Having a drink or three.

In the lower levels of Coruscant, there's a Cantina. It doesn't have a name. Nor does it need one. Rather, it has a history. A long, dark history. Darker than the drinks it serves. It's a place where people go when they're lost in the forest and prefer it that way. And that's where Jack found himself.

Jasper Cornelius Karstag, also known as Bloody Jack, stood at a rather short height, only five foot six with his boots on. He wore a black trenchcoat with a mesh vest and holster under it, a pair of loose pants with more than a few pockets, and a pair of black boots with a vibroknife stuck in the left one. The holster held two things, a blaster pistol on the right, and a lightsaber on the left, both well hidden by the trench coat. He wore a wide brimmed black hat with a red band, and a pair of goggles around his neck. His face wasn't handsome by any means, but did have an impressive look to it. A couple scars marked his face, and he had a perpetual five o'clock shadow. His eyes were a light shade of brown, almost amber, and his hair looked to have been cut short with a knife.

He sat down at the bar and ordered a Johrian whiskey. The bartender, a Devaronian, nodded slightly and filled a glass with the blue-green concoction. Slowly drinking, Jack sighed in relief. It was the first drink he's had this month, and it's already half over.

There were many things that drew people places: money, honour, grandeur... money... but in Ronan's case it was none of those. After he'd gone through some rudimentary training with Luke Skywalker, he was let out into the galaxy until Luke had a better set-up for training Jedi. So Ronan wasn't very adept with the Force yet or even truly a Jedi, and now he had set out searching for who was experimenting on him for all those years.

So far he had found traces of the "Project Sigma" and that it was once an Imperial research project or something to that effect. So he came to Coruscant in search of answers, and since he couldn't just want into Imperial libraries and the like (he was paranoid) he came to the lower levels.

Ronan entered the establishment dressed rather like a normal person so he wouldn't attract unwanted attention. He may have been looking for answers to seemingly-unsolvable questions, but that didn't mean he wanted to be a beacon. He took a seat coincidentally near the broad-brimmed hat guy and ordered a light drink. After that, he simply listened in on conversations or the news holo, gaining tidbits of information where he could.

"What do you mean replaced!?" Jerak screamed into the comlink. "What's that bucket of bolts got that I don't?" A few patrons turned towards the loud human before shaking their heads and returning to their drinks. "Right, well we'll see who's self-sustaining when that piece of shit ship of yours falls apart trying to make a jump and I'm not there to glue it back together! What, no I know you don't actually use glue I was- hello? Reg? Well fuck you too buddy!"

Jerak stood up and crossed the room, taking an empty stool at the bar. "Give me as much as this'll get me." He said, tossing thirty credits onto the bar. The Devaronian scooped up the credits and poured him a mug of lum before returning to the other customers. The mechanic took a healthy chug of alcohol before turning towards the man nearest him who was busy enjoying what looked like Johrian whiskey. "Hey mate, got a smoke? I left mine back on my ship."

Jack looked the belligerent man up and down for a second. With a tentative brush, he felt the barest flicker of the force in the man. He almost dismissed him entirely, but remembered his ship needed some repairs done, as that last brush with Republic fighters left his ship in a bad state. He didn't expect them to be so close to Korriban, but that was the price of carelessness. His sharp reflexes and skill in the force saw him through in the end, but that was how it was. You fight for every day, or you die with nothing. The weak die. The strong survive. That was the true way of the force.

"Sure." Jack reached into his coat pocket and produced a small lighter and a couple cigarras. The small, silver lighter, like the cantina they sat in, had a story all its own. It was old, beaten, and worn. The inscribing had long been lost, and it barely held on to a bit of gold coloring. He lit the newcomer's one first before his own. "So. You looking for work? I've got a need for a mechanic." This man looked competent enough, even with the temper. And with luck, wouldn't be too squeamish about working with someone like Jack. As long as the creds rolled in.

Ronan's hearing tuned in to the obscenely loud man and he turned to look. The scene before him seemed normal enough: two guys were having a conversation about smoking and repairs, but something wasn't quite right. Ronan rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes,as though he had a headache. He relaxed and then jerked up when he came to the realisation of why it felt odd.

Apparently, the man sitting no more than four feet away from him was a user of the Dark Force. That wasn't so much problematic as much as it was unusual and mildly interesting. Luke had warned the young man against anyone relating to the Dark Side of the force, so Ronan decided to continue taking this cautiously and observantly.

His drink arrived, and Ronan twitched when he saw the glass wasn't completely clean. It wasn't a huge expectation on Ronan's part since he was in the lower levels of Coruscant, but it still gave him pause before he sipped whatever it was. He was no connoisseur or even vaguely familiar with alcohol so the tiny amount in his drink actually choked him up a bit, making him sputter the first gulp and look quite stupid.

Jerak almost choked on his drink as the man offered him a job. "Damn that was quick! Don't you know you're supposed to let a guy grieve a few days before asking him out?" He puffed on the cigar for a few minutes while he waited for the bartender to touch up his near-empty glass.

