Memoir: The Great Whiskey Caper
The Great Whiskey Caper
Summary: A backdated scene; Keye and Talisa, friendly rivals, plot the beginnings of what will prove to be a lucrative adventure.
Date: 14 Feb 2011
Related Logs: None
Keye Talisa 
Somewhere in the Outer Rim
A few years ago…

A cantina. It's always a cantina. Dark, smokey, filled with the smell of cheap spirits and bad food, overlaid with whatever music seems cheapest to cover the sound of less than reputable dealings. There's little to know personal space, but there is privacy, after a fashion. But tonight, perhaps not as much as one might hope. The light weight of a body against back and side, the snake of an arm around to set a bottle, not the sort of swill the place usually serves, but something dusty and aged and Corellian, on an empty space in front of the tallish, duster-clad man, "Sorry about that." It's almost become a ritual, between the two freelancers. Whomever wins the job, brings back a souvenir and an apology for the other. No hard feelings, and about as close to companionship either of the two pilots might be capable of. Even 'enemies' can be friends after a fashion.

A wry smirk that reaches his eyes and causes the lines there to bunch, betraying his age and his good nature, as he takes up the bottle with one hand and turns it over, eyeing the label. "I'm not going to /try/ and guess where you got this," the man says, eyes managing to sparkle even in the dim light of the cantina. "I'm not even sure I can pronounce the vinter. Care to share it with me?" He regards the woman sharing personal space with him, that characteristic smirk widening on his face.

"Best not." When you take whatever job comes up to cover the credits you need to get by, you spend most of that time before, during, and after, not bothering with questions and reasoning. "Move." Not angry, not insolent, not threatening, just a single word, softly spoken, which frees up the space to the man's right side, the Duros sliding off and going to find himself more attractive accommodations, "Two glasses, clean and dry," the order to the bartender, as the woman settles in to the now vacant seat, "The last gentleman left in the Outer Rim." Once Tali settles in, her head turns, studying the man now to her left, the hat on the counter.

"I'm not a gentleman; politeness simply prevents me from getting stabbed in the kidneys or shot in the spine." A beat, and a light chuckle. "Well, it at least delays the inevitable." Keye turns slightly to regard Tali with eyebrows raised expectantly and that smile playing on his features.

"I'll take what I can get." Settled in, the glasses delivered, Tali takes her time checking, and finding them clean enough, sets one to each place, before she retrieves the peace offering, cracking the bottle to pour. His first, and then hers, "But if it makes you more at ease, I don't have any plans to stab or shoot you. Tonight." Bottle set back down, still open, "I hear there's a freighter looking to make the trip to Hutt space next week. You thinking about it?"

Reaching out to take his drink, but with fingertips lingering along the lip of the glass as he carefully chooses his next words: "Thinking about it? I've already put in a bid. Although I'm suspecting that I won't get it; my nav-maps in that part of the galaxy aren't nearly as good as certain other pilots I'm always butting heads with." He toasts her with a slight tilt of the glass in her direction. "You?"

"Depends on if the rumours I've heard are true. Seems there's a set of nav maps and course bearings that avoid most of the hotspots being offered up to the highest bidder. I don't know all of the specifics, of course," just the quirk of her lips, "on how one might actually bid for those maps, but it does perk up the ears, doesn't it?" The toast is returned, before she downs the glass one-shot. Enemies, perhaps, competitors, certainly, but there's always this sort of give and take. Neither of them really seems to want to win, at least from the woman's point of view. it's the battle that holds most of the excitement.

"An auction?" Keye asks; his ears would certainly perk up if he could. "Well, isn't /that/ interesting. No doubt stolen or illegally acquired." A beat, as he swishes his drink around lightly, releasing its aroma for him to sniff at. "I'm going to wager it's going to go for more than the both of us can afford," he muses, then takes a sip, eying Tali across the lip of this glass. He's plotting something.

"No doubt." Talisa doesn't reach for her now empty glass, despite the fact that the woman's left it sitting there, all lonely, on the counter. Nor does she reach for the bottle. She does, however, reach out to try on his hat, setting it lightly atop her head. It's too big of course, though it just manages not to fall down over her eyes, and hides most of her face, causing her to have to tilt her head to still be able to see his face, but he clearly still has her attention, "Oh, no doubt. Seems…a right crime to expect people to pay for something that was likely stolen property, doesn't it?"

