Coruscant
Underworld Ink
Coruscant was a dirty city in places, not as nice as where he kept his club on Zeltros. Why anyone would live on Coruscant was beyond him. The Zeltron smuggler was a bit particular about certain things, and appearances were one of them. He had to be. The man dealt mostly in the spice trade, and his club was the front for all of it. His motto, the question which he always asked, what's your vice. The Violet Blue was a place to get any vice sated whether the service was provided directly or indirectly.
So why was Avalon waking into a tattoo parlor on Coruscant? Work. The smuggler had picked up a contract to smuggle a scientist out of Rendili without getting noticed. This meant he wasn't working alone. Some contacts recommended the services of a tattoo artist. Apparently she was good at more than just body ink. Avalon would be the judge of both. Why not get a tattoo?
Booted feet carried him into the parlor, his pheromones announcing his entrance to any females close enough to be affected by them. Skinny jeans with the cuffs rolled at the ankles covered his bottom half, while a simple tshirt and black leather jacket were affixed to his top half.
"Looking for the owner, she in," he asked the twi'lek behind the counter.
Underworld Ink
Coruscant was a dirty city in places, not as nice as where he kept his club on Zeltros. Why anyone would live on Coruscant was beyond him. The Zeltron smuggler was a bit particular about certain things, and appearances were one of them. He had to be. The man dealt mostly in the spice trade, and his club was the front for all of it. His motto, the question which he always asked, what's your vice. The Violet Blue was a place to get any vice sated whether the service was provided directly or indirectly.
So why was Avalon waking into a tattoo parlor on Coruscant? Work. The smuggler had picked up a contract to smuggle a scientist out of Rendili without getting noticed. This meant he wasn't working alone. Some contacts recommended the services of a tattoo artist. Apparently she was good at more than just body ink. Avalon would be the judge of both. Why not get a tattoo?
Booted feet carried him into the parlor, his pheromones announcing his entrance to any females close enough to be affected by them. Skinny jeans with the cuffs rolled at the ankles covered his bottom half, while a simple tshirt and black leather jacket were affixed to his top half.
"Looking for the owner, she in," he asked the twi'lek behind the counter.
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