At the End of the Bottle

[Adder]

[SIZE=14.6667px]She was nursing her fifth drink of the evening. A nice, full tumbler of regret on top of the swill they were selling as Corellian whiskey – [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]double[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px], she’d said, every time. Like always, she lifted it in hopes of finding some new truth at the bottom, and like always, all she found was the distorted face of the bartender staring at her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]More?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Whether it was a Bith or a Zeltron or a goddamn Gen’dai; Adder didn’t see a Force-damned difference at that point. The question remained the same.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Her answer too.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Sure,” she said, ignoring the slight slur to her words. It had become easier over the years, denial. She used to partake occasionally; hell, she [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]still[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] partook occasionally, only that her definition of what exactly ‘occasionally’[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]entailed had adapted somewhat to her needs.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Someone tried to sit next to her, [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]again[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px], but a brief flash of the badge she carried around had him turn tail quickly enough. It was an old, battered thing, long invalid and purposeless. A touch of rust had begun creeping onto the Coruscanti sigil at the edges, corroding away at the once-powerful symbol of virtue and dignity much like the Sith were doing to the planet.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Not that the Republic had been such a great symbol of virtue and dignity, mind you. They certainly fit the term ‘once-powerful’, however.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Scoffing into her glass, Adder polished it off and smiled at the bartender.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He was a Gen’dai.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px][member="Sarge Potteiger"][/SIZE]​

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Bars favored by the rank and file never changed - loud, poorly lit, cheap beer with a high alcohol content. Cheaper whiskey with even higher levels of alcohol. It was a recipe for disaster and knocking up some girl who would wind up utterly dependent on your salary and benefits. But who cared! You were drunk! They looked attractive after sixteen shots of swill. There wasn't often reason for Sarge to come to places like this, but sometimes he was bored enough to go.

And sometimes boredom brought him things of interest; like the woman flashing a badge in the middle of a bar.

Dressed in a manner that did not suit this place at all; in fact, he sort of looked like a young, 'hip' university professor, he settled in next to her and gave the man an order for a double of whiskey. Black eyes scanning the bar, he cast his tired gaze over to [member="Adder"] and then set a few credits on the counter for the drink.

No questions; she'd probably flash that shiny again here soon.

 

[Adder]

[SIZE=14.6667px]She used to be a vice detective. That is to say, a detective who had vices. Now only the vices remained, and what little of the detective that had stuck around hung in another jacket in the form of another badge, some hundreds of thousands of lightyears away.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Adder sniffed, sipped her drink, and entertained a thought about Sulon. It was nice, as far as moons went. Not too dry, not too humid, and the people were alright. Certainly alright enough for her standards.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]The Galactic Alliance, to her incredible surprise and no small amount of awe, was still holding together. With what, it was anyone’s guess, but they were fighting the good fight nonetheless.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Raising a glass in their honor, the redhead finished what was left of the amber liquid and set it back down just in time to watch a new contestant join her at the bar. Somewhat clumsily, Adder reached into her inner pocket, already preparing to brush him off, and found out she didn’t have to do anything at all.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Huh.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Well, she’d never been one to turn down a silent drinking companion. She gave him a shallow nod, gestured for a refill, and promptly continued on her quest to empty the cantina’s reserves.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Or tried to, at least.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Buy you a drink, Red?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]There was a light tap on her shoulder, or, rather, what the owner of the hand believed to be a light tap. Seeing as the owner was a lumbering humanoid in Mando garb, with a Mando jaw and a Mando smile (which means military sweats, square, and missing a number of teeth, respectively), the tap felt more like the recoil of a sawed-off shotgun on a scale from [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]nudge[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] to [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]clap[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px].[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Swiveling around on her chair, Adder allowed herself a few moments to make sure her balance had made it all the way around with her, then pointedly pried off the presumptuous appendage.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“No.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]This time, she [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]did[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] pull out her badge.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Kark off.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px][member="Sarge Potteiger"][/SIZE]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Apparently [member="Adder"] was blasted, or at least getting close to blasted. Which is likely why the Mandalorian felt the urge to come over. Maybe he'd been counting her drinks, seeing how she'd hold up. Sarge didn't turn around, just took a sip of the cheap swill they'd given him. Wetting his lips as the burn settled in his stomach and the warmth crept outward from his stomach, he didn't look back.

She flashed her badge, and the Mandalorian wasn't offput in the slightest.

