Bottom of the Bottle [Crusaders/Clans]

[Lina Ovmar]

She had hoped that the walk from the Alor Council meeting would have been enough to calm her anger, but it left her feeling bitter and unsure of what to do. Mia trusted [member="Isley Verd"] to do what was necessary, she knew he would see to it that those responsible for the massacre would be punished.

She found her way into the nearest bar, it was still early in the day but it was busy enough. She ordered a bottle of whisky, collected a glas and found herself a quiet corner. She contemplated contacting Mara, making sure she was ok, or even Jorus in case speaking to Mara direct would only worsen the situation but she wasn't sure what she would say other than she was sorry. Hollow words without meaning.

She poured the dark liquid into the glass, watching the swirling patterns it made for a moment. She raised it in silent salute, before dropping it down the hatch and pouring a second.

 

[Funky Balor]

[member="Mia Monroe"]


Funky sat down at a stool, calmly eyeing the cantina over. Rough and tumble. Even by Mandalorian standards, this was a place where a mess could easily happen. He nodded to Mia, then gestured to the owner jovially. "Take a mug's worth of black ale, and float a shot of Corellian whiskey upside down in it," he said with a smirk. "Tonight will not see this war-singer sober." He then nodded to the woman, watching her down her shot ruthlessly. And pour a another faster than most could throw a knife. He couldn't help but smile as he addressed her. Well, the Goran was never known for sound judgement.


"That is the pace of someone who has had a rough morning," he said flatly. "Need to yell about it? Or drink harder? I'm happy to assist in either," he said with a laugh. "Funky, Clan Balor," he nodded his head slightly as he introduced himself. "So, why on earth are you crawling into this odd....little corner?" He wasn't fumbling for the words, despite his almost soft pace.

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Mia managed a smile, it was a weak one but at least she tried. "Unfortunately I have yelled about it, didn't get me very far. In fact I'm pretty sure I just made it perfectly clear the the Alor Council and the rest of the Cuir Rekr I am far less stable than they originally believed."

She managed another bitter smile. "Mia Monore." She returned the introduction. She looked down at the bench she was sitting on and patted it almost lovingly. "This is my favourite corner to drown my sorrows in. And drowning them is exactly what I intend to do. Then I might drunk call my boyfriend and rage at him instead."

She necked the second drinking, the burning making her peel her lips away from her teeth with a hiss. "For no other reason than him not being here, now." She poured the third glass, opting this time to sip at it and she slouched in her chair slightly. "What about you, Funky? Got any tales of woe that might make me feel better?"

[member="Funky Balor"]

 

[Dariak Talesa]

[member="Mia Monroe"] | [member="Funky Balor"]

With a heavy feeling in his shoulders Dariak had opted to take a break from work to settle into the cantina. He wandered across to where the pair were sitting at the bar before he settled into a stool. "Kaasian Stout." he ordered with his flat tone as he set a small stack of wupiwupi coins to pay for his order. Dariak looked over to both Mia and Funky to deliver a polite incline of the head. His face was etched with a Crusader circle tattoo around his left eye and he itched that side of his face before turning to reach for his drink.

His armour shifted with a metallic sound as he picked up his glass and took a small sip of the bubbly ale.

 

[Funky Balor]

[member="Mia Monroe"]


The Goran smiled as is mug came, throwing a few fingers of the mixed liquor, and setting the mug down. He smiled, licking his lips. Whiskey, beer, and a slow head. Always a good start to a revel. He nodded as Mia spoke, cheerily waving as [member="Dariak Talesa"] walked in. "Well, vod," He said as enouraginly as he could "sometimes the wisest thing you can do is speak your heart, and then let the world makes its decision. You were appointed by Mand'alor, and I doubt it was to remain quiet in most situations."


He nodded. "Stories?" He raised a brow as he nursed his mug cheerily. Stories were his specialty. One heavy beer with a cheap whiskey thrown in. What did they call it? A Corellian Cable Bomb? Something like that. He smiled and laughed. "Hmmm, a tale of woe...I think I know a few, although I'm usually better at tales of glory. Perhaps....ah...." he considered it. Gorag's Riddles were bit much for a bar. He'd need a whole string section to recount the Duel of the Three Hells. Oh, he hadn't told that old tale in a while. And it was such a good one.



"Tell me," he said loudly enough for half of the bar to hear, "Have you heard the Mourning of Kraggor? It's an older story, but a truly good one...." He waited to se who'd take the bait. This was always a fun one. Most Mando'ade had heard of Kraggor the Mighty, the Wookie Warrior and Poet who led a band of Mandalorian pirates three hundred years ago. But the Mourning, the final poem, was the least repeated of them. He wondered if they'd enjoy a truly mournful tale. It was moe figurative than others, but still a good piece.