Pick Your Poison (Jared Ovmar)

[Salem Norongachi]

Like so many stories it began with a drink. The backdrop was a cantina, tucked away on a nameless space station in a nowhere part of the Galaxy. The space was open, seats set before tables at regular intervals with the usual array of cushioned booths spread along the walls. The bar sat directly opposite the doorway, a pair of human tenders answering to the cries and pleas of the patrons for one more before they called it quits.

It was a busy night, barflies packed in shoulder to shoulder in the subdued lighting. Some kept rhythm with the band that played a melodic ditty on a small stage at the far left of the bar, while others were so far gone that their snores threatened to drown out the poor musicians all together.

Salem was among former, he'd been here since well before sun up by his chrono and unless they forcibly ejected him he wasn't in any frame of mind to leave in the near future. It had been a pleasant day, by all accounts, one of the few since his release from the cold sleep of stasis. He'd come to an arrangement with a man nobody knew the name of-which were always the best men to know, hadn't been shot at, stabbed or otherwise bothered by the locals and to boot he'd been given a free bartab by his new friend before his departure. So it was safe to say that alcohol coursed through his mind, heightening the feeling of calm contentment as he sat alone in one of the corner booths the establishment had on offer.

He really should have known better.

@[member="Jared Ovmar"]

 

[Arage Bao]

Sometimes you just knew. Maybe it was the feint smell of vomit in the air, that caressed your nostrils as you walked into the bar. Might be the tune of the cantina band that was playing, it sound erratic and just a bit off as if the guitarist was somehow on edge. Perchance it was the mood of the crowd, as you walked in, that caught your attention. Regardless, the result was the same, you turned right around and found yourself a different establishment to drink away your sorrows and doubts.

At least this was the case if you were sane, and concerned about your health. This could not have been said by Jared Ovmar, never did he allow the world outside his being catch a glimpse of his instability. But it was there, a festering rot inside of his soul, effecting his mood and soul and mind. Battling for control, a battle that Jared had not lost. Not yet.

So when he walked into the bar, and was hit by the fragrance of vomit, the erratic sound of the beat and the dark mood of the crowd; but refused to budge.. you knew something was up. People started to grumble, as a couple of brave men stepped up to show the new kid who was boss... and the mysteriously blinked once or twice and left the bar without further comment.

Might be the Based Gods decided to take pity with the poor folk, or might be for once they had chosen wisely. It mattered not, at least not for Jared. He just continued his walk, ignoring the menace of the vox populi. Considering it beneath his worth, to pay attention to such a thing.

This was all a game to him, a chance to try out a new role. Jared was made for places just likes this, it was were he felt home the most. The honesty, the blood and the grudging respect. Those were the things he lived on. As he walked up to the bar, and took a seat he considered the barkeep.

Once he would have ordered an appletini without considering any other action. Play strong when weak, and weak when strong. Wise words to live by, Jared reckoned. It had kept him going for years, kept him alive those words. But was he still the same man, as he had been? After all those years? Question, upon question, upon question. But no answer to give.

“One more then. For old time sake.”

The thought made him chuckle to himself, Jared got the attention of the bartender with that. As he walked over to the Lord, Jared gave him his best smile.

“An appletini, my friend.”

It seemed the man was not overly impressed with his choice of drink. But in response, Jared did not seem to care too much about the lack of an impression. Instead, while waiting for his drink to be poured, he turned around and started listening to the song of the crowd. Like so many times before, in so many stories and so many lives.

Just one more.

Maybe.. it would be different this time around.

@[member="Salem Norongachi"]

 

[Salem Norongachi]

The previous sombre tempo of the band swung into a fast and upbeat melody that must have been a crowd favourite because they erupted with yells of approval. A couple took to the tiled floor before the band and became one with the beat, their bodies gyrating with the song. It wasn't long before others joined them in the revelry and soon the mood of the place had taken a noticeable upturn.

Norongachi poured himself another glass, the amber liquid spilling droplets over the lip as he snatched it from the table with too much haste. Another mouthful joined the others but no amount of imbibed toxin could quell the feeling that something had to give. His green eyes sought the cause of his discomfort, scanning the faces of the crowd closest to him and then to the bar. Nothing out of the ordinary, no obvious warning signs to be seen in expression or demeanour, out with the usual in such a place. The corner of his eye caught something and he turned to see the newcomer enter. It wasn't the man that held his focus but the others who entered behind him.

