Faction Rest and (W)rec(k)reation

[NISCOM]

Rest and (W)rec(k)reation

The high of victory had yet to peak.
​

The New-Imperials have experienced their first taste of victory over Muunilinst and Mygeeto. The battle was hard-fought on all fronts, with some soldiers entrenched deep within the conflicts for weeks without reprieve. Now that the dust had finally settled, that long-awaited break became available for the first wave of eligible personnel. The off-time was the first of any real significant and officially-sanctioned rest since the New-Imperials had been formed. Until this point, they had little to no room to offer soldiers the much-needed reprieve that they so deserved. But now, with their first major victory, an extended leave coupled with a generous stipend funded by the newfound wealth acquired from Mygeeto and Muunilinst would be the embrace of remission that rewarded them.

There weren't many places within the New-Imperial territories that made for an attractive vacation. If you wanted to stay close to the homefront in case of emergency, Phaeda was your spot. If you wanted to leave New-Imperial space to take your leave elsewhere, you'd be missing out if you didn't stop at Phaeda along the way. Since the New-Imperial occupation, and with the governance by the planetary warlord Darth Avernus Dax Sunreva, the planet had been turned into a free-trade zone, corporate oligarchy, and tax haven for corporations looking to do business in New-Imperial space. The planet had seemingly flipped overnight, the once poor and backwater cityscapes had become hubs for trade, commerce, and industry.

One thing that never changed, however, was the Phaedan nightlife. Under corporate rule, no regulations had been imposed upon any vice. Alcohol, Spice, Women, Men, or even just a good showing at the gladiatorial arena. You name it, and Phaeda can accommodate. Debauchery had long become part of the culture on Phaeda, and when the corporations came with the New-Imperials, it was just another market for them to corner. The highly competitive market has bred higher and higher quality products and even lower and lower prices. Accepted currencies range from the Galactic Standard Credit to AvCoin©. Barter economics are even legal and Phaeda, be goods for goods, or service for a service.

When the shuttles carrying the New-Imperial Soldiers on leave arrived at the spaceport, it was immediately clear who was the dominant corporation on Phaeda. Who else but AvCorp™ could it have reasonably been? They'd been a big New-Imperial backer even in their days as a fledgling rebellion. Every credstick of a New-Imperial arriving on-world would be deposited with 25,000 AvCoin©(the Galatic Standard Equivalent of about 1500). A small thank-you and a congratulatory gift to commemorate their victory. Repulsorpods with holo-advertisements littered the skylines above the spaceport. Every wall or prime piece of visual real-estate was aglow with enticing advertisements for one thing or another. AvCorp™, Technoid, DiCorp, Blargson and Blargson, all fighting for your credit in a visual war of marketing.

The sun was already setting, thus the debauchery of nightlife was queued to begin...

Spoiler: TAG LIST

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
Ravraa Vyshraal
Wraith
Agrippa
Zaven Trask
Sturit Goan
FN-999
Junda
Hadrian Javik
Konrad Bolter
Cheapshot
Syoh Pa
Marlon Sularen
VK-462

 

[FN-999]

LOCATION: PHAEDA, BAR
OBJECTIVE: DRINK UNTIL UNCONSCIOUSNESS
DRINKING PARTNERS: TBD/OPEN

FN-999 loved beer.
​

If he had to choose between an attractive female and a container of beer of the exact same weight as the female, then he would choose the beer every time. Alcohol gave him unrivaled bliss, and even leading a victorious army into battle could not compare. Consequently, the first action he had taken upon receiving word of an unregulated break day was finding the nearest bar on Phaeda.

Despite being a recent conquest, the Phaedans in the bar did not seem to hold much ill will against the trooper, even as he wore his full armor excluding his helmet. To the trooper, his armor was almost as comfortable as his own bunk, and wearing it in times of peace never bothered him. He recieved occasional glances from the other customers of the bar, but for the most part he was ignored. It was a large establishment, with multi-colored party lights, two floors, and an open balcony. Yet FN-999 maneuvered through the crowds easily, focused on a single task.

"I'd like fourteen bottles of your strongest beer, please!" stated FN-999 excitedly to the bartender behind the stall he stood in front of.

"All right, coming right up." replied the bartender nonchalantly, a bored expression on his face. Apparently, FN-999 wasn't the only visitor in the establishment with a strong alcohol resistance. "I'll have them all on a tray for you. How would you like to pay for that?"

