Star Wars

Han Solo took another sip of space whiskey and scanned the room. Work had gotten dry since the empire was disbanded. For a few months, he and Chewy had stayed with Leia, but he couldn’t be on the same planet with either of them anymore. The way she played with that Wookie’s hair, right in front of him. He felt sick thinking about it, or maybe it was the homemade hooch. The empire had much better manufacturing. Say what you want about tyranny, but it makes good business.

“Is this what I fought for?” he said with a smirk. He wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, but he wanted the girl next to him to hear. She was cute. A few more eyes than he usually went for, but just the right number of tentacles. “Hey beautiful, where you from?” he asked, and she laughed coquettishly from one of her mouths and sneered from another.

These Targol System girls always gave mixed signals. He remembered something Luke had taught him.

“You want to come back to my motel room.”

She slapped him with one of her tentacles, and caressed the mark with another. She wrapped one tentacle around his thigh and another around his neck. “Easy, toots,” he said, but she wasn’t done. She threw him to the floor and dissolved his clothes in her acid secretion. With deliberation, she covered his sore and stinging body in her stickers, chewing softly against him. He wasn’t sure if he was being kissed or eaten, but he was uncomfortable either way.

“Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to force myself on you,” but he wasn’t and he had and these Targol System girls could tell. They were a race of contradictions, but a race without secrets.

#bar, #embarrassing, #han-solo, #microfiction, #pos, #pua, #puns, #targol


Now that he was employed in a meaningful way, Douglas was fairly certain that he was supposed to find a bar to frequent.

He wasn’t sure where the idea came from, as he didn’t much like the taste or associated sensations of alcohol, but he liked the bar concept. The young professional persona he had claimed required this sort of urban leisure. He saw himself checking in after a long day, ordering the usual and chatting with strangers. The bartender would listen at a distance, polishing a glass, occasionally offering working class insight.

He stepped into the first place he found that didn’t seem too crowded. A young man about his age was reading poetry into a microphone, but that stayed on its side of the room. At the bar, all he could hear was some down-tempo electronica and private conversations.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you around here before,” the bartender said as she came over. She had a playful face. She kept her head tilted sideways, as though balancing the piercing on the side of her nose.

“Hi, I’m Douglas. I think you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

“Oh, right on. Looking forward to it.”

Shortly after he had a drink in his hand, she was too busy to talk.

He waited. Sometimes she noticed him and made a weary gesture, which he appreciated.

“Come back and see me,” she said, handing him the bill. “I’m here Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.”

She lifted her hand to him in a way he wasn’t sure what to do with. Feeling bold, he kissed it. He leaned over the bar to do it, and he saw some faces grimace. They were jealous.

A beautiful barkeep liked him. Maybe he’d get free drinks.

He felt extraordinary.

#bar, #bartender, #dramatic-irony, #embarrassing, #idiot, #important-titles, #microfiction, #puns, #yuppies