You Can't Always Get What You Want

[Evelyn Roslin]

"A'nuther."

Evelyn frowned, pushing a brown lock out of her face as she tried her best to keep from slurring. Though, when the bartender merely smirked and poured her another glass of what smelled vaguely like kerosene, she remembered that she wasn't in the type of establishment where they cut you off after one too many. No, she'd stumbled into this place because she'd been kicked out of the bar she and Vier used to frequent. The kind of place they'd sample different wines, joke about being able to pick out imaginary nuances like "forest floor," or "hints of graphite." Whether the wine was great or terrible, they enjoyed themselves either way. His hand would reach for hers as they spoke, thumb idly stroking over her knuckle, and . . .

Frak.

The 24-year-old human female hurridly downed her drink, but it was too late to numb the pain. A different flood of memories hit her hard enough to make her physically sway on the barstool.

Flashback.
Three days ago, she and Vier walked down the street, her hand snug in his. The morning air was crisp, slightly chilled, and she couldn't remember the last time they'd gotten out of bed this early without some external obligation that required it.

"Ow! Vier, stop it!"

She glared at him as he playfully jabbed his finger into her ribs, the spot that always made her squirm and jump with discomfort. He thought it was hilarious; she disagreed, but found it hard to object too strenuously when he so clearly enjoyed needling her.

"Out of the Army for three weeks and you're already becoming a wimp, Evie. I'm just trying to keep you tough!"

Vier was a cargo pilot for the Republic Navy. The military was how they met - up until a month ago, Evelyn served as a logistics officer, jumping through hoops and pulling miracles out of her ass for commanders who all too often seemed to believe logistics involved little more than wishes and fairy dust.

"I'll show you tough - do you know the kind of damage I could do with this thing?"

Evelyn held up her left hand, mostly as an excuse to admire the sparkling ring on her finger. It wasn't a huge diamond, but the moderate size fit her just right, and she still found herself looking at it with a stupid grin. He proposed months ago, and she couldn't help but feel like everything in her life was falling into place. The tomboy grav-ball player who always felt she'd somehow missed the "how to be a proper lady" classes had somehow snagged the man of her dreams. Sometimes that's how she felt- that this was all a dream, and one day she'd wake up and realize she really 40 and alone. She grinned up at Vier, leaned in to peck his cheek - and paused, as a strange, foreboding feeling came over her. She couldn't explain it, but some instinct made her flinch, tugging Vier's hand to try and pull him to the side with her.

She didn't pull hard enough, not quite trusting her instincts; another half meter, and he would've been clear.

Instead, when he half-turned, the blaster bolt caught him in the chest. In what felt like a long moment, he looked down at the smoking hole, puzzled. He looked up at her; their gaze locked, and he reached out his hand . . .then crumbled to his knees and slumped over, motionless.

Evelyn stared. Blinked once. This wasn't happening. She knelt beside him, tried to lift his shoulders.

"Oye! Frakkin' nerfherder got in the way of my blaster!"

A thug on a speeder came up on them, a similar-looking fellow on his left.

"Well you frakkin' idiot, ya missed the shot, now we gotta catch that arsehole Durbin before he gets his crew riled up!"

Both sped past her without a second glance, without a care that they'd just blasted her fiance. No rhyme or reason to it, just bad luck, wrong place at the wrong time.

"Vier. Vier, handsome, come on. Get up. Get up, please."

Her numbness was rapidly giving way to panic. Pain, stronger than anything she'd ever felt, tore through her chest.

"You have to get up!"

As Evelyn screamed the last word, the pain and rage tore through her with a dark pulse of energy. A few windows nearby cracked; she didn't notice. All she could see was her future crumpled on the ground in front of her.
End flashback.

