First Annual Dave Benefit Concert (One Sith Dominion of Marna)

[Darth Timoris]

[Post=3/20]​

"I think . . . I might have ruined my life."

"Sounds like you met a man," the purple and unfeasibly buxom Twi’lek bartender said, pouring. "Do you want me to leave the bottle?"

Only if I can smash it over my head, Melori thought. Sweat dripping from her matted blond hair, she drank deeply. The empty mug glistened, its shaped facets catching the lights of the flashing lights. She twirled it in her hand, following the reflections.

The bartender passed her a bowl of chips. "Friend, you look like you've run all the way from Tython."

"And more." Melori didn't add that she'd been dancing practically without pause since the previous evening. Now, as the sun set again, she'd stopped, parched and ravenous.

In truth she’d lost track of time — the passing of days irrelevant when you don’t see daylight — and you’ve danced with numerous partners only for them to crash and burn before she found her next dancer.

But none were the man she wanted. She’d not seen him since Glee Anselm and suddenly woke up one morning and realised she’d missed him. There was talk of a mission upcoming where she’d get the opportunity to crash a wedding, and the suggestion was she’d get a chance to meet up with him there.

But she was a Sith. She was mean, moody and magnificent…right? She was no love-struck teenager, she was a former Voice of the One Sith. And he was…at the end of the day…just a man.

So why did she miss him? And if she did, was this, as she feared, the end of her career? Who’d take her seriously if she kept up her infatuation? She was supposed to be ruthless, wasn’t she?

 

[Sinistra]

Location: Dave Benefit Concert
Objective: Watching
Enemies: [member="Spark Finn"]
1/20

When the Sith throw a party, they spare no expense. However, someone has to work. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a high ponytail and her outfit was appropriate but not flashy. She was very nondescript, as usual. She was wearing a lanyard around her neck with some security credentials on them, and an earpiece that connected her to her team out in the crowds. No one at the show would think she was there to rave the night away, but she definitely looked like someone's business manager or venue supervisor.

Through out the show, her team was undercover, watching everything through a closed circuit surveillance network, unconnected to any external coms lines. Sinistra stood behind a wall of monitors, eyes narrowed as the cameras panned the crowds. The firewalls of the preliminary field network established here were being spammed by an encryption but they made no move to stop the attacks or the virus uploaded into the system. Nothing on Marna was hardwired into anything important yet. However, you learned a lot more about people when you let them think they succeed sometimes.

Dawson Guildan, Sinistra's lead slicer was practically a chimney at his console, smoking constantly as he kept one step ahead of the traces, even with their modulation, he managed to pick them all up fairly quickly. He threw the camera up on the wall of screens.

"Got a hit just before the connection dropped. Signal originated here." Sinistra looked around the barroom, but nothing was jumping out at her.

"Rewind and play back the last ten minutes."

The figures all started to move in reverse and a few minutes into the rewind, a brunette entered the camera backwards, sitting at the bar and playing with her com and paying next to no attention to the actual concert. The corner of Sinistra's mouth tugged in a smile.

"Freeze it. Girl at the bar, looking far too disinterested. Hightails it when the Twi'lek starts getting harassed. Is that when we lost the signal?"

"That's our girl." Dawson nodded.

"Do we have a dossier on her?"

"None fitting her description. It's possible she has a file under a handle but first we need to know what it is."

Sinistra stroked her chin and nodded. To bust into the Sith network, a concert was a strange place to put operatives. Anything could be done remotely. Why the need to be there in person?

"Are the system safeguards in place?"

"Yes, my lord." Dawson chuckled. He lived for these kinds of days. When the hunters turn into the hunted.

"Shut down data replication between all sites, let the virus run on the local server. Let's see who just knocked, shall we? Fela, I want eyes on her and everyone she smiles at until she leaves, but don't engage. I don't want to spook them yet."

Her team lead, Fela Swor, acknowledged the command with a single word into her radio as her eyes swept the crowds from her post, a bright yellow SECURITY shirt on. Sometimes the best place to put an operative was right out in the open where you least expect.

::Copy.::

 

[Trin Gravois]

Location: Dave Benefit Concert
Objective: Feed
Allies: ???
Enemies: ???

