Public In A Bar, In A Galaxy Far, Far Away

[AvRe]

Cold. Cold and rainy. That's all these days were now. It didn't matter how hard he hoped the day would be sunny, it was always rainy. That was Corellia for you. If you hoped it was rainy it would be sunny and if you hoped it was sunny, it would be rainy. That's all you could do, hope. Avery looked into the brown liquid, his hand wrapped around the glass in a death grip. Its deep color reflecting his gruesome face, scarred and battered. His plasteel jaw only adding to the whole 'gruesome' factor. Luckily, none of the other patrons seemed to care. They were corellians, he thought with pride, smirking. Of course, they didn't care.

You're home, he thought. he threw back the glass, the liquor running down his throat, burning it. Setting the glass down, he waved the bartender over. "Another." crackled his synthetic voice.

She glared at him, rolling her eyes. "Coming right up." he had to be nicer to her, she'd dealt with him all these months, it was the least he could do.

his eyes drifted from the girl, going to his little part of the bar counter. He grimaced, there it was, mocking him. It stared at him, with its large black eyes, like the obsidian crags of Mustafar.

What's wrong, old friend? it seemed to say to him. He shook his head, letting the notion of a talking mask shake with it. he smiled to himself, maybe he was drinking too much. Maybe, maybe, he was going crazy. Given all he'd seen, he wouldn't put it past him. Avery Regailis, assassin, pilot, commander, madman. They'd definitely think he was crazy if he went telling them all that. No, he wouldn't dare do that. Now, he was just going to sit here and drink, until his day finally came.

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Off in a corner, Jerec strummed an Ithorian instrument and mumbled through a plaintive song.

"And if there's a reason I'm still alive when so many have died, I'm willing to wait for it..."

A good song for Corellia — and Jerec was Corellian born and raised, Ithorian or not. A good song for a broken world that would never really heal.

"Life doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes. And we keep living anyway..."

Three empty cans decorated the floor beside his instrument case. The case held maybe ten credits. His datapad read as follows:

-

JEREC:

It's over, schutta.

Love, Rayleen

A AvRe

 

[Gir Quee]

"This is the place?" said Gir, turning his head to Dav.

His father's old friend nodded in acknowledgement. A corellian by birth and upraising, Dav was probably the only person that Gir could trust to help him navigate around the seedier parts of Corellia - but Gir had found that he couldn't always trust the man, especially when it came to the finer points. He spared at glance at Sariya, his bodyguard, who exchanged a knowing glance with him. Just great...

"All right, lead on," said Gir, gesturing at the bar.

For once, Dav actually hesitated as Sariya moved behind him. The two made men made eye contact. Yeah, I think we're onto you now. A brief befuddled smile flickered over the old smuggler's face, along with a brief throwing up of the hands that seemed to say 'aw shucks'. If nothing else, it'll be good to get out of the rain. But the smuggler led them on into the bar. The scent of booze and stale cigarras immediately assaulted nostrils, causing the man's head to instinctively jerk back. Gir immediately glanced around the bar as they passed through the door - perhaps not the best way to avoid drawing attention to himself, but he always felt a little bit edgier on the ground in unfamiliar territory - there were no solid bulkheads, shields, or marines to protect him here. It was just him, a few material possessions, and Sariya to protect him - not exactly comforting thoughts to a man who liked to play the odds ever to his favor.

His attention was almost immediately drawn by an unusual, out of place tune that seemed to emanate from the vicinity of Jerec Asyr . Do I know him? He could only recall meeting a few Ithorians in the past - primarily government officials and a few who had collaborated with Lucerne Biological Systems in the past - the odds that he'd be seeing any of them in a dump like this were fairly low, but they were never zero. Dav tapped his shoulder and pointed at a man who seemed be knocking back the drinks fairly quickly. That matches the description...The admiral edged his way through the rough denizens of the bar and trailed by his two compatriots. He slid up next to A AvRe and offered a perfunctory smile to the barkeep as the man from Hast sat down on a stool.

"Whyren's Reserve?" asked the admiral.

