milliways_bar | (no subject)

Plourr has a booth under the observation window, her boots on the seat opposite. She also has a small container and a rag, along with a mid-sized blaster, which she is currently engaged in methodically taking apart and oiling. Spent power pack off to the side, spring coil tipped against the half-empty mug of ale, and the rest of the parts set out in two perfect lines in front of her. The bacta patch that she has been wearing is nowhere to be seen and she moves her arm with little hesitance; it'll be time to go home soon. Another day or so and she'll be able to pass off the injury as an old scar.

She isn't entirely engaged in her task. She pauses every few minutes to look around the bar or, more regularly, to get lost in the view out the observation window. There's a thick streak of black oil just above her eyebrow that someone might want to tell her about, though it's debateable whether or not she'd mind its presence.

[have just been struck by sudden bout of illness, and, with a million apologies and promises for slowtime, i am gone.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, lets see... there is a bald man in Jedi robes watching her work.

Plourr has always had a sixth sense when it comes to other people's eyes on her; it's not long before she glances up. She takes in the robes with one sharp look, and then she nods to him.

Mace nods back. "Greetings."

" 'Lo," she says, neither friendly nor hostile.

"I am Mace Windu." A polite start.

Plourr is perfectly capable of being polite, too.

When she wants to.

"A pleasure, Master Windu." There's a little bit of a question to her voice as she says it; she's not entirely sure if master is the correct honorific. "Princess Isplourrdacartha Estillo." Because if you can't use the full title when you want to, what else is it good for?

"An honor to meet you, Princess." A slightly deeper bow, with respect, but no excess. He is a diplomat, of course. "May I ask from wich world you came?"

She doesn't bow or curtsey, but she does take her feet off the furniture. "Eiattu IV. It's small; in the Eiattu system."

Mace nods, another person from his universe... "I came here from Coruscant, but I was born in Haruum Kal."

"Haruum Kal," she repeats thoughtfully. A moment passes as she polishes the barrel of the blaster, then she shakes her head. "Can't say I've ever heard of it."

"It is the first world of the Al'har System. Indeed it is not famous or well-known by most."

The response draws a small smile from her. "Neither is Eiattu."

"True. Even in my travels as a diplomat, I did not go there more than once..."

Her smile broadens, surprised and pleased. "You've been to the Eiattu system?"

"Once, a diplomatic envoy for the Senate. It was a brief visit, but interesting."

~~Because I'm weak and really can't go very long without a Plourr thread.~~

Maybe Plourr recognizes this vampire, short, vaguely underweight, and cheerful. Maybe not.

Mal drops down into the seat across from her, and grins.

"Hey."

There is a long moment in which Plourr clearly doesn't recognize her; she squints at her with a slightly disgruntled (Mal almost sat on Plourr's feet), distinctly, 'hello, who the hell are you?' expression. Then she remembers a conversation and impossibly fast movement.

"Hey yourself."

Mal picks up one of the parts, and fiddles with it.

"What's this?"

"The firing mechanism for my blaster." She spits her with a sharp look. "Don't touch the end."

Mal obediently drops it back on the table.

"So what's it do?"

"When you put the whole thing together, it's a blaster. It shoots people."

"Neat."

Fiddle fiddle fiddle.

Plourr nods wordlessly and sets down the part in hand and picks up the firing mechanism. She dips the rag in the small pot of black liquid and sets to oiling the part, apparently unaffected by both the fiddling and the silence.

Silence is boring.

"How're you?"

"Fine," she says shortly. It's a moment, but she does eventually say, "You?"

"Pretty good."

She's got excess energy, but that goes without saying.

"That's nice." She doesn't look up from the blaster part.

Stupid boring person.

Mal kicks her under the table.

Plourr starts and her head snaps up. "What the kriff was that for?" she snarls.

Mal blinks innocently.

"I beg your pardon?"

Mal is treated to the blackest of looks for a moment, and then Plourr settles back to cleaning, posture stiff and annoyed.