From AM to PM

[Kiber Dorn]

Rustpocalypse Station

The clue is in the name. You know when a place has a skeezy name that it has fully acknowledged its status in the galaxy. It's better that way, more honest. Places that hold airs have secrets and secrets have a tendency to leave a knife in your back. At least here it would just cut your face openly, take a finger, maybe a kidney.

Wait, neither of thosesound great!

Well fine then, we'll just open on a nice rustic pub in the glorious summertime upon the planet ofPeaceberry, shall we? WHAT EXCITEMENT IT SHALL BE! WHAT LARKS WE WILL HAVE! THERE WILL BE NO TROUBLE AND THE NIGHT SHALL END PEACEFULLY! SO MANY ADVENTURES AWAIT!

Let's put you on hold while the narration argues with itself, shall we?

---

Within the largely unimportant space station there lay a drinking establishment. Actually, there lay several drinking establishments. It was a pleasure station of sorts, but instead of seedy neon, it was more like rusty nails. Less street-smart sassy Zeltrons, more angry women with cybernetic limbs (but hey, the things Martha can do with that leg, hoo boy).

Our particular establishment of interest was called, funnily enough, Martha's. Ah, you thought she was a prostitute, didn't you! How judgemental! I'll have you know that she simply procreates for pleasure! She is a business owner, darn it (but the things she can do with that leg though, seriously)!

Martha's was like any other drinking hole upon Rustpocalypse. A safe haven for the wanted. The law did not come her and she did not bring herself upon the law. This was a place for unrestricted debauchery, leave your neighbourhood watch at home. Of course, actions still had consequences. An eye for an eye. Or...maybe more like an eye for an eye, a leg, your teeth and your toenails. Who would have guessed that two wrongs made a right?

The night wasn't young, because business was perpetual here. Drink from now until the end of time, no closing hours. Just clean around the bodies, one in...a while. A jukebox behind an electrified cage rang out with some of Martha's favourite tunes, which was stereotypically enough, some variety of space blues. It could just be heard over the din if you closed your eyes hard enough.

At the bar sat two figures. A thin human, and a very large, and very drunk Gamorrean. A conversation was occuring, and it went a little something like this:

“I...is jus'...sayin...no...otha amilos drink...any otha amilos milk....but us...”

Kiber debated internally whether the Gamorrean meant animals or if amilos was indeed a thing. I mean, he said it twice right? That makes it a thing, I guess.

“...you ain't nevah see a...bantha drinkin' no twi'lek....milk.”

A blink. Two blinks. Three blinks. He wasn't wrong. Although suddenly in his mind appeared the image of a suckling bantha latched onto the... aaaaand now it was seared into his brain forever. Thanks, my dude.

“Are you okay, bud?”

The Gamorrean gave what was an impressive hiccup, choosing to have another sip of his super viscous beige drink before looking to Kiber with the most forlorn pig expression that the man had ever witnessed in his life. Like, seriously, super sad. We should all shed a tear right now.

“...I...lack toast...in tolerance...”

Dorn had to slap his own hand over his face to prevent the large creature from seeing the sudden ridiculous grin that had just spread over his features. Lack toast in tolerance. Oh come on now. You can't play me like that. He was aiming for a trouble free visit, maybe get rejected by Martha, have a week-long bender and on the first night the galaxy gives him a sad Gamorrean that can't eat dairy? That's cruel. Too cruel. Just needed to hold in the mirth, lest he be snapped in two. Far too early for that.

“I am so deeply sorry, my dude,” Kiber responded, voice muffled by his hand that disguised a quivering lip, “what a cruel hand life has given you.”

“...my hands big!”

...how did I get here?!

---

[member="Luna Vega"]

 

[Luna Vega]

Now that's she's back in the atmosphere...

Droppin' clues...drops of Jupiter in her hair? That's tacky, brah. Not evvvven in the same system- let alone the same Galaxy. Stop. Wait a minute. Rewind. Re-re-reeeeemix. But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Oh, but darling, I do that all on my own.

But did you say rustic? I have a belt or two that match that description. Peaceberry? Princess Peaceberry. The Princess of all the tea and crumpets; Invader of Banthas; Muse of Pain and all the things not acceptable and the cup of... Well, I'll not go there. Might be a bit over the top? Agreed? Agreed. Also, this cupcake as green as that swirly gif signature you got at the bottom.

You've gone away...

...you don't feel me here anymore.​

​

​

But you're about to. Squints denim blues Pretty sure those are Disney eyes. Game on.

___________________​

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​

One sauced, but still brown boot hung by only its sole on the bartop- there had already been a number of drinks spilled on that one. So for now? It was hoist the colors, yo ho! Only the colors were what dressed her small feel at the moment. The pirate leered, near smoked-out cigarra fondled between her lips, while plumes dripped from the bottom tier.