Three days later, and she was still waiting to wake up. The first day was shock. Trying to deal with his family, with his command, who had too many questions for which there were no answers. They said they'd have the funeral in a week, to give his family time to arrive on-planet so everyone could say good-bye. Which was BS, of course. She didn't get a chance to say good-bye; hadn't known that she should form the words then, before the errant blaster bolt ended his life. Evelyn felt a storm of emotions, so powerful they frightened her. Somehow, even though she wanted nothing more than to be numb, her senses felt heightened. It was as if she could feel the pity and uncertainty coming off Vier's commanding officer, his mother's grief over the holo. She kept coming back to that foreboding sense right before Vier was hit - as though she'd known something was going to happen. How could she have known? More to the point - if she'd known, why hadn't she been able to save him? She felt lost, without purpose, and utterly without peace. Though she'd always imbibed in moderation before, now she drank to make herself go numb. To push it all away. Because she didn't know where to go from here, didn't even know where to start.

"A'nuth-"

"We're closin' down, sweet cheeks. You wanna stay and drink with me, yer welcome to . . . I got a nice cozy room in back-"

The bartender leered at the intoxicated young woman, reached his hand out towards her wrist- she surprised both of them by grabbing his first - faster than she should've been able to, especially given the alcohol - and twisting it in a wrist-lock she'd learned in the very basic version of combat training that the Corps required of all its officers.

"Frak off."

At least she there wasn't much to slur there. And she stumbled out of the bar into the night, misting rain. It was never really dark on Coruscant, of course - too many neon lights and air traffic for that. She picked a direction and put one foot in front of the other, with no idea where she was going, or what she was heading towards.

 

[Jesse Organa]

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

Jesse was wondering around, exploring the galaxy itself was where she wanted tog o out and see what she could help with for all of the people. It wasn't exactly the most safe but with the protective cloak around her shoulder she was looking over at all fo the things out here. The night was coming and there was a lot of interest in looking to try and protect more of the people who might be going home from the bars. She had a duty after all itself, she wasn't going to risk all of the things and didn't want to come off as creepy but she also didn't want to let people who were intoxicted possibly at risk of being harmed by a number of people. She had seen the danger of gangs or ruffians. So Jesse just stood there for a moment and breathed in and then out into the force so she could sense and present herself as a smaller less dangerous person when she started walking around.

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

A city full of beings, and this street still feels like it's deserted.

That was probably a good thing, but Evelyn was a shot or four past that kind of deep thinking. She frowned as she trudged forward, one foot grudgingly following the other. She couldn't go home - not to that cold, empty bed with his smell still on the sheets. His laundry still left in piles, because of course folding it was an utterly ridiculous notion.

As she reached up to brush a now-somewhat-greasy lock of hair out of her face, her engagement ring caught the light and sparkled. The sight of it normally made her smile; now it made her stomach churn.

"Nice lookin' ring there."

The voice was hoarse but trying for smooth; the resulting combination came off as distinctly seedy. Evelyn froze, and squinted off to her left. Some figure in a tattered red jacket, a scar running from the side of his nose to his chin, grinned at her with yellowing teeth.

"Dangerous, y'know. A pretty thing like you. Walkin' around a place like this, with a bobble like that."

He pushed off the wall, and closed the distance between them. Confident, self-assured - as though he'd had this sort of confrontation before.

"Why doncha let me take it off your hands? You play nice, won't even hafta cut yer pretty face."

That's when she noticed the curved dagger in his right hand. Fear helped clear some of the alcohol from her mind; fear, and a sudden fury.

Vier gave me this ring. He will not take it.

Once again, something fueled her actions, made her move faster than the would-be thief expected. She grabbed the wrist that held the knife, twisted it painfully until he yelped and dropped it. Near-simultaneously, she drove her knee up, hard, into a very nerve-sensitive region that caused the man to crumple rather quickly. Evelyn kicked the knife away from him, and for a split second, found herself pulling her leg back for a swift kick to his skull - one that was likely to cause some permanent damage.

He deserves it. And it will feel good.