There was a deep, amused chuckle from the baritone of the newcomer who'd sat next to her. "You're a bit far from home Mandalorian." And whatever retort might have potentionally been coming was cut off by his continued speech.

"Way I see it, though... if I can't make a pass at your women without the intent to join your culture, then you can't make a pass at us non-Mandos without intent to kark off and leave people to their drinks." Another sip, and that was that.

May as well have been discussing the weather.

 

[Adder]

It didn’t have quite the effect she’d wanted it to have. In fact, it didn’t have any effect at all.

Swaying dangerously on her seat, the woman frowned. She turned the badge around in her hand, as if trying to see what had gone wrong, and why the annoying Mando was still here.

Before she could arrive to any useful conclusion, a rumbling voice from her left sounded over the usual din of gambling, drink, and despair. Adder chanced a look, and was rewarded with the room tipping precariously. Quickly, the woman righted herself before the whole damn thing toppled, and she with it; the floor didn’t look like the sort of floor that was healthy to sleep on. In fact, it didn’t look like the sort of floor that was good for anything but shoes, and even then the thick-soled, military type was recommended. Just in case.

The rumbling voice continued, unhindered by the spinning room. Odd.

She watched the Mando first shift his attention, then narrow his beady little eyes at the source of the voice. He looked distinctly displeased, in that Mando sort of way. It was a brand of displeasure that threatened to morph into violence in the very near future unless nipped in the bud.

Atrophied instincts to protect the public and its property from harm stirred in the slightly wasted former cop, and against her better judgement, the redhead stabbed a finger in his chest.

“You heard him. Beat it, or there’ll be more trouble than you can handle.”

Cops always had a buddy or two around, after all.


[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The Mando was displeased, and while he may have been unopposed to the idea of pounding in the face of the overly dressed maggot who'd insulted him... this was an Alliance military bar, and Sarge had his credits on the man not working for the Alliance. The Mandalorian brushed aside the finger jabbed in his chest and went back to his seat, shut down for the moment. He might be a problem later, though, who knew.

"You might want to ease up on the drinking." 'The Voice' says towards @Adder. "He actually picks a fight and you'll get laid out faster than if he'd gotten what he wanted from you." Ordering himself another double, he drained the last few drops from his short glass and wet his lips.

"Though that does bring to mind why a Coruscanti cop is here of all places."

 

[Adder]

She watched him leave along with his half-transparent twin, gripping the side of the bar to steady herself when equilibrium threatened to betray her.

Shooting the owner of the voice a dirty look over her shoulder, the redhead slowly maneuvered herself back into her previous position, staring straight at the counter populated by a staggering number of empty glasses.

“What do you care?” the woman spoke with a bitter twinge to her tone. A pair of sluggish fingers carefully extracted the badge from her jacket and deposited it next to [member="Sarge Potteiger"]’s next drink with the loud scrape of metal against metal.

“It’s invalid anyway,” she half-murmured a moment later, propping her heavy head up with an elbow on the bar. “And old as kark. I’m not a cop.”

Her next words were swallowed by a healthy sip from the bottle of the local swill, but they might’ve sounded something like Not anymore.

 

[Sturgis Tal'Verda]

The Mandalorian sank into the seat next to Sturgis, grumbling about something. Of course, Sturgis couldn't hear what, but he could read lips, and well. Though he didn't really need to, he could guess what he was saying, considering he had been the one that had urged the younger Mandalorian to take a chance with the redhead. A stupid grin inched its way across the Mandalorian's face as he tried to hold back a laugh.

"What are you smirking at Tal'Verda," he read, "This was your karking idea. I'm stuck here on this planet until we get a call from Skirata and I can't even get a good lay!"

{Don't you have a wife back home?} Sturgis signed in Basic Sign Language with a smirk. It was easier and had more shorthand than Mando'a Sign Language and most of the Mandos in his unit understood BSL better than MSL, ironic considering most Mandalorian Military hand signs are derived from MSL.

"GIRLFRIEND, by the Mando, you would think being deaf you'd at least remember things better," he sighed and pulled a deathstick from the pack on the table and lit it. "Besides...the way things are going I probably won't see her ever again..." It was true. Unless you were transferred or seriously injured, the Shriek-Hawks were here to stay. The Alliance did request the detachment of Mandalorians to stay in their space, but it was easier to deploy to combat zones this way, and the Alliance military didn't seem to mind sharing some space.

