Faction Going By In A Blur [The First Order]

[Tir Grastis]

Prosperia, Dosunn
The Trench Run
​

The Trench was a fairly established bar where it wasn't uncommon for military from the First Order to congregate. Downtime usually allowed for casual - or not so casual - drinks with fellow troops, in a relaxed and comfortable atmosphere. The drinks were reasonably priced, the owner of the bar - Strigs, an older female human with graying hair - had done her part in service to the First Order, before an honorable discharge to buy the establishment. It took a while for Strigs to get the place how she wanted, but after a number of years it had become a second home to some, just a place to kick back and unwind. Unlike a lot of the other buildings in the area, the Trench had a lot of wood interior, which gave it a homey cabin decor and smell. The layout was simple, one side was the bar and alcohol shelving, the other tables and booths, and spread throughout holoimages on the walls of fallen troops and military paraphernalia.

Across the way, in a booth that was well-worn and used often, Tir sat. He was reclined, one elbow on the back of the booth seat, one boot propped onto the couch portion. The Firrerreon watched the bar, his dark eyes just scanning over things, mainly out of habit. In his other hand he nursed a glass of Corellian Whiskey, straight. The golden liquid was a favorite for Tir, he especially enjoyed the woody, spicy flavor that went down well. So it was appreciated that Strigs kept a supply behind the bar, especially this far from Corellia, so the Firrerreon didn't mind paying that little bit extra to help her cover the cost for importing the liquor. With a roll of his neck, and a few cracks, Tir raised the glass and took another mouthful. He liked the taste on his tongue, as he let it sit for a bit, then swallowed the whiskey.

"Place is popular tonight," Tir said to his companion across the booth. The FOSB agent motioned to a group who had pulled tables together. They were stormtroopers, in mannerisms and terminology used. They also had bright, almost fruity drinks in front of them, which would have been amusing if those same drinks weren't obscenely dangerous from pure alcoholic content. "Surprised a group of grunts have downtime. They drinkin' Death Stars? Heh..."

Across the way, a familiar sentient walked into the bar. Red hair caught Tir's attention immediately, as he glanced over and saw Iasos Kontarr. Seemed the chance to actually meet and chat outside of a Star Destroyer hallway was possible. With a lopsided grin, Tir took another mouthful of his drink, as he wondered if the redhead would head over or not. The Firrerreon wouldn't lie, he hoped she did, the pilot he had met in passing several times interested him. There were the obvious reasons, which were very obvious, but also Tir had seen her in the skies and couldn't deny she was a damned fine pilot. Granted, his perspective had been from the ground, but the flying abilities were clearly on display, and Tir could appreciate someone who was more than capable at their job.

Screw it, I'll engage first.

"Ready for another round, guy?" Tir asked his fellow FOSB agent, as he looked his way. "I got this one."

Tir pushed to a stand, then walked across the room to the bar. He glanced to the stormies, a low growl escaped his throat out of habit, but they otherwise seemed occupied with their drinks and stories. It didn't matter much to the FOSB agent either way, as he approached Strigs and let out a grunt of greeting. He sidled up to the bar then waited for Iasos to arrive, before he glanced her way and raised an eyebrow.

"Flygirl," Tir said with a nod toward the redheaded pilot, as he tipped his glass and took another mouthful to finish the glass off and placed it on the bar. "Seat's free at our table. Wanna join? This rounds on me."

______________________________

Dresden Verbrennung | Iasos Kontarr | The Major | Resurgent Narrative​

 

[Resurgent Narrative]

It was probably one of the few honest to Balance places around Prosperia, or at least, Tanileu thought. Bennethus 'Ben' Tanileu had finally gotten a little time to herself. The former stormtrooper and current commando had hitched a ride with the group of grunts from Joint Base Korrado in Avalonia. Their destination? The Tenax Hills Camp over in Victoria, but a stop off in the big city was welcomed the bar in question was - right at home as far as Tanileu was concerned. Almost reminded her of home, almost. ​

​

'The Trench Run,' was located in the greater Prosperia area nestled somewhere between the fancy Camden Film Studios and the New Agora. Tanileu glanced at her chrono out of habit, "easy Tanileu." Mihalis Aetos, the younger brother of fallen hero Vir Aetos who now had a whole damn sector of space named after him warned. "Any more rigid and I think you'd break something."​

​

"Laugh all you like, Aetos. Laugh all you like but you and I both know that if I miss this ferry to Victoria I'm going to be a grumpy commando," quipped Tanileu as she looked at the drinks Aetos brought over, "oh what did you get?"​

