Sole was still a free man. Well, as free as he might ever be. His last run in with the bounty hunter had left him reeling; he was confused, not only by her actions, but by his own as well. He’d never opened up to anyone, spoken with such clarity and assurance on anything so personal; and all she’d done was ask him a simple question. It frightened Sole to think that he was losing control of the situation, but like the captain he was, he gathered his wits back about him, and he went on with his mission. He was lucky that recoil had been around to help him get free of his embarrassing confinement; he still bore deep rooted lacerations around his wrists, bound now by white bandages, that were certain to leave very noticeable scars. His shoulder still ached painfully if he moved too quickly or turned a certain way, but he learned to ignore and live with the pain, as he always had. The physical wounds would fade with time, but his doubt and his confusion seemed a near constant and permanent fixture in his life.
He was doubting himself, something he’d never done before. And it wasn’t Astraea’s strange abilities or her inhuman speed that had him second guessing; it was her words. Sole had been desperately trying to wrap his head around her motives, the reasons why she didn’t kill him, or why she continued to prolong the hunt. It didn’t make sense, and like all things that didn’t make sense to him, it baffled and infuriated the man like a thorn in the backside. So like any smart man, Sole left the rickety little apartment he’d come to call home for the time being to drown his confusion in…juice. He chuckled as he leaned against the table, staring into the dark glass of Muja juice. He sincerely doubted other men drowned their sorrows in juice, but he was the rare exception. Besides, alcohol was a pointless and frivolous concoction that turned even the best of men into drunken idiots and dulled the senses.
Sole glanced up as a Twi’lek waitress sauntered towards his table, smiling brightly. He was taken aback by the vivid red of her skin when she leaned in close, her eyes flashing a brilliant blue as she moved to refill his cup. “This all, honey?” she asked, clearly wishing she could visit his table more often. Sole merely smiled back, waving his hand dismissively. “Yeah, thanks, sweetheart…But I may need a refill sometime soon, so if you wouldn’t mind coming back by…?” He trailed off, raising a suggestive eyebrow, and the Twi’lek giggled, clearly flattered by the attention. “Of course. Anything for you, handsome,” she twittered, running a hand along his arm before sauntering off to wait on another table. Sole shook his head, chuckling softly to himself as a slow shiver ran it's way up his spine. Apparently, you could get quite a bit if you just knew the right words to say.
He lifted his gaze from the refilled glass and towards the door of the bar. The music was loud, shimmering lights lighting up the dance floor as the beat pulsed and boomed in his ears. The table he’d chosen was relatively dark, the light unable to reach his seat. Sole liked it that way; it drew less attention. Of course, he was hard pressed to escape the attention of the Twi’lek waitresses, who flashed him a smile whenever they passed or made sure to stop by his table whenever they had a spare moment. He swore he’d had about five cups of juice so far. In truth, the attention of so many females both baffled and frightened him. He didn’t know how to react to their advances, and he wasn’t sure if anything he’d said was proper or respectful.
What did normal men do in these situations, Sole wondered, as he waved shyly at another waitress who passed by, twittering happily when he glanced her way. He didn’t think he was all that good looking, so what was it that drew them to him? He frowned contemplatively, his eyes drifting to the door, then to the bar, and then to the dance floor where a few brave strangers were dancing the night away. Sole sighed, and placed his head in his hands, grumbling quietly to himself. His life was full of complications, and one puzzle after another. He was finding it difficult to pick them apart, and his lack of focus and concentration was beginning to frighten him. Maybe the waitresses had spiked his drink; he didn’t know. All he knew was that he needed a night of rest after trying for weeks to figure out what was wrong with him, and all the problems he was facing.
[16]