Keye's eyes, tracking her antics with the hat, widen in surprise and then crinkle in amusement. "See, I was thinking we could call a truce and combine our resources to try and get our hands on that nav data. Now, I suddenly suspect you're going to get me embroiled in some sort of criminal endeavor." He reaches for the bottle, and refills both of their glasses - hers first, of course.

There's something very personal, about a person's clothing. It tells the world who they are, what they believe in, and sometimes, how far they're willing to go. It's why disguises work so well. And why a thing like a hat can hold so much of the person who owns it, "Now we could call a truce, that's true. I've got nothing against it. But from what I hear, the Rodian who has these plans…well, he might not just be asking for credits." Just the slightest widening of her eyes, innocence, well feigned, "Criminal endeavor? A law-abiding citizen such as myself?"

"Not just asking for credits?" Keye begins to shake his head. "See, now you're definitely planning something. And I'm going to get involved, aren't I? I'm entirely too sober to have this conversation," he quips, taking a sip of his drink. He eyes her dubiously, although she still holds his interest - perhaps in more ways than one.

"From what I've heard, he's trying to make inroads into the Hutt's trade in body slaves." Softly said, but with no small amount of displeasure. Still, that eases, not because the woman suddenly doesn't dislike the idea of anteing up a living being for potential profit, but because it's always a careful line to walk, these interactions with the man seated next to her. A hand tips back the hat, though she doesn't return the man's property, "I sincerely hope so, Brolie." And then a smile, a flash of humour, "The night is still young, and your bottle's still full. And I'm not going anywhere." Interest is never really a one way street. Not between these two.

Amusement and good nature flees quickly at the mention of slave-trade. His drink disappears in one gulp; not clearly appreciating the beverage for its taste, but for its kick. "Suddenly, the prospect seems a lot less likely to be successful on our parts. I'm not about to get involved with moving 'livestock' -" a phrase used by less-scrupulous freighter pilots to obliquely refer to moving slave trade; "- nor crossing Hutts or Rodians or any other gangsters interested in such. It's probably not worth it," he lies. The money is always good.

"Just going to finish off your bottle then and call it a night?" Tali's hand reaches up, lifting the hat from her head and neatly depositing it on the platinum blonde's. "I've never before and never plan to trade in livestock." A fact the man would know. And know she's sometimes suffered loss of income for having scruples in a world where less of one means of the other. "Nor do I plan to turn a blind eye to those who do." Again that flash of a smile, but softer, "You don't have to come with me. No harm no foul." But she is going after those nav maps, if for no other reason, knowing Talisa, than to make it as hard as possible for the livestock to be transported.

"How did I know you were going to say that," Keye mutters, peering up as she places the hat back atop his head. Reaching up to adjust how it sits, he gives Tali a glance with narrowed eyes and a small sigh. Something about making a decision in seven heartbeats, he's quick to answer: "I'm in. You share the maps with me, and we'll do what we can to stick it to that Rodian, and cover each other's asses." Eyeing his now empty glass, he says, without looking up, "Well, I suppose we could spend the night planning this ridiculous caper. Unless you had a better idea?"

"Because you know me, Brolie." For better or worse, the man's had her measure since almost the first time they met. Though he at least has had the consideration not to ask her what she's been running from. Why she tries to hard to hide herself in the less savoury elements of the outer fringes of society. "When have I ever not shared with you?" Don't answer that. Or at leastknow she's never failed to share the things that really matter, "I have quite a few ideas, only one of which is planning away for both of us to make it back in one piece." A hand, just that, offered with a hint of a saucy smile, except this time, it's not feigned, an act to keep people from asking questions. "You can bring the bottle."

Keye looks down to the hand, and then peers back up at her face. Smirking, instead of reaching for her hand, he takes the bottle off the bar and places it in the offered hand. "Let's go."

"I knew I liked the way you think." The answer, as the bottle is accepted, and brought in close, more for safekeeping than as a potential weapon, as she starts to push and prod her way out of the cantina and into the open street, away from prying eyes and attentive ears.