Things were not going well. That much, Arran Fyve, or just Fyve to most people that knew him, had figured out.
He had just been fired from his job as a bouncer at a rival cantina the previous day for 'unnecessary' violence.
My ass, he thought. That Trandoshan woulda killed that guy if I didn't hit him with a stool. Granted, he probably did not have to hit him six times, but once that adrenaline gets flowing . . .
Fyve took another drink of his alcoholic beverage, and looked at the glass. He didn't even know what was in it. It was probably better that way.
He'd tried to get a job here before word got around, but he wasn't fast enough. They turned him down too. Now he had a tough time trying to think about what to do. Drinking sounded good for now. And after . . . Well, right know he didn't want an after. Throwing his weight around was really the only thing he knew how to do well.
Inexplicably, he found himself listening in on the conversations that were going on in the dark, musty place.
There was a fun-looking card game going on to his left, someone said something about a political scandal, and he thought he heard murmuring about a bounty on The Governor. That sounded interesting.
He'd heard stories about bounty hunters, but dismissed them as fantastical tall tales. He knew they were real, but didn't think too much about it. Someone paid someone else to grab who or what they wanted. Pretty simple. Now, he was seriously considering it. This would be a great chance to grab a lot of money in one go. How hard could it be? With that kind of money he could easily find a profession. Whatever he desired.
With a last swig of 'Correlian Brew', Arran Fyve set his cup down and stood up. Now, with a serious sense of purpose, he strode over to the card table.