"What?" said the barkeep in disbelief.

Too rich of taste for a place like this?

"Excuse my friend here, he's here on business," butted in Dav, moving to sit on the other side of Avery, "we'll have your house special. Glass for the two of us here...hell...why not him too?"

With those last words, Dav gestured at Avery.

"Sure thing."

Gir gave Avery a glance over. He certainly seems intimidating enough to match our records. But reputations aren't everything...The Concord officer offered a brief nod to the old assassin as the bar keep brought them all their drinks.

"You look like you've spent some time in the military at one point. Am I right?"

 

[AvRe]

You look like you've spent time in the military.

That statement hung in the air and in Avery's head. With glassy eyes, he swayed slightly, back and forth. He listened to the Ithorian's song, sad, somber. He gave Jerec Asyr a quaint smile, although he doubted the Ithorian man noticed it. It was a thank you, for breaking the monotony of the bar. He looked into his once again empty glass, watching as the barwoman poured the house special into it as requested by the other and his friend. It was certainly more expensive than what he usually drank, with a lighter and more noticeable color and scent.

Avery~ look at that, he doesn't look like a native, does he? No, not at all.

The old cyborg glared at the mask with disdain, raising the glass to his lips, drinking it in. The servos in his fingers whirled as he tapped his fingers on the table rhythmically. He choked down the drink, it was at least the fifteenth he'd had that night. It was becoming harder to keep them down, maybe he should take a break.

Coughing into his hand, Avery looked at him, the man who slid into the seat next to him. He studied Gir Quee , looking over him with cold calculation. His Artificial pupils' dilated, the cybernetics almost invisible but the way the light hit them, you could tell there was something underneath. He narrowed his eyes, looking deeper at the man. Military, he could that, even with the scanners being long dead. This was it, Avery thought. His past, his actions had finally caught up with him. There were three of them, equipped and ready, he was down on his luck and broken. If they came to kill him, it would be a loud fight. He welcomed it. One last time.

Scared, Avery? it sang in its monotonous voice.

No, you sadistic bastard. the thought rang out in his head.

"You could say that, but that was a long time ago. What about you? you certainly have an air of authority." Avery offered the man a smile, the best he and his mug could give.

 

[Gir Quee]

Gir considered A AvRe carefully and put his glass up to drink while he considered his response. He rarely drank, and when he did, it usually was in finer venues. Yet he found himself pleasantly surprised with the house special - it wasn't great, but he had expected something far more watered down and pedestrian based on the bar's atmosphere.

But alcohol was certainly a complicating factor here.

All that he had read of Avery suggested that he was a dangerous man. Would that drinking make him less uninhibited and get in a fight? Would it make him a lesser fighter if he was drunk if that fight did happen? Gir didn't know, but he suddenly wished for a good couple dozen meters of distance between the two if things got hostile. He'd have to settle that he had a pistol on his hip - probably like half of the rest of the bar - and a personal shield to protect himself if things got messy.

"I am," said the admiral slowly, "like can a lot of times tell like - takes a thief to know a thief and all that. But if I'm being more upfront with you, Trossk Fentan talked to me about you about two weeks ago on Commenor. Does that name ring a bell to you, back in your days with the Corporate Protectorate?"

 

[Cpt. Callie Marshall]

"The only easy day was yesterday."

Cpt. Callie Marshall​

Location:
Equipment: REC-LA/02 Combat Armor / REC-DC/03 Particle Blaster Rifle / C-11 "Nastirci" Combat Knife / REC-DC/04 Particle Blaster / KXA ABDG-01x 'Null' Grenade {x6}
Tags:




I stepped inside the bar, feeling slightly out of place. First, I was showered and cleaned. That was a rarity and pleasure seldom found in my crosshairs, with most of time spent out in the field: in the jungles, swamps, deserts, or mountain ranges. Military life has a way of taking away civilian life. Second, I lack the necessary conversation skills outside of barking orders or hurling insults at the enemy across the way. I can hold a conversation, usually it's an awkward situation for all parties involved. Third, it has been so long since I indulged in a beverage of the alcohol variety. I most definitely need to take drinks in a slow consumption pattern, or risk puking in the bathroom or sprawled out drunk in a gutter somewhere. Both ideas of that seem rather embarrassing. This was going to be an interesting R&R.

