The Citadel Cantina is located on the second level of the Arcona Citadel. The bar itself is small on the surface, but possess an expansive selection thanks to a clever servos-operated storage system built into the underside of the bar. A bartender only need punch in what drink they require (other than the typical stock) and within a minute the bottle is distributed transparisteel display panels. Relaxed, soothing music plays over the speakers, and a big-screen display terminal with access to the holonet sits across from a series of comfortable lounge chairs and stools.

The Cantina is full-service and is manned by a gruff, one-eyed Rodian named Mick. Mick is a grumpy, former sergeant who served in the Arcona Armed Forces years and years ago. He goes about his business with a series of grunts, gestures, and monosyllabic dialogue. Though a man of few words, he is a genius of alcoholic beverages and mixology. Mick has a very strict rule about no fighting or brawling within the Cantina. The mess hall, on the other hand, is a different story.

The Cantina opens up into a dedicated mess-hall that can hold up to a hundred sentients before it starts to feel claustrophobic. Open at all hours, the mess-hall has been sanctioned as an acceptable area for members to settle aggressions and other frustrations. The tables are all firmly bolted into the halls floor to avoid being thrown over, and are crafted out of durable material that has held it’s own throughout the years. At the far end of the mess-hall there is a pair of double-doors that lead to the kitchen and storage area. The mess-hall is maintained by a full staff of droids, and occasionally a new recruit who has earned the ire of the Rollmaster. And sometimes even the Rollmaster himself, depending on the Shadow Lady's mood.

That Nerfherder! When I see him next, I’ll… Zujenia growled internally, fighting to maintain the pleasant face she had plastered on for the group of young Novices sharing her table. She smiled slightly to the yapping Pantoran male across from her, his thick glasses left her automatically filing away the potential weakness he will have to train to compensate for. ’Zuji, luv, I have business to attend to, could ya help a lad out and give the kiddos a tour?’ I’ll give him a tour, not like I had my own business to attend too. Probably off drinking with Celevon.

Dark amber eyes wandered away from the youths vying for her attention, well really only two, the rest were getting rowdy while discussing the sparring they had witnessed at the Citadel’s training center. The Half-Ryn’s gaze drifted over the sea of bent heads and torso, the mess-hall filled with Arconans and the din that reverberated from their collective conversations. A long line snaked through the serving aisle and Zujenia gave a silent thanks that the group she was with had not gotten trapped within the procession.

She watched one of the few service droids bumble around the hall, it’s path verged with the profile of a Human female sitting beside her, the Knight’s gaze shifting to the girl. The youth inhaled and, dreading an incoming question, Zujenia shoved a spoonful of the slop before her into her own mouth. It was good, but lacking in the meat department. She put up a tanned finger, an apologetic gesture of ‘wait’, when the teenager asked something about loth-cat videos.

Shiver. A tingling wave of the Force jolted the Knight’s nerves. Instinctively, a hand darted out--grasping the Human’s head and dragging her down alongside her. Above their heads, a large glob of mashed food sailed past, splattering a short distance away. Zujenia sat up to give the wide-eyed, riled novices at the other end of the table a fiery glare. She opened her mouth to give them one of her rare lectures, yet instead of words a loud, ticked-off grumble sounded behind her.

“Rah! Who. Threw. That.” an angry voice hissed, it’s rough tone making the sentence more of a command than a question. Zujenia turned, the white hair on her neck standing up in a mixture of fear and protectiveness. Towering before them was the bulking frame of a Human male, his shoulders set square, dark clothes contrasted by the light smush of vegetable product splattered across it. He waved a silver cylindrical blaster pistol in a controlled manner with his right hand--brows furrowing and the corners of his mouth curling up into a snarl. “Stand up and pay for this mistake.”

“Perhaps...we should talk about this,” Zujenia swallowed as she slid up to stand, her mind flipping through the files Marick had instructed her to memorize. “Rayze.”

Frack! She mentally cursed, her mouth had worked faster than her brain. The Half-Ryn watched the Arconae’s head swivel down at her, his sharp chin locked in rage at the improper address.

“I’ll deal with you too, you disrespectful Consul’s pet!” the Human growled.

