Act III: Gula

[Hal Terrano]

Fresh air had hit.

Vision spun hard and even the very wall that he rested against betrayed him, seemingly becoming soft as Hal felt himself sink into it. Of course, reality still held firmly in place and this was just a result of alcohol in excess. Gluttony.

Crimson-tinged eyes swirled in their sockets as Vrag laid verbal waste to the Jedi Order as only a Sith would. He could feel frustration swell within his chest, his teeth gritted too hard within his mouth as a copious volume of alcohol was tossed upon a flame that always burnt too low.

You don't understand.

You don't understand.

Thoughts. Words. A coherent mind can keep the two separate. Alas.

“YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!” Hal screamed, lips drawn back and teeth bared showing man at his most feral, as he shouted the broken Jedi sloppily pushed himself from off the wall, staggering towards her in a display of primal aggression, until he was right up in her face, gifting amber-stained breath upon her face.

“ALL I HAVE IS THE CODE!” Wild emotional outbursts, likely caused by consumption of depressants. Doctor recommends water, an aspirin and rest. “I DON'T HAVE FAMILY!” Baby with Force potential, dropped on the doorstep. “I DON'T HAVE FRIENDS!” Teaspoon of honey. His voice grew ever louder, more hoarse, more vicious yet somehow desperate. “I HAD THE FETHING CODE!”

Had.

“I DON'T EVEN HAVE THAT ANY MORE! BECAUSE OF YOU! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I AM ANY MORE!”

Clumsily Hal surged forwards at [member="Vrag"], his hands outstretched Terrano moved to shove the woman violently, punctuating his actions with further pained commotion.

“BECAUSE OF YOU!!!”

 

[Vrag]

Whatever the Sith had been expecting, it wasn’t such a powerful outburst of righteous rage. [member="Hal Terrano"] had been little more than a sack of flesh and bone up until that point in the evening. He had given no indication that he was even capable of anger on this scale (though that is not to say that the prospect didn’t make the Hand giddy).

Frankly, Vrag was surprised the man could still move.

As he launched himself at the lounging killer, the woman reacted. Quickly and viciously, like her muscles were long ago trained to do.

crack

Her left hand dragged the tumbler off the floor with a high-pitched shriek of glass againdt stone. Her fingers released it, and the whisky was sent careening towards the Jedi. After that, she would let momentum push her on her back, and a pair of knees would jab upwards, sharp.

“No,” she quietly spoke, whenever breath was in her lungs again. “You’ve just found yourself.”

 

[Hal Terrano]

In his alcohol-riddled mind, this moment was perhaps meant to be one of triumph, of finally fighting back and emerging from his coward’s cocoon has some shade of a man, even if he had betrayed himself to do it.

The reality however, was….different.

Tumbler and whisky greeted his face in unison, the whisky sending stinging regards to his eyes while the glassware bounced hard against his brow before hitting the floor with a sudden smash. Not that it would stop his graceless momentum, of course.

The world was a blur (well, more of a blur) as Hal lurched forward, then downward and then pain, sharp, sudden pain in his lower abdomen that was entirely unexpected. Of course, as a blind drunk generally pacifistic creature he was never really going to have any sort of advantage on a war loving alcohol metabolising monster in this realm.

Brain cells and now oxygen had now both seemingly abandoned Terrano as he found himself face down and writhing upon the cool ground. His diaphragm was quite possibly more upset than he was, with the urge to vomit having a battle to the death with his need to intake air. It was of course, both a glorious and majestic sight to behold.

“….gon’……..gon’ be…..si….”

And then, still face down upon the ground, Hal Terrano vomited, prefusely.

---

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Vrag]

There was no capacity for surprise anymore. Not for [member="Hal Terrano"] throwing up, anyway.

Distant, faint, blurry feelings. Nothing concrete, nothing forceful or sweeping. Anger held too much of that emotional breadth – what little she possessed – in its grasp. Everything else was pushed to the sidelines, forced to languish on scraps and leftovers of ire’s fire.

She stood above him in the cool night air, watching as the fine tiles of the terrace melted into the grainy gray of ferrocrete floors. The greenery and windows transformed into the walls of a cell. There was the weight of Vonduun on her shoulders, the soft hiss of Lammie in her ear.

And the man… the man was still keeled over, coughing and heaving into a pool of his own vomit.

Something violent and wretched exploded in her chest. It tore at her ribs as Vrag reached down and yanked him to his knees by the collar. Teeth bared and ice eyes wide, the firrerreo stared into the emptied vessels of his soul.

Your handiwork.

The fury evaporated.

“Let’s get you home, Hal.”