| abstract
| - The Side Deck is one of the few - if not the /only/ - places on Nar Shaddaa that appear downright untouched by the conflict that has been wracking the Smuggler's Moon. The armored and armed guards on the roof probably help. Inside, business appears to be sedate and well-behaved, which is strange enough even before one notices the Horansi sitting at the bar with a large bottle of water. Seyyid's attention is on one of the holo-displays behind the bar which is currently showing a swoop race, though he does occasionally snicker quietly at the odd comment from the bartender. Wandering into the rather secure bar, another form arrives. Having taken part in the uprising in the not too distant past, Tritus has been laying rather low as not to gain any unwanted attention. For, Nar Shaddaa has not been the most pleasant of planets to reside on recently. Yet, it would appear he has come out of hiding, for now he arrives, looking for a good drink. Perhaps it is due to things calming, or perhaps.. he is just out of alcohol. Who is to know? Seyyid certainly isn't. Of course, given the new arrival doesn't earn so much as a glance from the enormous feline, it's also entirely probable that he simply doesn't care. A handful of other people in the bar do look up, though, a few of them watching Tritus with seemingly lazy interest. Like the bartender. The Vaathkree arches a stoney eyebrow towards the man and leans against the counter. "Help you?" "Something strong." comes the rough, coarse voice as Tritus moves over, sitting on a bar stool. Dropping some creds onto the bar, he looks over Seyyid, assessing him as a potential threat, perhaps. Other than the cursory glance, however, Tritus seems to keep to himself, no further words spewing forth aside from those just spoken. The Vaathkree gives a patient sigh before he turns to fetch some Corellian whisky from beneath the bar. The man said strong, not quality, and the good stuff goes to the people who can be bothered to order it by name. "Make sure the tab gets paid before you leave," the barman says wryly before he turns his attention to another customer further down the bar. Only now that Tritus has glanced his way does Seyyid take his attention from the screen and peer towards him, his nostrils briefly flaring. He makes no effort to hide the fact that he's sizing the man up, nor that he seems fairly unimpressed by what he sees, his attention soon moving back to the race. "That one will win," he rumbles dully as a particular swooper is shown. "It's a Starlight. They always win." "Second from the left." comes the human's voice, as eyes flick from the screen to the drink before him. Taking it in one hand, he opens the bottle, and takes a long swig. "Ah..." he murmers after a moment. "Might be crap, but it's better than water." Seyyid glances down at his water with a furrowed brow, then glances over to eye the human's bottle. With a shrug, he finishes his own drink and rises to his full height long enough to reach over the bar and drop the empty bottle into the garbage. No sense in bothering the tender for something so simple. "They have a store on the 88th level, I believe," he muses as he settles back down, waving vaguely towards the screen. "The man works magic with the craft." Nodding, Tritus once more takes in the sight of the screen. Seeming to occupy himself with it anew, a newfound interest it may seem, he takes another pull from the bottle he recently aquired. "If that's true, I just might have to go see him." A wry grin spreads over his lips for but a moment, before it is gone again. "I certainly intend to once I have the necessary funds," Seyyid agrees, chuckling and lifting his attention back to the race with his arms lazily folded atop the bar's surface. "They are not cheap, but one must pay for quality... and they /are/ cheaper than their competitors' inferior craft." The Horansi snorts and rolls his eyes. "It is... a sad state of affairs, when the more reasonable prices and higher quality services can be found here. I was told this place was a dump." "It is." comes the blunt reply, and a snort from Tritus, ere he takes another mouthful. "Only problem is, the slime that live here don't know it yet." Shrugging, he chuckles. "No big deal. No matter where you go, even in dumps, you can always find something good, if you look hard enough." Seyyid makes a thoughtful noise, turning his attention towards the human again. "You should perhaps be careful how you phrase things while still crawling amongst the slime," he rumbles, arching an eyebrow and looking... amused. "I live here." "You're talking to me." he comments with a shrug. "That makes you different." Fixing the Horansi with a sidelong gaze, he grins. "Not many 'round here like talking with me." "Possibly because you call them slime," Seyyid muses, shaking his head in wry amusement. "But I may be wrong. Why, pray, do you suppose that they do not like talking with you?" he asks, the race on the screens forgotten as he focuses instead on the human. "I'm prettier than they are." suggests the human, a shrugs happening to his shoulders. After another moment, he adds, "I don't rightly know, or care really." "You're too scrawny to be pretty," the feline grunts. "Your hair looks greasy slicked down the way it is, and your eyes.." Seyyid gestures with a pair of fingers, holding them together before spreading them apart. "..a touch wide. So it probably isn't that." He shrugs his shoulders. "But it is rare to be liked here to begin with, so I would not dwell upon it unless you intend to stay." "I don't dwell on it." says the human after a moment. "What point is there in that?" Another mouthful of the liquid is had, and he swallows it down. "So, why do you stay here?" "I like it," Seyyid replies, his tone and posture suggesting it's an honest answer. "This place is freeing. As long as you recognize your own strength and weaknesses and respect your limits, there are no restrictions placed upon you but those you accept. Few places can boast such a thing, and certainly not any governments." "I suppose." comes a comment, simple enough. "Guess it works." With a grunt, his eyes turn back to the screen. "It is the natural order in action," Seyyid says with an odd sort of reverance, his own eyes moving back to the screen, though he doesn't seem to be watching it. "The strong and the smart rule while the weak and the stupid fall. It is how it is meant to be. It is.. honest." "I completely agree. The strong and smart rule." he says after a moment, lingering on that thought. He does not seem to be watching the screen, either, merely keeping his eyes trained upon it. "There is another word for it. Birth