He recognized them as associates of a man no one knew. Dogs one and all, bound to the leash and commands of their masters. They split into groups of two and vanished into the crowds. They were looking for someone, that much was clear to the half sozzled soldier. It occurred to him, in a small part of his mind that wasn't under alcoholic assault, that he was probably that someone.

It would have been prudent to make his escape, to slip into the crowds and out the door but when had a drunk ever been prudent? So he stayed, determined that he could get in another three or four before they found him. The glass upended its contents into his mouth and he set it aside, opting to cut out the middleman. He was surprised he still had any form of hand-eye coordination as he gripped the neck of the bottle on his first attempt.

An arm slipped over the back of the cushioned semi-circle seat while the other dragged its captive to his waiting maw. It surged down his throat in consecutive swallows, his over eagerness sending some down his chin to splash onto the dark shirt that lay beneath his jacket.

"Salem Norongachi?" He heard above the din.

Show time...

@[member="Jared Ovmar"]

 

[Arage Bao]

The man sighed, almost as if he was disappointed with the recent turn of events. You got to understand something, Jared has -never- finished a drink as of yet. Every time it seems as if the moment he orders a drink, some kind of situation arises that stops him from drinking his stuff. Which is really frustrating, and maybe a tad unrealistic. Might be his writer is just an nerf herder, and loves to put him in stupid situations.

Regardless, as Salem got jumped by a couple of fools, Jared was really wondering if he should just drink up his stuff and leave the territory. It would probably have been the smart thing to do, but as we have already established.. Jared ain't the smartest person around, or the most responsible for that matter. So instead, he grabbed hold of the wodka bottle and... threw it right in the face of one of those fools.

And that is the story how Jared got himself involved into something that did not concern him. Let's see how this goes.

Barfight!

Yeah.

[member="Salem Norongachi"]

 

[Salem Norongachi]

A kick upended the table with such force that it bowled over one of the speakers. He was behind it as it collided, planting a solid boot onto the underside of the furniture to pin his attacker under it, all the while swinging his empty whiskey bottle into the head of the other. A concerto of glass exploded upon the thugs head. Remnants of whiskey mingled with that of wodka in a spray that quickly turned crimson as the shards bit into the flesh and the unfortunately sentient went down.

Perhaps it was the drink but Norongachi didn't remember swinging two bottles. He stepped off the table then, turned and volleyed the other frakker in the temple sending him to bye bye land. His mind was still trying to work out where that bottle had come from when the now frantic crowd -some of which had begun to have brawls of their own- parted and the other four goons arrived late to the party.

The soldier kept them infront of him, backing up toward the door all the while pandemonium ensued around him. Chairs, bottles and bodies flew, shattered or crashed as the fight quickly infected the bar patrons. A dozen more steps and he'd be outside where the terrain faired him better, half of that and he'd be at the bar where more weapons than the jagged neck of the whiskey bottle that he clutched in his right hand, lay.

"We strongly advise you leave the station," One of heavies began a knife dancing between his hands expectantly. "And forget all about your business here."

Salem didn't respond, he smiled. It wasn't a warm smile at the terrible attempt at a threat but it was cold, it was the kind a snake had before it sunk its teeth into you. He raised the bottle neck and pointed it toward the speaker and then traced a line across his own throat. A thin line of crimson blossomed against his pale skin and droplets began to trickle. The message was clear.

[member="Jared Ovmar"]

 

[Arage Bao]

He was getting bored, and the Based Gods knew that it was a bad thing when our hero gets bored. People tended to die whenever that happened, Jared started to wonder if it had been a good move to throw away his wodka bottle. A thirst was starting to appear... Oh well​

​

As the thugs were very busy with seeming quite intimidating towards their victim, he decided it might be a good idea to help the lad out further. Not that he seemed to need help, looked like an able chap. But then again, his wodka bottle was gone and the bartender seemed to have disappeared. Together with the rest of the usual crowd.​

​

Pity.​

​

At any rate, while the goons were busy comparing... well let's keep it at muscles with [member="Salem Norongachi"], Jared walked up to one of them from behind. For a second he just stood there, and then decided to be at least a -tad- civil. So.. he ticked him on the shoulder.​