A rock concert was like a McYoda franchise for an Anzat. Fast food everywhere. So it was fortuitous that Trin Gravois, a half-Anzat, was currently on Marna just as the concert started. Once she got too hungry, the young hybrid could no longer think about anything else. Even thoughts of Lucas were fugitive. There was only the sweet mucoid Sea of Memory. The oceans of people beckoned to her like a gentle siren's song. She could almost hear the sound of brains sluicing down her throat, sating her until she was ready to burst.

As the music roared, and the crowd swayed, Trin found an attractive human to dance with. He smelled like beer and deathsticks, but he would do. As a bonus, she might even get a little contact high. Trin locked eyes on the human, and as he stared back, he began to feel euphorically drawn to her, hypnotized almost. She clasped her hand around his and pulled him along like a dog on a chain, right into one of the porta-refreshers.

It wasn't the most appetizing places to feed, but beggars, choosers and all that. She pushed the human against the wall of the porta-refresher and began to kiss his neck, moving her soft lips upwards, teasing his earlobe. While he was distracted, two prehensile proboscises emerged from pouches in her cheeks and slithered up his nose. There was a squishing sound as they squeezed through his sinuses and poked right into his cranium. The man's body began to seize up as he was essentially lobotomized. With a thud, his lifeless form slumped to the ground, an ignoble death, but a necessary one. She slunk out of the small container and back into the crowd, passing a boy with a tee-shirt that read "No regrets."

No regrets, indeed.

 

[Isamu Baelor]

Location: Radio Free Coruscant
Allies: OS
Enemies: The booze.
Objective: Drink.
2/20

A mighty soldier. A veteran of numerous battles. A man who insulted a Sith Lord and lived to tell the tale. A strong man by any measure, yet brought to a drunken mess by a nightmare. Isamu continued to down drink after drink, in an attempt to numb the tornado of emotions that whirled inside his heart. Anger, at the pirates that killed his wife. Anger, at himself for allowing it to happen. Guilt, for choosing the mission over his beloved wife. But most of all, he felt lonely.

He continued to down drink after drink. A vong approached the bar, and ordered a drink for himself. Isamu gave him a quick glance, before returning to the alcohol that he had been drinking. The vong looked at Isamu, and furrowed his eyebrows. Isamu caught it out of the corner of his eye. He assumed the vong disapproved of the way he chose to cope. He didn't care. He was too upset.

[member="Atham'aali'kema"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

[Post=4/20]​

​

Melori finished the bottle. And the next. And the next.

By the time the bartender refused to serve her any more she was too drunk to even retaliate. She tried to call the Force to her but failed miserably.

"Go home and go to bed," the Twi'lek said. "I get off in ten minutes you know..." she added with a wink.

Melori giggled and fell off the bar-stool. A few moments later, her hands appeared on the counter of the bar and slowly her face and torso followed them. "Thanks...but no. Men. I like men. A man. I like a man. One man. Him."

The Twi'lek flashed her a smile. "You sure?"

Melori shook her head. A mistake surely. Her head was swimming now. She hadn't been this drunk since...ever.

"Shure," she slurred. "And stand still." The room was spinning now. She pointed a finger at the bar-tender and accidentally prodded her chest. "Oops, shorry." She smiled again. "Not a come-on, honest."

"I know," said the Twi'lek. "But you do need a place to crash and alone..." she looked around, "I wouldn't trust anyone here. You come with me and I promise...no funny business. I have a decent couch and an even better bucket."

"You..." said Melori, "Are a shtar." And then her head hit the floor, closely followed by the rest of her.

 

[Lord Ajihad]

[1/20]

Ajihad didn't care too much whether or not the One Sith took Marna. Should he be concerned? Probably. Could he care less? No. It was coincidence that had brought him to the planet. Nothing more, nothing less. He was there to kill the bartender. She had been cheating on her wife, and she wanted him dead. The assassin had been in town, and had happened to hear about her need for a killer. Deciding it would be nice to pick up a few credits, he had stopped by the bar to kill the man.

He had his ballistic hidden blade at the ready, subtly pointed at the woman from across the room. He was about to send the Twi'lek to the cemetery, when he noticed she was hitting on some lady. Ajihad shook his head. Unfaithful to the day she died. He then squinted his eyes, looking at who she was making a move on. Did he know her? Realization dawned on him as he recognized [member="Darth Timoris"]. Just then, it seemed she passed out, hitting her head hard on the floor. He saw blood, and sighed. It would interrupt his mission, but... he was obliged to help. She was a Sith, after all.