She shook her head, somewhat startled at the thought. While she'd always been gifted with quick reflexes, this recurrent anger, the urge to hurt another being . . . it wasn't a part of herself that she recognized. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped away from the groaning thief, and picked up her pace as she walked away, alcoholic haze somewhat mitigated by the adrenaline surge.

 

[Nicair Claden]

The woman was fast, too fast for the way she had been stumbling through the street. Coruscant is its own kind of jungle and his quarry made the mistake apparent mistake of trying to rob this woman. She looked disheveled, hair shined with grease, but a glint on her finger caught the light every few steps. Nicair was familiar with the tradition of an engagement ring, he had been married once when he was still a teenager, he just didn't use a ring, if his slave masters had found it they would have cut it off of her. They killed her anyway.

His prey went by the name 'Slicer', a sentiment garnered by his use of a knife to rob people. So old fashioned. In truth there was harder prey in the galaxy, more worthy opponents that could actually be life threatening, the rush of such a hunt. But he needed to work his way up the ladder, take out some of the trash to get a contract for the heavier hitters. In truth he could probably just do it on his own, he didn't really want the money but such a thing is necessary to keep himself alive, or at least keeping his heart beating long enough to find a worthier end than starving to death. He walked up to the man, groaning on the ground in pain. Nicair was almost embarrassed. He was really scraping the bottom of the barrel. He missed war, it was fun. This? This was sad.

"Stand or I will drag you." The man looked up at the Mandalorian, his expression changing from confusion to annoyance.

"Who the hells are yo-" His words were cut off by a boot on the back of his neck forcing him into the street. Nicair moved his foot so that he could kneel on the thief's neck. He received a pained moan for his efforts. Nicair shifted his weight, steadily putting more pressure on the base of the skull, stretching the man's neck out. More groans. He replied by slamming his fist down on the wrist and hand of his prey, his screams echoed in the street. Something that's fairly common on Coruscant, especially at this time of night and in this area.

"I did that because I like to hurt you. Your hand's probably broken. You, you're boring. But the woman that beat me to the punch, she's interesting. Consider this a head start. I'll find you again, just, make it harder this time." He used the back of the man's neck as a base of support to stand up. His gaze moved up the street after the drunk woman. He stepped on Slicer's hand as he walked her trail.

[member="Evelyn Roslin"] | [member="Jesse Organa"]

 

[Jesse Organa]

[member="Evelyn Roslin"] [member="Nicair Claden"]

SHe could sense something when she was moving along with the force guiding her and staying in the shadows of the streets until she sensed something in the distance and was walking. There was the distant sound of voices that she could barely make out and was uncertain about all of it. With more interest in what they might be able to do. "Is someone there?" She asked it while looking for someone in the distance. She was unsure about it pulling her cloaks hood back so the black hair of her tightly pulled back ponytail was ready. She wasn't certain about who might be there or who might be interested in things. Staying there as more thoughts raced and she was walking seeing someone in the distance on the pathway far ahead.

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

Evelyn was a bit shaken after the encounter with the thief, and paused as she turned the corner, this time trying a bit harder to gather her bearings. It was a testament to both the strength and quality of the liquor she'd been ingesting that, while still intoxicated, her head was already starting to pulse uncomfortably with a headache.

I thought it only smelled like kerosene. Maybe it was kerosene.

She shook her head a little, which only made things worse.

How the hell did I stop that nerf herder, if I'm this wasted?

It was question that simply having quick reflexes wasn't able to answer. Even with her athleticism, the degree of combat training that support officers received was periphery, a check-in-the-box, and certainly shouldn't have been enough to enable so swift and sure a reaction. In training, they'd all joked that if they ever needed to use the martial arts skills in real life, they'd have to kindly request that the assailant stand just so, arms out to the side, without moving, in order to be able to perform the basic moves they learned.

Yet, that wasn't the case here.

Her hazy pondering was interrupted by what sounded first like a set of groans coming from the direction of the thug, and second a female voice she couldn't quite decipher.

Staying still is a bad idea, Evie. Can't go home, but can't stay here either . . .

