OOC:

Since DeepSix is pretty busy with RL at the moment, I’m not quite sure how quickly he’ll be able to get Nightshrike’s next story up. So: an interim story. This story is mainly for ‘Shrike, but is open to others for posting as NPCs.

I’ve been hinting at hoping to see a good, old-fashioned bar fight for a while, so I’m going to take the opportunity to fulfill my wish myself. As I noted, non-‘Shrike members can post, but only as NPCs…major officers of ships do NOT get into bar fights.

Senior Crewman Rulf Gyiard was in a mood already. He always ended up angry and restless when he was drinking, but he kept doing it anyway. Even getting busted back down from Petty Officer 2nd Class hadn’t persuaded him to put the bottle away. No, any time he had a few hours off duty, you’d likely find him at one of the several tapcafes located on the Atrus. Some people were surprised to find the restaurant/bars on a military ship…but the mSSD was freaking huge and those many thousands of sailors needed downtime activities. There were limits on drinking, of course, but this was the Empire…an extra credit or three could persuade any bartender to miscount the number of glasses you’d bought that night.

Rulf had wandered into The Black Hole after getting off duty, his feet automatically carrying him toward the place in his usual  lethargic shuffle. His surly demeanor lightened only when he entered the tapcafe, and then not much. Still, it was his favorite place aboard this floating metal prison. He shuffled in, not happy to dodge around the haphazardly placed tables in the dim light. This was his safe place, his sanctuary. Here he could relax, enjoy the relative peace, and imagine he was already out of the military.

He trudged up to the bar, trading silent nods with the bartender, and tapped a thick finger on the nicked durawood surface. The bartender began to fill a glass of his usual drink as the burly crewman sat on the nearest stool and slouched forward to lean heavily on the bar. Rulf rested his scuffed-up boots on the rail that ran the length of the bar and slowly unbuttoned the front of his duty jacket so that it parted and revealed the sweat-stained white undershirt beneath.

A few moments later the bartender, a grizzled old Twi’lek, set down Rulf’s drink before him. The human tossed a few credit chips on the bar to pay for the drink, then one slightly larger one a few seconds later. The last chip disappeared into the twi’lek’s hand before it could hit the bar, and the oldster nodded and grunted as he turned away.

Rulf took a long draft from his glass and closed his eyes as the liquor burned its way down his throat. Finally. Peace. Setting the glass down, he belched. After a moment he wiped condensation from the sides of the glass and smeared the cool water over his face before raking his fingers through the short bristle of hair he sported. He was balding already, at the back of the head, so in some areas his dirty fingernails raked over his scalp. In other places they raked through his hair, shaking loose flakes of dandruff to scatter down over his shoulders.

The crewman was on his third glass when raucous laughter suddenly rang out from behind him. He mashed his teeth together in a grimace and turned just enough to look over his shoulder. The laughter had come from a group of pilots, seated together around a couple of tables they’d pushed together. A couple were obviously fresh out of the Academy, probably replacing those who’d died at Belgaroth a few days before. Those were watching avidly as another pilot, a zabrak who seemed to be a veteran, spoke quickly and moved his hands through a complicated series of gestures. He added something, then a human male with brown hair and a lot of stripes on his rank insignia threw something in and the whole group burst out in laughter again.

He tried to ignore it. He really did. But they hadn’t quieted down after ten minutes had passed. If anything, the group was getting even louder. Eventually something in him just snapped. Whirling around, Rulf stood up and flung his mostly-empty fifth glass at the pilots, “Can’t you frackin’ pilots just shut the hell up? Some people are trying to drink here!” The glass hit near the middle of the nearer table with a loud bang, splashing its remaining contents over several members of the group. Rulf followed it over, fists clenched as he gestured at them, “Get the hell out! You kriffing pilots with that cocky, smart-alec attitude! I hate the lot of you! A bunch of good-for-nothing layabouts and empty-headed fools, that’s what you are!”

The expressions on the pilots’ faces varied. The newbies mostly looked alarmed and concerned, while the two vets who’d been hit by the flying liquor glared at the drunken Crewman. The brown haired fellow stood up, expression calm and placating, and faced Rulf as he approached, “Hold on there, Crewman. If we were irritating you, I apol-“ He didn’t get to finish before the enraged drunk grabbed up the glass by its handle and swung it hard into his jaw. The man dropped instantly, limbs limp, and sprawled on the ground. He still breathed, but a trickle of blood slid down from his lower lip where the glass had busted it and knocked him unconscious.

