Chapter Text
79s was a popular bar hidden away on a platform in a bustling district of Coruscant. It was a place clone troopers could come and have a fun time,
far far away from the war, the judgmental eyes of civilians, or their commanding officers. Here it was common knowledge that the quality of the drink was directly proportional to the smile with which it was served.
Estie was the barmaid at 79s and if it weren’t for her, the business wouldn’t do half as well. If ever you spoke of a better, nicer, kinder, or prettier woman, you would have the entire Grand Army of the Republic knocking on your door to call you out on such a fib!
Estie worked there every night with no exceptions and had mastered the ability to transform even the most sour, tasteless liquors into a delicious nectar, that made the drinks served up top in the higher levels of Coruscant seem like second-rate Tatooine sand wine.
Serving a bar full of rugged soldiers would’ve been daunting for anyone, but not Estie. She took everything in her stride with a firm tone and a kind smile, implementing a strict “no none sense” policy. She drew the line tight between what was allowed and what wasn’t, and anyone who dared cross it (sober or intoxicated) would find Estie staring at them crossly with her finger pointed to the door. Luckily this didn’t happen often because all of the clones troopers were so thrilled to have her around they stuck to their good behaviour. Furthermore, the loyalty the clones had for their barmaid meant that Estie always had a volunteer to throw out rude customers too drunk to stand straight if need be.
But 79s hadn’t always been a popular address for clone troopers. Before, it had been much the same as any bar. If the typical bar had been dingy, badly lit, visited only by roustabouts, brigands and the lowlifes of the Coruscant under world. But more often than not, the place had been relatively empty, with only two or three good-for-nothings leaning against the bar spending the credits they didn’t have on third grade drinks. Those days had been glum and depressing; none of the customers deserving of Estie’s smile. In those days the manager, a giant basilisk who went by the name of Kaan, had been going on and on about how the place was making so little he couldn’t afford a bar droid, and had to pay Estie instead.
“Bar droids don’t sweep the floors too by the way. And they can’t tell when the liquor turns to vinegar.” Was Estie’s usual answer to her manager’s everlasting complaints.
The bar had been built in what Estie could only imagine was an old storage unit. The ceiling was very high and the main area was shaped like a large rotunda. The bar was round and stood slightly off centre in the room. It had been designed for a droid but the machinery had been ripped out ages ago. Still, there wasn’t a single gap where you could walk through in and out of the bar meaning that when Estie had to deliver drinks to the tables away from her drink making station she always had to duck under one part of the counter in order to do her job.
Shortly after the start of the war, on one particularly gloomy night where Estie had been preparing drinks for the four or five customers sat at her bar, she’d heard a noise from outside. Kaan was shouting something horrible. Estie dried her hands on a cloth and ducked under the counter to rush outside onto the platform, just in front of the doors to 79s.
Kaan was shouting at a man. The man wore a black uniform, he was clean shaven and in his early twenties. He didn’t look menacing in the slightest so why was Kaan brewing up suck a ruckus? It was only then Estie recognised the man. Not because she knew him, only his face. He was a clone trooper.
“Oh c’mon! Please I just want a drink!” The clone begged. He twisted his cap in his hands, standing a few paces away from Kaan who towered over him.
“What’s going on here?” Estie called out, putting her hands on her hips and staring angrily at the two men. They both glanced at her. The clone spoke up first.
“I’m not here to cause trouble I just want to have a drink miss. Please, I’ve tried every bar! No one will serve me.” He pressed his hands together in a prayer gesture, begging her to let him in.
“Go away!” Kaan shouted, drops of spit flying from his mouth. “We don’t serve your kind here!”
“Be quiet Kaan.” Estie snapped. Kaan stared at her—as if about to yell at her as well. “We serve all kinds here. He’s a paying customer. I’ll make him a drink.” She said defiantly.
Kaan glared at her but didn’t fight her. He couldn’t afford to be rude to Estie. Otherwise she’d leave and he’d have no one to pour the damn drinks.
Estie shivered, the cold night air made goosebumps ride up her arms and her vermillion skirt flap. “Come on.” She said to the clone. His eyes widened, completely abashed. Sidestepping a glaring Kaan he followed Estie into the warmer bar.
