Jat’i Keff (Neikei Sarkanias – SWTOR)
Another day. Another credit. The life and times of an Iridonian Tattoo Artist in the bowels of Coruscant. Neikei Sarkanias was fairly sure it would make a best-selling holo-drama. At least there were the thoughts going through her head as she waved the last client out the door with a false smile of appreciation plastered across her lips. “Fuck my life.” She sighed as they exited the small tattoo shop in Coruscant’s Underground; wedged between a strip club and a known swoop bar.
She stretched her arms upwards, pushing her palms towards the ceiling as she raised up on her toes. It seemed like every joint in her stout, curveacous form popped. Secure in the knowledge she would fall in the plush arm chair behind the front counter of her storefront; The Zabrak most of the Galaxy knew as Niki Sark let herself fall back. She was not mistaken.
Her boots hit the grated floor with a thud and enough force for her to utilize the momentum to lean forward and grab the bottle of Corellian Whiskey off bottom shelf of the counter. “Seriously, Inama. Fuck. My. Life.” She said louder in a voice laden with cigars and whiskey.
A voice from the back of the shop responded with a chuckle. “All you do is sit around tattooing people, drinking that damned whiskey and smoking those damned cigars while you talk on the comms. What the fuck are you whining about, Niki?”
“Assholes like the ones who just walked out my door.” She replied rather petulantly and pulled the cap from her bottle only to throw it at the doors.
“Assholes like the ones who just walked out your door keep you legit.” A bald woman poked her head out of the back room, smiling at the back of her bosses head. She could tell Neikei’s mood just by the design she had tugged her black hair in. The top knot wasn’t meant to be a welcoming look.
The Zabrak chuckled and reached up to grab the back of her chair as she took a swig from the bottle. “Does it have to hurt so much, Niki?” A perfectly mimicked impression of the whining tone that human had used with her. The Mandolorian woman chuckled and ducked back into the room.
“You could shut it down.” She called from the back, “Shut it down. Get back into the business with me. We could take Sark Transport in a whole new direction.”
“You tempt me, woman.” Neikei growled to hide her amusement with the idea and took another swig from the bottle. The idea, as tempting as it was would never happen. Neikei was tied to her shop. As large of a planet that Coruscant was, she was the only tattoo shop that specialized in Jato; the sacred tattoos of her people. And so, she would remain, tending to the small hunk of durasteel and tribal art in which she served her sacred duty.