Kijimi City was crawling with paranoid First Order troopers knocking down doors and harassing civilians on the streets after what had transpired earlier in the day. Zorii was keeping out of sight, sticking to the alleys and darting through their heavily patrolled jurisdictions as she made her way to Babu Frik.
She took a glance at the sky and noted the position of the sun peeking through the white cover of clouds overhead. It was nearly midday, from the looks of it. She cursed. Had she been unconscious for that long?
She peeked around a corner, making sure there were no troopers in sight, before running forward and vaulting over the two stairs that led into the alcove where the heavily frequented bar, Spice Runners’ Den, was located. When she entered the dark but vibrant establishment with its green and blue lights casting the space into a nightclub feel she felt, for the first time that day, safe.
The bar was expectedly crammed with individuals, some familiar and some new. There were a few nods in her direction or curious peers from those wondering who she was. An old friend, a dark Zabrak woman with long hair dyed a stark red color named Charn, spotted her from the other side of the bar and exclaimed loudly, “Hey sis!” as she held up a neon blue drink in salute.
Zorii held up her hand as way of greeting before making her way into the back of the bar where Babu’s workshop was located. A shifty-looking fellow with copper skin and tattoos painting his entire neck and parts of his face into a mess of colors and designs was leaving the workshop, a scowl twisting his face into a picture of contempt. He glanced at Zorii with particular disdain before stomping past her. She watched him disappear, her thoughts racing.
What was he so mad about? she thought to herself before entering the workshop. Continue reading “Zorii Bliss: A Day in Kijimi: Chapter Eight”