Coruscant - Memories of deep thought.

The assassin was tired and in need of a drink so he found himself in a crowded bar on Coruscant famous for its more dangerous customers. If someone looking found him, it would be completely by chance for he had closed his mind completely and hidden his presence as a force user. He sat in a booth alone quietly sipping a clear blue liquid from a small glass. He was a hair on a fence waiting for a light wind to decide what side he would fall into. Right now he was either going to snap and end the life within the bar, or he was going to pass out in the booth. His mind was still very fragile with the memories he retained from before his long sleep. He had almost forgotten the true reason that he put himself in that long sleep. It was not just the memories of killing, he savored those memories. It was not everyone against him after what he had done to his own. No, it was a thought that came to him the days before he decided to fall asleep a thought that tormented him. Was there another path he could have fallowed in his life?

He has no publicly known face so what is the point of a name for people to call him by? His body is thin, but toned mussel lies under his skin which is ash gray in color with dark silver veins visible from beneath and large patches of metallic fiber cybernetics visible all over at least half of his body, except for his face. His face is a bit bony and narrow with thin lips yet he is handsome in its own manner, his eyes solid black with red dot pupils. His hair is strait and falls just over his eyes and consists of mostly white strands with locks of silver and black. His clothes consist of a pair black tightly woven slightly baggy cloth pants held up with a black leather belt holding his personal effects, a black leather vest over a black skin tight long-sleeved shirt. On his hands thin black leather gloves which go past his wrists hug his slender fingers. However, his entire appearance is fully clad under a heavy black cloth cloak with its hood up hiding most of his face in shadow.

Leaning next to him in the booth is a staff made of a black polished metal, and is six and a half feet long. Running up and down it are half centimeter, randomly curved ridges making it easy for him to grip in his gloved hands. Midway up the staff there is a small silver switch hidden in-between the grooves and at the top edge of the staff is a small one foot gap which is barely noticeable. The staff is very heavy, the metal being extremely dense, but when he carries it, it is as if it is a feather in his hands.

Funny how these bars seemed to attract all sorts of scum. Worse yet, they all tried to pull off the same, exact look: Grim, hiding in the shadows with over sized cloaks consuming their shape while they quietly observed... Nothing. Still, these bars attracted Malas because they were great places to find others like him.

Malas had disappeared from the galaxy months ago, perhaps years, and hadn't heard anything about Jedi or the Sith since his conversation with Chaos, so he always wanted to find someone to have a chat with... Or maybe a little fight, who knows?

It was his first time in the bar, but he made himself comfortable by leaning back onto the bar and resting his arms on both of his sides, in a way holding his weight up. He had a drink in his right hand, which had yet to be tasted. His eyes scanned the area around him, and he observed all of the characters that tried to hide their presences from the force. Of course, most of those who did so ended up sticking out like a sore thumb to those who remember what life without the force is like.

Malas fixed his eyes on one character, with the weirdest eyes in the galaxy.

Though he was deep in thought the assassin held true to the reputation any decent assassin would. He kept his notice of everything in the bar primarily relying on his peripherals as he made sure he was fully aware of everything and everyone around him, searching for oddities, advantages, and disadvantages in the present and ever changing situation he was in. One individual stuck out in the bar like he didn’t belong. Anyone that comes into a bar like this tends to keep to themselves and not spend too much time looking at individuals, if they were even to look around, and would make use of the drink in their hand. The one that was sticking out to the assassin wasn’t keeping his eyes to himself at all and had yet to even test his drink. The assassin did not look back at the amateur bar goer but instead frowned as he took another sip of his drink. It was people like this that really nagged at the assassins sanity.

Oooh! Fun! The man had taken notice to Malas' stare, but did not respond in any way at all and simply kept on at whatever he was doing. Malas stood straight, pushing himself from the bar he held the drink up to his lips, but failed to take a sip.

His attire was all too simple, a pair of off-gray cargo pants and a raggedy T-Shirt that must have once upon a time been white, but was now covered in blood, vomit and all sorts of unpleasant substances. Around his waste was a belt, from which an equally dirty lightsaber hung. Arab of race, his skin was dark and his hair was darker; his eyes were a mix between brown and gray. He hadn't shaved in a few days, so fuzz had grown around his face, only adding to his hobo-look.

Taking a few steps forward towards the man, he thought about what this thing may be. When he was a little over 10 feet away, he finally took a sip of his drink... And promptly sprayed it into the air, wetting a few patrons and parts of the Man's Booth.