"In AvCoin, please." replied the trooper, pulling out a red debit card from one of the many pockets of his armor. Within it was nearly a million AvCoin, rewards for his position as a junior officer and his service in Mygeeto.

The bartender grabbed the card and scanned it with a scanning tool, before handing the card back to the trooper. Moments later, an assistant returned with fourteen full bottles of 9.5% alcohol beer lined up on a large tray. The assistant deposited the tray on the table separating the trooper and the bartender.

"Thanks!" replied FN-999 cheerfully, taking the tray in both of his hands and walking off to find a place to drink as much as his stomach could contain.

 

[Konrad Bolter]

D E V I L _ W E A R S _ A _ S U I T _ A N D _ T I E

"You sure you can handle another one, trooper?" The female twi'lek bar worker asked the Concordian as he lifted his head up from the downward slouch in his booth, arching his brow before he nodded his head up once for a refill of his tall glass. He had no clue what it was, he only gave one instruction of 'I don't want any dreams tonight.'

Charred flesh. Burning fuel. Heavy metal. Even as the lions share of his time spent on Muunilinst was hunched over holomaps, his initial charge into the battle left him in dire straits immediately. His Cataphract knocked out, forced to crawl from the warped and shattered steel to the safety of the command vehicle. The scale of the conflict was brutal, the sights no less of it.

"Yeah...yeah I think so." Treicolt offered before he took up the glass again, lifting it to his lips to let the harsh burn of the liquor roll down his throat. He was disheveled, his uniform only barely meeting the regulations, even for leave time. Especially for a General. He might not have seen as much frontlines action as the rest of the troopers present but for large swathes of the campaign on Muunilinst, he took full control of the front and stratagem.

It showed.

FN-999 | OPEN

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Mercy

---

---

Phaeda, the word sounded dirty on the tongue and the troopers had mixed reviews on the grimey retreat. Lyra had announced it with a grim tone, reservations aside it was just the slip they needed. The woman had been staring at glassy expressions across the surviving members of the Company; stalling as she regaled them with the announcement. It was to farway a thought to consider breathing and Lyra had already toured the planet. It was truly the home of the wretched. Appw’rii had broken the silence of the barracks, comparing it to a venereal disease.

Bless the woman, Nima Appw'rii rallied them. The Dissident had gotten to crowded for the likes of them anyway, weeks dull steel halls and tension bleeding from wounded. Exhaling, she tasted the warmth of her last glass still and hummed. Crippling emptiness boxed up nicely and ditched in the alley way on the way in.

She wanted to forget it all.

There was the stench of sweat and beer, and something that made your nose twitch that permeated from the floor. The gang of officers spilled down the stairs of the stacked bar, a roar in their throats-like many other patrons they crooned along to the music on the scratchy speakers. Bodies swaying as they tore through the crowd and somewhere amongst the throes of absolute disgraceful fools..Lyra had counted herself, but at this pace, what was regulation? She couldn’t remember. It was a relapse but that was not her issue yet. Her coat wrinkled from the sleeves pushed up and a snap up missing on too many buttons.

“Where’s the-oh,” the woman muttered to herself, that was right, the brandy glass was gone; shattered on the upstair’s floor. They had priority timing and had been amongst the first wave to hit the streets, the bars and dives. Riding out the throes of one to many glasses of something strong the Commander had just kissed herself goodbye. Though she was faintly recalling a lizard monkey roast that was crawling back up her throat..

They had entered the bar on good terms, but too much jaded humor and so many credits to burn. It had been hard to resist, and she had been looking for trouble. The world was spinning around her and the dingy neons were blurring at the corners of her eyes. They had started burning through the shots, and just hadn't stopped. It was all well and good but they needed fresh libations, a singular goal for a singular mind.. Lyra’s fingers dug in the shoulder of her crutch, hanging off spritely Cinn as they dragged their feet across the floor. Appw’rii leading the charge was their only beacon.

She had been scared of coming down here? What a breath of fresh air. Lyra scoffed loudly, one hand reaching up to adjust the cheap glasses she wore. What a feeling, to be so far detached from the tibanna and ugly snapping of bones. Her chest still threatened to constrict at the thought and there was a lull in the voices before someone was barking. Lyra vaguely croaked out the words, pumping her fist into the air. Stumbling out of the arms of the fire team, a flash of white armor catching her eye.