After a few seconds continuing down the alleyway, she noticed that the echo of her footsteps sounded a bit . . . strange. Then realized that they weren't echoes at all.

What if Vier's killer wanders around these parts . . .

The thought had the instant effect of inspiring both fear and anger. With those emotions flaring, she whirled around, bringing her fists (the only defense system she had on her that evening) up and squinting into the fading light at whoever was following her.

 

[Ja’rrod Categaern]

[member="Jesse Organa"] [member="Nicair Claden"] [member="Evelyn Roslin"]

It was then after having just came out of one the bar that Ja'rrod and guys were in. Having bit of a go at spending bit time off and some R&R. As it been tad bit long season with duty call assisting and providing security for the Terran household. As it went thru the transition to the new Count. There had been little time for anything much up untill now.

So take the opportunity some his men decided hit the town bars for fun. Having down few drinks till the bar closed for the night. And rest deciding head back to the hotel they were staying. While he opted stay out for short walk or stroll. When up ahead he hears scuffles so he then decides to cautious investigate.

 

[Nicair Claden]

The slight drizzle did little to his field of vision, but with each small drop the tiniest of *tings* could be heard as it hit the eukar'gam plates. Fortunately stealth wasn't much of a necessity as the moment. Being noticed didn't worry the man, maybe the woman would think his intentions malicious and attempt to fight, he'd be able to get a taste of her strange skills in person. He relished the opportunity but for now his objective was recon. To learn what made her move with such speed despite the intoxication, such a skill could be useful.

She had put some distance between them but with her stumbling and Nicair's long legs and strides he had closed the distance before too long. Being able to walk quietly is a learned skill, with different ways of doing it each method of simply walking has its drawbacks. The long the stride the less control of the footfall you have. Inversely the shorter the stride the more control but the more the steps, each one has to be landed in a way that absorbs the noise. Walking in armored boots in a place like Coruscant, it was challenging to make each step as quiet as possible. Nicair forfeited stealth for a chance to test her response time to an extra set of footfalls behind her. Most people who had drank as much as her wouldn't have noticed nor really cared. She whirled around with her fists raised. It's never fully dark on Coruscant but at "night" the lights are dimmed and the residency lights are usually turned off completely. He could see her without the aid of his helmet's systems, but the water hitting the neon caused a vapor that settled at street level. That or pollution. He had learned that no matter the distance it can help to believe that if someone is facing you, they can probably see you regardless of the environment. He assumed this to be true.

"You look like you've had a rough couple days. Should be careful in this area at night. It's a jungle out here." He stood still, kept his hands to his sides. Should he have been reaching for a weapon just in case? Maybe. Truth is if she did anything that could put a dent in his armor she would've used it by now, she was pretty wired up. He turned his head to scan the rest of the area, hypervigilance comes in handy sometimes.

[member="Evelyn Roslin"] | [member="Ja’rrod Categaern"] | [member="Jesse Organa"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

The figure at the edge of the alleyway was difficult to make out through the polluted haze of Coruscant, but the features of his armor were recognizable all the same.

Now I'm being stalked by a Mandalorian?

"You look like you've had a rough couple days. Should be careful in this area at night. It's a jungle out here."

His voice was neutral, and carried easily over the consistent hum of speeders and city life that dimmed somewhat at the current hour. Evelyn considered him for a moment, trying to judge whether there was any threat to his commentary. It was a bit difficult, considering she felt as though she was oscillating between the familiar laborious mental processes and movements of the very drunk, and strange moments of clarity and rapid reaction. Unable to place her finger on the cause of the shifts, it was a profoundly disorienting sensation.

"I've noticed."

She dropped her hands. The brief flash of anger dissipated, and she realized how ridiculous it looked to be facing down an armed Mandalorian with nothing but her fists.

What am I going to do? Break my knuckles on that armor until he takes pity on me?

The young woman inhaled, then exhaled slowly. More to herself than Nicair, she murmered,

"You don't know the half of it."

