[ EU ] A stylistic crime story in the style of Mean Streets/Pulp Fiction based in the seedy underbelly of the Star Wars universe .

Because I'm a Brit, I decided to riff off of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. Same idea, different period. Hope you do n't mind. 
 
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 `` What do you mean, he went for a bit of air?'' 
 
 Dingy. That's what everyone said about Cat's. Nestled between an atmo-processor that chucked out so much moisture the walls were more mould than plasticrete and a garrison of local Imperials more interested in picking up druggats from the nearby establishments, you had to know why you wanted to go there before bribing some back-alley dealer just to point you in the right direction. Inside was noisy, a constant background din that meant conversations were kept between parties and a smell that was neither offensive nor pleasant. Cat's existed in that in between place, which is exactly why Ty liked it. 
 
 `` Well, he came in on that supply shuttle from Bespin and you said, if we ever see him again to, you know, show him a little local hospitality.'' 
 
 `` Ciph, when I said show him a little hospitality, I meant put him up in one of the good brothels. Get him a bit of ale.'' 
 
 `` Right boss.'' 
 
 `` Where is he now?'' 
 
 `` Well, we took him for a bit of air.'' 
 
 Ty put a claw against one eye, already knowing the answer to his next question. 
 
 `` And where did you take him?'' 
 
 Ciph looked nervously through the muddy-green mesh that served as a window. The big atmospheric processing station filled the near horizon, sucking in the poisoned air and spitting out air slightly-less so. 
 
 `` Dammit Ciph.''
