Door opens, and in walks a man. A man with his head bowed, clad in a brown pilot jumpsuit with a newly-sewn patch on the shoulder, one that looks like--well, almost like an abstract version of a bird of prey, wings upswept. He looks preoccupied, but the noise of the bar makes him look up
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Ha ha, Corran. Ha ha.
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"Huh. Bar, dear, did you think I'd just skip out on my tab?"
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Bar's not convinced. The tab remains unchanged. Corran lets out a deep sigh and pulls out his cred card. The tab vanishes, and a Whyren's replaces it. "Much better. Thanks, Bar."
He turns on his barstool to face the young lady. She looks like something out of Coronet City's underbelly with that shocking blue hair, but her demeanor says little of the sort. With a friendly smile, he introduces himself. "I'm Corran--Corran Horn. And you?"
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Metal hands? Not the weirdest thing he's seen this week. But still... better safe than sorry, y'know?
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Where Corran's from, if you can shoot lightning from your hands, that's considered a Bad Thing.
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