I moved to the bar, spying a few patrons comfortably seated and in deep conversations with their fellow comrades. Patiently I waited for the bartender to make his rounds toward me, and when he did, I smiled in a way, judging by his facial expression, pretty close to comical. I don't smile very often; war and deployment usually don't affront you the locations and scenes to do so. "I'll take a mug of your coldest brew," I said rather quickly. The bartender stared at me, began to open his mouth, and finally shook his head without speaking a word. Well, that exchange didn't go quite well. After a few minutes, he returned with a glass filled with a blue liquid, placing it down in front of me saying, "Five credits. And I suggest you drink that real slow, lass."

I paid the man, grabbed my drink, and as I went to take a sip, I noticed the bartender watching me. I immediately felt like I was about to drink something far dangerous than my stomach and taste buds were willing to accept. I winked at the man and took a long pull of the cold liquid. At once, I lost my sight. Not really, but it felt like world stop around me, and everything went black. When I realized all this was in my head, I smiled at the bartender and returned the half drank mug to the table. Absolutely drinking that in slow sessions.

 

[AvRe]

A sickening cackle bounced around Avery's skull like a blaster bolt between lightsabers.

Trossk Fentan!? How long's it been, Avery? ten, twelve years maybe? Wasn't he Sgt. Tacer's corporal or was it that other guy, what was his name? Ah, I can't remember.

He rubbed his forehead, a sudden bout of dizziness began to take hold. The Protectorate, oh how long it had been. The world seemed to go messy as Avery closed his eyes. He blinked a few times, opening them finally, only to stare dead long into Gir Quee 's face. He began to resituate himself in the seat, taking in paced breathes. He gave the opposing man the best poker face he could manage.

"Trossk Fentan, Trossk Fentan. It sounds awfully familiar, I'll admit," he shrugged, "But what is this about the Protectorate? Isn't there a saying about poking dead things that shouldn't be poked?"

Avery's face dropped into a grave expression. He was wrong, no one had come to kill him. People had come to ask him things, maybe even for his help. His fingers began to pick up the pace as they tapped one after the other on the counter. The music the Ithorian played seemed to alter too, if only to Avery. The Mask sitting forlornly on the counter seemed to smile. Things were getting interesting.

 

[Jerec Asyr]

The music the Ithorian played seemed to alter too, if only to Avery. The Mask sitting forlornly on the counter seemed to smile. Things were getting interesting.

It wasn't just Avery's state of mind. Jerec's music had taken a turn toward jauntiness.

"Anyway, here's 'Keep my Haul.'"

Today, my freighter's full of spice and I'm blasting off toward Batuu
And by now, there's Jedi on my tail and I don't know what I can do
There's nothing like a rusty ship to get you boys all holier-than-thou

And tonight, your Masters and your Knights are gonna shoot my engines out
Guess I thought you couldn't light me up if you had a reasonable doubt
I don't believe your jurisdiction counts here, but you're blasting me somehow

And all the hyperlanes I took were winding
And your blue sabers in my face are blinding
I think it's time to file complaints about this shit you do, but I don't know how

Please don't slay me
Or confiscate my cargo, baby
Burlap cabal
Let me keep my haul

 

[Gir Quee]

Interesting. Gir regarded A AvRe curiously - he had admittedly expected a bit more suspicion or aggressiveness from the other man, but that wasn't forthing. Still it appeared that the other man was holding something back, but then again, given their professions and their lack of familiarity, that was to be expected. He briefly found himself distracted from Avery by Jerec Asyr 's tunes, and silently noted that he clearly needed to widen the breadth of his musical repertoire. How easy is to fall out of touch with the greater galaxy and its cultures when work is always at the forefront? He noted Cpt. Callie Marshall 's entry to the bar, and guessed that she was also probably another military type. That was both comforting, given the Concord's relationship with the Alliance if she was a more local soldier, but also a bit more concerning - soldiers on leave didn't always have the best reputation for keeping the peace when drinking.