"Sometimes I wonder what Gil is doing. Your cousin is out probably blasting away at pirates and what do we get? Clean up duty."

{It's not all bad, these Vanguard slobs don't really know what they're doing. We haven't lost anyone yet,} he signed in response.

 

[Zetha Vesh]

Zetha entered the bar, sliding in to the seat on the other side of Sturgis and ordered. Just something really light, low chance of getting drunk. She didn't want to be feeling any after effects in the morning. Her drink was slid over to her, but she didn't take it right away. Instead, she scanned the other patrons of the bar. A redhead and a guy in armour were having a heated conversation about....something. The people on the other side of her were having a very one-sided conversation. The Mando was speaking, but the other wasn't. She thought he was ignoring the other, and turned to tell the other to kark off, when she saw that it wasn't one-sided at all.

She watched the man move his hands, his friend responding as fluently as if he were talking. The hand movements had a tone of grace and elegance to it. Intricacy that she didn't think she'd ever be able to learn, even if she practiced for her entire life. The argument on her other side and her drink were completely forgotten as she was mesmerized by this form of communication.

[member="Sturgis Tal'Verda"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He eyed [member="Adder"], then hefted her 'old as kark' badge between nimble fingers. Making a contemplative noise at the back of his throat, he slid it back over to her with a shrug. "Call it watching out for my fellow man." He was concerned for all people, even if he didn't know how to show it. And he was especially concerned when people were inebriated. He felt an urge to watch over them, for one reason or another. Drunks tended to make regrettable decisions.

He was there to point it out. After that, if they still wanted to go through with it... at least he could say he tried. "Maybe not now, but once you were." He smiled faintly, taking a sip of his renewed swish.

"But isn't that the way of things? People change, and so too do their titles. Mercenary, killer, freedom fighter, terrorist. Everything depends on perspective. So maybe you aren't a cop on Coruscant anymore, but I imagine it's something like being a soldier. It's never out of the blood once it's in."

 

[Adder]

A scowl pulled at her features when [member="Sarge Potteiger"] spoke again, but she kept her artificial gaze firmly trained on the blurry label in front of her.

Amusing, really, how well cybernetics were made in this era. Such an accurate reproduction of reality that they even karked up her vision when she was drunk. Wasn’t this amusing? Adder found it amusing, and so she laughed. Not the sort of carefree laughter you can hear spilling from children’s throats when they’re still flooded with innocence and curiosity of youth, but rather the sort of wiry, coarse bark that belied a consummate consumer of all things alcohol.

“Just like the poison they feed you,” she rebutted in a fierce voice, her green eyes swiftly focusing on her companion. Leaning forward, the redhead continued. “Ever been on the force? It’s all a karking lie, man. They tell you these… these fantasies! All those karking stories… just… just tales for kids…”

As quickly as she’d flared up, the woman deflated again, sagging against the bar. “It’s chit. Wish I could get rid of it, but… I’m stuck like this.”

Adder tipped the bottle again.

“What a karking joke.”

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Adder"] apparently was a belligerent drunk, but to Sarge's credit he remained relatively impassive during her tirade. "No, though I get a number of requests on a regular basis to help train 'the force' on various worlds." He frowned at that, then looked down. "I was a Jedi Peacekeeper, closest I've ever been to a cop, but in reality law enforcement is a mindset. At least if it's being done for purposes of upholding the law rather than flaunting power.

You have to want people to obey the rules of society, which in turn means you probably do yourself.

But I was too busy shooting people for pay to sit down, pick up a badge and punch a clock."

He sighed, realizing a heartbreak when he saw one. Not a romantic one, in this sense, but a disillusionment that comes only from the worst experiences. In this case, the heartbreak was over an ideal than any specific person. "Stuck like what?

Drinking? In a bar? Scowling at everyone?

Only stuck like that cause you let yourself be."

 

[Adder]

She began to scowl at his remark, lips parting to retort angrily.

Then she realized – with the sort of blurry, lagging horror that one experiences under the influence – that her actions would fit his description to a t.

With a loud snap of teeth, Adder closed her mouth again. Instead of barking her offense immediately, she let his words sink in below the surface, beyond the hum of circuitry that she’d never wanted to bear.

“I’m not… a drunk,” she spoke at length, rubbing her temple in slow circles. Even to her own ears, she sounded weak and defensive. “I’m not,” she repeated forcefully, some desperation leaking through.

“I try to fix things. I help the Sheriff of Sulon, here and there. It’s not all bad.”