​

You gotta understand something, Jared was not the shortest person around. Really, he was pretty tall. But this guy. This guy was not only tall, he was also as fat as a fething tree. His arms were as thick as tree trunks, and his neck was probably as wide as Jared's torso. What did they give this schmuck to eat? Probably something with a lot of protein... maybe a Rodian or two. ​

​

​

“Excuse me sir. Can I have a moment of your attention?”​

​

​

You gotta realize that most goons do not suspect someone to just walk up to them and start talking. They were used to being the biggest, meanest sons of.. well you catch my drift. So when a tall, tad muscular man breaming with self-confidence walks up to you and starts talking? Well. You are first probably surprised, then you are curious why this guy is breaking your muse. You are here.. trying to intimidate someone and then this guy shows up. ​

​

​

“Move along, shorty. We are doing business here, nothing for you to worry about.”​

​

Another thing that might be good as background information... is the fact that Jared was not here to talk. It was just a way to get the lad's attention, besides the other thugs took a quick look and saw just a civil conversation. No need to get four big trees launching themselves at that guy. Not yet at least. ​

​

Jared just smiled... and then his hands shot out, aiming at the lad's face. His fingers dug into the thug's eyes, and then the insanity begun. ​

​

The Lord of the Fringe was a mentalist, and that could mean a variety of things. But today.. it meant these lads stepped into the wrong bar, at the wrong karking time. ​

​

Jared's mind started to rip the minds of the thugs a shred. Yeah. Thugs. As in plural. He had been trained by Spencer Jacobs herself, and had fought against numerous powerful warriors. These chaps? They ain't even worthy of watching the league he played in.​

​

[member="Salem Norongachi"]​

 

[Salem Norongachi]

"That's interesting..." Norongachi thought as [member="Jared Ovmar"] unleashed his power, a monster rising from the deep of the endless sea making its waters broil and tremble. His targets had no defence, no idea what was about to befall them until it was too late. Then they screamed. Fingers ripped at their faces, nails biting into flesh and tearing it off in strips of gore. Whatever hell they were seeing, that they were feeling, was too much. They were broken by the time Salem locked eyes with Ovmar.

"Appreciated." Was all said in the way of thanks, while behind them the battle still raged. Over by Norongachi's booth one of the men stirred from their forced slumber and reached for his com with bloodied hands.

"Send backup." He said weakly, shards of glass still embedded in his skin. "Send everyone!"

 

[Arage Bao]

Jared was about to reply, but then the idiot decided to yell for more backup into his comm. Really, sometimes thugs just did not get the memo when they were vastly out of their league. Then again, it was not like he really minded to have to fight an army of two, always fun those barfights.

He estimated they had about four or five minutes before the goons arrived, so with that in mind Jared walked over to the bar to pour himself something to drink.

While walking his hand lashed out, and the thug who was screaming like an idiot, instead of pretending to be dead, got his neck snapped.

“Think nothing of it. Haven’t had a good fight in ages. Ovmar, well met.”

Ah.. there was still a bottle of wodka left.. excellent.

“Want a glass? Reckon their army will be here in a minute or two.”


[member="Salem Norongachi"]

 

[Salem Norongachi]

"Norongachi." He replied looking at the bottle with more than a little longing. The sudden burst of adrenalin had pretty much killed his buzz and he found that ache growing a little more with every passing second. His boots crunched upon broken glass and he ducked mid-stride as a Jawa went tumbling from the brawl only to land elegantly, dust off its robes and charge right back into the mess of bodies.

"I'll take a glass." He had to keep up the pretence of civility after all and rested his elbows on the bar top. "You'd think by now that these tits would know not piss off random strangers in a cantina, wouldn't you?"

[member="Jared Ovmar"]

 

[Arage Bao]

“They never learn, and never will. Mister Norongachi. It is the foul nature of the beast, to pretend to be in control. For without the illusion of control they are nothing, and that is something they know deep down inside. The pretense of control then, gives them a way to coop with the daily routine... a way to forget the misery of their class if you will. Drinks, stims and kills. Those are the only thing that matters to the infinite body of the herd.”

He chucked down his drink, and then continued.

“But we know better, do we not? Every man for himself, kill or be killed. Control is an illusion, and people like us exploit that illusion.”

As Jared finished he could not help but grin.

“Or maybe I am just really. Really drunk. Anyway, I think I can hear them come, want to do the honor of making the first kill, Norongachi?”