“Trooper!” Lyra shouted, the Bescany rally lost behind her. The woman stumbled forward with a surprising finesse. Her heavy hand landing on his shoulder. The more the merrier, one blasted thought-getting the whole Corps in on a proper toast.. “Come get a drink-”

The sprawl of goose bumps on her neck warned her of something wicked, ending her mid sentence. Sheen of sweat on her brow as the Commander doubled over retching all over the poor FN-999 's boots in the middle of the bar.

FN-999 Konrad Bolter

 

[Hiram Voss]

A Little Drop of Poison
Location: A Phadean Bar
Potential Partners In Revelry: FN-999 | Konrad Bolter | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

Filing reports, filing requisition forms and finally filing leave slips and docking permits. For Hiram Voss, he had not even learned of his promotion to 'Captain' until his number two, lieutenant Hadrian Boars came bounding in with some of the bridge crew. Congratulations in tow. It didn't really matter to Hiram. He understood for the crew who were on average three decades younger than he, that such a promotion to a prestigious post was something to be lauded. For Hiram, it was but the third time he'd achieved it. It lost its lustre in the First Order Navy. Nevertheless, he sent the crew of the NIV Rapier once it had landed with leave forms. Ninety six hours leave. Good for some R&R for a crew who had pleasantly surprised Voss for their diligence. They weren't quite the miscreants he had forsaken them as.

But now was the time for the newly minted captain to break away from them. It was always a good idea to go ahead and mix with the men. But mix too hard? Well, mistakes were made. It was a lesson he'd strictly imparted on lieutenant Boars when he'd noticed the eyes he was making toward petty officer Nikorima. Still, Voss didn't care for the gambling or visits to bordellos to be undertaken by his men. Rather, he preferred the comfort of a quiet bar to silently reflect on his time. He found a bar bustling with stormtroopers and decided this was it. He found himself a rather quiet portion of it, ordered a Ruusan Whiskey and then looked around. Company, he found helped raise the mood. Company with liquor. Attired in crisp naval fatigues and prominently displaying his rank insignia upon his breast the diminutive navy man. A sign amongst the army and stormtrooper grunts, he was somewhat different.

That's when he saw a young stormtrooper and his boots being vomited upon. He sighed, and looked at the young woman doubled over. He approached, striding through the bar, and then placed his whiskey glass without a word on the stormtrooper's tray. Sighing, he leaned down, and gave the legion commander a hefty pat on the back, "There you go," He drawled with little comfort in his tone, "Let it all out." He mused, before clicking his tongue. Eyes flashed to meet FN-999's. "Looks like you're gonna need a new set of stompers son." The navy man drawled, before gesturing to a nearby, empty booth, "Set your kit down there," Voss commanded with the authority and gaze of a disappointed father. "And then get her over there. She needs water or she's about to have a night she'd rather forget." He then tugged at FN-999's hand and a furious glare came across Hiram's aged features.

"And I swear, stormtrooper, if I see but a drop spilled from my glass, I'll have your ass spit shining your own boots."

 

[Agrippa]

PHAEDAN BAR,
DEBAUCHERY

We made our entry into the hub of degeneracy with a bang. Hooks, as always triggering Krayt, tripped the large tank of a man who after crashing onto the floor, stood up, picked up chair with its occupier and hurled both at the mischievous one-eyed medic. Bingo snickered, Faceless ignored as usual and I sighed. For a stromtrooper serving the New Imperial Order Hooks did often express quite non-Imperial rhetoric, while Krayt, the zealous imperialist, was as radical as the old Company outfit and took none of it. It is why he did not join the rest of us in our little 'diplomatic mission' to a crime lord on Phaeda citing that Imperials did not negotiate with scum; and what a diplomatic mission that was - we ended up as survivors to a partisan terrorist attack but with a crime lord deal, nonetheless. Silver lining, silver lining.

Another chair with its occupant took flight at dodge master Hooks, but this time the medic wasn't quick enough. With his prey ensnared, Krayt charged like a minotaur. We've been on the edge ever since the terrorist attack and the decimation of Gladius Company on Muunilinst. I made the call, "Krayt! Halt!". Authority seeping into my voice. Unlike the rest of these shebs I had a fair share experience of being an officer, I knew how to keep them in line; maybe never as good as the old Captain Belisarius but, you know, I try my best.