Trailing off, she pinched the bridge of her nose, suddenly looking tired more than anything else. “But it never seems to make a difference. That’s what gets me, y’know?”

“Karking… futility. Might as well get sloshed, right? It’s not like it’ll change anything.”



[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

His black eyed gaze flickers up and down her form, watching as realization dawned across her features at around the same time the liquor went 'he's right, you know.' But that was his most annoying habit - he was right, almost always. Nearly to a fault, and it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Sometimes being right meant being let down, or realizing someone wasn't as 'good' a person as you'd believed.

Frowning a little as he realized what he'd forced her to confront, he nonetheless maintained eye contact. "It's not about the change." And it wasn't, he believed that. "It's in maybe, at some point, saving someone's life.

Or getting them to realize there's help out there. That they aren't stuck where they are.

The changes you affect aren't always in the people you arrest, but they might be in their environment. You may not save the drug dealer, but maybe you saved the neighborhood, if even for a day."

 

[Adder]

As he spoke, Adder kept shaking her head, fists flexing at her sides as she bit back the bile.

“Don’t… preach,” she finally managed, the words stilted. Strangled. Her brows were furrowed in a deep frown, casting a shadow over her eyes that only served to pronounce the lines of insomnia etched into her skin. It was always the same this time of year.

Hit the bar.

Get drunk.

Get into an argument.

Nurse hangover.

Rinse, repeat.

A simple formula for a simple week; a week when Adder refused to entertain any coherent thoughts beyond where she’d acquire the next bottle.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I’m… what? Dumb?!” She twisted her body to face him, not trusting herself to pivot on the chair without falling off.

“But the neighborhood never thanks you, does it? They don’t give a kark. Best you can hope for is they don’t shoot you too.”

“I’ve gotten maybe a dozen ‘thank yous’ in all the years I’ve been shoveling their chit. A karking decade…” Her anger ebbed as she trailed off, green eyes clouding over in thought as she worried her bottom lip.

“What was your name, again?”

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The man barked out a laugh at [member="Adder"], "There's a reason I was called Preacher as a Jedi." He didn't seem to mind her hatred for what he'd done, as he was far and away used to it by now. "Just gotta remind yourself it was worth it." He adds in a quiet tone, smiling faintly.

"Name's Sarge, miss."

 

[Adder]

She gave a faint sniff by way of answer, nodding more to her bottle than the man. He’d understand.

“A Jedi, huh?”

Despite the impressive amounts of alcohol she’d consumed that evening, Adder was still more observant than many of her peers. A curse if you asked the woman herself. It made drinking pointless, almost, because no matter how much she imbibed, that damn mind of hers just wouldn’t shut up.

Always buzzing. Always thinking. Always—

Brutally, she cut herself off with another deep swig of the swill in her glass, its burn on the way down drowning out all else. Just a few blissful seconds, and yet… it had to be enough.

“So. Sarge. You were there, then?” she added in a quieter voice, gesturing to the muted footage from more than a decade ago rolling on the holoscreen above the bar. Coruscant, in flames. It was a sight she’d never forget even if it weren’t for the annual reminder.

Kark this karking week.

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He shook his head, "No, no I wasn't." Sighing, he reached up to rub at his forehead, eyes closing as the memory of the massive headache that was Coruscant came back. It was all a blur - vague images in the eye of his mind. A dropship thrown from a starship hangar, a ship exploding in atmosphere to shower meteors onto the Imperial palace, a Yuuzhan Vong vomiting out black tar.

They weren't even in order.

For some reason, he didn't need a drink. Instead, he just frowned. A hand rose and his index and middle fingers formed a V. "Second time I was."

[member="Adder"]

 

[Adder]

“Ha! Lot of good that did, eh?”

Her smile would’ve soured milk. Adder shook her head, then shook her glass. It was unacceptably empty.

“You think it’ll ever end?” She gestured with her chin towards the screen. It had switched to more recent losses to the Sith in the meantime. The cities were different, the planets far away, but the story stayed the same.

Veni, vidi, burned it all.

The only thing history had taught her was that people needed no excuse to go around killing each other. Then that conflict would inevitably escalate, and usually involve the whole frakking Galaxy, because why not? Everyone loves a good war every now and then.

If by ‘everyone’ you mean ‘Sith’, of course.

“Force… I hate them. I hate them, Sarge.” Imploring green eyes found his. “I never wanted to hate anyone…”

“Crap.”

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]