Empty Chairs and Empty Tables [TSE]

[Dante Sotari]

Bastion ​

The Admiral's Chair Cantina​

Mirial.

Dante wanted, more than anything, to not think about Mirial. She wanted a drink or six and to not be bothered for a little while- or maybe be bothered but in a way built for distraction rather than anything real.

But when she stepped into the Admiral's Chair- a Cantina that had become a favorite watering hole for the Empire's Legion and Armada members currently stationed on planet, she realized that would be more difficult than she had hoped.

Some enterprising individual had compiled a list of the names of those who had been lost on Mirial. Not civilian names, it was too soon to have a list that extensive. But the scrolling hologram of those who had been lost, along with the names of those still missing in action, filled one wall, and Dante almost turned around and walked out then and there.

The Armada and Legion had taken the heaviest casualties, but that was no surprise. There was a certain healthy rivalry between the two branches, but here today? No one was counting to see who had given the most. They had all bled, and they had all lost. The war? No, winners and losers didn't really matter when you were staring at a list of the dead.

She and Morgan had been pulled out of the rubble of the orbital cannon's facility and immediately evaced to Bastion. For Dante, a day in a bacta tank had been enough to clear her- not for active duty, those who had been on Mirial were being given time. Time to recover. Time to grieve. They hadn't let her see Morgan when she was let out, simply assuring her that they were doing everything they could for him, but that they couldn't allow non-family members in to see a soldier in his state. She'd cursed and scowled, but the answer had been firm. Lieutenant Sotari would go on her leave and allow them to do their job without further interference and that was an order.

She could have gone back to the barracks. But the Admiral's Chair had something that didn't have.

First drink on the house for anyone who'd been at Mirial.

Of course, if she'd realized they'd be having a passive memorial at the same time, she might have considered more just how much that free beer was worth.

But she was here now. It was still early, afternoon, but already the bar was about a quarter full. Dante slid onto one of the stools, nodding to the bartender. She didn't even have to say she was on Mirial. One look said it all.

"Usual Dan?"

She nodded again, rubbing a hand over her face. He didn't say anything else, just poured her the dark ale she'd come to favor here and set it in front of her. Picking it up, she tipped the glass at him. For a moment it looked like he wanted to say something.... which meant she appreciated it all the more when he didn't.

Dante put her back to the table that held the holoprojector, scrolling names. That one would stay empty for the night, by unspoken agreement of those in the cantina.

For now, she focused on her beer.

 

[Kenth Typho]

It still hurt.

'It' being everything possible and more, but Morgan had grown tired of lounging on beds and couches without anything to do.

The decision was easily made to get out and into town. The Admiral's Chair Cantina was one of the few token establishments that continued to pull in people from the Legion and the Armada both, pleasant, classy, the music was alright and everyone there knew the score, so no questions were asked for the most part. It was a safe haven. A place where the regular grunts and personnel could enjoy a drink or two without being on their guard for the entire time.

Part of Morgan was reasonably sure the Saaraishash controlled the cantina and made sure that it stayed secure.

Even the Empire knew that their people needed a place to wind down after a long, hard and bloody campaign. The door was pushed open and it didn't take long before people started greeting him, nodding, but other than that business was as usual.

They were kind enough not to mention his bruised face. It was the familiar presence of Dante that made him grin - ow - and caused him to maneuver slowly through the crowd, until he carefully settled down next to her at the bar. "Hey," He'd say, grin packed away for now in exchange for quite a serious look. "...got a light?" Regardless how she would answer, a finger went up for his regular. The barkeep didn't even bother to ask, just a nod of acknowledgement before starting to tap away.

Didn't take long for his glass to be filled with a dark blend.

[member="Dante Sotari"]​

 

[Alkor Centaris]

The envoy asked no questions, and he never looked anyone in the eye directly. There was a degree of fear in the way he followed his instructions, but more than that, a sense of duty. He was not the same as the men and women who fought on the front lines and risked life and limb for the Empire; no, he respected their sacrifice greatly, and honored that they protected his subservient way of life. He rejoiced that he did not have to eat dirt and maggots while a Republic festered overhead selling lies about freedom. Servitude was enough, because servitude meant masters, and masters meant food.

"Jitters," as he was fondly called, jumped at the mere sound of his name if he were not expecting it. His body was wracked with quakes from a lifetime of close calls and cold nights, and his nerves were shot down to the last. Still, it was his honor to serve those who gave his life meaning.

Even as a serving boy.

"Sir," he bleated in an uneven voice, one that shifted from high to low every other syllable, "I have instruction from the Lord of Hatred. All cantinas in the city are to put drinks on his tab for all Sith Imperial Military Personnel."