“What would you like?” Estie asked the trooper as she ducked behind the bar, taking out a fresh glass from the drying rack. The trooper sat at the bar getting nasty glances from the three other people sitting there.
“Er…what do you have?” He asked tentatively.
“Nothing that taste remotely good on its own.” She tilted her head candidly. The trooper smirked.
“Is it still alcohol?”
“Yep.”
“Then I’ll have whatever you make best, please.”
Estie raised her eyebrows, the corner of her mouth tilted upwards as she began to reach for the bottles.
“See Tiko, manners don’t cost you anything.” She threw at a trandoshan sitting at the end of the bar, who just rolled his eyes at her.
Estie decided to make the trooper her signature shimmer ale. Made with whatever sour calan ale she had on hand, with a small dose of orgra syrup. Orgra was a fruit found on most rain forest planet and when blended and left to marinate in sugar, it created a lovely thick syrup that gave off a purple-ish blue colour that glittered wonderfully when diluted with any other liquid. Hence the name, shimmer ale. The syrup removed the bitterness of the ale, and as a final touch, Estie added a quarter of sour peach to the drink to add a bit of freshness.
She pulled out a coaster and placed the drink in front of the clone who thanked her.
“You’re the first person to let me sit at your bar in a long time.” The clone said.
Estie grinned. “And you’re the first person to say thank you in a while.” She shot a look at the Trandoshan again and she went back to pretending to be busy by drying the same glass for the seventh time. Pretending to work; if ever there was proof of a failing business, here it was.
“Do you not get a lot of nice customers here?” The clone asked, thinking he might as well keep the conversation going with the pretty, blonde barmaid who’d accepted to serve him. She shook her head.
“We don’t get a lot of customers at all.”
The clone brought the glass to his lips and his eyes widened again—he looked down into the glass, it was the best thing he’d ever tasted in a long time. Perfectly balanced in sourness, sweetness, and strength. Why, it reminded him of the barmaid for some reason.
The trooper hadn’t asked for anything more that night other than her name. She’d given it. It was hardly a secret. As the clone had gotten up to take his leave, he’d pocketed the coaster with the memorable logo of 79s that Estie had drawn herself. He’d thanked her warmly for allowing him in and for serving him the best drink he’d ever tasted. Estie had smiled and shrugged it off, saying it had been nothing not realising what her good deed would bring on for the future.
The next day, around the same time, the same clone had returned, this time with three of his brothers asking for the marvellous shimmer ales she’d made for him the night before. Under Kaan’s hateful eye, Estie had made the drinks and had served the four men, treating them like the rest of the clientele. It seemed like the word had spread within the ranks of the grand army of the republic, that there was a small bar called 79s with a barmaid that allowed clones to sit at her counter.
After a week of serving mostly clones, Estie had taken the initiative to hook up a sign in the window with the words “clone troopers welcome” in large block letters for maximum legibility.
And that is how the 79s became famous amongst the troopers. Simply because it was a place where they were welcome.
From then on the bar had been almost exclusively filled by troopers. They were an agreeable bunch, perhaps a little rowdy and outspoken once you got a few drinks into them but at least their respect for Estie was made evident, and could thankfully withstand alcohol.
On one particular night, a loud group of clones had been messing around on the tables at the back of the bar. Estie had turned her head just as the clink of glass had caught her attention. One of the troopers had accidentally pushed a glass over the table.
“Sorry Estie—hang on I’ll get it.” The trooper in orange armour had said. He’d leaned over to the floor along with all of his brothers attempting to pick up the broken glass, calling out their brother for being so clumsy. Estie had chuckled and brought over her tray, telling the soldier that it didn’t matter, that it had been an accident, but his brothers hadn’t stopped.
“No—c’mon Cody, you broke a glass now you owe Estie a favour.” One of the brothers had called out. Estie had laughed but the trooper who’d broken the glass—Cody held his head up higher.
“It’s alright, it’s just a glass.” Estie had tried to argue but Cody had been adamant that he should do something in exchange for his blunder.
“No. I broke it. They’re right. What can I do for you? I insist.”