He got up and walked over at a calm pace. and kneeled down next to the unconscious Sith. Head injuries bled a lot, so couldn't tell the severity of the wound. He looked around, and spotted a towel on a nearby rack. He snatched it, and wrapped it around her head tightly. The white cloth began to turn red, but it looked like the bleeding had begun to slow. There wasn't much more he could do for her there, so he would have to mobilize. He picked her up gently, and began to carry her out the door. He would turn around at the last second, to the concerned bartender. He flicked his wrist from under Melori's body, and nobody would notice the blade whizzing through the air, and into the woman's neck He would collect his money later.

Not long after, he would arrive back at his ghetto hotel room, high above the street. She would lay on the couch while he sat in an armchair, waiting for her to awaken...

 

[Atham'aali'kema]

Location: Radio Free Coruscant
Allies: Charity
Enemies: Charity
Objective: Continue to understand
Post: 4/20

The aroma that lingered. The cup emptied far faster than Maalik expected. The shine of gold, that yeast smell and the remnants of fermentation - nothing but froth at the bottom, foam and living with breaths and busts of the bubble. Placing the glass down on the bar, he tapped his finger down on the enamel, a residual notion unlearned in the grashals of Selvaris. Pulling up a chair, he sat down.

Watching methodically, he tilted his head with the slosh of the honey as it was filled by the bartender. It was good, better than anything these people could craft. A fire burned deep within it, threatening the very way of life for the Yuuzhan Vong and the creatures that surrounded them. Yet like the Yuuzhan of old, his people, those who wouldn't take him or accept him - teetered close to the edge for the sake of it. At the end of the day, they harnessed an insurmountable power, not easily overcome. Even by the sparkbee honey. Even so, he had learned from the shapers that the enemies of the Legion had began to implement the beverage as a weapon. How odd, he thought, that something could bring so much in one leap and death in the very next.

Bringing the glass to his mouth, he spoke to [member="Isamu Baelor"]. "Beyond even the smell of that pungent fluid...you reek of pain." That was something Maalik held a particular expertise. "Why not just end it all, instead of numbing it now to return another day?" It wasn't a taunt or a mock. Genuine curiosity fueled him for the moment. Was it weakness now or hope for the future? Or perhaps drive or ambition or purpose. All things foreign to the Slayer.

 

[Sinistra]

Location: Dave Benefit Concert
Objective: Watching
Enemies: Boredom
2/20

The eyes in the skies kept watching, kept recording and the security details switched their posts on schedule, moving like a well oiled machine. Such was the life of intelligence and counterintelligence. Sinistra's team would disseminate everything recorded tonight to be broken down further, and there were reports to be made. She was certain her reports sat in someone's message box forever, unread but forcing them to act on intell wasn't her problem. She just had to supply it.

She ventured out of the control room, heading down to the bar area, her VIP credentials displayed for anyone who might want to hassle her. There were few if any here that could have identified her as a lord, and so her cover was safe. She liked to get in on the action from time to time. There was nothing like an op, the people watching couldn't be beat.

The music was loud and the crowd was thinning as the night wore on, but the dancing and driving beat never stopped. You could lose yourself in this noise, forgetting everything that wasn't fantasy. Night and nightclubs were made for that sort of thing, only to have the harsh light of the morning evaporate the carefree attitude of the previous evening.

Drink in hand, she surveyed the crowd around her and checked her egress. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, insofar as some Sith could. Personally, she was looking forward to the break coming up. The cover could come off, the Force Suppression could drop and she could meditate on her role as a Sith. She had not taken an apprentice in years. Perhaps it was time to step away from her stable, to put the spymaster away in order to sate the Sith? Who knows. Tonight wasn't the night to let her thinking slip. Perfection was required.

 

[Darth Timoris]

[Post=5/20]​

Her head hurt.

A lot.

Possibly more than a hangover should. So she gingerly put her hand up to her forehead and felt a towel. It was dry but felt matted. Sweat? Perhaps. She sniffed next and was delighted to sense the lack of aroma of vomit. Never a pleasant odour.

Her eyes still tight shut, she started to wonder where she was. She tried to pull the Force to her but her head hurt too much, so she gave it up for now. So she simply tried to remember.

