:::Nick wiped off his hands on a bar rag and surveyed the dimly lit, windowless room. An old, well worn bar stood along the far wall facing the door. To the side, a small stage was set up, just big enough for a small band and dancer to perform. Small round tables dotted the rest of the available space, with two wooden chairs allocated to each. Age had taken its toll on the human smuggler: grey tinged his hair at the sides and back, and his face now bore the heavy lines of time and experience. But the well-worn holster still hung low on his left hip, with his trusted DL-44 still sheathed within. And a grin that could only be described as cocky still crossed his face. It took every remaining credit in his name to buy the Corellian cantina and move the remnants of his old inn to the new location. Would it be worth it? Time would tell.
"Hmmm, forgot one thing."
:::He walked down the narrow hallway leading to the back room, its walls adorned with small plaques, each listing the name of a departed smuggler. His hand closed around the plaque with Nick Danger written on it, removed it from the wall, and dropped it into his pocket. With a signature grin, he strode back to the front door, unlocked it, and switched on the 'open' sign. The old neon sign lit with a splutter and hiss, but brightened and steadied to a blue glow.:::
"Ladies and Gentlebeings, we are back! The Smuggler's Inn is open for business and the first beer and pie are on the house!"