Alcohol served the purpose of prompting a more blunt question than she might normally offer.

"So why are you following me?"

The alleyway was fairly barren, aside from the bits of unidentifiable trash scattered about. No bars or entryways, and it didn't seem to be a highly trafficked area. Maybe he just happened to be going in the same direction - but having just been attacked, Evelyn was less inclined towards the benefit of a doubt on that point.

[member="Nicair Claden"] [member="Ja’rrod Categaern"] [member="Jesse Organa"]

[member="Nicair Claden"] [member="Ja’rrod Categaern"] [member="Jesse Organa"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

The bluntness of the question relieved him, no need to dance around his actions. Multiple answers flashed through his mind. Most of them lies, he was fairly paranoid, no reason for her to know why he was following her. Maybe he'd say she had a bounty. Play the role of concerned citizen perhaps? Maybe the love struck warrior looking for a woman to melt his frozen heart bit. He wasn't looking for a fight, he was just fascinated. She showed speed while impaired that trained soldiers sometimes lacked. A muscle memory so ingrained that it chewed right through the intoxication. He didn't know the extent of this skill, however. Maybe it was a fluke, next time might not go the same way. The last thing he needed was the first thing he had actually taken an interest in for quite some time getting shot, or falling. Then he'd just be right back to finding low level gangbangers, boring.

"I'm getting paid to patrol the area, locals can't take care of themselves. Help you home? You die I lose money, can't have that happening." The galaxy runs on half truths and lies.

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

Hazel eyes narrowed slightly as she cocked her head slightly to one side, considering the Mandalorian's statement. Evelyn certainly wasn't aware of any friendly Neighborhood Watch type set-up on Coruscant - and certainly not in these parts. Cities tended a breed a kind of subconscious distancing from one's fellow being; a protective bubble, to compensate for the fact that humans, at least, weren't quite wired to interact with so many beings at once. At their evolutionary heart, they were tribal creatures, designed to care for immediate social connections and avoid expanding outside that comfortable range of acquaintances.

Still, she recognized that her interaction with the thief was likely a one-off. A fluke.

"Can't go home."

The words came out with a bit more force than she intended. The thought of going back to their shared apartment, to be surrounded by memories of happier times, was too painful to contemplate.

You've got to get back eventually, Evie. Can't spend the rest of your life wandering Coruscant.

The young woman stubbornly pushed that very reasonable thought away. Right now, she didn't want to deal with consequences or implications. She just wanted to be free of the pain.

"You really wanna help . . . point me in the direction of a . . . classier bar . . . one that's still open."

Though she wasn't particularly experienced in excessive alcohol consumption, it seemed the only choice other than heading home to face ghosts. After all, it's not like there were many establishments open at this hour that didn't specialize in helping its patrons destroy their livers (or whatever alcohol-processing organ they had, at least).

[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

"There's a place down the way that has tihaar that floors people. Show you the way?" He didn't drink alcohol himself, but he has a contact that works there, the man learned the craft on Mandalore. He prided himself on the ability to read people. Hesitations, the words they put emphasis on, "can't go home". Few reasons a woman with a ring like that wouldn't go home and drink herself half blind late at night. Nicair had a feeling he knew which one it was. She raised her fists at him when she turned around, was she expecting company? Alcohol lowers inhibitions, she still had enough sense to expect danger. This could be explained by the attempted robbery shortly before. But, she stopped it. Does more alcohol mean faster reflexes in this case? Is getting a woman blind drunk to see how she reacts to violence immoral? Probably. Good thing he isn't burdened by such things.

Hyper-vigilance like this stems from something recent, fresh in the mind. He cared so long as it explains the enigma presented, the best way to solve it is to get her talking. Or fighting. Tihaar has a tendency to put people to sleep, maybe something lighter. Cross that bridge when he comes to it.