Estie had laughed again, sensing he wouldn’t drop the matter. “Alright,” she said as she slid the broken bits of glass off her tray and into the bin. She’d stared around the room looking for an idea. Something had caught her eye.
“Alright, why don’t you try and fix the sound box for me? It would be nice to have some music again.”
Cody had sprang from his table at once and had gotten to work. Estie had pulled out a small tool box for him to use from behind the bar that they usually kept for the pluming.
Within the hour the box hooked up to the wall had began to play music and everyone in the bar had cheered.
From then on the first thing Estie did when opening the bar in the late afternoons was turn on the music. The next day Estie noticed that one of the trooper had written on the back wall above the booths in all caps : 79s BAR RULES. And beneath the title:
Break a glass = one favour to Estie.
With the new flood of customers, Estie had been able to afford new lighting for the bar. Pink, blue and green lightbulbs had been installed, making the place a lot nicer. Estie had also requested Kaan invest in a few new decks of playing card so the troopers would be able to play games.
This evening it was business as usual. The bar and most tables were full of soldiers talking and drinking and enjoying the music. Estie recognised a few of the regulars that worked in the coruscant guard, and others troopers who had one or two days of shore leave and didn’t want to be alone. All in all things were running smoothly, Estie worked fast, preparing drinks and serving them. She pulled two fresh glasses from the new dishwasher droid Kaan had purchased and got to work on her orders. Thankfully almost everyone ordered her famous shimmer ales, making preparations a lot easier. She brushed a strand of hair away from her face and glanced around the bar, scanning the tables for any new arrivals in need of service. One soldier in blue armour had sat down at an empty booth, all alone. Estie dried her hands and ducked under the bar to go over to him.
“What can I get you soldier?” She asked brightly. The soldier barely glanced up.
“An ale please.” He sounded completely gutted. Estie had a faint idea of what was troubling him. He lay his helmet on the table in front of him and stared at it hollowly. Estie gave him a sad smile.
“Coming right up.” She glided back to the bar and took a fresh glass from the racks and prepared the drink. As she deposited it on the table in front of the lonely soldier with a round coster she lingered a little. “Are you expecting company soldier? I’d hate to see you spend your evening all alone.”
The soldier shook his head.
“No—he’s—he can’t come anymore—but it’s fine. I want to be alone.” He glanced up at her trying to reassure her that he was fine.
Estie pursed her lips, but in the end moved away. As she kept working behind the bar she frequently glanced up to the corner booth were the lonely soldier sat alone.
“Hey Thrice.” She leaned over the bar to one soldier in red armour: a sergeant from the coruscant guard, who was chatting and laughing with three of his brothers by the bar. He looked up immediately.
“Yeah what is it?” He asked.
“You owe me a favour remember?” Estie tilted her head recalling the glass he’d broken last week.
“Yeah?” He looked a little sheepish and his cheeks went red.
Estie nodded in direction of the lonely soldier who sat all alone in the corner booth.
“Do something for me and go keep him company. Please? I think he’s grieving. Would you mind just going over to make sure he’s ok?”
Thrice didn’t hesitate. No one ever did when Estie asked something of them. He strode over to the corner booth, drink in hand and sat across from the soldier, placing his helmet on the table.
“So who are we grieving tonight brother?” Thrice asked in his usual business manner. The other clone looked up, his face sunken. He nodded in direction of Estie behind the bar.
“Did she put you up to this?” He asked. Thrice bowed his head and took a swig from his drink.
“Yeah. Cause she’s a really good and nice person.” He licked his lips to not waste one drop of his shimmer ale. “Have you never been here before?”
“I’m not on Coruscant that often.” The sad clone mumbled, swirling his drink in his hand. He stared into it as if he would’ve liked nothing more than to drown in it. Thrice bit the inside of his cheek. He looked back to his group of brothers by the bar laughing and talking loudly.
“You don’t have to stay here—you can leave. I’m fine.”
Thrice turned back to the sad clone and shook his head. Estie had asked him to do this and he would.
“No. I’m staying. Now c’mon. Whoever you’re mourning tonight was my brother too. Tell me about him so we can drink to his memory properly.”
The sad clone gave a dry snicker, the corner of his lips twitched. He gripped his glass and cleared his throat.
“His name was Echo…”