control." "Quality assurance," the Horansi corrects absently, shaking his head before Seyyid rests his chin in one of his hands. "Though I am curious to hear your logic behind that choice in phrase." "There's only so many peoples the galaxy can contain." Tritus explains simply. "War and conflict are nature's way of ensuring that that limit is not exceeded." he explains. Finally looking over, he adds, "It is quite simple, really." "Ah, you meant population control," Seyyid chuckles, similarly turning his attention back towards Tritus. "I thought you were perhaps considering these conflicts to be extremely late-term abortions. The logic seemed off." "It's the same thing, is it not?" asks he, cool in composure as he regards the Horansi. "Population control is the same thing as extremely late-term abortions. It is merely one's point of view which differs." "Also the science and proper use of Basic," Seyyid says wryly, spreading his large hands. "Abortions are done with purpose. Like a well-planned murder. They affect people. Wars are... chaotic, the deaths are incidental and largely without true impact upon the larger picture." "Though that is where you are wrong." says Tritus. "Wars are chaotic, it is true. But, within wars, there are many assassinations, many planned deaths. Many targets are subdued or eliminated due to a certain design. And wars in their very nature are planned affairs." A flicker of a smile spreads upon Tritus' lips. "Wars do not simply happen by chance. There is always a catalyst, always something that fans the flames. And wars in their being are planned by war chiefs. Tactics and strategy; it is all done with purpose and alacrity. No, my friend. There is little difference in the two." "Wars always /start/ for a reason," Seyyid agrees, but he shakes his head. "And they are planned out in the abstract. But the soldiers who fight them are without names or faces in the eyes of their commanders. They are simply statistics, a means to an end... pawns in the game the commanders are playing. Their deaths are meaningless. Put the commanders in a room and lock the door to determine the outcome and people will be moved, riveted, emotionally involved, but once the numbers of participants rise beyond a certain point, noone sees anything but the numbers. No names, no faces. Just death counts." "Yet, despite the numbers, there is always reason behind it." adds Tritus. "The reason could be as simple as winning the war, but reason there is still." "But the reason is of no consequence to most people," Seyyid replies, smiling lopsidedly at the man. "Take the current galactic conflict, for example." "The reason /is/ of consequence, though. If it were not, they would not be fighting, and if they were not fighting, they would not die. There is always consequence, as there is always reason." answers Tritus calmly. "Hence the qualification in my statement," Seyyid notes, his smile turning into a smirk. "Mind your Basic." "Yet, it is for that very reason and purpose that you claim it is different." maintains the human. For a moment, Seyyid looks vaguely puzzled, as if the tracks carrying his train of thought had suddenly tied themselves into a knot. He shakes his head to straighten it back out, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. "I think you are interpreting my point incorrectly, friend," he says after a moment. "Perhaps we both are doing the same of each other." suggests Tritus with a shrug. "Regardless, it matters little." "Perhaps wasting breath is an enjoyable hobby where you come from, friend, but I like to be understood," Seyyid chuckles, rubbing his nose a moment longer before he lays his hands out atop the bar. "The /reasons/ behind a war matter only to those that actively fight them," he says carefully, trying to explain. "The majority of people - including those at the highest levels of command within such wars - care only of the outcome. The deaths of soldiers are nothing more than a statistic, there is no... emotional response, no true meaning that their passing carries. Between the beginning and the end, there is only meaningless chaos. People only feel something when a war is done and they have either won, or lost." He gestures with one of his hands. "The only reason the Corporate Sector Authority paid any notice to the conflict here, for example, was because a small handful of their people were lost - had it been a larger engagement, a part of an ongoing war, there would have been no special announcements or arrangements. Merely numbers and a somber comment before they moved on to a news story about a heroic puppy." "And is there truly meaning and emotional response by those who recieve abortions?" comes a query from the human. "True, some do give such responses, but others merely remove from themselves a bane, a plague. It matters not that the child within the womb would one day be a grown creature, it matters only that they remove it before it becomes a nuisance. As is war." Turning finally upon the bar stool to face the other fully, he continues. "Some keep track of every casualty. Most, however, do it to remove a nuisance. A growth, another faction for example, that they would sooner eliminate than allow to grow to full fruition." "I think perhaps you have not encountered many women who have undergone such procedures, or you would not have asked such a phenominally retarded question," the Horansi says in an odd tone of voice, eyeing Tritus as if reevaluating him. Whatever the verdict, Seyyid simply shakes his head again and shifts gears. "A single death is a tragedy. A thousand is a statistic. People do not have the emotional capacity to feel that much anger or sorrow or disbelief, it is a defense mechanism... wars are mass murder dehumanized. Without the humanizing element, without the ability to feel something from the deaths, there is no tangible feedback. It isn't any fun." Shrugging, Tritus seems to have lost interest in the whole of the argument. "Fun, no. Purposeful, yes." "Without emotional involvement, there is no /meaningful/ purpose. That is where you are losing your understanding," Seyyid chuckles, shifting to rise to his feet. He casts a brief look towards the screen as a pair of hoots come from down the bar - the Starlight racer has won. "Their swoops are individually crafted and cared for. They always win," he muses simply, inclining his head to the human before he turns and begins making his way towards the storage room. "What can be more meaningful than eliminating an opposing force?" asks Tritus, but the question seems rhetorical, as he once more raises the bottle to his lips, and takes another pull.
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