In moments the entire tapcafe was in an uproar. Several pilots shouted in outrage, and two came boiling over the tops of the tables to take revenge for the sudden assault on their comrade. Another stood up behind Rulf and blasted a sharp jab into his left ear before being tackled by one of the other Crewmen in the bar. In seconds other regulars took up Rulf’s side of things and some of the others around took the opportunity to vent some of their frustrations in general while other pilots on the crowd ran to support the offending squadron. The crowded tapcafe went from boisterously noisy to furiously chaotic in just seconds. It was on: starfighter pilots vs ship’s crew.

OOC:

Word Count: 1,047

Well, Shrikes, looks like someone’s already struck the first blow. The pilot who got hit could be either DeepSix or Amacuse…I suppose it’ll be the one who posts second out of the two of them. Anywho. Please proceed with your regularly scheduled mayhem.

Fyston moved his hand rapidly, attempting to replicate the different religious symbols that his people used at times. They were also in their martial arts, but many were taught the religious side first.

"This one stands for hell or suffering. Kriff, it makes my hand hurt just doing it. You could tell that the priests of old were double jointed, but the next one is good fortune."

Fyston moved rapidly from symbol to symbol, eventually spelling out a blessing placed on Zabraki children both at birth and at their coming of age ceremony.

"I could never do it right, no matter what I tried. I wish I could, as it brings good luck and wards off belligerent forces. We could really use it, in my mind, but we came here to celebrate. I remember a friend of mine messed up on these and a reek nearly took his head off the next week. He had this look on his face that took the gravity of the situation out and made it extremely hilarious."

Fyston, mind dulled by a few drinks and a few other substances, saw the bar in a whirl of motion. He didn't drink, but tonight was a night he wanted to forget. His cousin had died in the last battle, and he'd lost quite a few friends. If he could avoid seeing the battle in his mind by drinking his brain cells away, he would. It wasn't long before he was content, at peace with the world and in that state of equilibrium that allowed him to solemnly remember the dead while not becoming sad in the process.

Suddenly, a drink seemed to fly out of nowhere. It slammed into the table and shattered, sending glass flying. A strange smelling liquid flowed onto Fyston's pants, a favorite pair that was relatively new. Glass also shot into his hand that was on the table, causing the drunk Fyston to glance around at the source. The search wasn't long, however, as the man who threw it began yelling. Though he was drunk, Fyston could hear the man and yelled an angry response to him.

"Can’t you frackin’ pilots just shut the hell up? Some people are trying to drink here! Get the hell out! You kriffing pilots with that cocky, smart-alec attitude! I hate the lot of you! A bunch of good-for-nothing layabouts and empty-headed fools, that’s what you are!"

"You better shut the hell up, dirt diver. I'm really not in the mood."

Fyston watched as the man began speaking to one of the people at Fyston's table. Fyston couldn't remember who it was, something that both shocked him and comforted him. He wouldn't have to think of Xreth or those lost in the recent battle. Before he knew it, however, the drunk man took a bottle to the head of Fyston's table-mate. In moments the entire room was in chaos and the pure shock of the situation put Fyston on his toes.

I'm probably pretty bad off. I can't fight, at least not right away. In a few minutes, I could probably try it, but someone needs to help....uhh....what's his face. I might as well, if I can't fight.

Fyston made his way through the crowd, though only got a short way before he was confronted by someone not disposed towards him.

"That guy was right, you pilots are all the same."

"I'm just trying to help my friend. I'm REALLY not in the mood right now."

"I'll just wait, then. How about....now?"

A punch came out of seemingly nowhere and Fyston saw it through bloodshot eyes. He wasn't fast enough to dodge it, but he parried it with an open fist, catching the blow in his left hand. With his right hand he sent a jab to the man's solar plexus. The blow landed with a thud and the man stumbled backwards, gasping for breath. Fyston, hand still over the man's fist, pulled the aggressor towards him. He stuck out his head and his forehead slammed into the human's skull with enough force to knock the man out. It caused Fyston's world to spin, though he felt the deadening effects of the drink wear off.

"Well, that sucks."

Fyston made it the rest of the way to his downed comrade before glancing around. Hades, one of the replacements, was facing the man who started it. Fyston thought that Hades had made a decent transition from the Academy to the squadron, and had wondered if the man could fight. Hades was doing fairly well, and Fyston decided to jump in after getting his downed Shrike to safety.