Dancing. More dancing. A blur of dance partners. More dancing. Drinking. Oh…a lot of alcohol. Corellian Whiskey! And the barmaid. Yes. The feeling under her back was not a hard floor, neither was it a bed. A couch, yes, she vaguely remembered something along those lines.

She carefully touched her body. She was still dressed, which was comforting. In her state, who knew what could have happened? Sleep felt sensible but not practical. She needed water. And sugar. And to get off this planet.

Finally she opened her eyes. For a barmaid she had an interesting choice of décor. It was like a hotel room. And then she saw him. He was sitting on a chair and watching her. And she recognised him. Not directly, they’d not spoken from her memory – but they’d been around each other. He was a Sith – which was good. And he’d seen her in this state – which was bad.

“Morning,” she ventured, unsure what time of the day it was. Or even what day. “Your room?”

[member="Lord Ajihad"]

 

[Lord Ajihad]

[2/20]

[member="Darth Timoris"]

After the hungover Darth asked him the question, he wouldn't reply for a minute or so. He was bust looking her up and down, though not for the reason she probably thought. Quite a while ago, the One Sith had had an acolyte tournament. He had made it to the finals, as did Melori. It was to be him vs. her in a final match, to determine the top Sith acolyte. However, it had been at that time he had gone a on a pilgrimage to become a nightbrother, forsaking the competition in the process. Those were the days...

He attention would come back into focus, and he would answer her question. "I do suppose it would appropriate to call it morning. It's currently 3:00 am here. And no, this isn't my dwelling. I'm currently borrowing it from... an associate." If the Sith Lady happened to look behind the couch, she would see the corpse of a man laying on the floor. Blood dripped from his ravaged eye socket, the entry wound left by Ajihad's hidden blade. Suddenly, he would seize up, and a series of images would flash through his head. A street, a cafe, and a face. The face of someone the assassin was familiar with. Someone who owed him money. A frown would play across his face as the assassin released the tension from his body. He would have to wrap this conversation up quickly, if he were to catch [member="Eugene Leopold"]...

 

[Isamu Baelor]

Location: Radio Free Coruscant
Allies: OS
Enemies: The booze.
Objective: Drink.
3/20

Why not just end it. Those words echoed through Isamu’s inebriated mind. Unbeknownst to the Vong, Isamu had tried many a time. During nights, where the night terrors proved to be too much, he would try. The memories of those times vividly returned. The feel of the cold steel in his mouth. The taste of it. The tension of the blaster trigger. He remembered every single detail. But among all that, what he remembered most was the feeling of drowning in grief. It’s inescapable grasp dragging him further and further down into despair.

Was it cowardice that stopped him from pulling the trigger? Was it the idea of his deceased wife watching in horror as he took his own life? Or was it a punishment for letting her die? In truth, he didn’t know. Isamu finished sipping down the alcoholic beverage. He took a deep breath, and firmly placed the glass on the table. Without looking at the Vong, and with a slight quiver in his voice, Isamu replied. “Someone like you… would never understand.”

[member="Atham'aali'kema"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

[Post =6/20]​

She nodded, a bad move. She was making a few of those of late…too many to be precise.

At least [member="Vengeance"] wasn’t here. It would have been a little difficult to explain. Although logically, if he were here, he’d know nothing had happened – but her brain was a little fuddled to think that clearly.

She wish she knew where she could place the face from. She recognised him well enough to immediately know he was familiar – but not well enough to place a name or a place.

Borrowing was a useful term that covered many meanings and rarely were they honourable. And even less did they suggest the lender had been consulted, let alone agree to the borrowing.

She gingerly got to her feet. Her head was not going to get better, so she had no choice but to act. “I’m sure your associate wouldn’t mind me using the shower and if I’m keeping you, then I’ll let myself out.”

She headed to the door she hoped would be the right one. “And if you’re not here when I get back…thanks. I mean it.”

[member="Lord Ajihad"]

 

[Atham'aali'kema]

Location: Radio Free Coruscant
Allies: Charity
Enemies: Charity
Objective: Continue to understand
Post: 5/20

A noise escapes the lips, alien and unfamiliar...a laugh. As the humor of the response subsided, he experienced the oddest feeling he could recall in recent days in this path of self-exploration, and sighed into the snifter. "Someone like me..." If only, he thought, to not be equipped with this perpetual isolation. There was no one like him and for that moment, he resented and celebrated it. Taking another sip, he placed the glass on the table, half empty. Always half empty.

