(( I don't want to reveal who I am just yet, but I am a humanoid. Try to guess who I am!
Again correct me if I am wrong.))
As Nachtzwaluw opens the creaky old door that had the sign "Galaxy's Edge Space Bar" on it-how kitsch! he thinks-he finds that the bar is filled with creatures of every known species from every corner of the Galaxy, some scheming, some laughing, some brooding, some trying to drink the sorrow away. There are tall ones, short ones, thin ones, fat ones, black ones, white ones, loud ones, quite ones, ones with hands the size of the table they sit at next to ones with feet that look like wire. It was as if Dr. Seuss had written an episode of Cheers! he thinks as he strokes his great beard. He walks to the bar where the bartender stands with what would be an electrical presence for a mortal; needing to sidestep around a small brawl of fisticuffs that had found its way on the floor.
"Hello, gentle innkeeper! I will have a Pangalactic Gargle Blaster if you know it and a hot pastrami sandwich with extra pickles and haggis on the side." The bartender without a word writes down on his pad the price. "This ought to cover it" Nachtzwaluw says, laying down three wapens, a waden, and four sings on the bar. He then turns, sensing a disturbance in the Force. "The Van, she calls for me!"
He bounds for the door.