Zujenia flicked her hand, signaling to the band of Novices she was babysitting to leave the mess-hall. The clattering of dishware, screeching of metal chairs sliding over tiles, and the echoing sound of several running footsteps filled the suddenly hushed cafeteria. The tables around them relocated to safer seats a distance away, the smarter Arconans heading for the door.

The Knight had a mere moment to shoot a wish of silent thanks to the radius generously given to them--less casualties for the inevitable fight brewing--before the butt of the pistol came arcing down towards her temple. The Force lacing within her tendons, Zujenia swiftly dropped towards the ground. Her gaze watched as Rayze adverted his attention back to the youths, aiming his gun to fire several bolts. Spinning on the balls of her feet, white ponytail whipping behind her, the Half-Ryn launched out a back kick--her heel connecting at a diagonal across the gun’s grip and frame. It would have sent the weapon flying if it wasn’t for the well-timed, firm counter grip the Warlord had with his left hand.

Muscles bulging under his shirt, the Arconae wrenched her to the side, throwing her upside-down into a table. Zujenia hacked, the air escaping her lungs as the edge of the table dug into her back. She collided to the floor and, not letting herself take a breath to recover, rolled across his path to curl her fingers around the metal pole of her electrostaff--pulling it up with her from where it had rested during supper.

Shifting her weight, Zujenia slid her strong side back, knees bending in a deep stance as she leveled her staff parallel to the ground. Dark amber eyes narrowed with fierce protectiveness mirrored by every tensed muscle in her body--loud enough to voice her intentions for her.

I won’t let you touch them.

Rayze supressed a smirk as the Knight he faced adopted a ready stance, clearly willing to lay her life on the line in order to protect a bunch of idiots.

What else should I expect from someone who trained with the Consul.

“You don't want to do this.”

The words were simple, as was the undercurrent of danger that was clear to all who heard the statement. Zujenia's eyes narrowed but she said nothing, her body steady in the face of a stronger foe and Rayze had to respect that. He vehemently disagreed with her stance on the matter at hand, but he still had to respect it.

“Oh come now, I wasn't going to kill anyone. I'm not a monster, despite what some might think.”

That statement seemed to give the Knight pause, her eyes narrowing even as her eyebrow arched up, clearly not sure whether to believe the Warlord's words or not.

“Really?”

A mischievous grin split the Sith's face as he plucked his lightsaber from his belt and thumbed the silver-hued blade to life.

“Really. Bacta does wonderful things to lightsaber wounds after all.”

The anger that flashed across Zujenia's face was swiftly replaced was surprise as she hastily leapt backwards away from Rayze's scything weapon. The silver-bladed saber bisected a table , buzzing with audible menace as it narrowly avoided the rapidly evading Knight. A bark of laughter erupted from the Erinos as he advanced, his chosen lightsaber style a brutal display of raw ferocity as he swung once again. Once more his opponent lithely avoided his attack and Rayze found that, despite his annoyance at being assaulted by an as-yet-unidentified foodstuff, he was actually enjoying himself.

Might as well milk it, it's been quite dull around here recently and I haven't had a worthwhile fight in about a week.

The Sith flicked his eyes towards the entrance where Zujenia's charges were staring wide-eyed at the carnage that was being unleashed upon the Cantina. The fight, along with serving as a welcome distraction from the humdrum tedium that had plagued Rayze recently, but it was also teach the new members that hurling food around a cantina filled with dangerous Force-wielders was a sure-fire way to end up in a fight.

Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, the Erinos took a swift step to the side to avoid an opportunistic swing by his opponent, and he nodded towards the female in acknowledgement even as he brought his own weapon around in a thunderous overhead strike that threatened to reduce Zujenia into a pair of two-limbed parts. The Knight avoided it, dancing backwards nimbly as Rayze glared at her, the expression softened by the toothy grin he wore.

“Come now, are you just going to dance around and dodge all day? You have a lightsaber on your person, I suggest you use it or I'll stop holding back.”

As a demonstration, the young Warlord switched his lightsaber to his left hand and used the Force to grant his limbs extra energy, darting forwards and slipping around Zujenia's guard, striking out as he did so. His fist collided with the woman's midriff and sent her skittering backwards, throwing tables and chairs to the side as she crashed to the ground in a rolling heap. Rayze took his lightsaber back into his stronger right hand and adopted a traditional ready stance, the silver blade casting his face in an eerie radiance.