The proprietor raised a brow. "That's a lot of drinks," he murmured. "The Empire is footing the bill?"

"Such is the message I was sent to deliver," Jitters bowed slightly, grasping at his aching back. "If it pleases you, sir, I have many more stops to make."

"You are free to go," the barkeep replied. He raised his voice and turned to the crowd. "Alright, boys and girls, I've got good news! Tonight, Imperial Military drinks on the Sith!"

 

[Rys'sya]

Trouble.​

​

That's what she felt as she entered the doors of the Cantina. Her sightless 'gaze' shifted between the two already occupying the place, a soft frown donned upon full lips. [member="Dante Sotari"] was the name of the woman that she gleaned from just a light grazing of surface thoughts. Never one to forcefully pry into one's mind unless it was necessary, Rys'sya reserved herself to merely skimming the surface, without intruding into one's privacy. The male on the other-hand, did not have the same capability to be read. His presence didn't give off the same vibrations as an Epicanthix, so the only thing she could consider was artificial life-form. Most of the others didn't seem to stand out to the Acolyte. Yet.​

​

Moving towards the bar, she'd quietly request a glass of wine, something light and not likely to impede cognitive functions of the Sorceress unless consumed to great excess, before turning her attention to the woman and the man, content to observe their interaction until invited to join them, or not... Her 'gaze' was fixated on her glass though, only observing peripherally through the Force.​

​

Could she help them at all? The sorceress couldn't be too certain....​

​

​

[member="Morgan Vance"] | [member="Alkor Centaris"]​

 

[Dante Sotari]

Dante was most of the way through her beer and about to signal for another when she felt someone occupy the stool next to her. Here at least, in the stronghold of the Sith, she'd managed to reign in some of the paranoia she'd cultivated when she'd been on the run. Who would come kark with her here of all places? So she just tapped on the bartop, indicating another when the familiar voice spoke.

She blinked.

"You-" slowly spoken, tasting the words as she accepted another glass of the dark ale, "Are supposed to be in the ICU. So."

She paused, not actually knowing what she was going to say after the 'so'.

Dante had no idea that someone was skimming off the surface of her mind, plucking name or emotions. Force sensitive as a door knob, this one.

"So."

She finally looked over at him out of the corner of her eye.

"You look like a rancor sat on your face. You should still be in bed."

No it's good to see you. No I'm so glad you're okay. Any of what she might have said if they'd let her in to sit at his bedside was buried. Better that way. All of that, everything, had reminded her of what it felt like to care about a partner. Better to keep it no more than what it already was. As it was, she worried, that was too much.

[member="Morgan Vance"] [member="Rys'sya"]

 

[Kenth Typho]

[member="Rys'sya"] | [member="Dante Sotari"]

Morgan was equally unaware of any efforts to read him.

There was a sense of force sensitivity coming from him, but it was scrambled, strange, like half of him had been torn out, cut into little pieces and stapled onto the greater essence in some grand science experiment. None of it allowed him to use the Force or even sense it, the purpose was unclear and shrouded, but they were agents of the Sith.

It wasn't strange for the Sith to experiment on theirs.

"Should see the other guys." Morgan retorted, before taking a good long sip from his ale. Pleasant on the tongue, just a touch of bite behind it that made the taste buds sing.

"Bed was getting boring, you know me- ain't one to sit around all day." He glanced over to her over his glass. She didn't seem very happy about him being here. Might be that things had changed since... since. Morgan didn't know and it would be hard to figure out for him. Human skills weren't exactly his forte ever since the accident.

Another sip and this time Morgan chuckled, humming in appreciation.

"Metellosian Dark, huh? When did they start serving that here..." A shrug followed by another sip. "Mm. So. How you been?"

 

[Zef Halo]

Bastion.

Certainly not his favorite place. Scipio was no urban boy. If he had a choice he'd be taking the off days at his sweet agriworld home. Sitting on his porch, ale and cigar in hand, watching the long days of summer where the livestock grazed the endless pastures.

And the air.

You can't find that clear anywhere no more.

Especially not on the Legion's home of Gravlex fethin Med.

Scipio strolled further in the infamous Legion & Armada watering hole towards the bar. His gaze fixated on the holographic feed that showed the names of fallen comrades. He'd drink for them today but he'd also drink for the regret of the 42nd Airborne Division being on deployed on Ziost while the Jedi had boldly moved in for Mirial.

The announcement of free drinks was well welcomed by everyone with a cheer and rapid requests of more booze.

While Scipio was observing his surroundings and simultaneously moving towards the bar, he accidentally bumped into a woman ([member="Rys'sya"]).

With a blindfold.