Luna was pretty sure it was 'Martha's' she'd stumbled in, but her azure brows drew together in haste. Her slender inked fingers trolled the back of the stool beside her while she thought, then she patted the cushion. "Izzz alwaaaays the melk." Snorting, she cast a glance at the half full tumbler on the bar with a first-world epiphany. It was Martha's. Cleanest glasses in town. Hands down...but not on the bar. Crikey! That was nasty.

Not as putrid and wrecked as what found its way into her ears though. And surely as she drank whiskey straight, the imagery nested in her brain...this conjuring unwanted images. Luna blanched, then her nostrils flared and just a little too much of that smoke slipped up her nose. "I canno...ya owe me a drink...a bottle fa'wh I hav'ta scrub from me brain now," hedged the slightly techno-colored corsair to the trashed Gamorrean. Suckling Banthas and Twi'lek mounds of flesh...milk... och.

Why is it always Banthas? We always pick on them, [member="Kiber Dorn"].

Gray eyes moved to the human while swooping up her glass and knocking the contents back. Vega rolled with it, "Yah...HUGE hands even..." Beryl mopped head canted to the tender, "Round on me." It had been so long since she had any real entertainment. I've had you so many times, but I want more.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

It's because they taste oh so good.

Also I didn't feel like Googling Star Wars mammals.

“And you know what they say about huge hands, bud” Kiber responded near-instantly to the voice that definitely wasn't a sozzled pig man.

“YA! THEY WIN AT SNAP!”

Record scratch.

Kiber leaned forward, propping his elbow upon the bar (regrettable, it was very sticky) and then his chin upon his hand. Brilliant emeralds stared forth at the Gamorrean, resting upon his porcine frame with a certain desire, not sexual, more like how you'd look at a puppy encountering ice for the first time. Absolutely precious and perfect. He was besotted by the inane insanity and the purest innocence within Martha's walls.

“...can I keep you?”

WAIT. STOP.

The voice. A woman. A woman buying a round. What are you doing? Fething flirting with pig-face? What? Is that what you're into now? Oh come on, Kiber, come on now. Where are your priorities? A quick blink and a shake of the head as Kiber ripped his elbow off of the bar and paid very sudden attention to Cyber Sally the Bar Wench and not Ole Drunk an' Swampy, who had, in fact, replied to him but could no longer penetrate Kiber's interest. Blue hotness. Free drinks. Sorry, piggly-wiggly.

“A lady buying the drinks? Don't tell me you open doors for the fellas too, huh?” Kiber grinned, flashing pearly whites that were so very obviously not his original teeth. Too straight, too clean. Who knew that dental work was so cheap in space?

Wow. Strong opener with mild sexism. Good job, Dorn. Ten out of ten. Don't let your nose break on the way out, or are we just going for a sooner rather than later approach? Break it now, have it fixed when somebody else fists your face two hours from now.

“...ebody...forgets....a-about Bruk...in da...end...”

---

[member="Luna Vega"]

 

[Luna Vega]

When everything is made to be broken...

Consequently, this isn't the mistress and her proverbial hammer. I just want you to know who I am? Okay... I went a little off kilter, but jazz hands makes this possible. Kinda staves off gravity for...a couple of seconds more. Also, not sure I used that word stave correctly- it just sounded good. Don't judge me!

Yeah, not looking up animals either. Ayyyoo.

Adjusts the player.

Luna had leaned back, hooking her feet under the bar running along the bottom of the bar. Clearly, this was meant for folks to put their dirty sneakers and boots on top of instead of the... sheen of muck on the floor. Perhaps it was to protect one's soles instead? That wasn't cool enough though, the pirate had to be different.

Alas, there was no innocence at Martha's. Were there an exception... an only exception that came from the dank abyss of either's vulgar, but exceptionally lucid imaginations...emasculation? It could be pretty though, still with poignant poetry intertwined like a one night stand and desperation? Not accurate enough, Luna decided and tugged at the collar of her tank. That was definitely a first (even though breasts). No, not mine! "Blood'ell," inked digits had dropped from the fabric of her clothes to blanket the glass before lifting at the rim with the soft pads of her fingers. It was a lazy gesture and before it could get to her mouth, the Gamorrean's dude spoke and one azure brow larked!

"Only if ye hands are full," the pirate remarked, peering over the amber-filled obstacle and then tipping it back. The blue-haired lass cracked a grin of her own and tapped the counter with the empty tumbler. Clearly, this was another unspoken order to refill. Nevertheless, the slight part of lips offered a slash of white-white teeth. The Confederacy had good insurance... and a stables worth of dentists, [member="Kiber Dorn"].

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Your Father hit the wall and your Mother disowned you.