Nikoh's new pants whirred rhythmically, no longer was the sound broken by the dust and dirt scraping against the joints. He reached the local bar, an unimpressive building, nothing like the neon giants he used to frequent himself back in the city.
Entering the bar, few patrons looked up from their business - those that did taking no interest in the newcomer, Nikoh hunched himself over in a chair. A seemingly well dressed clakker greeted him behind the bar, "howdy, what can i get yourself?"
Lifting his face tentacles to place a LungBuster, Nikoh lit up and took a long pull. "Gimmie a SoulStorm" Slapping some Moolah on the bar, Nikoh's mind lingered on his hand, his missing finger, and the events that brought him here.
__________________
|