Needles to say, Victus was more than thrilled that posh overly uptight ball of a party was over. It was no place for a hardened killer who enjoyed roughing it more than being wined and dined by
Pompous nitwits. The feeling of ripping off that travesty they call a 'suit' and putting on some real clothing, such as his Mandalorian armor, was more than exhilarating. In truth, the beast of a man was amped up. Having to suppress his anger for so long to please his employer had caused him to become a powder keg of fury. If someone so much as looked his wrong he would quickly turn any man in a pool of mush, although he secretly wished he'd cross the Jedi again.
Needless to say when Lord Metus received the invitation to the Cantina by the bouncer, he was less than surprised. A man with his background and stature normally garnered attention. Usually from Amalek's rivals wanting to take his 'crown jewel of muscle' away. Its not that Victus was loyal, the rivals simply didnt offer enough to receive his services. However a feeling had sparked his interest into the man they called 'The Marrus Jahn', so he would see him. However as always, he'd stay on guard. Nothing is worse then a turned down employer if the credits arent right. They tend to make threats they later regret...
As Victus entered the cantina, the place found itself suddenly silenced as the patrons gazed upon the human monster. Victus could only scoff and turn his head slightly to the bartender. "Hand over your strongest liquor."
He told him in his threatening voice. Although the wave of bewilderment shot over the bartender, he stupidly felt as though Victus had to elaborate. "U-Uh, our strongest is the 'Krayt Bomb' but the bottle is 120 credits. Do you want a shot instead?" Victus didnt respond, instead he marched over and grabbed the suddenly sheepish employee by the collar. "Do I look like a man who'll be satisfied with a shot?!"
Woah, point taken. Atleast thats what the bartender thought being point blank into the death glare of Victus.
Nearly two seconds after that, Lord Metus stomped over to whom he recognized as Marruc Jahn with the bottle of liquor in hand, free of charge. Glaring at the business man, he took a quick swig of the bottle while clutching it in hand tightly, the very hands that have choked the life out of numerous poor souls. "Speak!"
He boomed. The power of his vocals could be felt, nearly force amplified should one assume. His glaring eyes turned slightly to left upon hearing the scuffle of patrons hurrying out of the bar but it soon fell back upon the perspective employer. </div>
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