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

Evelyn hesitated a moment at the mention of tihaar; she'd heard tales of the potent Mandalorian liquor, and none of them tended to end well. Supposedly it was better used for de-greasing machinery than ingesting by humans.

Then again . . .

What have I got to lose, at this point?

If she wanted to drown the pain, then this might just do the trick. Either that, or her liver would stage a rebellion. The young woman was self-aware enough to realize that tomorrow's hangover promised to be legendary, particularly given her lack of experience with heavy drinking - but she was also drunk enough not to care.

Anything to keep from thinking of him . . . it just hurts too much right now.

Along with the pain, there was anger at the senselessness of his death, and fear at being cast adrift from the plans they'd made together for the future. Altogether, it was a highly potent emotional cocktail that seemed to be strong enough to awaken a part of her that had lain dormant for most of her life.

So she nodded, taking for a moment at face value that this strange Mandalorian seemed willing to show her the way.

"Thanks . . . I didn't catch your name?"




[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Ja’rrod Categaern]

[member="Jesse Organa"] | [member="Nicair Claden"] | [member="Evelyn Roslin"]


It was then staying in the shadows of one the darker alleyways that Ja'rrod happen to chance upon the interaction of a woman and the Mando. For whom he was all too familiar with given his time in service of the crown and royal house in Alderaan as it were. At which case listening in cautiously and with great care he sort got the gist of what had transpired. At any case with a keen eye and assessing the two from his vantage point. He in a sense sort understood .... however, wrong or right the idea of not being able to go home.

At any rate, at this point, he could have easily walked away and returned back to the barracks with rest of the guys. But then again something about her intrigued him so that. He decided to stay and see if opportune presented itself if by chance they could speak.

 

[Nicair Claden]

"Nicair. Yours?" No reason to lie. It was his knowledge he didn't currently have anyone after him, no reason a drunk woman can learn and possibly forget his name over the course of the night. He said all this as he walked up to her and passed her shoulder. His walk was calm yet prepared, he wanted to see if her body tensed up to his close proximity. That and there was a knocked over trash can that he didn't feel like stepping over that was narrowing his path. He kept his head on a swivel, looking around the area for possible threats. He wasn't lying when he said it was dangerous. Shouldn't get shot at for this.

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

OOC: No worries, phone posts are always more difficult to format!

IC:

Getting a little close there, buddy.

Evelyn did shift slightly as he moved well within her personal space bubble. However, having just been nearly mugged, it was a rather understandable reaction.

Maybe this isn't such a good idea . . .

Then again, it wasn't like she had many other options. Stumble her way home, or keep pushing ahead. Like running on a balance beam, she feared that any loss in forward momentum, any chance for her thoughts and feelings to actually catch up with her, would cause her to pitch over the side.

"Evelyn."

Against her better judgment, she followed the Mandalorian as they walked a few blocks; the odd couple drew curious stares from a few grubby-looking beings, but no one moved to intercept them. She suspected that had something to do with the fact the Nicair's armor and general 'don't frak with me' posturing.

She was a bit more focused on keeping her feet moving without tripping over any of the trash and occasional prone form strewn about the streets. The young woman knew that this wasn't the best way of coping, but chose not to care.

"You usually escort random women around here?"

Something about his motives was still needling her; she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but his explanation seemed a bit thin. Particularly for this area of Coruscant.

[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Ja’rrod Categaern]

At any rate seeing nothing out of the ordinary and with his com rang . As the message came thru that duty called as the Count seem had concluded his dealing here for now. At which case recalling his men to meet back to the hangar bay as the entourage had made arrangement to depart.

He then no less complied as he slips back into the shadow and heads off to the hangar bays.....