"Oh damn...'re you a'ight, m'am?" The lieutenant felt stupid bumping into a blind person. Had she lost her vision on Mirial? She looked way too young and...did not sport the usual camo clothes the military used.

So, a random patron. A citizen of the Empire.

"D' ya want me to help ya with anythin', m'am?"

​

[member="Morgan Vance"] | [member="Dante Sotari"]​

 

[Rys'sya]

Thankfully, her glass was placed flat upon the bar before the initial impact. Her ability to see through the Force gave her enough of a heads up that she had prepared accordingly. Turning to face the man, her unseeing gaze fixed on possibly his cheek, or perhaps just barely over his shoulder, given her inability to exactly see where his face truly was, guided by as much sound as the Force, she offered a soft, comforting smile. "It is quite alright. Every soul in this place is troubled. Weighted down. Burdened." she replied, soft velvety words floating the short gap between herself and the man who just collided with her. Her sightless gaze moved across the bar, feeling the pain and sorrow all within.​

​

Turning her attention once more to the man beside her, she gestured with one lace-covered hand in the direction of the seat next to her. "Sometimes, when one hurts, one needs another to share a portion of their burden with. Perhaps, you might share with me?" the young woman offered. "I was not on Mirial. Though, I doubt my presence would have contributed any to the prevention of loss of life." she lamented, full lips slowly curling into a frown. "A terrible price was paid, and it needn't have ever been."​

​

She meant her words. Though Sith she was, she knew all life had a value, had a purpose. Certainly the Sith were the ones who should rule, and guide, the galaxy going forward, if only the Jedi could step outside of themselves and realize their zealous crusades only brought more harm than the 'good' they so ardently claimed they strove for....​

​

After a sip from her glass of wine, she 'looked' to the man again. "I am Rys'sya, good sir.... and yourself?"​

​

​

[member="Scipio Alta"]​

 

[Dante Sotari]

"Didn't notice," she mumbled, looking away, refering to the beer.

She most certainly had noticed. Might even had been the one to ask them if they thought they'd ever get it in. She hadn't expected the answer to be 'oh, we can do that for you Lieutenant.'

"How have I-" she stopped, biting back the incredulous 'are you karking kidding me' tone it had started out as. Instead she tipped back her glass, downing half of the beer in one long pull. She was not nearly sober enough for this, and she intended to remedy that as quickly as possible.

Instead of answering him right away, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then stood up and flagged down the bartender.

"You said drinks are on Sith tonight for the Mirial crowd? How about a round of the scotch from the top shelf. One for each of us, one for... well. You know the drill."

It was an old tradition. Two shots. One taken for making it through. One in remembrance of those who hadn't. If someone had lost someone in particular, to that person. Sometimes, the extra shots didn't stop for a long time for some folks.

In a way, this was her answer to his question. Her real answer, not something snarky or breezy, pretending like nothing mattered. She waited while the bartender poured four shots. Dante downed her first one without a moment of hesitation, not caring if Morgan was. When her fingers grasped the other though, she paused. Hefting it, she looked over at him, expression somber.

"Lieutenant Avery," she said quietly before throwing it back.

"Fine," she answered after a grimace. Now she was ready. "Just peachy really. Concussion was a walk in the park, considering. Now I get a couple of days to kick up my feet and twiddle my thumbs. You?"

[member="Morgan Vance"]

 

[Kenth Typho]

[member="Dante Sotari"]

He wanted to enjoy the ale.

But Morgan also wanted to enjoy a second one as soon as possible, so by the time that the little shot glasses were placed neatly on the counter the large glass was already empty. Fingers were already curled around the small glass, raising it slightly in a salute before throwing it over and enjoying the taste.

The burn.

It made his mouth hum in satisfaction, pull away attention from the other aches of the body and just let the tingle set in. The second shot was far less ambiguous and general. "To Avery," Morgan agreed before throwing it over and putting the empty one on its head. Eyes closed for a brief moment as the alcohol coursed through him.

Wasn't too bad.

He would need more, if they were going to forget, but there wasn't a rush he supposed. "Fine." Vance offered the response back as an answer this time around, before flagging for another pair of shots. In truth only sitting here had shifted his position. No anger or sadness, but gloomy dullness that pushed itself against him at every moment.

"Drinks now, talks later."

Another one was thrown over.

 

[Zef Halo]

Scipio stood there, frozen, pose erected - a habit from all these years serving in the Legion. His face - perplexed, confused and not quite sure comprehensive of what was said to him.

The lieutenant wasn't stupid but he surely did not possess a wealth of knowledge. Especially common knowledge.

