Not again. Why does this always happen to me?
Jan'Tar Shen stared down the barrel of the blaster pistol aimed squarely at his nose. The scene was not an unusual one, though it never ceased to amaze him just how often trouble came knocking. What was it this time? The gambling? The flirting with another man's wife? Maybe it was the lavish boasting of his record-setting swoop race. None of that mattered, the result was the same: some hothead with an itchy trigger finger pointing it at his face. Again.
Did I get drunk and tattoo a target on my face? Nah, even trashed I'd never mess it up... too gorgeous. He flashed a smile at himself in the large mirror that made up the wall behind the cantina bar. Too late did he realize that his self-admiration could be taken as a mocking gesture by his assailant. The pistol pushed against his cheek, smashing the skin into an awkward shape. Unflattering, to say the least.
"What're you grinnin' at, Boy? " The voice was rough and hinted at rage behind every word. "I'd wipe that smile off yer face before I shoot it off of ya." How rude. The time had come to remove himself from the situation, and a thrilling escape is just what his fans would be looking for. Wasn't the first time he'd had to jet out of the Grinning Gamorean dramatically, and he knew the regulars expected nothing less.
With a sigh, he slowly raised his hands into the air: one empty, the other still holding on to his glass of ale. At least it's cheap ale this time... Nonchalantly, he put the glass to the corner of his mouth and emptied the contents in a large gulp. At least, that's what he wanted the man to think. Quick reflexes and decision making had always come natural to him, and it always helped to get him out of a jam. Or maybe it helped put him in one to begin with? Semantics.
Inhale. He closed his eyes and took a mental tally of the surrounding room: the man, the gun, the now empty glass, the wife, the two men at the corner table trying not to look, the tables, the chairs, the pretty girl behind the bar with the red hair and the low cut-- Focus! That didn't matter right now... finally the door and his swoop parked just outside. Keep breathing, that's when the rush comes... He let out a long exhale as his eyes snapped back open and before he knew what happened the ale was spitting from his mouth right into the eyes of the man with the gun.
A quick swipe upwards with the empty glass and collapse of his legs and the gun was pointed at the ceiling, while he was crouched down partially behind the table where they had been rolling the chance cubes. Inhale. Air filled his lungs as the table was flipping toward the gunman, knocking him backwards over the chair he had knocked down when he grew violent. Before he finished watching the man fall, he was already moving toward the only exit. With a spin, he began walking slowly backwards through the doorway as he winked suggestively to the wife, who blew a kiss in his direction. He stopped for a moment, trying to decide if he'd like to pursue her again, but was jolted back to the moment by the smoldering blaster shot ringing across the metal wall just to his left.
Breathe, dammit! He exhaled with control as he performed an extravagant bow, pushing himself backwards through the door and out into the night-chilled air of the street behind. Another spin and he was off at a sprint, dashing toward the swoop that he definitely acquired legally. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. By the time he reached his ride he was buzzing from the excitement, the rush of adrenaline giving him almost unrealistic attunement to his surroundings. As he fired up the bike and sped off into the darkness, he laughed out loud. Now that's living!