“Don't lie to yourself and pretend we are equals Knight. Take up the weapon of a Jedi and prove your prowess, and maybe I shall permit you to live.”

Everything hurt. Zujenia gasped sharply as she uprighted herself to a knelt position from the scattered tables and chairs. The piercing pain in her chest informed her of several broken ribs and the unnatural angle of her right arm sent a gripping dread in her stomach, she could only hope that it was a clean break. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she slowly willed the Force to her injuries— an icy river washing over and numbing the pain. Even in her predicament, the Half-Ryn noted to inform maintenance that the table bolts needed tightening.

’Take up the weapon of the Jedi…’

His words echoed in her mind and she gripped her staff tightly. Although it was her specialized weapon, Zujenia realized wielding it with one hand would be difficult. A growl escaped her as she reluctantly pulled out the cylindrical metal hilt. The Knight rose slowly, untangling and stepping from the furniture. She slid her left leg back and raised the yellow blade level to the ground above her head. Her right arm dangled at her side, the lack of which would pressure the Half-Ryn to make up for the lost balance in her maneuvers.

Dark golden eyes burned beneath rough, white eyebrows— determined to live through this encounter— yet, some of the light was fading. Zujenia’s fears ate away at the flame; fear of failure to protect innocents, fear of an early death. She swallowed before nodding to Rayze, beckoning him forward. The Warlord’s amused toothy grin and wicked gaze sent a chill down her back.

The Human launched forward, his silver blade hissing through the air as he hammered it down upon her. Zujenia coiled her saber around his blow, redirecting it to the side with a great deal of effort. The Arconae’s strength was greater than hers, she would have difficulties matching it even in her best condition. The Qel-Droman spun underneath his next outreached arm, attempting to gain ground to travel in— the cluttered chairs making it impossible to retreat.

Rayze growled with seeming enjoyment as he twisted after her, blade whizzing in centimeters before her. He followed up with a series of diagonal raw strikes, Zujenia weaving quickly to block— a whirlwind of movement. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as what strength she had slowly ebbed away, leeched into each deflection of his blows. The Half-Ryn fought the urge to glance around for a way out, for help. The sounds of people rising and scurrying out of the way alerted her to their encroachment onto the edge of their makeshift arena.

Stepping backwards, her heel slipped upon a pile of tossed food. Zujenia yelped in surprise as gravity pulled her backwards, momentum cracking her skull against the tiles. Blackness swallowed her vision for a moment and when she came to the Knight found herself looking up towards the towering Galeren. His saber still lit as he waited, mouth twisted in an joyful malice, for her to regain consciousness.

“You’ve impressed me, girl.” his eyes flashed as his grin deepened. “Too bad your skills lack luster, dimming in comparison to my own. Say goodbye, Knight”

Rayze stepped forward, arms raised above his head— prepared to bring a lethal blow down. Zujenia’s nerves screamed for her to move, the Force tugging at her hands and trying to pull her to her feet, but exhaustion weighed heavy on her limbs. The Half-Ryn’s body shook with each rasping breath, the pain from her broken bones roaring against her with the fall of her concentration. She watched his muscles tense and closed her eyes, accepting her fate.

This is it. Heh, well rather me than one of them youths. Sorry parents, I’ll wait for you on the other side.

A cough sounded within the those seemingly stretched out seconds.

“Excuse me, I think that’s enough festivities for now. Don’t you think, Lord Erinos?” a bubbly and light voice lilted through the silent mess hall, a firm heavy undertone hinting beneath it. Zujenia’s opened her eyes to see Rayze turned towards his right, a frown planted on his face. She tilted her own head towards the entrance with a wince. Standing there in her usual blue, white, and gold garb was Consul Atyiru Caesura Entar. Her matching, braided white hair swayed behind her as the Miraluka waltzed forward.

“Perhaps you should attend to some business, Rayzee, and let’s give the kids some forgiveness. No harm was done to you that a napkin can’t fixed.” She gifted the man with one of her accursed smiles; sweet yet promising of an ill fate if the Galeren touch any of their hairs. Zujenia knew the look to well, usually more of a wicked playful grin during training. The Half-Ryn sighed, letting her head fall back to a resting position— once again closing her eyes.