Fyston grabbed the man and lifted him up in a fireman's carry and began to haul him towards the bar. He was going to try to wake up the unconscious pilot, though turned and saw Hades on the ground, his opponent over him. He roughly set down the man he was carrying and made his way through the crowd to where Hades and Rulf had fought.

"Hey, bantha fodder, you've stepped into a whole other kettle of giju. Lay off Hades, why don't you? You seem to be fairly experienced, so why pick on the new guy?"

"And what are you gonna do about it, flyboy?"

"Well, there IS a fight going on. I thought you could guess, but it seems like you've lost more than your share of brain cells."

OOC:

Short post, I'll add onto it later. Got the wounded off of the floor, though he's only on the bar.

Hades' world flashed and distorted, blood leaking from his chin. He saw Fyston standing over him, up to Rulf. Hades felt as if he were in a dream, but everything was real and Hades, somewhere in his mind, recognised that. His thoughts were spinning, and he thought he saw a familiar black-uniformed figure threading through the crowd. The Commodore? Hades could not be certain, and his thoughts quickly turned back to Fyston and Rulf.

He seemed to come upon a bastion of resilience inside himself, managing to stabilise his world as he pushed himself up, up, up off the floor, rising to his full height. He stood slightly behind Fyston, shaking his head to shake off the after-effects of the sucker punch. He saw Rulf and Fyston squaring up to each other, and prepared to assist Fyston - as best he could with his sore spine and cut chin.

Hades looked around as he heard Fyston growling at Rulf. There was chaos all around - the starfighter pilots were sorely outnumbered, but seemed to work better together than the ship's crewmen. Used to flying and relying on each other, Hades supposed. The Atrus' crewmen, on the other hand, made up for what they lacked in unit cohesiveness by sheer overwhelming numbers. Despite this, the fighter pilots seemed to be what one would call 'kicking ass'.

His thoughts turned again as he saw Stormtroopers shrinking back from the bar - what are they waiting for? Hades wondered to himself. Then he saw Atrasin's black uniformed form exiting the establishment, and realised the Commodore must have given them specific instructions. Out of nowhere, an Atrus crewman barrelled toward Fyston from behind. Hades caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of his green eye, and spun on his heel. The crewman was focused on Fyston - after all, at 6"8 Fyston made a larger target than Hades, who stood only 5"9 or thereabouts.

The man was aiming for a tackle and lowered his shoulders and head, like a charging bull. Hades snarled as his fellow 'Shrike member was targeted for a cowardly sneak attack The man drew level with Hades, eyes focused on Fyston - and was greeted by a violent knee to the groin. The man stumbled back, clutching his crown Jewels, and Hades advanced on him, delivering a sharp kick to the man's shin, his boots bruising - if not fracturing - the man's unarmoured shin.

The offending crewman fell to the ground clutching his shin and Hades hovered over him. He lifted the man over his shoulder with considerable effort, and dropped him on the table unceremoniously, hearing a groan of pain and the thud of bone and flesh against hard artificial metal that the table was made up of. Hades grinned and gave the man a gesture common among the ranks, before turning and surveying the room again.

It was still chaos, to no-one's great surprise. Hades was nearly taken out by a badly aimed right hook, only his deeply ingrained reflexes saving him from the force of the blow and sending it flying past him. The offending crewman had put his weight behind the blow and was off balance now that it had missed, and Hades grabbed the man's fist, smacking his palm against his forearm and applying pressure. The man reacted, struggling but being forced inevitably to the ground, where Hades pivoted, in one move releasing the man's arm and kneeing him in the face, incapacitating him, if not sending him deep into unconsciousness.

Hades looked around for Fyston again, and easily picked out his 6"8 bulk. He began to make his way back.... where he encountered someone he recognised.

"You're the mechanic that worked on my fighter, aren't you?" Hades said, squaring his shoulders. The man nodded and, slightly inebriated, stepped forward.

"You starfighter pilots.. you think you're top stuff don't you.. you hot-shot scum.. we don't need your kind round here" the man said with a hiccup of alcoholic origins. Hades grimaced - so it would be another fight. Honestly, Hades was not tired yet, rage and camaraderie gave him seemingly endless reserves of energy. Experience said he would feel fatigued shortly - but experience was overruled by an overwhelming need to fight for his squadron.

"I don't have time for this.." Hades growled at the mechanic, launching a surprise jab at the man's jaw, following up with a left hook then a jab with his right to the man's solar plexus. The man was caught off-guard, stumbling back as the fist rammed into his jaw. The left hook hit his temple, albeit glancingly, and sent the man spinning. The final jab to the solar plexus missed as the man's erratic spin saved him from the finisher.

