Let's Start A Little Trouble (Open!)

[Velok the Younger]

@MacTavish @Jada Raxis [member="Brent Warnel"] [member="Valashu Elahad"]

Well, this was a nerf of a different colour.

Lots of yelling. Big guy threw a Molotov. Chick threw some kind of force field. Armored guy went after her with some blades. Average guy produced a bow from nowhere and shot the head off the Molotov. The burning wick, made of grungy shirt, landed near Tom's feet. He stomped it out. The rest of the bottle, sloshing spirits, smashed nearby, but not close enough for embers to light it. At least, not right this second. Those fumes were eye-wateringly potent.

With a shrug, Tom snagged a mug of lum off a nearby table and doused the rest of the wick. Lum didn't have a prayer of flammability. Sploosh. Door forgotten for the moment -- that force field was blocking his way -- he backpedaled away from the fight and out of the pool of mingled lum and spirits. If the more alcoholic eddies went up, he had no desire to be anywhere near'em.

 

[MacTavish]

MacTavish gave a no-good smirk when he was ‘called out’ for his cowardice. It was funny to him that he would be considered a coward for his actions. It seemed appropriate for a battle this size to be conducted behind proper cover. Whether or not he had the best seat in the house was irrelevant, he still had the best karking seat in the karking house. The durasteel and plasteel interior of the bar would be a battleground soon enough and if MacTavish had his way, the air conditioner would be kicking on soon, not that it could do much against the kind of heat they were about to experience.

The mercenary was stuffing the second bottle of whatever he could find with a high concentration of alcohol full of torn shirt. He expected to hear a boom and several screams by this point, instead he heard the Jedi yell out something and suddenly he found himself surrounded and yet still no flames. That was when he heard the snap of the neck of the bottle. Someone had cheated, someone used something that wouldn’t ignite his bomb. This angered MacTavish. He didn’t want to have to literally set the whole city block on fire to prove his point but these people were playing hard to get. He wanted to cause a stir, and by the gods if he hadn’t flipped over the entire pot.

There were three bottles of alcohol left and three wicks, he was planning on using one of them on the puddle of wasted potential that lay scattered across the bar floor. There were a lot of people inside the bubble the Jedi created, enough that incineration was near impossible to prevent given the structure of the bubble and how oxygen worked. He heard the Mandalorian call for her to drop the bubble, then he heard the definite sound of a blade extending. This was where the true chaotic nature of MacTavish came into play. There was a good chance she would argue with the attacker but likely drop the barrier. If his battle honed reflexes were correct and his timing true, he would throw the next cocktail at the perfect time she dropped the protective shield.

However, timing and such nonsense were irrelevant to the mound of rage and flammable substances that was MacTavish. He cared not if he took down the entire planet just to see it rebuilt in his image. He luckily had plenty of coverage against the fireball considering most of the liquor on the bottom shelves besides the bottles he had left were mixers and not too powerful and the fact that fire traveled up. Still though, fireballs in limited oxygen were nothing but trouble. “Hope you guys like Shesharilian vodka!” With that he threw the second lit fuse, he threw it over the bar without exposing more than his wrist. This able-bodied merc didn’t need a lot of space to make a good throw, he had plenty of muscle to toss the bottle far enough away.

Would they all die in a catastrophe and be burnt to a crisp? Would she drop the barrier and only a select few of them are burnt to a crisp? Will there be another perfectly timed arrow and another spill on the barroom floor? MacTavish didn’t really care, at least his tab was paid for. He tipped the second to last bottle of booze back after he threw the bomb. At least if he died he’d be in good company. If nothing else, it could add some neat scars to his collection. He hadn't had a good burn scar since his time serving on Coruscant in the corps.

“I need a damn cig.”

[member="Tomsen Page"] [member="Jada Raxis"] [member="Brent Warnel"] [member="Valashu Elahad"]