 

[Nicair Claden]

"I escort them if they don't look like they quite belong. I get soon-to-be husbands looking for one last hurrah with their buddies who recommend they go somewhere different and get lost. Soon-to-be wives who do the same thing. Sometimes they come back in their wedding attire and get blind drunk. Take from that what you will. Why I once had a guy. . ." Nicair droned on in this way as he walked. He wasn't usually one for conversation, he'd rather not speak at all. But he was counting on the alcohol in her system to make him more believable and drain her attention so that she didn't realize his stories were less bodyguard and more ripped off from the old man on the corner talking about the good ol' days to anyone nearby. With someone impaired, it's often quantity of words, not on whether or not they make any sense. He wasn't making assumptions about her intelligence, but more of a profile learned by toying with people. He just hoped if she did start to piece together his rambling they'd arrive at the bar before she could comment.

It was during this walk that Nicair started to consider his actual motives. What was the point of this little experiment? Get her drunk and see if she gets faster? Alcohol's core existence pointed to the opposite. Was he just so bored that he purposely let his bounty go so he could find him again? His logic tells him that the man most likely isn't going to be any more of a challenge the second time around. Granted he'd probably get to hit him more. Fair enough.

Most of the individuals that crossed their path got out of the way. Nicair wasn't the largest man to ever don the armor, but his stride showed more purpose. That and most of them probably hadn't seen a living Mandalorian before. His people were largely recovered in terms of their numbers but few felt the need to make a living down here. It was pleasant to learn that the armor still inspired fear, or respect, either way it got the same result. He stopped in front of a relatively small side building. In neon above the door it said Kyrbejj. The misspelled word for battlefield slightly perturbed Nicair. It was obvious Mandalorians didn't really come here but the man inside knew how to make their drinks and it appealed to the population trying to veer from the mainstream. The walls were strong, they had to be with all the blaster burns on them.

"In here. It's a bit nicer inside. What was the word you used? Classier?"

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

"Uh huh . . . "

Evelyn murmured, starting to tune out Nicair's long monologue roughly halfway through. Somehow, she was already starting to feel a headache coming on - which did not bode well for the next morning. Which was . . . a few hours away, by her reckoning.

Go home, Evie. You've gotta go back sometime.

Not until I've had another drink or two.

It wouldn't help; she knew that. Alcohol made her feel more relaxed, sure. But she'd never experienced a black-out before; no matter how sloppy she got, her mind was generally still more or less in-tact and aware of what was going on.

Like that time Vier tried to convince me I'd closed my tab just to get me into the taxi, when I knew I hadn't.

That had resulted in quite a bit of an additional charge when she'd returned the next day to rectify the issue. After that, Vier learned that even drunk, her analytic mind tended to rear its head for important issues. She was angry at him for half a day, but it was difficult to maintain that anger against his earnest smile and apologies.

I'll never see his smile again.

Evelyn grimaced, and abruptly pushed past the Mandalorian to enter the bar.

"Classy . . . that's exactly what I'd call it."

Not by a long shot, but it did seem slightly better than the row of establishments she'd been making her way through earlier that evening.

Pausing, she glanced back at Nicair.

"You drinking? I owe you for . . . showing me here."

In a corner of the bar, a certain gang-affiliated young man toasted with a few of his friends. His back was to Evelyn, and neither of them noticed each other - yet.


[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

Nicair didn't like it when he was forced to have memories. Sure he'd think about something but he could usually control his active mind enough to keep it focused on the task at hand. Looking into the bar he remembered an old vacation planet the Mandalorian Crusaders had been to. Most of them actually took off their armor. He hadn't been with the Crusaders long, but if anything they could make a moment memorable. Did he actually miss them? He didn't usually miss people or things, he just had things he didn't want taken from him. More than likely he missed the opportunity for battle, real battle. The man came alive in the thick of it. Now his vode had disbanded, much like Crusaders had before, millennia ago. The Clans provided some of the combat he needed. But not recently.

"Juma juice." The drink was once alcoholic, but had long ago become not quite so. The man somewhat liked the taste. No need to be a complete social outcast and get water.

Just like back then too. Sentimental. Nicair scowled underneath his helmet at the thought. He processed it swiftly and made a motion with his hand for Evelyn to proceed.

Gentleman too? What have you become?

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]