"You are right, I do not understand." Temptation to speak down to this man in Yuuzhan Vong, Legion Yun'Do dialect, was nearly overwhelming. An ounce of hubris might as well have been a gallon. But who was he to speak down to this military man, obviously elevated within the One Sith. Such unusual form for his position. Interesting.

"Three scenarios." He held the cup in his hand. "You are too weak to commit the act, you have tried and were incapable, or you are mighty and burdened with purpose, blotting out any hope of committing such a selfish act." Like reading from a text book, Maalik found himself applying the analysis to himself as he drank from the cup. Honey, thick, down again. "Perhaps all three...weak, incompetent, and might.y" He looked down into the cup, wondering what he would do if driven to such an end. Could he removed himself so willingly, as he would suggest of this man.

Probably not, Maalik was only weak.

"I think you might be mighty. Which means you are woefully out of place in this group...or perfectly in tune with what is needed." He tapped the bar with the empty cup. Another fill as the line between Vong and Chiss blurred beyond recognition. As he assessed this man, he failed to account for the pain he might be enduring or the salt thrown into the wound. It wasn't out of contempt, it just didn't occur to him.

[member="Isamu Baelor"]​

 

[Sinistra]

Location: Radio Free Coruscant
Objective: Watching
Post: 3/20

Next to her at the bar was an interesting pair if she ever saw one. There was a guy her age who looked completely shattered. He had that "life as I know it is over" look on his face and enough derision for the crowd that it wafted towards her like a perfume too heavy for summer. Next to him and completely oblivious of the emotion turmoil happening on the older man's face, was a Vong looking blue guy. He seemed like he was trying to be helpful and understand but the massive failure of it was fascinating to watch play out.

She sipped her drink, her attention fixed on the exchange. She was a study of sentient behavior and this was just too rich to look away.

[member="Atham'aali'kema"] [member="Isamu Baelor"]

 

[Yidhra]

[1/20]
Allies: Alcohol
Enemies: Straight lines
Objective: Get to the stage​

His inebriated state was, at the end of the day, a mere excuse for the fact that the writer had very little idea what was going on, and therefore decided that the best idea was having the character enter the scene wasted more than the efforts of the Republic to stand against the tide of the One Sith. Nergal was, conveniently enough, also a hardcore alcoholic.

The only saving grace of his liver was the zeltron blood coursing through his veins — which was, arguably, 50% alcohol in any case — and it was the only reason why the impressive bulk of his body still maintained a somewhat upright position. It helped, of course, that he was supported by a dense crowd from all sides, thousands upon thousands of bodies that moved with the same melody.

Fantastic vibes, really. His swaying was a bit out rhythm, but the negligible delay could be forgiven in the light of his crapulent state. He was still clinging to the near-empty bottle of something hard and likely corrosive, which didn't bode well for the screaming pink polish adorning his nails. Oh, well. It wasn't as if the glittering lip gloss had fared any better in the battle with distilled ethanol, or the concealer applied liberally to his rough skin, mostly to obscure the dark stubble lining his jaw.

In fact, Nergal didn't look much like the enforcer he was at all, an image only compounded by the hot pink fur coat draped over his shoulders. A head taller than most of the people around him, and yet, somehow, the man looked distinctly more like the suggestive expression of a flamboyant performer appearing on the holoadverts for the concert.

It was, indeed, Miss Tillia Vaudeville.

 

[Lord Ajihad]

[3/20]
Allies: [member="Darth Timoris"]
Enemies: [member="Eugene Leopold"]

Ajihad stood up as Melori did, watching her carefully. She might still be a bit light-headed, and he didn't want her leaving any blood evidence on the white carpet. He listened as she spoke, before offering a reply. "Stay here as long as you'd like. Go ahead and take a shower, and help yourself to any food in the fridge. Might want to clear out of here by tomorrow evening though." He said this, naming the time estimate his contact in the police department had given him as to how long he could stall the cops from arriving. Ajihad moved towards the door, but turned around to add a final note. "Also, ah, try your hardest not to leave any fingerprints on anything at all. My associate is very OCD, you see. Fingerprints just seem to bother him."​

​

At that note, the assassin would leave Melori to her own devices. He would try and head for an area where he could reach out over the city using the force, and hopefully find the slicer that owed him quite a large sum of money...​

 

[Yidhra]

[2/20]
Allies: Alcohol and pheromones
Enemies: Stairs
Objective: Get to the stage​

Miss Tillia Vaudeville let out a distinctly unladylike belch, generously sharing his whiskey breath with his immediate surroundings. Paying no heed to the slighted glares and untoward remarks pointed at his rather comely visage, the madame made his way somewhat unsteadily, but nonetheless consistently towards the backstage entrance.

