(Because Patches is a lazy melon) REBELS - STREET
"Ssssoooo I says, 'Sweetheart, it might be small, but it has a lot of heart!'" he said through slurred speech followed by a hiccup, raising his drink to the other patrons in the bar who would lend him an ear, as he downed the last of Corellian Whiskey. A few of them raised their glasses in toast, others just chuckled, and one in particular paid them no mind; It was this anti-social Rodian that was Patches target for the evening. Loud music drowned out the calls for more stories, or at least that's what Patches wanted to believe they were asking for.
The slurred speech was embellished, and the glazed over look in Patches eyes were easily accomplished with a few eye drops when no one was looking. Of course, he'd applied the eye drops an hour ago... and a close inspection on the glass he held in his hand still showed a slightly glazed look. Huh... perhaps I'm getting into character too much, he mused to himself, followed by another hiccup; though whether the hiccup was of the natural or forced kind was up for some debate at this point.
A swift motion of the hand, and his once previously empty glass now found itself with a different lease on life; the glass half full kind. Patches nodded to the bartender, and rose to his feet, as he bowed to those that had listened to his long tales, "And now gentleman, if you don't mind, it's time for me to drop anchor," he said, nodding to his audience. He raised his glass, took another swig, and turned abruptly... into what was like hitting a brick wall, the Rodian that was seated beside him.
It uttered some gibberish, a curse or two in it's native language as Patches began rubbing the drink he had spilt into the Rodian's clothes as if that would somehow dry his victim off. "Terribly sorry good sir," he said, as his right hand settled the drink down on the bar, his left hand already reached into his pocket as he began pairing his datapad with the Rodian's.
"Here, let me get that," said Patches, grabbing a few loose napkins and patting down the Rodian's shoulder as best he could. The alien, clearly unamused, merely pushed Patches away and stormed off; not before Patches had successfully synched his datapad with the Rodian, and now had access to all of his contacts, files and accounts. Turning to his growing audience, Patches merely flamboyantly pointed to his shirt, and the nearest refresher room through hooded eyes, and began dragging his feet with an intermittent stumble towards the refresher, humming some song about not being "...ain't as good as I once was," along the way.
With the door firmly closed behind him, and a quick glance under each stall ensuring he was alone, he opened up the third stall on the right, and took a seat on his new "throne", pulling out his datapad (the one with buttons people!), and began skimming through his newly acquired list of contacts as a grin grew on his face.
Once satisfied (mentally AND physically), he flushed the toilet for anyone that might be keeping tabs, and rose to his feet, as the ground beneath him began to shake and floor tiling began to crack. The stall walls began to shudder, the ceiling splintered in several different directions, and Patches now found himself back down in the seated position, as he experienced what he could only equate to an terror quake.
"Oh chit... oh chit.... not good... not... good.... not like this," he said aloud as a brief flash of panic overcame him.
Sithspit, he mused to himself, as his legs and armed flailed out to brace himself against the stall walls. Long moments passed, and once the dust settled, and no after shocks appeared imminent, Patches slowly rose to his feet and opened the stall door.
Now Patches hadn't exactly gotten the best look at the refresher when he entered it - what with being pre-occupied with his latest find, the liberated data from the Rodian - but upon exiting the stall, he was appalled at the state the bar kept it. The mirror - or what was left of it, to be more accurate - was shattered, the sink and counter had what looked like years of dust upon it, and despite Patches best efforts with the taps, what came out might have been water at one point, but those days were long past.
"Huh," he mused to himself aloud, as he surveyed the scene, then came to the conclusion that the terror quake was more severe than he had originally thought. He shrugged casually, and made his way out of the refresher. The music had stopped, and a lone light fixture swung slowly in the centre of the room. He frowned at the sudden change in tone of the bar after a little terror quake, as he chirped the bartender and it's patrons, "Oh Come on guys, I know I'm the life of the party; but it doesn't need to stop on the account of a little quake," he quipped, as he took a seat at the bar. The figure to his left didn't pay him much attention - didn't move at all for that matter - as Patches waved down the bartender, though it was tough to tell which way he was facing in the now dimly lit room.
Patches turned to the patron to his left, and quipped as Patches slapped him on the shoulder, "Oh hey, come on now Jaxx, who die..." his words stopped short as the person whom Patches knew as Jaxx shoulder suddenly exploded on impact from Patches slap. "Ummm... Jaxx?" asked Patches, as the corpse of a skeleton crumbled to the ground.
"That's... not good," uttered Patches, and turned to the figure that appeared to be the bartender on the other side of the bar, "Hey, Gavin... GAVIN!" said Patches with no answer. A rogue, errant nut from Patches hand hit the bartender with no response; it wasn't until Patches reached into his pocket and drew out a flashlight that revealed the truth. Gavin the bartender - or whomever was on the other side of the bar - was nothing but a corpse too, a bottle of empty whiskey still in his hand.
"Well that's not good either..." he said, his shoulders slinking to the ground. Swivelling on his stool, Patches turned around to realize not one "figure" in the bar was of the living, breathing variety, as the shinning of a light revealed they were all of the corpse variety. Perhaps more accurately, each "figure" had clearly been deceased for some time. How long was I in the refresher for? was the first question that came to mind, though a quick glance at his chrono watch told him no more than five minutes.
Another small tremor shook the room and it's contents, dust descending from the ceiling; it didn't take a building inspector to realize the structure of the bar was not much better off than most of it's patrons at this point. So it was with little choice, and about a thousand questions that needed answering that he collected his things, and exited the bar into the streets of Mandalore. However, these streets were unlike any other he had set foot on in Mandalore before; buildings were left in ruin, the skyline was a different hue, and ships flew by overhead that were a make and model that were unfamiliar to him.
"This isn't where I parked my ship..." he said, as he tried to figure out exactly how to proceed next.