"Ideas and recent history aren't easily forgotten except out of ignorance. With that said, I know little of the Corporate Protectorate," admitted the blonde man, "but I know more of Trossk than I do of that government. He spent nearly two weeks with me in the assembly hall as part of some think tank conferences. I don't know the full story of his past with you, and I won't pretend to. But now, he's a Concord liaison officer - a lieutenant colonel by local commission now - on Taris. That's a world that's known to be a tough spot to live - never going to make the top 100 vacation spots in the galaxy - but it looks like it's about to get worse.

I'm not sure how much you follow the galactic news, but tensions are rising between the New Imperial Order and the Galactic Alliance. The conflict around Kuat now is probably just a harbinger of things to come. When open war breaks out between those two, the Concord will probably get drawn into it, and Taris will probably find itself as a battlefield since it's right on the border with the Imperials.

Trossk seems to think that you're a man who could help him. You certainly seem to have a reputation to match his testimony from what digging I've done into your past. I guess the question for me to ask is would you be interested in training and leading men back into the battle? Or is that all behind you now, dead like the Protectorate?"

 

[AvRe]

Avery shook his head, looking back down at the counter. Slowly, he brought his hand to his face. He pulled the leather glove off with a tentative precision, revealing the metallic thing underneath. He closed the hand, creating a fist as it got tighter and tighter. The barwoman, who was now polishing a glass, looked at him with concern.

"Mr. Regailis?" she walked over to him.

"I'm fine, Vik." He gave her an assured look. She nodded.

"Okay then." she left the men to their business, still eyeing them with minor concern.

Avery returned the gove to his hand, then let his eyes focus on the mask. He stared it down, like an enemy, like an adversary. Taking it in his hands, he turned it around and began lowering it onto his head. Like hunger snakes, wires came from the inside of the mask, magnetically connecting to his jaw and the sides of his head. When the last of the wires connected, there was a sort buzz, like a laser cannon preparing to fire. Aver lightly ran his hands over it, making sure everything was in place. He twisted his head this way and that.

Looking at Gir Quee , he said, "I think... I think I'll help you, if only for a while, but that's still to be seen." he cleared his throat. "Something that needs to be stated, if Trossk hasn't already said so, is that I am a hard leader. I'll teach your men, I'll lead them too, but I've been told my methods are a bit... Unorthodox. I prepare soldiers to meet their end with honor, courage, and ferocity. In other words, I lead like an imperialist." He looked distantly to the door of the bar.

"But sometimes, you need an imperialist to fight an imperialist."


Jerec Asyr Cpt. Callie Marshall

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Now well intoxicated, strumming with abandon, and standing on a table, Jerec yowled as follows:

Give me some justice
The Jedi way
Get out that saber, bro, oh-oh

Remember your Code now
What you believe in
Scum's got to die
Maybe that's why

Even though your saber's blue
Amputation's fine it's true
Doesn't count as dark if you're chill
Don't feel a thrill

Jedi when you finally
Get to catch somebody
Man up
Decapitate me

 

[Gir Quee]

"But sometimes, you need an imperialist to fight an imperialist."

Fighting fire with fire. He took a sip of his drink as he considered A AvRe 's words. If his decades in the military service had shown him anything, it was that leaders and the cultures that they worked in were varied. That was even true of the Concord's military today - what passed as competent leadership for a wookiee chieftain of a village hunting party was not the same as the matriarchal Hapan War Fleet nor any of the Hutt servant species levies in the Southern Reaches, and that said nothing of the federal Concord Guard. Taris is a tough spot though, the classes from the lower city levels will probably need someone hard like him, probably why Trosk recommended him...Before the man could fully complete his thoughts. a burly man shouldered his way in between the admiral and the cyborg.

"You an Imperialist?!"

The flabby man turned to the rest of the bar and raised his voice, "This man is an imperialist. He's one of those Kuati, bootlicking scumbags! Get'em!"