Krayt growled, swore, cursed but ceased his bulldozer approach towards Hooks. He left to have a drink on his own. Hooks thought it'd be a good idea to mockingly reconcile but a glance at my direction told him otherwise; he immediately teleported his ass to a table with two courtesans - an expensive zeltron and a cheap twi'lek, balance the budget. Bingo was already dealing cards and cheating, while Faceless had disappeared; a weirdo, just like every other Force User I'd known. I was left alone as the rest of the Company who'd ventured with us for some R&R poured into the establishment.

I'd never admit it but there was a dose of loneliness that came with being an officer. You bond with the men but never as much as they bond with each other as enlisted or NCOs. Sure, we were all brothers and we'd die for each other but I guess there was always more between them than there could ever be between them and me. Enough melancholy, I need a drink.

Venturing forth into the establishment and aimlessly ending up at where the Legion Commander was with a bunch of others, my hand nearly reached for a salute before I ceased the motion midway. No formality here, not today. I nodded, ordered a good ol' Corellian ale and witnessed the complete collapse of Imperial pride exit out of Lyra's mouth. An old man smelling like Navy was quick to help her out like a fatherly figure. I guess I was too stunned to know what the hell to do.

"Bartender, you got something for this, don't ya?" I jerked my head at Lyra's state, the bartender nodded curtly. "Well, what the hell you staring at, boy?" he reached for a cupboard behind the bar and gave me a blister pack. "Usual, one pill only, right?" he nodded and I approached the Commander. I offered her the stomach locking pill. "Commander, this'll ease it up."

We never admitted it, I guess, but we all suffered Muuninlinst.

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt FN-999 Hiram Voss Konrad Bolter

 

[FN-999]

LOCATION: PHAEDA, BAR
OBJECTIVE: DRINK UNTIL UNCONSCIOUSNESS
ASSOCIATES: Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Hiram Voss | OPEN

The moment that his own Legion Commander vomited on his boots, FN-999 froze completely.
​

Fortunately, his armored boots could keep out vomit as well as they could keep out toxins. His feet would be safe from hypothermia tonight. However, the rancid smell of the vomit would spread to his entire suit unless he discarded or cleaned his boots soon. And worse yet, his image of Commander Lyra had been tarnished. He had looked up to her as a strong warrior and commander, yet she seemed to have very little built up resistance to alcohol. Either that, or she had taken a large amount of something even more alcoholic than FN-999's drinks. But regardless of how Lyra had become wasted, FN-999 knew that bringing her back to health would be a priority. If he were to run away and then she were to sober up and remember this incident, things might not work out too well for FN-999.

Eyes flashed to meet FN-999's. "Looks like you're gonna need a new set of stompers son." The navy man drawled, before gesturing to a nearby, empty booth, "Set your kit down there," Voss commanded with the authority and gaze of a disappointed father. "And then get her over there. She needs water or she's about to have a night she'd rather forget." He then tugged at FN-999's hand and a furious glare came across Hiram's aged features.

"And I swear, stormtrooper, if I see but a drop spilled from my glass, I'll have your ass spit shining your own boots."

The man who approached the two seemed wore a Navy uniform, and seemed to resemble the "capable elder" type. His authoritative tone and posture that suggested an important position within the New Imperial Navy, and that he should not be disobeyed. With the level of humiliation FN-999 was experiencing becoming nearly unbearable, he decided to blindly comply with the man's orders. After all, FN-999 was still in too much shock to formulate a detailed plan.

So the trooper took two trips to the booth the Navy officer had pointed to. In his first trip, he dropped off the tray with his fourteen beers and the officer's own drink. He took extra care to lower the tray slowly, preventing a single drop of any beverage from escaping their container. On his second trip, FN-999 lifted the Legion Commander up off the ground and cradled her in his arms. As he approached the booth and an empty couch to set her down on, he noticed something. Even in the dimmed, colorful lights of the bar, Commander Lyra's long black hair was very attractive.

Upon realizing where his thoughts had traveled to, FN-999 became deeply flustered. He dropped the Legion Commander off on the couch as quickly as possible without unsettling her, and speedwalked over to the bartender's stall. He quickly requested for a glass of water, had his debit card scanned, and then walked back to the booth and placed the glass of water adjacent to the tray of beer.

