Dante leaned back in the chair, ignoring the ominous creak from the durasteel alloy legs. His Katarn class armour alone weighed twenty kilograms, and he was somewhat surprised that the chair hadn't collapsed under its weight. Still, the Drunken Spacer bar was probably used to unusual clothing statements from its patrons, and had adjusted accordingly. Everywhere Dante looked, he saw the glint of body armour or holstered blasters. He wasn't even the only one with Katarn-class armour: he saw what looked like a Trandoshan in a repainted and heavily modified suit of the commando armour.

Dante blinked, glancing at the level of liquid remaining in his glass, then looked again. The lizard was still there, sipping some unidentifiable blue liquid from a glass. Shaking his head slightly, Dante returned to his drink.

A trando in Katarn armour, of all things. Now I've seen everything...

The ice clattered on the bottom of the glass as Dante drained the last of the nectar in a single gulp. Licking his lips, the trooper got the attention of the drink server, an aging WA-5 service droid. It turned its neck completely around and addressed Dante even as it served drinks to the table behind it.

"Kee ku yocola?"

Sighing to himself, Dante replied in Huttese, his voice becoming sore from the attempt to replicate the more guttural syllables.

"Mee yocola..." Giving up after a few seconds of trying to remember the Huttese word for nectar, Dante finished the sentence in basic.

"...another Felucian Nectar."

"Frenkini.."  the droid stuttered mid-word, beeped a paragraph or two of droidspeak, then finally reverted to basic.

"Away, sir. Would you like something else?"

Dante simply stared, and the droid broke eye contact after a few seconds before spinning around and rushing rather fast for the back. Massaging his throat, the gunnery sergeant replaced his glass on the battered table, muttering about malfunctioning vocabulators and cheapskate bar owners.

OOC:

Have fun with the (somewhat) multilingual service droid.
Your turn, Jago.

"Di'kutla  beskar'ad!" Dante spat as the partly functional droid as it clumsily tried to stagger past his table and instead slammed full on into it. His glass of nectar skidded an inch across the durasteel surface and came to a precarious stop with almost half its base above nothing but air. That was when the droid's previously outstretched arm
(writing)