The flabby man backed into Gir while winding up to throw a punch at Avery. Instinctively, Gir shoved the man away out of his personal space, causing a rodian denizen to pull back Gir by the shoulders. The admiral turned to face the rodian, whose snout quickly quivered before erupting into accented Basic.

"You shouldn't have done that, offworlder! Mind your own business-"

Before the rodian could finish, Sariya swept the alien's feet out from under him, causing the rodian to flail around before haphazardly crashing onto the ground. He locked eyes with the rodian and felt the rodian's anismosity. Yep, not good....The blonde man promptly delivered a stopping kick to the creature's groin, causing a harsh cry to rise up from the downed bargoer. Gir turned his eyes upward again to see the rest of the bar turning into a violent, chaotic battleground. Just great....

Jerec Asyr | Cpt. Callie Marshall

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Up on the corner table, just about to launch into a scathing indictment of Jedi financial opacity in the key of C, Jerec paused mid-strum. A brouhaha was developing.

Side A: Gir Quee , Sariya, A AvRe , maybe Cpt. Callie Marshall

Side B: A big anti-imperialist Jerec didn't know, the Rodian who'd just been floored and nutshotted for speaking up, Jerec gorram Asyr, and the cheap lum in Jerec's belly. Also one classic Ithorian stringed instrument.

The place was getting wild beyond those core crews. Jerec stumbled off the table and landed heavily. He preserved the presence of mind to do two vital things: tuck that instrument safely into its case, and get out the ol' watering can. The corner booth acquired, shall we say, a pungency.

Jegy had drilled him in ancient techniques for alcohol detoxification. On a moment's notice, in a chaotic situation, with a blood alcohol content flirting with the legal limit from the wrong side of the tracks, those mental routines weren't going to help much. Not anytime soon, at least, but he ran through them a bit as he took that quick capital-grade leak and zipped up.

The Rodian — Skagit by name, friend of a friend — was just dragging himself to his feet. Jerec gave Skagit a round of mental applause for getting up after that Echani knocked him down and that blonde human kicked him in the nuggets. Admiration aside, though, Skagit was gonna get himself killed any second.

Target number one was definitely Gir Quee , who'd kicked Skagit in the nuts when he was down.

"HEY, FERRIK! RIGHT HERE! SKAGIT, MOVE YOUR ASS!"

Jerec grabbed what would have been his next can of lum and hucked it across the bar at Gir's head.

 

[AvRe]

"Kuati? no," With robotic smoothness, Avery rose from his seat, placing his weathered cap on his head, "Bootlicking? To a degree, yes."

The burly, recomposing himself after Gir's shove, stared down Avery with a drunken fury that only Corellia could have. He charged Avery, swinging a right hook in his direction. The cyborg responded by simply taking two steps back, causing the man to miss entirely. the burly man stumbled forward, hitting the counter. Avery put his hands behind his back, taking a few paces back.

"Well, Admiral, as of now I am officially in service. That said," no one could see it, but underneath that mask, Avery smiled like a child on life day, "Is lethal force necessary in this situation?"

"No, no killing!" The barwoman, who'd been identified as Vik, yelled at Avery like he was a toddler. To her, he kind of was, she'd seen him in such a state at least.

"Vik, I'd usually oblige to your orders but this decision isn't yours. It's the Admiral's." Avery was testing his new employer. The cyborg wanted to see how he reacted to stressful situations, especially when it involved commanding his subordinates.

The burly man composed himself again, dragging a sweaty hand across his face. "Fancy, high boot-wearing, poodoo!" he growled. He came at him quicker this time, he brought a heavy fist across Avery's armored head, which wasn't the smartest decision. The man grabbed his hand, screaming in pain. "AH! WHAT THE-"

As soon as he began to speak, a gloved hand was around his throat. The cyborg lifted the man, who was most likely well over two hundred pounds, into the air. Casually, Avery walked to a nearby wall and began slamming the man against it, repeatedly, in a nearly formal manner. He looked over to the blonde admiral to gauge his reaction. Just then, the Ithorian who'd been singing that lovely tune chucked a can of lum directly at Gir Quee 's head.