[member="Salem Norongachi"]

 

[Salem Norongachi]

Norongachi listened or at the very least pretended to as he swallowed back his glass and turned to face the incoming speeder bikes, their engines whining in the street outside the cantina and their headlights visible through the open doorway. "You talk too much Ovmar." He demonstrated his philosophy of action over words by picking up a bottle of florescent alcohol from behind the bar, taking aim and launching it through the doorway at the first thug that tried to make an entrance.

The man fell backwards from the impact. The liquid burst into the air in a green spray. Then it ignited. The resulting explosion sent the men behind the first flying, pin wheeling or spinning as the shock wave hit. Salem walked over to and out through the door, to either side lay groaning goons of various races and the air was tinged with the smell of cooked flesh.

Norongachi watched with some small amusement as more and more vehicles, some single seater speeders others hovervans, began to crowd into the narrow street. He didn't know how many guns were trained upon him, he didn't really care at this point. He was bladdered, far more so than his outward visage displayed. A hovervan came to a sliding halt ahead of the pack and it seemed to rock, as if a Rancor were about to step from it.

Thankfully, for Salem and his undergarments, this did not occur. Instead an obscenely fat human that looked comically like a ball with a swathe of blonde hair hanging across his shoulders made an appearance. He wore shades, at night. A cigarra stuck in his gold plated teeth and a platinum slug thrower held in his pudgy hand. If he were any more of a parody of villainy he might have had a parrot on one shoulder and a peg-leg

"Umm....Ovmar. You really have to see this." Either Norongachi was having a stroke at this very moment or such a being actually existed in the Galaxy. He was very much hoping for the former.

[member="Jared Ovmar"]

 

[Arage Bao]

You gotta understand, I ain’t much of a brawler. Sure, I’ve had my share of bar fights and the sort when I was younger. But let’s be honest here, ever since I found out I could make people crazy with the touch of my mind? Well… you ain’t gonna punch a guy after that, I mean come on. That’s just.. not classy, you gotta show them what you got.

It’s a sign of respect, at least in my opinion. If you respect a man, you kick their teeth in with everything you have. That’s how we did it in my time, and that is how I was going to keep doing it. Matter of principle, you gotta understand.

When Salem started throwing around valuable booze, I could almost -feel- my eyes trying to press themselves out of their sockets. I mean, sweet baby Palpatine, what has that bottle ever done to you? That sort of shenanigans should stay in the pulp fiction-books. Regardless, I had to hand it to the guy, he was half-wasted and his aim was still impeccable. Madskillz and all that.

I was still finishing my drink, when he walked out and a couple of seconds after that called me over to see something. Wasn’t too sure what he thought I HAD to see, but whatever. I drank up, and then went outside to--- Holy cow, that man is gigantic.

How the hell he can even move is a question that really comes to mind, what was he eating? Little babies? Gesus.

“I have this distinct feeling that if we poke a hole in him, dead babies will come out of him, Salem. I ain’t sure if I am drunk enough for this stuff, hold on.”​

Without waiting for a reply I walked back into the bar, and took a whole bottle and downed it quickly. Vision blurred, and soon my hesitance and talkativity was replaced by a sheer will to kick some damn ass.

So I walked back to Salem, and while walking I picked up a chair and carried it with me. My boot slammed against the door, the sheer force of the kick sent it flying… right into the baby-eating fatty.

Couldn’t help but yawn a bit, while all arounds us people were opening fire.

God.

I love this life.

[member="Salem Norongachi"]

 

[Salem Norongachi]

"Ovmar..." Salem began with a slight slur to his voice. "Don't be mean to the man," His greens eyes narrowed as he tried to focus upon the heffer before them. "Is it a man? I can't tell..." An unlikely starting point for a fire fight but as soon as he finished the wobbling blonde mass of flesh and fat screamed 'KILL THESE FRAKKERS!' and his veritable army of goons attempted to oblige before the cantina door flattened the poor bastard.

A hand came up in a waving fashion and brought the Force with it, a blaster bolt collided with his power and then was repelled back into the gun-totting masses but the force of it made his precarious balance falter and he found himself on his back at [member="Jared Ovmar"] 's feet. "Enjoying your rest?" He asked looking up at him with a drunken grin as the air wizzed and popped with blaster bolts.