Goran
The Original Robot Space Ninja
Force users the galaxy over had a variety of different traditions that dictated how they behaved when they all met up. Jedi had Conclaves, in which there was a lot of hand wringing, sermonizing, and presumably a long line at the self-flagellation booth. Goran wasn't actually sure what Sith got up to. In its mind, it imagined it was a lot like the Goth kids in high school getting together on the weekends: lots of brooding, music from bands that were totally better before they went mainstream, and contests to see who was the edgiest.
Mandalorians had drinking contests.
The Oyu'baat was booked solid this weekend, because Mandalorian weddings also tended to turn into drinking contests, so the general call had been sent out to meet up in a community meeting hall on a nearby world. It was a simple one room affair, about 100 meters to a side, and ten meters tall. The floor was bare ferrocrete, the walls cinder block painted white. The owner of the place had hastily erected a crudely drawn mythosaur banner sent from the local elementary school, where it was decided that Mandalorians were just the coolest thing ever. "Thank you for protecting us from the bad people," the banner said in glittery, six inch high letters that were leaking glue around the edges.
Of course the assembled warriors had awkwardly signed the banner, which they planned to send back, but the effect was kinda ruined with messages scrawled on it like "Ra karks turkeys" and "Hey Timmy, your mom is hot." Goran had drawn a picture of an army of turkeys bearing down on terrified Republic soldiers with a low powered laser beam.
The middle of the room was occupied by a haphazard assembly of overladen tables, each bearing a frankly astounding assortment of alcoholic beverages, and a few that were there to cater to other species who preferred stronger stuff. A portable vent hood had been erected over the Devaronian table, for instance, which contained cocktails that most beings would consider industrial waste.
The Shard was standing awkwardly in the corner, wearing its little black dress. When it had been told that there was going to be a party, it had kinda figured it would be the sort of party where things of a hostile nature died in great numbers. What it didn't expect was to see high ranking officials seeing who could hold a keg stand the longest. At least the kegs were filled with tihaar. Beer, it seemed, was for pussies. It was sipping from its own keg of tihaar, which looked like a normal sized glass in its massive hand. How an astromech was drinking was anyone's guess.
Was there a point to this meeting? Eh, who knows. Wasn't its problem. There might be some speechifying once folks were trashed enough that they had no choice but to listen, if only because they were too drunk to walk. Maybe the drinking contest would devolve into a brawl. Wouldn't be the first time. Nothing would surprise Goran at this point, not even Mand'alor himself riding in naked on a giant turkey after slathering himself in oil and using Isley as a saddle. Now that would make for a party.
Mandalorians had drinking contests.
The Oyu'baat was booked solid this weekend, because Mandalorian weddings also tended to turn into drinking contests, so the general call had been sent out to meet up in a community meeting hall on a nearby world. It was a simple one room affair, about 100 meters to a side, and ten meters tall. The floor was bare ferrocrete, the walls cinder block painted white. The owner of the place had hastily erected a crudely drawn mythosaur banner sent from the local elementary school, where it was decided that Mandalorians were just the coolest thing ever. "Thank you for protecting us from the bad people," the banner said in glittery, six inch high letters that were leaking glue around the edges.
Of course the assembled warriors had awkwardly signed the banner, which they planned to send back, but the effect was kinda ruined with messages scrawled on it like "Ra karks turkeys" and "Hey Timmy, your mom is hot." Goran had drawn a picture of an army of turkeys bearing down on terrified Republic soldiers with a low powered laser beam.
The middle of the room was occupied by a haphazard assembly of overladen tables, each bearing a frankly astounding assortment of alcoholic beverages, and a few that were there to cater to other species who preferred stronger stuff. A portable vent hood had been erected over the Devaronian table, for instance, which contained cocktails that most beings would consider industrial waste.
The Shard was standing awkwardly in the corner, wearing its little black dress. When it had been told that there was going to be a party, it had kinda figured it would be the sort of party where things of a hostile nature died in great numbers. What it didn't expect was to see high ranking officials seeing who could hold a keg stand the longest. At least the kegs were filled with tihaar. Beer, it seemed, was for pussies. It was sipping from its own keg of tihaar, which looked like a normal sized glass in its massive hand. How an astromech was drinking was anyone's guess.
Was there a point to this meeting? Eh, who knows. Wasn't its problem. There might be some speechifying once folks were trashed enough that they had no choice but to listen, if only because they were too drunk to walk. Maybe the drinking contest would devolve into a brawl. Wouldn't be the first time. Nothing would surprise Goran at this point, not even Mand'alor himself riding in naked on a giant turkey after slathering himself in oil and using Isley as a saddle. Now that would make for a party.