"Admiral!"

Jerec Asyr

 

[Gir Quee]

How many years had it been since he had trained with the Mandalorians, back when they had still be organized as the UCM? Probably dozens by now, and the man had only bothered to meet the lower standards when it came to hand to hand combat qualifications - it had never been a priority of his, but right now, he wished he had bothered to put more effort into it over the years. He searched for a way out, and in doing so, entirely missed Jerec Asyr 's attention on him. As he turned to the side in preparation to dart out of the bar, the bottle of lum smashed into his right shoulder. Shards of glass sprayed the man and cut into his rain-soaked trench coat while the lum sloshed down the coat and onto the floor. He felt a burning sensation in his shoulder, letting him know that some of the glass had managed to cut him, and some of the alcohol had managed to seep into his new wounds. He let out an exasperated groan. Should have let someone else take care of this...maybe waited for Regailis to leave the bar?

Sariya glared at the ithorian, "You better get moving if you know what's good for you..."

Gir was really tempted to follow that up, knowing that the woman was probably yearning to dash over and try beat the one (two, three?) time correctional institute resident to a bloody pulp, but was largely kept from it by staying close to Gir to try and protect her employer. But he found himself drawn into closely following Vik and A AvRe 's exchange. He quickly shot a response.

"Well, it'd probably be best to not create an international incident," replied the admiral, "at least for practicality's sake...let's try to leave people largely alive and unharmed...as best as we practically can-"

The rest of that exchange got cut off by Gir dodging yet another bottle thrown at him by some random person in the bar, followed by a drunken spacer wearing a yellowed jumpsuit stumbling towards him. Sariya lunged forward into the man, striking with her fist from her hip and into the man's gut, causing him to bend over before Sariya shoved him back and into a table. He rapidly scanned his surroundings. Where the frak did Dav go?

Cpt. Callie Marshall

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Jerec looked back and forth between A AvRe jackhammering that anti-imperialist spacer into the wall and Gir Quee 's obvious bodyguard thrashing yet another spacer who stumbled in the wrong direction. His mood might have stayed exuberant. A nice brawl could do that.

But these ryvving jackboot shavvits clearly didn't care about a nice brawl. They were out to cause pain for no reason that Jerec's lum-soaked brain could compute. His mood crystallized into something comparable.

Skagit had, indeed, moved his ass. As the much-abused Rodian stumbled outside, Jerec blitzed through Jegy's sober-up technique once more to take the edge off. He'd been well on his way to drunk two minutes ago. Now he felt pretty confident that he could walk a straight line. After all, he'd hit the blonde accurately, right?

Small target too. These people were karking tiny: the blonde guy weighed maybe a buck fifty, the hot Echani thug not even that much. The cyborg, though...the cyborg was Jerec's size or close enough.

On a better day Jerec would have shifted his aim from Gir to Avery and gone for a nice fair fight. Since Gir and his bodyguard had double-teamed poor Skagit, though, Jerec decided that putting the two little shavvits down remained his preferred option.

Instead of gambling on fine-point control, he went for the brute force approach. He was well and truly pissed (in the emotional sense), and that minus inhibition lent itself well to a crude Force emanation. Jegy had drilled this kind of simple, direct drek into him on and off for years. He brought up his empty hands and focused on Gir and Sariya across fifteen feet of barroom brawl.

The goal: Force grab, Force throw, Force ragdoll these fancy jaggaths out the nearest door. And if they happened to bonk their little heads...oh darn.


OOC: Summary of actions: attempted Force grab/throw on Gir and his bodyguard.

 

[AvRe]

"Understood, no maiming." Avery stated in a calm and assertive voice like he was ordering the bar itself not to harm anyone.

As he slammed the man into the metal wall again, for what seemed to be the thirtieth time. "Then why are you trying to kill me!?" the burly man yelled at the expressionless cyborg.

Avery turned the man around, throwing him to the floor. "I'm not killing you, I'm only giving you traumatic brain injuries." With that final statement, Avery's boot came down on the man, knocking him out cold. Soon after, a wooden chair came crashing down over Avery's head.

