"Sure you don't wanna join in?" Meryik - a Zeltron with skin so pake he was pink - asked, shuffling. "Cards are hot tonight..."
"Naw," Sharn laughed, throat-crest rippling with the sound. "You so don't want old Quinn there in the game. He's a wizard, he is."
Quinn Hale laughed as well. He was a man who seemed to have been designed to blend into a crowd. Handsome, but not distinctively so, with hair too dark to be called blonde and to light to be called brown, and eyes that were either blue or green depending on the light. He wore a khaki jumpsuit, well- laundered but still marked with faded oil stains, and scarred black boots, and a utility belt with a blaster and a vibro-knife and the hilt of a mass-produced lightsaber. "Hardly a wizard," he chuckled.
"God-damned luckiest merc I've ever met," Sharn replied, waving at the saber. "And there's that thing..."
"What, my saber?" Quinn rolled his eyes. "Yeah, 'cause I'm clearly a Jedi, slumming it on Mustafar with my AdascaTek L322 'Cutmaster' here." He patted the weapon. "Just like I was a Jedi last night, over at the Velvet Spire, and..."
"Why do you pack a saber?" Meriyk asked, dealing the cards. "It's a bit... eccentric, after all."
Quinn shrugged. "I'm good with a blade, ain't I. And it cuts through damn near everything." He smiled thinly. "And I never cared much for a fair fight." Just then, his wrist beeped, and he checked the display. "And I gotta go, boys. Have a drink on me." He tossed a fistful of dactaries on the table as he rose.
"Business?"Meriyk asked, idly curious.
"Depends on how you define it," Quinn laughed, tossing down the last of his drink. "Remember that blonde from last night?"
Meriyk frowned, then nodded hesitantly. "Shade. No, Shadi. The gymnast with the rack?" He grinned as the memory returned. "Business then? Or pleasure?"
"Bit of both," Quinn laughed, heading for the door. "Bit of both."