"What should I do now, sir?" asked the trooper nervously to the Navy officer, unsure of how to further handle his intoxicated superior.

 

[Lunafreya Solidor]

L O C A T I O N | The ball.
T A G S | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt , FN-999, Hiram Voss ​

It was a long time since she felt like that, that much electricity running through her veins as if she drank straight from a power cable. Not even when she ascended to the highest position in her homeplanet under her father did she felt this feeling, it wasn’t happiness, almost a sense of fulfilling, a taste of power to be exact. Maybe it was in the day she found out about her powers or how to use them for her own design, but now it was something else, there was no more Iedolas Solidor barking his commands to her, no more living under the shadow of her damned sister Ashelia or her savage of a brother, Vayne, now Lunafreya was a warlord, or warlady to be more accurate.

It wasn’t much in her opinion, a stinking rathole planet filled with damn zabraks, but then again Iridonia could not be much but was enough to make her satisfied. Her mission in Phaeda was also a success and unlike her comrades, like that dreadful red Sith, Lunafreya had class and was sure to bring the underworld to a proper agreement with their new imperial overlords and now she wanted to celebrate, to gloat on her own glory if that meant anything but a glass filled with alcohol. Also, she could not stand staying for a single minute inside that damn ship, or even forcing herself to smile around those crooks at the casino.

Her cheeks were already sore of doing it so. After finding a proper bar, Lunafreya dismissed her escorts and decided to join the rabble, like her deceased former pet had told her long ago, Sir Akabane, the only human that deserved her genuine ‘affection’. After the doors opened, the woman dressed in a flamboyant vine-silk dress covered in white fur walked in, with a long maguey with a lighten cigarra between her two full lips painted in red lipstick from Zeltros. Her two violet sharp eyes started to run over that joint, trying to find her ‘spot’.

She chose a empty seat next to three very odd people, a female, a boy and a old man. The perfect theatrical scenario, if someone asked her cocky lips something about that, but they did not, so she sat down, and with her index finger she began slowly tapping her sharp fingernail in the balcony trying to call the bartender's attention.



​

 

[Konrad Bolter]

Oh he was feeling it now. Sobered if only for the briefest of moments when he heard and caught a glimpse of Lyra puke shining 9's stompers. It was...not his favorite sight. Had he not possessed the iron gut of a corn fed, farm raised boy from Concord Dawn he might've hurled himself but all in all, it was nothing he hadn't seen before. If anything it was more suitable in scraping his more grievous memories which were still burned into his subconsciousness.

Luckily, Voss seemed to take over the situation as far as any disciplinary action went. As much as his rank presided over everyone in the room, he well and truly couldn't be asked to dish out orders. They were on leave, they earned a reprieve...granted Lyra didn't deserve to embarass herself like this either.

Slowly, he managed himself from the seat of his booth, nearly staggering as he hefted the glass of heavy liquor to his lips once more, strategically stepping around the pile of vomit toward the bar again.

"Probably...cut her off. 'Appreciate the help." He said, motioning a flat hand across his throat before he shifted a weary gaze to Agrippa.

"Agrippa, brother...come here." He said, motioning a hand up to the Mantellian officer before he motioned him aside from the commotion. Offering a stare of his hazel eyes locked with the man, he sported a disheveled gaze, dark pits enveloping his eyes. Tired, worn down from the war.

"How are you feeling?" He asked outright. Not by any physical merit. He'd just ascended command, taking up the shoes left open by Belisarius.

Agrippa | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | FN-999 | Lunafreya Solidor | Hiram Voss

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

The party’s peak was crashing all around her, and someone’s bottle was too. The noise of the club doubled and she was keenly aware of the bottle in the far right of the building breaking. A grunt escaped her as she looked down at her own puke..Well that was certainly a moment of clarity, and she blurrily focused on her own hands planted on her knees; iron grip wrinkling her slacks. She hadn't been this messed up since Bescane, when there had been no such thing as getting out of hand. Vaguely aware of the man at her side and the firm hand on her back, she raised a meek hand in salute. He might have been the only thing steadying her. The boots she had disgraced, gone in a blink. What she had been doing again?

“My bad..”