“I got you, Zujubean.” Atyiru whispered in her ear before the Knight was transferred to a repulsor stretcher, a small whimper escaping her matched by a small squeeze and a proud smile from her Master. Zujenia allowed the creeping darkness to engulf her, beckoning her into unconsciousness

Rayze knew his words had elicited the response that he had been looking for as Zujenia placed her electrostaff on a table beside her and grabbed her lightsaber from her belt, igniting the weapon. The Warlord knew that his strike before would have been more wounding to the woman's pride than her body, but that had been his intention either way. While he normally hated to leave an opponent alive, he knew that this was not a true fight, merely a misunderstanding that need not end in bloodshed.

No need to kill her, but there is a lesson here for her.

The Erinos recognised the Knight's ready stance as the same one he had seen Sashar adopt during their spars, and he knew from that nugget of information that he would inevitably be on the offensive in the coming bout. More than willing to adopt such a role, the young man darted forwards, his lightsaber a blur of silver energy which his opponent batted away with her own weapon. Sparks flew from the clashing blades as Rayze struck once more only to find his attack rebuffed as Zujenia's defensively-minded stance proved effective once more. The game of cat and mouse continued, with the Arconae finding that each time he struck, his attacks were parried away or dodged completely. The Sith worked hard to control his anger, not giving in to the rage and blood lust that normally accompanied him during battle as he kept striking, his probing assaults pushing his opponent backwards as the Knight worked hard to keep up with the more experienced combatant.

“You can't simply defend forever!”

Rayze halted his attack, retreating two steps before stopping and watching his opponent, waiting to see what Zujenia would do in response to his words. The truth was, there was no harm in playing it defensive, and the Warlord knew that it showed intelligence to use such a tactic against a superior duellist, particularly one with such a straight-forward style as he. Nevertheless, he had hoped that his words, in front of a crowd of onlookers, would be sufficient to goad his opponent into abandoning her senses momentarily and going on the offensive. He watched as Zujenia paused as if evaluating his words, before a ripple from the Force alerted him to impending pain. Time seemed to slow as his opponent motioned with her off-hand towards him, and a blast of telekinetic energy flew towards him. Steeling himself for potential failure, the Sith released his left hand from his lightsaber and extended it before him, an overt indication of his actions as he used the Force to nullify the energy that hurtled towards him, dissipating it in to oblivion with his success. The Arconae let out a breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding as he nodded towards his opponent.

“Better. It didn't work, but it showed you've got guts.”

Even as he said this, Rayze realised that his enthusiasm was waning, and he decided that it was time to finish this skirmish so he could go back to his meal. He advanced once more, striking from wide out to his left side and across his body in a brutish attack. The Erinos watched his opponent carefully, and as soon as he noticed the twitch of muscles that indicated Zujenia was moving to parry aside his strike, the Warlord did something that most people would decry as very, very stupid.

He de-activated his lightsaber.

Suddenly, the Knight he was fighting was overbalanced, her own weapon pushed out to the side in an effort to parry Rayze's lightsaber blade which was suddenly no longer there. Zujenia's weapon scythed uselessly through empty air as the Erinos took advantage of her momentary lack of balance and brought his left fist around in a vicious strike that took the woman high in the cheek. The punch was clumsy, but with the Arconae's strength behind it, it didn't need to be pretty as it sent the woman sprawling to the floor in a heap. When she turned her head to rise once more, she found herself face to face with the tip of Rayze's once again activated lightsaber, hovering a mere handful of inches from her left eye. Beyond the weapon she saw the man grinning at her as he shrugged minutely before deactivating his weapon for a final time, clipping it to his belt and offering Zujenia a hand to help her rise. The half-Ryn took it and was hauled to her feet, rubbing at her cheek with her hand as she did so to feel for any damage that the punch might have done to her cheekbone.

“You'll have a shiner, but there shouldn't be any permanent damage. You fight well, but I'd recommend teaching those children you were protecting that you won't always be there to save them from their mistakes.”

Before Zujenia could reply, Rayze had already turned away from her and stalked over to where he had been sat having his meal when the situation had kicked off, only to find his food covering the floor where he had been sitting.

Frak.

The Arconae took a moment to swallow his anger, nodding minutely to himself as if accepting that fate had a twisted sense of humour before storming over to the bar, meeting the bartender's eye and glaring at the man.

“Whiskey. Double. Now.”