The instant the drink was sprayed into the air whatever droplets were destined to land on the assassin were redirected in mid air to hit an unoccupied part of the booth without doing much else then turning his head just enough to the rude man who had sprayed the liquid out of the corner of his narrowed eyes. Yes, the assassin had shown his power to harness the force for an instant, but did not use any more of his potential then was needed to keep himself from smelling like alcohol. The others in the bar were not so lucky as to have the gift of the force and most everyone, even those not sprayed with the liquid half stood up in their seats with angry stares at the dark-skinned hoboish man as the sound of charging laser pistols and blasters could be heard along with the sound of unsheathing blades. The assassin grinned and spoke in a cold hiss of a voice with a slight chuckle to the man.

“Looks like you have made friends.”

With that the assassin looked away with a sigh and casually took a drink. Whoever this kid was, he was most likely going to be even more annoying than he had already proven to be, especially with that light saber of his the assassin had noticed.

Yes! The darkside reeked in the air, and Malas took a whiff of it, following it back to the man he had been staring at. As he had guessed, it was this one who was force capable. No wonder his signature was so low, he had been silencing it like a fool.

"Disgusting! How do you pigs drink this piss?" He looked around at those who seemed to have been bothered by his way of disposing of the shitty liquor, however with a simple glance at them they sat down, almost as if they had been convinced through hours of debate on whether or not to stand up to him. Odd.

He took a few more steps towards the man, and stopped at the edge of the booth and looked at him, a thing smile on his face.

"This tastes like shit, and you look like you'd like it." He held the drink out as if to give it to the man, and then chuckled.

"What's your name?"

A single half hearted laugh slipped from the assassin’s lips as he rolls his eyes at the man’s comment about the liquored tasting like piss. He took another sip of the blue liquid in his glass and set it down on the table as he turned his head and looked up at the rather rude man. The assassin looks at the cup for a moment and then glares into the man’s eyes as he hears the question of his name. He responds after a moment of silence in a much more stern voice then before.

“One, you are not worth telling, and two I don’t have one. Nice trick by the way, that whole persuasion trick was really impressive.”

The last part of the assassins reply sounded rather sarcastic, but then again this kid seemed to like that technique of speech.

Hah! Arrogant bastard! Malas smiled a bit more, now, and stared in awe at how things had changed.

"A former Darklord of the Sith doesn't deserve to know a roaches name?"

Malas may have had a youthful appearance, but he was already on his third body. He had switched out various times thanks to contacts in the Wayland Empire's old cloning facilities, and was currently nearing his one hundred and thirtieth birthday.

Moving forward he took a seat in the booth, not really caring whether he had the permission of his 'host'.

This former Darklord was just as much an pompous ass as most of those before him in the past thousand years so it did not do much more then annoy the assassin as he replied with a bored sigh.

“No, no you don’t. And as for the roach comment I suppose I can be related to the creature. I have the basic survival instincts needed to live, which I do quite well, and I am a pain in the ass when it comes to trying to kill me. I like hiding dark corners, and where there is one of me you know that even if you kill me there is another one and many others to take my place.”

The assassin grinned as he picks up his glass again and leans back a bit in the cushions of the booth, taking another sip.

"You're a smart one, eh?"

Malas could tell a lot by a person's way of talking. And so far he was getting a good deal of information about this being's personality, however it was nothing in depth. Arrogant, intelligent and over confident seemed to describe this character sufficiently.

Malas looked over at it, and observed for a few seconds before saying his next sentence.

"I presume you know what's going on in the galaxy? If so, tell."

Was this one serious? Did he really expect to ask something so bluntly and expect an answer in return, especially in the current situation he was in. The assassin raised his right thin eyebrow as he shook his head a bit and took another sip of his drink. It was always good to play dumb in this type of situation, and playing dumb was all to easy when the occasion calls for it.

"I will be honest, I have no idea what is going on out side what I have personal observed, which is nothing worth talking about."

He knew what this man was doing; any assassin would. Every movement, every noise, every habit one exhibits adds to the equation that ultimately equals who they are and how they will react in different equations. Four or five characteristics isn't so bad but to many gives the one who knows them an advantage over the individual they know about. The assassin thought it best to keep his reactions as random as he could, adding in small expressions that meant nothing here and there as he spoke.

(((Closed for now)))