​

"I got, the Melted Phasma and two shots of their Grand Hux Deluxe."​

​

Tanileu shifted her face at the names, "Balance help us really?"​

"Listen, the boys in grey over there said it had a lot of kick."​

​

"Yeah, the boys who are drinking sunrises and death stars," remarked Tanileu with a sardonic tone as she took one of the shots of the Grand Hux Deluxe and took a sniff. "Dear heaven above, Aetos. This could peel the steel right off a walker!" Exclaimed the veteran, "and yet here I am."​

​

"And yet here you are." Aetos returned with a smile, "so let's both drink on the count of three."​

​

The two looked at each other and at the same time, "three!"​

​

Both knocked the shots back and slammed the glasses back down on the table. Their table being center back from the crowd and was Tanileu ever grateful for it because the burn of the shot was kicking and it was kicking hard. "Bloody Balance on nexu's dung caps, Aetos that's more than a kick!"​

​

Aetos laughed, and laughed again he couldn't help it, and even if he was hurting from the shot he wasn't going to show it. ​

​

Dresden Verbrennung | Iasos Kontarr | Tir Grastis | The Major ​

 

[Iasos Kontarr]

Tags: Tir Grastis | Dresden Verbrennung | The Major | Resurgent Narrative
Wearing: Outfit | Boots
Muse Notes: Seether "Bruised & Bloodied"​

Tucking her auburn curls behind her ear, Ias paused outside the entrance to The Trench Run. She'd not been in First Order space very long in the grand scheme of things, but enough to have become relatively well acquainted with its major cities while she waited for her paperwork and background checks to be cleared. Once that had gone through, it had become a whirlwind of being assigned to whichever squadron needed fresh pilots the most and hoping for one of the choice assignments to those few that saw steady deployment and action.​

She just wasn't happy outside of a cockpit. Ias needed the rush of adrenaline and hyperawareness that came with flying a fighter. But other duties and even downtime were just as much a part of the job. It was just that trouble tended to find her when she had too much downtime on her hands.​

Casting one last glance to her speederbike, she turned and made her way inside, letting her eyes adjust to the lighting while the door swung closed behind her. Her boots thumped softly along the floor as she walked toward the bar, bright gaze flickering across to the different groups scattered at the tables around the warm interior. The Trench Run was relatively full...and there was a large group of stormtroopers who had pulled several tables together.​

Oh joy. Groundpounders. That...well.​

Might be a problem, might not be a problem. She'd have to see just how much she felt like antagonizing them after a few drinks.​

The answer was guaranteed to be a lot, but if she was alone in doing the antagonizing, she'd have to actually think about behaving before going back to base with a split lip and a black eye again.​

There was, however, a very welcome sight to greet her at the bar as she stepped up to it. She'd met the agent on several of the missions she'd been deployed on recently and had been wondering if she'd ever manage to see him outside of official duty. A smile curled her lips and brightened her features as she slid the worn leather jacket off of her shoulders.​

"Hey there, Tir." Ias said warmly, gaze settling ever so briefly on his shoulders before she decided his gravely voice needed far more attention paid to it before she was completely distracted. "That is the best offer I've had in a long while...I'd love to." She canted her head to the side and asked the bartender for a Starshine Surprise, which arched the woman's eyebrow and brought a smile to the veteran's face.​

Lofting an auburn brow at Tir, she took a moment to simply appreciate the gruff agent before a round of raucous laughter from the troopers drew her attention briefly. No. She was not letting those karkers mess with the evening that was, for once, looking up. She hadn't had enough alcohol to be nearly as belligerent as they probably deserved just yet.​

Looking back to Tir, her expression warmed back up again in an instant. "Right then...where are you guys sitting?"​

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

Dresden looked at his drink and scowled.

14 days. That was how long he was forced to take leave, ostensibly due to his actions on Bespin. Any Base Delta order required a mandatory investigation to ensure that it was justified, and while the investigation was ongoing, the agent was supposed to be placed on administrative leave. In most cases, the investigation was pro forma, and the leave requirement was waved. In this instance, the investigation was still pro forma, but Dresden's first line supervisor had insisted he take time off. After all, he was still recently back from the mostly dead, and had been on mission nearly nonstop since returning to the fold. There simply hadn't been time for him to take a breath, and the strain was starting to show in his medical evals.

That didn't mean the agent was happy about it.

Newly promoted to Senior Agent, after the events of Karra, Dresden had spent the last several months jumping from one brushfire to another, stamping furiously, and doing it all over again. When not actively involved in combat, he trained. His body was in the best shape it had ever been, on the surface, but on a cellular level, things were all jacked up. He needed rest, the doctors insisted, and he was going to get it if it killed him. The only problem was, he stayed busy by choice. He'd spent so long idle, waiting to die, that the idea of sitting in a bar, surrounded by strangers, drove him mad. And yet, that was exactly what he was doing.

It wouldn't be so bad, he thought, if he had friends. But he didn't. They were all dead. Or, in the case of Ms. S, undergoing their own traumatic experiences that precluded bumming around with a chronically depressed and ill tempered mad bomber with a chip on his shoulder. He hadn't seen her since Karra, and the awkwardness of their few meetings in between his revival and that mission had dissuaded him from seeking her out. She had her own issues, and didn't need his piled on top of them.

He scowled even harder at his glass.

This sucked.

He wanted to go home, but he had nowhere that fit that description. It was either the bar, or the barracks, and only the bar had beer.

"Kark this," he muttered, and drained his glass in one long pull. If he was going to be here, he wasn't going to be here sober.

Tir Grastis | Iasos Kontarr | The Major | Resurgent Narrative

 

[Elisea Apollodor]

Elisea had stopped off at Prosperia on her way to Avalonia, the Research Chief who was no longer a Research Chief. No, Elisea had been promoted to Specialist 2nd Class. It meant better pay but it also meant her job just got a whole lot more ambiguous. The newly minted specialist and Mrs. Apollodor had let her wife Nylea Apollodor know that she would be hanging out at Prosperia, preferring to take the train the next morning back home. The Trench Run wasn't too far from the FRTC so it was an ideal location to hang out until it was time to her hotel. ​

​

It wasn't until she had stepped into the bar that she realized, that she was still in uniform. Medical teal held over the black slacks fitted over the soft boots. Elisea's hair had been pulled back, held above the collar per regulations, she gave a quiet and polite nod to those around in the bar. It was obvious that her presence caused a few stares from the boys in grey. The Avalonian decided to pay them no mind and headed up to sidle up beside a redhead. The barkeep who had graying hair approached, "Oh um, can I just get an Avalonian Long?" ​

​

In other places, it might have been known as a Long Island Tea. "And then can I get a Bloody Balance, yeah - I - it's been a day."​

​

The bloody mary replacement kicked about as hard. Elisea gave a smile to the redhead and the man beside her but otherwise just wanted to quietly digest her promotion. It was the idea that she was going to be tossed around into the harder hit areas and expected to further lead that felt somewhat burdensome to a woman who started out as a mere counselor helping people work through their problems. ​

​

The Major | Tir Grastis | Iasos Kontarr | Dresden Verbrennung ​

 

[Nima Vantoon]

The bartender frowned at the blind woman, slightly disheveled, more then slightly inebriated. She had parked herself at the bar with no assistance hours ago, and had just steadily ordered shot after shot of something called tihaar- a clear, fruit distilled alcohol spirit he'd never even heard of before today.

"You sure you want another shot lady? This stuff smells like what you'd use to degrease engines."

Nima giggled, reaching over the bar to pat the bartender on the cheek and almost smacking him silly instead. "Don't worry cuhtie", she slurred, snatching the finger, draining it, and motioning for another. "Ima hiccup big girl."

The Agent had been placed on leave since the Hoth operation. While she had been successful in achieving the mission objectives, Nima sustained horrific injuries when a mysterious Mandalorian blew up the data cache with her still inside. Self consciously, she rubbed her hair as she nursed her drink. Because she had received immediate medical attention, physicians were able to rebuild her artificial arm, repair her ruptured eardrums, and mitigated horrendous burns on her face and head to minimal scarring. But her hair- her only concession to vanity- had been truncated by the explosion and the surgeons, forcing her to braid it into a protective hairstyle.

"Shavit. Somedays I wished I was still in the ice", she whispered. "KARKING MANDO!" she screamed suddenly, startling several people and earning reproachful looks. Nima giggled and was about to drink another shot of tihaar when she noticed someone familiar out of the corner of her eye. Tanileu? From the Red Nebula op?

Draining her shot, Nima made her way over to the table she and two people she didn't recognize.

The Major | Tir Grastis | Iasos Kontarr | Dresden Verbrennung | Elisea Apollodor

 

[The Major]

Location: The Trench Run
Morale: Neutral
Outfit
Equipment: Datapad, FO-LIPSTICK Mk I, Modified DL-44 x2​

If there was such a thing as disruptive innovation in the form of a person then it would have to embody itself as the woman pushing through the front door of this watering hole. What made this appealing, or appalling, was the fact that Shepard didn’t intend to be such a pain in the universe’s cheeks. It merely happened that way: a smuggler’s luck, but warped to the point where failure meant failing upwards. At least, for now.

The mission on Saijo was a successful one for the nation, but the circumstances of that victory had her mind in a tizzy. Things were getting weird. Sybil was getting weird.

This net message to meet at this establishment was only slightly troubling, sent in a riddle and referencing things which only the Revenant Almanian should know. Mysteries were quite attractive to the Major, now more than ever. So here she was, seemingly confident that there was little danger of a trap. Once inside the establishment, she could only surmise that her preparations —namely, none— were sufficient.

The Trench Run was equal mixtures of comfy speakeasy and ragged pub. Every world probably had a dozen of such haunts were the real shapers of galactic policy —namely, the boots and agents that bled and shed blood— congregated. This was the kind of place that Sybil would love to fit into and get along with, but every day something inside was growing, something that wedged her away from this normalcy. She liked to imagine it as an oily crowbar, prying away.

Standing in the doorway was a great way to stick out, even if one was wearing chrome leggings. Datacontacts shone a hyperlit blue for only second, a micro scan to cop a feel on IFF tags. Satisfied with the data, the auburn topped Psychoshocker maneuvered immediately over to the counter and waited for a shot at ordering some social lubricant.

Nima Vantoon | Tir Grastis | Iasos Kontarr | Dresden Verbrennung | Elisea Apollodor​

 

[Jaida Tess]

The Trench Run
Prosperia, Dosuun
Shore Leave
​

They had a fifty-six-hour pass while their ship was being resupplied in orbit above the capital world of the First Order. So what did this group of fighter jockeys do first... Yep, headed to a cantina, but not just any cantina - The Trench Run had gotten the nod.

Strolling into the military-centric establishment looking good in their black uniforms, the TIE fighter pilots from the Voritor II took command of several tables, pushing them together. Jaybird was always glad for shore leave, but the thought of drinking copious amounts of alcohol again so soon after participating in the First Order sanctioned drinking contest diplomatic mission with representatives of Solem didn't make her stomach sit well, and that was before indulging in the night's antics most likely to come.

Jaida walked straight up to the bar and ordered several pitchers of ale and whisky shots to be sent over for the group of pilots. "May I have an Elba water added to that order for me, and start a tab for us if you would please," the blonde smiled, sliding a chit coin across to the bartender. It was just a small deposit, but it would at least pay for the first round of shots on her.

Tir Grastis | Iasos Kontarr | Dresden Verbrennung | Elisea Apollodor | Nima Vantoon | The Major | Resurgent Narrative​

 

[Tir Grastis]

Prosperia, Dosunn
The Trench Run
​

The place was slowly becoming less inviting, the louder the bucketheads on their collective tables got. With his enhanced hearing, Tir found himself glancing to the group of troopers every so often, as loud clashes of mugs or shouts sounded with more and more frequency. Yet, when Iasos stepped over to the bar, smiled, and slipped her jacket off, Tir's attention was definitely not on the troopers. He smirked and listened while she greeted him in return. Seemed the offer to join was good enough to accept, which caused the gruff Firrerreon to grin with a flash of canines, before he turned to Strigs and held up three fingers.

"Strigs, same as before," Tir said in a low voice, before his dark eyes shifted to Iasos. "And add the flygirl's drink to my tab."

"You got it, chief," Old lady Strigs said with a nod to the newly arrived pilot. "And a Starshine Surprise, for the boss."

Another pilot approached the bar, a blonde, who ordered a heap for the other collective table of pilots not far away. The place was crowded, for sure, but things seemed mostly under control. Strigs ran a tough establishment, but trouble always had a way of snaking in, even with a strong hand to keep it at bay being around. Tir nodded to the pilot. Then, with a clear of his throat, Tir turned to put his back against the bar and leaned back against it, both elbows propped on the wooden edge. He looked out over the Trench, over to the table he and Dresden used, and noted the other Agent still looked like a depressed Gundark. He was almost as big as one, too. The Firrerreon looked to the redhead and indicated with his head with a quick nod.

"Set up over there, with the grump." He said, as he thought about the other sentient, but still had no idea what soured his mood. "He's moping. I think. Who knows?"

As the pair spoke at the bar, another patron entered the establishment and approached the bar. The uniform she wore pinned her as FIMS, which immediately made Tir glance over to the troopers at the combined tables. They were well into their drinks, and most times that meant stupid decisions, especially around attractive women in uniform. Booze, ego, liquid courage and expectation for advances to be appreciated or some kark. Either way, Tir wondered if the medic down the bar was prepared for the attention that was undoubtedly coming. Hell, Iasos had gotten as many stares from the bucketheads as well, so the drunk group seemed to be setting sights. But if they tried anything to the redhead, Tir knew they'd be in for a head cracking...

Heh. Kinda want to see it, actually.

Strigs slid the drinks onto the bar, which Tir looked back to and turned around to grab. He took care of the beverages for him and Dresden, then started toward the booth when Iasos had her drink in hand. Along the way across the floor, Tir turned as he heard someone shout about karking Mandos, a young sentient at one end of the bar with shot glasses nearby. He shook his head, confused but also not engaged in what it was all about, before he resumed his way to the booth.

"So, you heard about your deployment yet?" Tir asked his companion as he looked to the pretty redhead. She looked great in her black outfit, the Firrerreon wasn't afraid to admit it. "How 'bout ship preference? Heard there's some new ones comin' off the line real soon. Impressive ones."

From the corner of his eye, Tir caught another sentient entering the bar, dressed in some unique fashion, as the shiny pants caught the light. While Tir had never really met the woman personally, he had been aware of Shepard from his information at the FOSB. There were some rumors floating around her, about some kind of promotion in the pipeline, but nothing had been confirmed. Seemed about right for the spooks. And as Tir reached the booth, he slid Dresden's drink onto the table toward him. The Firrerreon motioned with his head behind him, to the woman in the shiny pants, as he looked at the older Agent with a raised eyebrow.

"Looks like a familiar face just stepped in... gonna ask her to join?"

Tir waited for Iasos to sit down, then slid onto the booth seat near her. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table edge, as he took a swig from his whiskey and wondered what the grumpy Gundark was going to do...

______________________________

Dresden Verbrennung | Iasos Kontarr | The Major | Resurgent Narrative | Elisea Apollodor | Nima Vantoon | Jaida Tess​

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

It wasn't so much that Dresden scowled at the younger man, so much as his scowl was practically welded to his face as he turned his attention towards Tir Grastis .

The alcohol was starting to kick in and, somewhat predictably, it wasn't doing anything to lighten his mood. It never did. Or at least, it hadn't after his recovery. Once upon a time, he had been a happy drunk. But months of subsisting on little else, as his ruined digestive system had been unable to handle much in the way of solid food, had changed that. The mere thought of the nights he spent puking his guts out as they slowly rotted away was enough to turn his stomach, and sour his mood even further. The Senior Agent crossed the threshold from merely grumpy to black depression so fast, it gave him a case of emotional whiplash.

Dresden could feel the tangle of poorly suppressed emotions welling up to the surface and gritted his teeth to keep from lashing out. His heart thundered in his ribcage, the pounding felt in his temple. His hands began to tremble, his breathing became ragged, and his vision started to narrow into a tunnel.

In short, he was having an anxiety attack.

In combat, this sort of response could be useful. The sudden adrenaline dump served to heighten his senses and sharpen his reflexes. It made conscious thought difficult, but then, that was why he planned everything so thoroughly. He didn't have to think his way out of a situation in the heat of the moment, merely follow the steps laid out by the thinking Dresden, the calm Dresden. In the heat of the moment, he could simply be.

But this wasn't combat. If he gave into the Fight response here, in this bar, it would get ugly, fast. People would get hurt. Even without his weapons, he was a formidable fighter, and had no pretensions to honor or sportsmanship. In his younger days, before years of trauma had scraped everything down to raw nerve and reaction, he'd enjoyed the occasional good natured brawl. No such thing existed in the present. He had to get out of here. Only, he couldn't leave, not exactly. There was nowhere to go, and at any rate, he was supposed to stick with the younger agent for the evening.

"I need some air," he growled, his voice low and fraught with potential danger. "Don't follow."

Without further ado, he hauled himself up from the stool and stumbled towards the door. He didn't even notice that he bumped into The Major on his way out. The entirety of his focus was on his breathing, forcing himself through the relaxation techniques his doctors had impressed upon him during physical therapy. Whatever they had done to him, it had only heightened his already acute social anxiety. The subtle alterations made to his nervous system made him twitchy, hypersensitive to the smallest stimuli. More stuff that was useful in a fight, but worse than useless in a crowded room where he wasn't supposed to kill everything in sight.

By the time he collapsed into a bench a little ways up the street from the bar, Dresden's head felt like it was going to split in two, and the drinks he'd downed were threatening to come back up and say hello to the pavement. It was all if could do to prop his elbows up on his knees, rest his face in his hands, and force himself to take slow, steady breaths.

This was going to be a long night.

Iasos Kontarr | Resurgent Narrative | Elisea Apollodor | Nima Vantoon | Jaida Tess