"What kinda ship we talkin'?" The mechanic could feel an odd tingling in his head, after a quick scratch though the feeling faded. He looked about the room to make sure no one was sneaking up on him, he didn't get odd feelings often and usually paid heed to them when they came. Jerak shrugged it off, everything about this place screamed dangerous and all his credits were in the cantina's lock box at this point so he had little to worry about.

At the sound of sputtering to the other side of him, he quickly took a look before turning back to his new "friend". He was about to say something when something in his mind stopped him. The one choking on his drink had a look to him that gave Jack reason to pause. He quickly stabbed out with his mind and knew he was a force user with some small skill, though very little darkness. But for someone this new to his training to be here, that would usually mean...

"It's a VCX-350, and if you want the job, follow me. I forgot I have some business I must attend to." He stood up and headed for the door. Dammit. If those so called jedi find me here, it could jeopardize the plan. He quickly exited the cantina without so much as looking behind him.

Ronan's mind swirled a bit, but not from the alcohol. He was still outstandingly unfamiliar with the Force and a sudden intrusion such as the one the man near him lashed out with left him momentarily dazed. Once he recovered, he watched the coat tails of the intrusive man flee the building. Curious, Ronan waited for the other man to follow before tailing the pair to see what would happen.

The bartender refilled his glass as Jerak's new potential employer stood up to leave. 'Shit, I didn't even get a chance to finish my drinks!'

"Barkeep, I gotta go!" he said, proceeding to down the rest of his lum. "Cash me out, line up some whiskey." The Devaronian lined up six shots of Corellian whiskey. Jerak looked over his shoulder to see the man exit the cantina. "Cheers, mate!" Knocking back each of the piss-warm shots of golden liquid and turning to leave after the mysterious man in the trench coat.

After a short jog, Jerak caught up to the man. "So what's the rush uh- you know I don't think I caught your name. They call me Jerak, amongst other things, though I'm sure you'll come up with your own before long."

Jack had taken a few turns before he considered the question. It wasn't like this one could do much to harm him with his name only, so he decided to give the truth. "Call me Jack, though most will know me as Bloody Jack." Bloody Jack is a name most don't forget. About twenty years ago, someone rose through the scum of the galaxy using that name. Bloody Jack was the name of an assassin, a smuggler, a mercenary, an arms dealer, a information broker, and a soldier. It meant a lot of things to a lot of people, and it carried with it a reputation. A long, bloody wake of death and destruction.

Twelve years ago he simply vanished. No one knew how or why, but he was gone. A number of people claiming to be Bloody Jack stepped up to take the reigns, but no one was entirely successful. Now he was back, and he had a goal in mind. A destination. And he will see it through come hell or high water.

After taking quite a few twists and turns, he ducked into a side alley that lead into a larger, unused lot. He made his way to the middle and stopped. "Boy, I think you should step to the side. This probably won't end peacefully."

So far it was a lot of useless banter. The name Bloody Jack had about as much meaning to Ronan as the name Dread Pirate Roberts would to anyone else. He hadn't been in the know-things part of the galaxy until recently, so he had little of a basis to go on.

So far his suspicions seemed unfounded, but Ronan insisted to follow at a distance to see if anything interesting would ever happen. After all, when people are force-sensitive, it seems like interesting follows them around.

Jerak stopped walking. 'Bloody Jack? Right, and I'm Queen Amidala! Who does this guy think he is tossin' around a name like that. The only thing it's gonna get him is killed.' The mechanic sighed and rubbed his forehead, "Look mate, you'd be smart not to go around makin' enemies by pretendin' to be someone who's pissed a lot of people off in the past." Jerak was considering turning around to leave when he noticed a strange feeling. Something told him he didn't exactly want to head back down the way he'd come just yet.

He turned his head slightly and began to reach for his trusty blaster pistol which hung from his waist. He could hear faint footsteps heading down the hall though he couldn't yet make out who the person was. "Boy, I think you should step to the side. This probably won't end peacefully." suggested Jack. Whether it was the unknown person or Jack that was about to start a fight, Jerak didn't exactly want to be caught in the crossfire. He moved away from the center of the corridor, taking cover behind a nearby phone booth as the man who'd been tailing them came into view.

Jack didn't have time for Jerak's doubt, he needed to know if the jedi were actively searching for him, or if this was a chance encounter. "I know you're out there, jedi. Come on out, I have a few questions." He waited, arms held loose at his sides. He silently unbuckled his blaster in it's holster with the force, then began to focus his energy. As power slowly crept under his skin, old scars and old bone breaks began to ache. He liked that, as it reminded him he was still alive, still able to stand over the countless bodies he fought through to get to where he was.

"I haven't got all day, Jedi."

Ronan was taken aback by the calling out of his ... presence. It never dawned on the young man that other Force users can detect him, and the odds were that this was a highly experienced one at that. He pulled his coat tighter around his chest (it had fallen open in his stride to keep up) and stepped out into visibility.

"I wouldn't really call myself a Jedi..." he mused aloud. His training hadn't formally begun yet, and the most he could consciously do was move things around like a cheap showman. He finally made it a point to exchange a gaze with the Dark Force user before him and gave a slight, polite bow since a handshake was probably beyond both their comfort zones right now.

"Ronan, at your service," he spoke politely and tried to keep trepidation or hostility out of his voice, "what questions do you have?"