Phong's Head Cantina [TM] - Starfury Sector (A Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy)

[General Woundwort]

Woundwort reclines in his office chair, the telltale aroma of fine Cuban tobacco wafting through the air. Things have been pretty quiet in the Cantina lately, though a few regulars and background extras still mill about on the main lobby.

Still, the peace and quiet are welcome after the Last merc run. The good ship Red Barchetta is now in the shop, getting an upgrade to Level 16 Tachyon Cannons.

"...and I think I've stockpiled enough to pay off the Boss, too. All in all, the Xiati Empire has been good to me. I must send them a note thanking them for making their ships such easy prey."

"Excuse me, sir, but you may not need to pay off that loan."

Woundwort starts from his reverie, and focuses on his droid flunkey.

"Sancho, have you been guzzling down that heavy-grade droid oil again? Not pay off Growltigger? Do I look suicidal to you?"

"Take a look at this, sir..."

Woundwort snatches the newspaper clipping from Sancho's mechanical hand. The headline grabs his attention like a magnetic clamp...

PHONG'S HEAD CANTINA IN CHAPTER 11
FAMOUS BEIRKELLER CLOSES DOWN
GROWLTIGGER DEPARTS FOR REGIONS UNKNOWN



Woundwort sinks back into his chair, reading the clip in disbelief, the Cuban corona smouldering in the ashtray completely forgotten.

"Does this mean... that you're the Boss now?" Sancho asks.

Woundwort thinks on that question, long and hard. Legend has it that disputes over the ownership of Phong's Head cantinas in the past led to the destruction of entire solar systems. All the legends agree that Growltigger is not a being to be crossed. But... closed down... Growltigger disappears...

"For the moment, Sancho, we act as if nothing has happened. Operations go on as normal. But put me in contact with a good lawyer, and get me all copies of the ownership and mortgage contracts for this place. Soon."

"Yes, sir!"

Sancho clicks his heels and departs. Woundwort restarts his cigar, renders the outer wall transparent, and stares off at the skyline of Starfury, meditating on possible futures, good and bad, over the scent of a good cigar.

[ October 21, 2003, 15:26: Message edited by: General Woundwort ]

[Growltigger]

The door to the cantina opens for a second, the patrons all turn at the bLast of cold air that fills the room.. the door closes, and the patrons turn away at the tall black clad figure standing inside the hallway. Something intrinsic tells them that this is not someone to stare at, especially when they pull out a pump action handheld maser cannon, a large scimitar, and a large tartan sock with a half-brick in it being gently swung in ever decreasing circles...

A low growl sounds through the room and a quiet sibbilant feline voice asks "where is the proprietor of this establishment? tell him his nemesis awaits, tell him that hell hath no fury like a lawyer due his fee"

[General Woundwort]

From one of the side turbolifts, a large forklift droid emerges. The front of it is stacked with numerous crates which, upon examination, are filled with bars of certified gold-pressed latinum.

The unmistakable scent of a cigar wafts down from the third floor balcony, adding to the tense atmosphere. Woundwort is standing there, looking down on the Boss with a calm look on his face.

"The legends prove true - as I anticipated them to do so. The full amount is there, with interest. You may have no doubts on that score.

So, Boss, now that you're here, perhaps you'd care to have a drink?"

[ October 21, 2003, 19:26: Message edited by: General Woundwort ]

[Taz-in-Space]

A rather large and hairy individual watches (and FILMS) this historic meeting discretely from a nearby shadowy corner. A grin splits the massive face, as he considers what the news services will pay for such a recording! (This grin allows his eight inch fangs to show briefly - which prompts several of nearby patrons to give him a
little extra room, just in case.)

Taz notices several glances from the other customers toward the newly-arrived 'payment'.

Perhaps there might be some action to record as well!
Taz waits...

[Growltigger]

Growltigga claps his hands, and a squad of rather attractive young ladies in miniskirted business suits run into the fake cantina, all clutching their calculators, slide rules and PricewaterhouseCoopers badges.

"Yes Woundwort, I will have a bottle of Sun and Planet whilst my accountants assay and verify the payment. If it is sufficient, then fine. If not, the red hot poker hand cannon has not been consigned to the fiery depths of the cantina, and as I recall, I dont believe your backside has ever had 9 inches of red hot titanium stuffed up it at speed!"

You have been warned

[General Woundwort]

Come come, Boss, do I look that foolish? I would have been a fool not to at least review our contracts when the news of the Home Cantina's closing reached me - and I would have been an even bigger fool to count on your totally disappearing! You would have done the same thing in my shoes, I have no doubt.

BTW, now that you're here, you can review and approve the loge we built for you (points towards the large titanium-plated object floating over the bar/grille island).