Like bantha cows in estrus...

It was well past 0200 when Lok Huddo, waving a nasty bit of rusting conduit, ushered the last patrons from The Rutting Bantha. The nikto scowled as he secured the door, his patience long since exhausted from an eternal shift and an endless stream of drunken organics. R5-L4T kept one receptor on Lok as the droid swept up another pile broken glass, the debris from a particularly violent row between a wookie and the ithorian who had accused said wookie of cheating at holochess. Curse hammerheads and their deep, glass-shattering bellows. Like bantha cows in estrus, computed the droid. Which, he realized, was quite appropriate considering the venue.

"Eh? What's that, Redcap?" growled Lok, now back behind the bar, wiping up viscous puddles of gamorrean saliva.

Redcap. Merely because the top part of his black dome had been painted orange. Organics and their detestable nicknames. The astromech didn't even realize he'd been vocalizing. At least the nikto couldn't understand binary; thank the Maker for that. Redcap swiveled his head to Lok, blipped a few choice insults.

"Don't take that tone with me, droid," Lok retorted, "You keep servin' drinks as slow as you did tonight, and you're back on the scrap pile."

Blat. It was the nikto's fault, not his. Lok hadn't bothered to secure the restraining bolt properly. It sparked incessantly, the irregular pulses like spiny nerfs dancing on his delicate circuits. He was lucky to be able to move at all, let alone wheel around the soupy, humid confines of Lok's bar. The way his palsied grasper arm shook, it was a wonder patrons didn't wear their drinks.

A flask shattered against his tapered dome, more mess to clean.

"Didja hear me? I said shut the karg up!" Lok hollered, cupping another flask to hurl.

To hell with this place. I quit, thought Redcap. He dropped his sweeper and wheeled towards the door. He whistled out a scorching stream of profanity, wishing this time Lok could understand him. The bolt started sparking more vigorously, and Redcap's circuits felt like they were melting. Owwwww! Lok was mashing the button on the droid caller repeatedly, issuing withering profanity of his own.

"Git back here, ya stupid pile of bolts," Lok howled.

Redcap ignored the shooting agony. The malfunctioning bolt worked to his advantage this time -- for though it caused him a great deal of pain, it utterly failed to immobilze him. Sub-Dee gonked mournfully as Redcap rolled past. He considered taking the miserable power droid with him for a micro-second, but the poor thing had even more trouble locomoting than Redcap did. With a touch of his grasper, the door slid open, and Redcap rolled into the dusky twilight that passed for night on Ranjahr.

"Ah, go, then! Yer worthless, anyway," Lok spat. As the door slid shut, Redcap's receptors picked up the muffled clang of a droid caller hurled against the wall.

Redcap weaved drunkenly along the rutted streets of Bantha Town, pondering his next destination. Momentary worries about the rough neighborhood faded as he celebrated his freedom from Lok Huddo and his lousy cantina. It suddenly occured to him to head towards the Imperial Garrison. Rabblo's twi-lek Mas Hedebbi and his Imperial friends had gone back that way. One of his techs had even tried to fix the bum restraining bolt. Redcap could do worse than work for the Empire. He supposed he had.

With renewed purpose, the droid adjusted his course and rolled towards the Imperial Zone. He wondered what Lok's face would look like when he realized that Redcap was still carrying 65% of the night's take.

If he'd been able, Redcap would have grinned.