(no subject)
“I hope you rot, every one of you!” Atton leant away from the screaming old Duros as he bellowed directly into Atton’s ear. He went as far as to take two large steps away as he immediately began hacking and spluttering, showering some blend of mucus and blood onto the nearby ground. Atton grimaced, a little, as the Duros returned to yelling. “Mark me well, human. This time ... this time you’ve all gone too far. ”
“Could you hope a little more quietly?” Atton winced slightly, rubbing his ear. The Duros gave him a sour look, rubbing his hands together and coughing into a hankerchief, wiping it on his tunic and leaving a red smear. Atton mouthed a silent ‘ew’ and took another step away.
The Duros stumbled after him, wrapping one arm around Atton’s shoulders and hanging off him, looking Atton up and down and spitting. His aim was off, and even as close as he was, it just hit the nearby wall instead.
“Don’t think we don’t notice you humans, always looking down on us. You must all hate Nar Shaddaa, there are loads more of us than there are stinkin’ humans. Zabraks are just as bad.”
“Of course they are.” Atton agreed, shoving the Duros off and watching as he stumbled into the wall. “Mind telling me what you’re talking about, or should I just move on?”
“The plague, of course! Where’ve you been the past few months, eh? Eh? Or did you just not notice?” The Duros barked a laugh, spraying saliva (and thankfully, Atton noted, only saliva) in Atton’s direction. He ducked out of the way. “Don’t suppose you would. Don’t suppose it matters to you.” He produced a bottle of ale, seemingly from nowhere, taking a long drink from it. “It doesn’t target humans, you know. Or Zabraks. Even Twi’leks are safe, all of the ones that are human on the inside are safe, and they can just sit back and watch. And laugh - I, I know you’re laughing at us.” He waved the bottle severely.
“And you know what’s the great thing about it? It’s so, so easily curable. But you know what they say, there’s never enough medicine to go around, and the prices have skyrocketted. After all, people are hacking up their insides, dying. They’ll pay all their savings for the drugs to keep them alive.”
“And you know what they’re saying, don’t you? They’re saying it’s engineered. That some filthy, stinking human kriffing designed this disease. You lot are trying to wipe us all out. Just like you always do, eh? You hate everything that isn’t human, the lot of you! Kriffing speciesist-things.”
Atton listened to the rant with only a vague interest. Diseases were hardly anything uncommon on Nar Shaddaa. His interest perked, slightly, enough for him to look at the Duros, when the possibility of it being man-made was mentioned.
Any interest passed quickly: “People are always saying that. Somebody has a cold, and you’re all convinced it’s biological warfare.”
The Duros chuckled, nodding in agreement.
“So true, so true. But maybe this time, the rumours are right, you hear?”
“Could you hope a little more quietly?” Atton winced slightly, rubbing his ear. The Duros gave him a sour look, rubbing his hands together and coughing into a hankerchief, wiping it on his tunic and leaving a red smear. Atton mouthed a silent ‘ew’ and took another step away.
The Duros stumbled after him, wrapping one arm around Atton’s shoulders and hanging off him, looking Atton up and down and spitting. His aim was off, and even as close as he was, it just hit the nearby wall instead.
“Don’t think we don’t notice you humans, always looking down on us. You must all hate Nar Shaddaa, there are loads more of us than there are stinkin’ humans. Zabraks are just as bad.”
“Of course they are.” Atton agreed, shoving the Duros off and watching as he stumbled into the wall. “Mind telling me what you’re talking about, or should I just move on?”
“The plague, of course! Where’ve you been the past few months, eh? Eh? Or did you just not notice?” The Duros barked a laugh, spraying saliva (and thankfully, Atton noted, only saliva) in Atton’s direction. He ducked out of the way. “Don’t suppose you would. Don’t suppose it matters to you.” He produced a bottle of ale, seemingly from nowhere, taking a long drink from it. “It doesn’t target humans, you know. Or Zabraks. Even Twi’leks are safe, all of the ones that are human on the inside are safe, and they can just sit back and watch. And laugh - I, I know you’re laughing at us.” He waved the bottle severely.
“And you know what’s the great thing about it? It’s so, so easily curable. But you know what they say, there’s never enough medicine to go around, and the prices have skyrocketted. After all, people are hacking up their insides, dying. They’ll pay all their savings for the drugs to keep them alive.”
“And you know what they’re saying, don’t you? They’re saying it’s engineered. That some filthy, stinking human kriffing designed this disease. You lot are trying to wipe us all out. Just like you always do, eh? You hate everything that isn’t human, the lot of you! Kriffing speciesist-things.”
Atton listened to the rant with only a vague interest. Diseases were hardly anything uncommon on Nar Shaddaa. His interest perked, slightly, enough for him to look at the Duros, when the possibility of it being man-made was mentioned.
Any interest passed quickly: “People are always saying that. Somebody has a cold, and you’re all convinced it’s biological warfare.”
The Duros chuckled, nodding in agreement.
“So true, so true. But maybe this time, the rumours are right, you hear?”