Hades grunted as the man's spin turned into a charge at him - but he had seen this coming and was already moving. As the man tried to gain leverage from his lower half, Hades lashed out with a front kick, landing on the man's thigh and pushing him backward, disrupting his charge. It nearly threw Hades off balance as well, and he took two steps back to reaffirm his foothold. When he looked up the man had stumbled into a table and collapsed. Hades felt fatigue coming on and walked over to the bar, careful to avoid any other aggressive ship's-crew. He looked for the bar man.

"Bartender! Get me some kind of energy drink!" Hades said, leaning against the bar as if nothing was happening. The Bartender was nowhere to be seen. Hades peered over the counter, and saw a brand he recognised. He vaulted over the counter, heading toward the drinks. A whoosh of air warned him of an inevitable blow and he ducked, feeling the air pass centimeters from him.

He whirled around as the improvised weapon - a metal pole of sorts about the length of Hades' arm - smashed through a glass partition, showering the floor with millions of fragments of sparkling clear glass, looking quite like small stars scattered across the area. Hades confronted his attacker.

Ah. Hades thought grimly. So there's the bartender. By this time, the bartender - who stood a few centimeters shorter than Hades but a good few kilos heavier, as he was a portly fellow - had extracted his makeshift bat and was preparing for another swing. He would not get that chance. As he brought the bat back across his body, cocking it for another blow, Hades moved inside the man's reach, raising his left arm to catch the man's wrist and pivoting on his heel, pulling the arm over his shoulder and, with a firm thump, removing the weapon from his hand.

The bartender yelped as he felt his wrist fracture, and Hades pushed the man through the glass partition he had smashed seconds before. The man tumbled through it, smacking his head on a conveniently placed table. Hades brushed his hands together and then brushed off his shoulders, removing glass fragments.

"And now for that drink..." Hades said, nonplussed as he turned back to look for the drink he had seen earlier.

OOC:

Word count: 2119.

After action report: Hades gets back into action, recovering quickly from the sucker punch by Rulf. He downs a few bridge crewman (sloppy fighters, all of them :P) and takes down an enraged bartender. He then goes to get himself a drink.

Hades grinned as he extracted the energy drink of a well-known trademark from the bar cooler - "Charging Reek" was the name of the brand. Hades read the small bottle carefully. It had a bad pun on the bottom - "Use the Force - of energy!" Hades grunted to himself. Who came up with these puns anyway? Damn advertisers never knew what the consumer wanted. He shrugged and opened the bottle quickly, taking a gulp from the bottle. He took another gulp and the effects of exhaustion disappeared, when a sudden realisation hit him.

Where was his fellow graduate - the girl, Ryn? Hades frowned as his eyes scanned the chaos - nobody was bothering him behind the bar as he looked on, bemusedly. He saw a bridge crewman go down and a smaller figure appear in his place, which he recognised as Ryn. He smiled slightly - so she could fight, too. His smile spread, but then faded as he again scanned the Black Hole. He shooks his head slowly, almost sadly as he saw what the excellence of the Imperial Navy had deteriorated into.

Something caught his eye, and he saw Ryn making her way to the bar. He took another gulp from his bottle of energy drink and fixed his gaze on her, waiting for her to come withing chatting range. As she got closer, he flashed a grin at her and looked at the drinks stored within the bar, flicking a glance to the unconscious bar man. She leant on the bar, and Hades grinned again.

"Want a drink?" He asked, amused. She nodded the affirmative and Hades poured her a glass full of Corellian whiskey. He handed it over the bar, to her, and she took it. She gazed into the glass, examining the contents carefully. She swirled the contents in the glass once more before taking a sip. Her face contorted into a mask of disgust.

"Yuck, that's disgusting!" she said, sticking out her tongue in an attempt to get rid of the taste. Hades grinned.

"No, it's called vintage" He replied with his grin, emphasising the word 'vintage' and making it sound as posh as he could. He took the glass back as her expression did not change. He poured her a glass of milk instead, still grinning.

"You could call a TIE-fighter an Imperial Star Destroyer, but it'd still be a damn TIE-fighter" She retorted. Hades handed her the glass of milk, knowing it would help with the disgusting after-taste she was experiencing. He was still grinning, which only widened with her retort.

"Point taken," he responded in good-humour. "Here, a glass of milk for the kid" he quipped, still grinning. His eyes flicked around the bar as he saw the fight slowly but steadily begin to lose it's energy. Suddenly, someone stumbled into another table - which had not yet been disturbed, and the occupants sprung up to join the fight, putting vigor back into it.