Before he could reply anything to the blind woman who baffled him, Alta made sure to get himself an ale and lean on the bar beside the woman who was drinking...wine.

Who the hell was this person? He couldn't think of this question right now. His mind was filled with the attempts to comprehend the blind woman. Then she asked him who he was and that he could answer.

"Lieutenan' Scipiooh Alta, m'am." His voice slightly louder than normal people as if he was addressing his platoon. "I was not on Mirial either, so I got no burden." A slight hint of regret in his tone at saying that.

After which, the lieutenant's mind froze. What was he to say now?

"You ain't military by the looks of it, what brought ya to the Admiral's Chair?" Alta was more attempting at bringing a conversation he could comprehend than he was curious.

[member="Rys'sya"]​

 

[Dante Sotari]

She took the shot, shaking her head before even getting it down.

"Drinks now, talk never," she said with a grin, saluting him with the glass.

Of course, it didn't actually work like that. Dante wasn't a particularly broody drunk. At least, not usually. And going into it with a drinking partner made that even less likely. They abandoned refills on the beers in favor of a quicker and more efficient method toward madness, or at the very least, the level of inebriation that made talking easy, if not particularly illuminating.

"So. Seriously," she finally said, gesturing with the sixth glass. Leaning her elbow on the bar and cupping her chin in her hand a touch too heavily she frowned at him.

"I saw you. I can't believe they let you walk out of there, with-" she looked up the word escaping her for a moment. "Look. Should you even be drinking? Maybe I should confiscate that."

She jokingly reached for his glass.

[member="Morgan Vance"]

 

[Rys'sya]

She observed him, head angled slightly to help centralize where his face should be, too help potent better while facing him as he spoke. "Ah, a junior officer." she mused as he identified himself.

"While you are correct, I am not military, I work for the Empirical government, just as you, though in a different capacity." she would answer to his question, vague though it were. "As for the 'why' of me being here? I heard of the catastrophe that occurred on Mirial.... I wished to witness first hand the results such horrors had upon our troops, in hopes to be better equipped to help them through it should similar ever happen again...." she started, before focusing on her wine, delicate fingers teaching along the rim of the glass, as she offered a soft sigh.

"Well, Lieutenant, before I drag us further into somber spirits, tell me more about the man behind the title?" she inquired, a playful smile gracing full lips, as her face turned more towards him. She still didn't have her 'gaze' lined up, but, such is the burden of unnatural 'sight'.

She was indeed curious about the man, as she was about all within the pub. And while she could reach in and pluck any information she wanted from any of them, Rys'sya refused to employ that level of intrusion unless required. So only surface thoughts were heard, as it was all but impossible for her to drown that out, after years of relying so heavily on that talent.

[member="Scipio Alta"] | [member="Dante Sotari"] | [member="Morgan Vance"]​

 

[Kenth Typho]

[member="Dante Sotari"]

He playfully slapped her hand away from his glass.

"Careful, might decide to bite next time." It felt good to just... unwind and relax for a chance. Felt like he had been running chasing his own tail, same old grind in a hamster wheel ever since he had been discharged from the hospital all those months ago. Be stronger, better, stricter with himself and more disciplined. That worked for a time, but eventually it erodes you to your basic pieces. The soft churn of duty and order grinding away all the rough edges, until you were a perfect tinker toy soldier spy. Morgan shifted, turning around and letting himself lean with his back against the bar and his eyes wandering briefly across the room. He took a light sip, emptying it before Dante could try again.

Eyes closed briefly and Morgan hummed in satisfaction.

The pain was just a dull ring at the back of his mind now. Easily ignored, easy to push away for the night, until it would prop right back up again later. After. After was good, he could deal with that. "Ain't wrong, they wanted to keep me for another two weeks."

Fingers flashed for another round.

Vance glanced over to her, just a hint of a grin at the edge of the corner, he was different now. Saner. Less a sharp scalpel ready for incision and more... more. "Gotta take advantage of their generosity, eh?" When the shots came over once more the soldier didn't immediately down it. Instead fingers circled around the rim, humming to the tune of the song playing in the background. Sad song, sad, sad song. It would have been a good one, if it didn't keep reminding him of Mirial.

"What are we drinking to this round?"

 

[Zef Halo]

The bartender finally got him his pint. Scipio took the long awaited sip from it as the blind woman spoke.

And asked a question.

What could he answer her? Scipio wasn't much of a guy to talk about himself.

"Served in the Legion since I've been of age, m'am. Born and raised on a small agriworld in Sith-Imperial space. Could guess from the accent." He slightly shrugged. "What do you exactly do, if I may ask, m'am. In the gov'ment that is. Never got your name, too."

He took another sip.

[member="Rys'sya"]​