scrap over one shoulder while she holds a battle droid's head in the other. This one is painted with thin green lines. A nice addition to her collection, as the ones she has are either painted or have a pattern of thick, reddish brown lines. Big black eyes gaze around from behind the wide brim of her hat. The patrons are quiet, more so than normal. There's a certain... odd tension in the air. Something happened while she was out– not a fight, the place's too clean and she wasn't gone that long for it to have been a fight.
But there's a new face, one who stands out like a sore thumb among the regulars, one she recognizes. Cad Bane. Quite a sight to see so far away from– well, from everywhere.
She moves to the bar, drops the bag on the polished wooden surface with a clatter.
"How's the heat treatin' ya, Monk," she greets the droid already working on her drink while leaning against the bar, the steel-covered tip of one boot pressed against the smooth leather side of the other as she gets comfortable.
"Hello, Caij!" Monk answers with that same upbeat-ness and extroversion he does everyone else. His bartender programming preventing him from fearing for his life. "I am happy to inform that I possess a built-in cooling system. I cannot overheat at these temperatures."
Caij snorts, amused. She rests one elbow against the bar and holds the droid head up, looking into its optics, her free hand's clawed fingers tap at the wood in rapid succession: pinky, ring, middle, index, and repeat.
"What's a girl gotta do 'round here to get paid for a hard day's work– where's Greez?"
"He'll be here in a minute. Happy to give you credits for scrap, as usual, for sure!"
" 'course he is." the 'if he knows what's good for him' part of that sentence goes unsaid, but it's implicit in her tone.
There's a tension in the air. One that only begins to fade when she grabs her drink from Monk and moves to her usual spot, having no intention of going after Greez. Caij can wait. Of course she can wait, she's got all the time in the world.
She passes the blue bounty hunter on the way to her booth, tips her hat his way as she goes. He's got a nice hat himself, and a man who knows how to clean up nice deserves acknowledgement, bounty hunter or not.
