Sitting on a the couch in the crew lounge was an orange gungan gunhand with a cobalt blue bottle, the label was dated half a decade ago and laser etched into the glass for posterity. He popped the silicone cork and breathed it in with wide flared nostrils before a tongue over a foot slipped down into the orifice for a taste. He spoke to no one in particular as he talked about the bottle in his hands.

"Spore mead, made from the sandwasp of ord cestus and a poisonous mushroom able to kill a Reek in an hour, same mushroom is almost as potent as Bota and bottled before the clone wars... One of the most expensive drinks out there... And I fill the bottle from a junk yard with the cheapest anti-freeze cut prison rotgut I can swallow."

With that, he tilted the butt in the air and took a noxious swig of the mechanic hooch. It burned like battery acid all the way down and into every limb, oh how he loved to hate that burn. It made his mind numb out and that is just what he wanted at the moment they slipped to hyperspace. one step closer to a pile of credits, one step closer to his ship or else one step closer to palpatine's throne.