"What a mess.." Hades said, shaking his head as his grin vanished. Ryn followed his gaze and nodded.

"Who'd have thought, less than a week out of the academy and we're in a bar fight." She shrugged and sipped from her glass of milk. Hades nodded - he hadn't expected it either. How interesting.

OOC:

Wordcount: 549. A short post.

After action report: Hades and Ryn meet up at the bar, discussing the drinks and fights. Hades helps himself to the drinks at the bar, and gives Ryn another drink.

Hades growled as he felt the knife stuffed into his pocket and turned, expecting to find another unruly crewman wanting to start a fight. To his relief, it was only his SXO, Fyston, who appeared to have damaged one of his horns. Hades frowned as he saw the broken horn and indicated it with his head.

"Rulf get a hit in?" Hades asked. Fyston merely nodded, too exhausted to speak. Hades had seen him down Rulf with his chokehold and nodded, handing Fyston the bottle of energy drink. "Here, have some of this. Charging Reek gives you wings." Hades said, using the popular catch phrase of the Energy drink. Fyston shot him an annoyed stare as he used the turn of phrase and Hades grinned, still holding out the bottle. Fyston shrugged and took it, gulping down the bright-coloured liquid. His expression flickered as the liquid went down his throat. First it was confusion, then disgust, and finally one of relief.

"Strange sensation, then disgusting, then quite nice" he said, indicating the drink's characteristic punch that most people could not stand. Hades' respect for Fyston rose considerably as he grinned, accepting the bottle back "That stuff should be illegal" Fyston said as he began to perk up, the energy drink almost immediately taking effect. Hades grinned wider; he too could feel the effects of the drink taking their toll on him. Everything in the Black Hole seemed sharper to him, the details. He watched in perfect colour and definition as a glass smashed over the head of an unfortunate crewman, almost seeming like it was in slow-motion. Hades wobbled unsteadily in his seat, but easily stabilised himself as the shudder of energy ran through him.

"Woah.." He breathed. "Perhaps you're right." Fyston merely nodded, watching as the fight began to die down. Hades sighed and leaned against the bar. He felt a bruise swelling where he had been hit and winced in pain. He vaguely recalled how the fight started and wondered why it had gotten so far. Sure, tensions were running high after Belgaroth, but it shouldn't be enough to cause Imperials to hit Imperials - especially the way a lot of them had had murder in their eyes as they attacked each other. It was almost sad, the way they did it.

It was if they'd all forgotten that they were once brothers in arms, fighting side by side regardless of division, squadron or ship. Of course, Hades had not been around for Belgaroth, but he had heard the stories and done his research. To see them in this way was a far-cry from the comradeship they displayed at Belgaroth. As horrid as it was, it was admittedly a good thing. The release of tensions allowed them to better focus on their duty - albeit with a few grudges and bruises more than they had a few days ago.

Hades smiled slightly, as a Stormtrooper Squad came rushing in. It had started quite a while ago and the troops had obviously given them their time. Now they were coming to break it up. Hades, Fyston and Ryn sat at the bar, tired, but acting as if they weren't involved. Their appearances spoke otherwise, but they avoided being dragged away with most persistent of troublemakers. The stormtroopers began to clean up, not only the troublemakers but the wounded as well. Hades grimaced as he saw more than a few crewman that he himself had downed being taken away, unconscious from their wounds.

He sighed and took another drink from the bottle that Fyston handed back to him. "What a storm of osik.." he said, cursing in Mando'a - a language he'd learnt among the bounty hunters of Nar Shaddaa, many of whom had Mandalorian heritage. He wondered what it would have been like if he'd become a bounty hunter instead of a Youth Gang leader. Perhaps he'd be dead. Bah. Hades shrugged away such thoughts. They were dangerous. He smiled again and turned to Ryn and Fyston.

"I think it's time to leave." He indicated the 'clean-up' crew of Stormtroopers. Fyston and Ryn nodded their agreement, and they made their way toward the exit..

OOC:

Word Count: 695

AAR: Hades, Ryn and Fyston look at the aftermath of the situation, as it dies down the stormtroopers come in and begin to clean up the troublemakers. Hades, Ryn and Fyston decided to leave given that there was little more they could do here. A side note - it seemed most people were growing bored of this story, so I began the ending of sorts - of course, if other people want to continue they can still post, but Hades will be leaving regardless.