Utilizing the skills collected over the years of doing his day job, Miss Tillia craftily employed the use of his elbows, knees, and the general advantage in body weight to shove his way through the milling crowd, ignoring the offended voices rising up behind him. He was a woman — no, a queen — with a mission, and no amount of people could hope to stand between him and the stage tonight. He was slated to appear before them in no less than fifteen minutes, and it would be appropriate that he at least make it to the stairs before his preformance was due.

"You can't go up here."

The rude tone of the bouncer did nothing to dissuade his progress, but the taser he brandished menacingly did. Miss Tillia Vaudeville stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face him — not out of some dillusion of instilling in him the fear of god, but rather because anything faster and he would surely topple over — bracing the now empty bottle in his hand against the wall for additional support.

"Listen up, boy," Nergal finally spoke, smacking his lips to wet them once more. "I'm about to sing up there, yeah? Ain't nobody gonna be happy if they find out you karked up the schedule for this thing, yeah?"

"So be a good lad and let me through, and Miss Tillia might give you some lovin' after this is done, yeah?" he went on, winking suggestively at the bristling bouncer.

"You- I assure you, I'm not some—"

"I knew you'd understand," Nergal cut him off with a disarmingly wide grin, forcing the man to lean back in an attempt to avoid the overpowering stench of whiskey wafting from his mouth.

"See you later, big boy."

 

[Darth Timoris]

[Post=7/20]​

Melori nodded to her benefactor as he left. She grabbed a quick shower and then raided the fridge.

Her thirst and hunger sated she returned for a slower shower before returning to the main room and noticing the dead body. So she did as her associate instructed and cleaned every surface she’d touched for prints before departing.

And she didn’t just leave the room, she immediately made her way to her ship and vacated the planet. She had some thinking to do. She’d allowed herself to be compromised by alcohol and she’d let a man cloud her judgement. Neither impressed her, so she vowed to never let either happen again.

Her feelings for her fellow Sith would not go away, but she’d never be a slave to them. No man was worth that.

 

[Sinistra]

Location: Radio Free Coruscant
Objective: Watching
Post: 4/20

She was about to head back upstairs to round up her agents for a quick scrum, just to make sure they had their assignments for the next day. She expected reports and more information for the dossier of the hackers. She moved through the crowd, a lick of flame at her throat. It was comforting almost. Life is pain and there was no more certain reminder of that than the spot of alchemical fire that nested against her pale skin.

She kept her Force suppression going, masking her presence, her powers, everything. Tonight she was Kira. Tonight she was working. And the past was nothing but an old flame.

She scooted back into the corridors and back hallways reserved for staff and crews. The show was almost over and the real work would begin.

 

[Yidhra]

[3/20]
Allies: Alcohol, pheromones, and stage presence
Enemies: Stage lights, man.
Objective: Sweep the audience off their feet​

His make-up had smeared somewhat during his drinking binge, and though they scolded him somewhat in the backstage, the artist was quick to fix him up while the organizer gave the towering Miss Tillia Vaudeville a quick run-down of the show.

"So, we've got pyrotechnics, like you asked, and dry ice too. There's also that drummer requested, but the guitarist couldn't make it. Overdosed on Nar Shaddaa, I believe. He's now in a coma… but in any case, the bass is also waiting for you. There will be a pause at 10.30, and then we've got the lightshow for the other half of the conc—"

"Wait wait wait… wait up," he interjected with a lifted finger, pink nail polish and all. "Lightshow? Who the kark ordered a karking lightshow?"

His voice kept rising despite the pleas coming from his surroundings, but the drunk man kept going, stabbing the angry finger directly into the chest of the shorter man.

"'Cause you can bet your sweet ass it wasn't me, blue boy," his red-rimmed eyes flashed with a bout of alcohol-fuelled annoyance as he loomed above the chiss. With an impulsive gesture, he batted the datapad from his grasp and shoved him against the wall as he bunched up the button-up he was wearing in a large fist.

"Lose the lights, or you lose me."