Making a complete one-eighty, Avery faced the patron who'd hit him with the furniture. The small Twi'lek man took a step back, surprised at the cyborg's sudden rotation. Avery tilted his head, "That wasn't very intelligent."

In a fit of either rage or stupidity, the Twi'lek swung a fist at Avery. The cyborg caught the fist and in a smooth motion, began twisting the arm in a direction arms should not twist. Avery released the man as he screamed in pain, collasping to the floor.

With those two dealt with, Avery turned his attention to the Ithorian man who'd been singing. He appeared to be... reaching out? More specifically he was reaching out to Gir Quee and his Echani bodyguard. Avery folded his arms over one another, propping one up and grabbing his chin. He studied Jerec Asyr with great precision, noting every detail, from his clothes, to his disposition. Then an idea hit him, no, a revelation!

Jerec must have also been a cyborg and now he was trying to shoot lasers from his hand! Or he had command over the force. Eitherway, neither were good.

He called out to the Ithorian. "Sir, I wouldn't recommend that."

 

[Gir Quee]

A fish out of water? A man out of his element?

Gir wasn't entirely sure which metaphor was the most apt, but he could think of a dozen other places he'd rather be, even a few outright battlefields, provided he was on a starship or large ground vehicle of some variety. He managed to stumble into a stool as the bar fight participants jostled around, causing him to quietly curse. He glanced at Sariya, watching her close-in with another inebriated patron who nearly collided with them before she forcefully started moving him away. We should probably go...

He heard A AvRe start to say something in his general direction, though he couldn't quite make it out over the din of the fight. Suddenly, he felt something grip and start to move him - his head wildly looked around searching for whoever had managed to get past Sariya, but he saw no-one. Tactical tractor beam? But that didn't make much sense - who bothered to haul one of those to the typical bar? He reached for his belt even as he started to find himself suddenly airborne. Blinking in surprise, he fumbled but he to flick the switch on his distortion shield just in time. The pressor fields helped cushion his fall on the sticky, grimy floor. The man unceremoniously rolled underneath a table, managing to bang his flank against a durasteel leg in the process. What the frak was that? He looked upwards to see where his bodyguard was...but she was nowhere near him.

Instead, he faintly saw her lithe form briefly tumble before rising to race through the crowd towards Jerec Asyr . True to her experience in the past, she would try to stick close to the other bar occupants, using them as shields while she closed with her target. If she managed to get close enough, she would deliver a quick, darting nerve strike to one of the ithorian's arms. He groaned as he started to rise up from the table. I better get up there too...

 

[Jerec Asyr]

A AvRe Gir Quee

Alrighty, so tossing those two out the door had failed miserably. Jerec squinted as he tried to figure out where the feth they'd gone—

BAM, here was the Echani chick out of nowhere. She hit him fast and hard, and his right arm went all tingly, like his legs when he sat on the can too long. His free hand made a fist and a crude, diffuse Force push shoved her back a step out of melee range.

"Fuck outta here, kid," he said, and moved to Force-chuck her through the nearest wall with zero interest in whether a) it was a bearing wall, b) it led outside or to another room, or c) she survived the experience. These jackboot shavvits had overstayed their welcome on Corellia, and Jerec was transcendently pissed.

 

[AvRe]

Avery watched as the Echani bodyguard charged the Ithorian, hitting him hard. Keeping his eyes on the scene, he walked towards them, still far enough out of the way as to not be seen as part of the scuffle. He grabbed his belt like he'd seen so many Corellian slugslingers do when he was younger. He tilted his head, curious.

It was a strange sight to see. The broken cyborg who'd been nursing his mental wounds with alcohol only moments ago was now in prime military etiquette. He began to slightly jostle his wrist, the Vibro-blade attached to his arm wanting desperately to come out.

"Miss, would like some help with that?" He asked the Echani woman.

When this was all over, Avery intended to have a lengthy conversation with that Ithorian. He liked the man, he seemed like alright sort, to Avery at least.

Gir Quee | Jerec Asyr