Lyra certainly was not much of a Commander in that moment..Oh dear that had been her fault.and she swallowed a mouthful of sour spit. Lyra wasn't quite sure how she was going to fix that slip up. Faintly blaming it all upon the Lieutenants who had ordered the local ‘cuisine’. Who ate roasted rodents? In her shame, well clearly she had at the very least tried it. There it was on the floor after all. Even if the woman was riding out the cloudy mindspace, she wasn’t beyond belligerent and raised the cold servo to shield her eyes. Embarrassment had a way of sobering one up quickly, a noise bubbling her throat she meant to stand up straight to-

“The fu-” she balked, head spinning as FN-999 picked her up unceremoniously. The ground was stolen out beneath her and she stiffened with mild fear. Last time she had been carried it was when Dorn had evacuated-her throat tightened at the memory and she planted the butt of her palm to the rosey glasses; fixing them vigorously. A queer look passed over her face. Lips pressed into a thin, unamused frown all but glaring at the offender- making an undignified noise. You throw up once and they think you’re invalid? “Why!”

Lyra may have thought herself capable enough to rip into him, annoyance flooding her system but to anyone sober..She was just slurring her words and pointing angrily at the poor soldier; her own durasteel finger bumping her nose. The club and all neons a whirling canvas before she was deposited at the booth. Flinching as the glass of water appeared before her, her object permanence skewed and she stared at it intensely and the tray of cheap beer..Who was she drinking with now? They had no taste and she considered crying. The thought of another brew sending her stomach reeling, and she shook her head, schooling herself on the behalf of them all. Greedily seizing the cold glass of water and sipping at it possessively. Smoothing one hand down her coat in some lame attempt to temper herself, as she glanced toward the towering shadows of her new company. Where in the Maker’s name was Cinn and Appw’rii at? Those good for nothing..

“Oh.no..I know some of you,” Lyra stumbled over the sentence, still wearing a tart look as her voice strained with disgust, a half done up mess. The pill Agrippa had kindly procured for her snatched after some questionable consideration, muttering under her breath some appreciation but most concerns of.. rampant drugs and gutters.

Her glorious Captain and companion had marched thirty minutes through the shavit of a city for them to end up at the same bar as some of the recognizable faces of the Corps. Aside from the old man, blast if she knew him. Staring past the brim of her water glass, she sniffed and downed the pill. An intense tirade and creative curse passing through her mind, eyes shifting rapidly as she tried to gauge what was happening.

FN-999 Hiram Voss Agrippa Konrad Bolter Lunafreya Solidor

 

[Hiram Voss]

Objective: Assess a patient.
Present audience: Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | FN-999 | Agrippa | Konrad Bolter | Lunafreya Solidor

Hiram approached the booth where the inebriated soldier had been placed, he watched the approaching stormtroopers with a gaze lathered with malice and disgust. Troopers on break, and not one of them knew how to hold their liquor. Cue, surprise. He raised his brow and looked over the vomiting woman, licking his lips, "Your pill mightn't be her magic bullet soldier," Hiram drawled in a cold tone, almost chiding Agrippa with his near professional callousness. He was now at the booth, and with two hands began to shift FN-9999's drinks from the centre of the table, before seating himself opposite Legion Commander Voi'Kyt. "Have to make sure everything's above board."

"Bile like what she's spewed in her condition," Hiram now addressed the crowd of assembled stormtroopers and gawkers, "Can often hide more sinister symptoms of poisoning." The officer then mounted the table in full dress uniform. "Not like your professional assassination type poisoning mind you," Voss added, "More like of the accidental slash incompetent sort." He crawled forward a little to examine her. His small, clammy and wrinkly hands clasped Lyra's features. His hands started at her cheeks, and pulled them down, tightening her skin around her eye sockets. Voss seemed to examine them, "Place like Phaeda with all its cantinas and bars is used to ripping off customers. AVcoin or not," Voss pronounced to the group, his hands trailing down her face until they reached her jaw, which he began to pry open, "Sometimes for your average tavern owning hick, it's more profitable to water down your liquor with some suitable replacements." He leaned in, and began to examine her tongue. He however winced, catching a mighty whiff of her rancorous breath. Gagging the navy man looked back in.

"Paint thinner, spice distiller and some forms of liquid cleanser are used all around the Galaxy to turn one litre of pure Corellian ale into three," Hiram continued, cocking his head to the side as he looked through her mouth. Intensely analysing the roof, tongue and inner cheek for something. "All of which can be ingested to some degree," He conceded, "But, sometimes you have a lazy employee. