Haakun'a Matatya - The Drunken Master

[Ashin Varanin]

Being the Dark Lord of the Sith was an interesting thing. It meant everyone recognized you eventually. Oddly, it also meant little in terms of respect -- but Mikhail had never been one for respect, and she didn't think Vyperion knew she was his lord and master. Velok had brought the odd droid to her attention. As a former student of the huge Whiphid, she paid close attention to his other students.

She nodded in acknowledgement at Mikhail, then pondered options. Nobody, but nobody, tore up the Drunken Master. Brawls happened all the time, of course.

For the moment, the most interesting person in the room was the eye-patched Twi'lek.

Ashin slid back into the booth, leaving enough room for the new arrival. "All right, folks, I think we need to play a game, or this'll get boring fast, and I'm not in the mood to kill you all. Connory, I'll take one from your book. Storytelling -- who's got one?"

 

[Edward Vyperion]

Vyperion then frowned and said "I have no stories to tell, but I remember all my travels in my 107 years of existence oddly enough."

 

[Asemir]

"With a century of experience, you must have some stories," Asemir said to Vyperion. "I already told a story so I will not go first. Perhaps, Ashin, you've got some fascinating adventure you'd like to share with us?" That was said with a smile. A friendly smile.

 

[Tahira Solo]

[SIZE=medium]“Folks, what rhymes with 'disassembled'?"[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]“Resembled, assembled, trembled,” she murmured, a face hidden deep in a cowl’s shadow, myrtle ellipses remaining trained on the sabaac game at hand. Even beneath her hidden presence in the force, she felt pinpricks of other sensitives in the Tavern. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Her focus remained on the mission. “I believe that’s the match,” a smile pulled at her lips hidden in shadow as she showed her hand. Her Arcona opponent let through a slew of curses before slamming both fists down and lunging across the table at the petite and hooded form. Reptile-like hands closed around her throat as her back hit the scuffed-up floor of the tavern, chairs clattering to the ground. She was sure some rogue flying glasses from the toppled sabaac table were sailing toward the chatters in the booth.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]“Nobody ever said let the...Arcona win,” she muttered, a crazed glint flashing in her gaze as her hands came up in a defensive position and legs kicked out at the reptile’s stomach.[/SIZE]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

"I-"

Violence! Upheaval! Much excitement! Ashin Varanin, Dark Lord of the Sith, sprang up from the table, snatching a stray glass out of the air.

"I do indeed, Asemir, and it starts now." She leveled a finger at the Arcona-tackled woman in a hood. "Behold our social salvation. Avaunt!"

With some flair, she levitated the card table and dropped it on both Arcona and Tahira.

 

[Asemir]

Asemir recoiled as a flying shot glass narrowly missed his face. He turned from Ashin, then to the ensuing fight, and slapped his palm against his face. "Seriously?" the Forgotten muttered, incredulous. "Can't a person get a simple drink without a fight breaking out. This is your fault, Ashin. Some how. Whenever I get into trouble, it always has to do with you."

He sighed and grabbed the Arcona's fist with his mind, stopping it in mid-swing, and then shoved the reptile-alien off from Tahira. That was about all that Asemir wanted to do. He had no intention to get involved even further. But as the Arcona crashed into another table, the table's occupants and the Acona's buddies, all big aliens with nasty physiques, stood, growled, and made their way to the group's corner of the room.

Asemir let out a groan. "Damn it."

 

[Lord Ghoul]

One of the attractive occupants in the bar came under assault! What gentleman could sit by and let this happen? A bunch of angry reptiles and other associates of the Arcona began stand menacingly. They glowered with deadly intent and stalked toward Ashin's group. A fight was about to break out. A big one. Knowing Ashin's power, Mikhail Shorn thought the likelihood of the Drunken Master getting leveled in the fight was fairly high. Pale blue eyes caught sight of a holdout pistol in the Arcona's hand as the reptile regained its footing.

There was a snap-hiss and a bar of red passed through the Arcona's neck. The lizard fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Its head thumped to the floor half-a-second later. It rolled around lazily, before Mikhail stopped it with his foot.

Blue-grey eyes stared like chips of ice at the assorted belligerents. Mikhail's crimson lightsaber hummed idly in his right hand. A disingenuous smile plagued his face.

"Now, if I were you, I'd probably sit down and rethink my life," he said. He kicked the head toward the group. It rolled across the floor slowly.

The group stared at their fallen comrade in shock. Mikhail could see them weighing their options, but the type who got into barfights didn't usually want to lose their lives in the process.

 

[Tahira Solo]

[SIZE=medium]In one moment card table and drunken Arcona were off her coiled form. The hidden comm device in her ear cracked to life as orders came in from her partner. “That’s the target,” twin chestnut brows lofted in shadows as her whisper reached the transmitter. “Yeah, the target is...distracted. Make your move. And don’t worry, I’ve got my big-girl pants on.” Face still in shadows, she pushed herself to the balls of her feet, remaining in a crouched position.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]“But hurry up,” she growled in a half smirk.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]A beskar cylindrical baton-like object was clenched between slender digits, her thumb hovering over the switch to extend the object to its full staff-length.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Oooooookay. And that’s a rolling head. Might as well play-off the damsel in distress card. Tilting her head, the light in the bar cut through half the shadows of the cowl of her cloak, making her wink visible to her hero. Too bad the saber and gore wasn’t enough to deter these Tavern patrons. They were swoop-bike gangs, the sludge of the sludge, lowest of the low and had run into their lot of force users.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Much like a high school cafeteria, minus the known booze, drugs, and weapons, the tavern quickly turned into an all-out brawl. A wookie in the corner ripped a table from the floor and threw it toward the crimson wielding lightsaber man. The Arcona’s buddies drew their blasters and fired. More fire, smashing of glasses, flying of booze, and chairs accompanied roars and yells.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]A chair whizzed by her face and she dodged back, extending the staff to the full length, batting a rogue glass into shatters before it could make contact with her face. Unfortunately…or fortunately, the shards of glass traveled toward Ashin. A clawed-hand gripped her shoulder and spun her around. An angry Rodian was very angry.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Even a small pack of jawas were headed toward her second unknown hero, Asemir.[/SIZE]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

Only a moment's precognition let Ashin close her eyes before the shattered glass bombarded her, opening shallow but free-flowing cuts on her hands and face. With a growl, she drew back and focused, and the glass extricated itself from her skin. Dark Repair knitted the wounds together, but inexpertly. Dark Lord of the Sith she might be, Empress of a good chunk of the galaxy, but she was no prodigy at such things. Bruises formed under fresh skin, courtesy of poorly repaired blood vessels.

As the Rodian spun the hooded woman around, Ashin caught a glimpse of the face underneath said hood. A nagging sense of familiarity kept her from unleashing a few terawatts' worth of lightning.

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Mikhail smirked roguishly back at the wink. Unfortunately, he was too busy trying to deal with a very pissed off wookiee in the next several seconds. You know, for a Force User bar, you'd think this place would attract more of the clintele it aims for. Mikhail wasn't seeing any sabers out aside from his. The pale-eyed Sith watched in amazement as the Wookiee ripped a table off the ground and hurled it his way. Concentrating intensely, Mikhail grabbed the table in the Force and diverted its trajectory - reversing it completely would be too much trouble.

The table slammed into a Rodian, crushing the bug-like humanoid into a wall with a loud crunch reminiscent of stepping on a hundred snail shells at once. Before Mikhail could take care of the Wookiee, a fist came out of nowhere and connected with his gut. He doubled over. In the chaos and confusion, danger was everywhere. Even precognition could barely help you when being attacked from five different beings. Wheezing slightly, Mikhail swung his blade in a half-circle, dismembering a few beings who'd encrouched too far. The others backed off, avoiding the lightsaber wielding Sith in favor of what they thought to be more susceptible beings. In reality, Mikhail was one of their less dangerous opponents considering Ashin was also in the room.

He chucked his lightsaber like a spear at the Wookiee. Propelled by the Force, the blade zipped across the room faster than any human eye could follow. The Wookiee stumbled back, staring at the red saber flowering from its chest. The hilt snapped back into Mikhail's palm a moment later.

"Hey, hood girl..." He punched some unidentified alien in the face. A Bothan shot a blaster at him and he deflected it, barely. "Me and you, should-" He ducked under a haymaker by a Trogorian. "-go back to your place." A kick sent the Trogorian backward. "Or mine." The crimson blade spun in a blur, deterring attacks. "Doesn't really matter." The Wookiee wasn't dead, incredibly, and was coming right toward him. "As long as I get to see more of what's under that hood." He barely dodged as it swiped at him with a massive vibroaxe. "If I see anything I haven't seen before, I'll throw a cred coin at it." He cut the haft of the vibroaxe in half. A thrust to the Wookiee's knee felled it to Mikhail's eyelevel, where he smoothly decapitated it. He shoved the body aside and turned to wink at the hooded woman. "Admit it, I rock your world."

 

[Asemir]

OOC:
@[member="Mikhail Shorn"], your post was quite lovely. Loved his flirtations while killing. :lol:

IC:
The tiny pack of hooded aliens surprised Asemir. He was focused on the real fight and had dismissed the Jawas as a non-threat, but now he paid for his rare-show of arrogance. The lead Jawa thrust a blaster at the Forgotten, and before the little alien could pull the trigger, a stray shot glass shattered against his skull. He dropped like a sack of bricks. It was all Asemir needed.

Night Terror was in his hand, singing loudly for blood, and her wielder obliged. He swun forward in a sar'keron strike, taking the second Jawa's head and the third's blaster-holding hand in the same stroke. A spinkick driven by the Force and his armor caved in the side of the fourth's head.


This was too much. He had come here for relaxation and a chat, and now he was engaged in a bar fight. And he had just murdered four people.

Asemir looked around at the ensuing chaos and sighed. He Force-punched an on-rushing Trandoshan in the throat, sending him staggering away. "Ashin!" the Forgotten called out. "Can we clear this place quickly? I am so tired of all this fething random acts of killing. Can't we find some place peaceful?"

 

[Tahira Solo]

[SIZE=medium]Her small but powerful fist swung wildly into the face of the Rodian. Even among the chaos, the disguised healer caught every word of the crimson saber wielding knight. Every. Word.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Twin chestnut brows lofted as myrtle ellipses made eye contact with the decapitator. Without breaking eye contact, her elbow swung to the side, catching a jumping Jawa in the nose. “You definitely rock something,” a small smirk tugged at her lips as she spun, and jabbed one end of the staff into a portly belly of a Gamorrean. A song started playing over the speakers of the Tavern.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Hey I just met you. This is crazy. Here’s my comm-link, call me maybe….[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Luckily, she became distracted from the song as a crackled voice filled the device in her ear. “Mission green. Extract yourself.” Good, the target of the target had been acquired. Unfortunately, it was enough to distract her from the blurred ball of fur steamrolling into her side.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Instinctively, her staff came up to swipe at her assailant…looked something like a Chadra-fan hybrid… as her form slammed to the floor, sliding a few feet through broken chairs and pools of various spilled drinks.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]The Captain will never forgive me for this.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]Giving the Chadra-fan another violent jab in the face, she sat up at the waist, disheveled strands of chestnut hair falling over her features and effectively concealing a good part of her identity, as the hood slipped to her shoulders. A dagger was already in her hand and she launched it behind the scoundrel at an Aqualish getting ready to pounce. It wasn’t a fatal wound and if anything, it might save the Humanoid from sharing the same fate as the Wookie and Arcona.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]“You’re welcome,” she quipped dryly, pushing herself somewhat unsteadily back to her feet. Whether she was speaking to the sith knight or the Aqualish was debatable. The sound of sirens blasted from the doors. The authorities were here.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=medium]“And that’s my cue,” casting another wink to the charmer, she mock saluted him, flipping the cowl of her jacket back over her disheveled-chestnut-haired head and began picking, punching, and climbing her way toward the kitchen and the back exit. A hand clutched her side as she winced and pushed through the growing bruises.[/SIZE]

 

[Lord Ghoul]

OOC: Why thank you, Asemir.

Sith and police did not get along. They didn't tend to see eye-to-eye. Common Sith statements like, "I had a feeling he would attack me, so I cut off his head," and, "He was irritating. I snapped his neck," only exacerbated the problem. Granted, Mikhail Shorn was not a typical Sith in disposition, but he disliked local authorities just as much as the next murderer. There would be a lot of questions asked. He did not intend to be around for them. Let Ashin deal with them. Empress of the Empire means diplomatic immunity. Maybe I should rule the Empire! No... too much paperwork. Most Sith tended to have an immunity to the law anyway. A reason why law enforcement officials hated them so much, even within the Empire.

Mikhail ran his saber through the already wounded Aqualish. The crimson blade jutted through the alien's stomach, cooking its vital organs in the heat of the pure plasma. Misery to end misery. Extracting the blade with a smooth motion, Mikhail turned in the direction the hooded woman had fled. He lifted a hand and a telekinetic shove rippled out in front of him, slamming two Gammorreans into a wall and knocking them senseless. The path ahead clear, Shorn charged after the hooded woman. She seemed like she knew the way. Besides, Mikhail hadn't gotten to say thank you.

Racing through the kitchen, Mikhail pushed cooks out of his path with minute stiff arms in the Force. The scent of frying food filled his nostrils and his stomach gurgled. Maybe he should have gotten a bite to eat earlier. As it was, he was partially inebriated. Hence the sloppy decapitations. Easy. But sloppy. The police would probably be surrounding the building. He had to get out before then. Otherwise some officers might be given a few unwanted amputations.

He deactivated his lightsaber and exited the back of the building. His gait changed from a run to a casual stroll. Ahead of him was the hooded woman.

"Well, well, well, look who's leaving the party. Not a fan of the anti-fun patrol I take it."

 

[Jonathon Patches]

The Captain will never forgive her for this.

Approaching her from behind - she was clearly distracted by pretty eyes -and closed the distance between them, having seen enough from afar. He grabbed Tahira by the back of the jacket, and pulled her in, "Ok Princess, you've had your fun," he said, and continued to pull her from the scene, and began dragging her back to the helm.

We are so fighting, he mused to himself, in disbelief that she would risk blowing her cover.

Leaning in close he whispered, "You have a lot of explaining to do when we get back," he said, and then added smuggly "Dish duties for the week."

 

[Tahira Solo]

[SIZE=10pt]Well, well, well, look who's leaving the party. Not a fan of the anti-fun patrol I take it.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]“You could say that,” a smile crept over rosy lips as she cast a glance over her shoulder at the decapitating-happy sith. “I just couldn’t take that song they were playing anymore, y'know?” quiet laughter left her mouth as she turned, myrtle ellipses searching for the speeder that was supposed to be her extraction…[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]Gah.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]Staff came up in her hands defensively as she was jerked off-course, side smarting from the earlier run-in with the Chadra-fan. The staff came a hair away from smashing into Patches’ face. Cowl fell to her shoulders as she was half-dragged along by the information broker.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]“How did you…,”her voice trailed off, “It’s not like I didn’t tell you. I left a note,” in the bottom of the trash can.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]“You are totally blowing my cover,” harsh whisper left pursed lips as she made an attempt to pull herself free. “I’ve got this completely…,” she winced slightly, planting her heels. Side, side, ouch, OUCH, “…under control.” Teeth ground together in frustration, the afternoon sun striking across her flustered features.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]She snorted at his dish comment. “And don’t you have better things to do, like play guess-who Deagan chained to the bulkhead today?”[/SIZE]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

@[member="Asemir Lor'kora"]

"Feth," said the Empress, putting up her hood. "The one place I wanted to keep my good name. Remind me to teach you to punch one of these days, Asemir. Come on, there's a place down the street -- the Hidden Dragon."

As she stepped out the door, she squinted down the street. "That woman in the hood...she seemed oddly familiar. Not sure what to think about that one."

 

[Jonathon Patches]

@[member="Tahira Solo"] , @[member="Mikhail Shorn"]

"Really?" he asked under a hushed breath, careful not to raise his voice with his hand firmly clasped at the small of the back of Tahira's jacket. "Do you know who I am? You really don't think I wasn't aware of your little escapade there?" he added, casting her a sideways glance as he took long strides away from the stream, not all to concerned if Tahira was keeping up at the moment.

A note he mused to himself, shaking his head; as if he needed such silly things to keep track of his crew. Perhaps that was the problem in itself, Tahira didn't feel like one of the crew yet, and felt more like a refugee. Maybe she needs more responsibility, he mused to himself... maybe dish duty isn't enough... maybe if we gave her laundry duty, she would feel like a real part of the crew, he thought to himself as his lips crept upwards

Noticing the pain and discomfort she was in, he slackened the grip on the back of her jacket, let up his pace for the moment, shaking his head at the Jedi's insistence on getting in way over her head.

"Keep playing this games Princess, and I'll see to it that the next game of "guess who Deagan chained to the bulkhead" has you playing a key role," he said with a smirk, and cast Tahira a wink for good measure.

 

[Tahira Solo]

[SIZE=10pt]Hiding her discomfort, she gave a dry chuckle. "Oh please. You and I both know Deagan prefers blondes to brunettes."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]"And escapade? Really? I was doing you a favor!" Indignant voice rose as they continued their, thankfully, much slower pace. "I won the Sabaac game and got more...gas money to contribute."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]Twisting free from his grip, she spun to face him, placing herself right in front of the information broker, palms out and pushed flat, ready to push off his cheat and stop his forward momentum. "How did you find me anyway?"[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]Curiosity glinted in sun-flecked myrtle ellipses and for the first time, she wondered if he had injected her with something or put a tracking device in her borrowed clothes. [/SIZE]

 

[Asemir]

@[member="Ashin Varanin"]

With a practice flick of his wrist, Asemir cleaned the blood from Night Terror’s cutting edge. He homed his blade. “What’s so familiar about her?” he asked Ashin as they stepped into the cool evening air and away from the chaos that had engulfed The Drunken Master. He relished the clean breeze and took a deep breath, finding some peace in the tongue-watering hints of street food carried in the air.

“And I’m not sure if punching would be any less lethal,” the Forgotten admitted. “Cleaner, perhaps, but still fatal.”

 

[Ashin Varanin]

@[member="Asemir Lor'kora"]

"I can almost put my finger on it," she said. "It was the way she moved, like she was someone I'd fought or...been with. And before Spencer, I'd never been with a woman, so that can't be it. It's strange. Like remembering a dream."

Her eyes went wide.

"Or it could have been someone my grandfather knew. Je'gan Olra'en, Darth Shule. There was a Kaminoan flash-learning tape made of his brain once, and I...well, I used it. I have certain memories of his. It could even be...feth, that could have been one of his wives. @[member="Sky Kerberos"] or @[member="Tahira Solo"]. The memory is fuzzy. Either way, we just avoided a world of hurt. Maybe. Maybe we should go after her..."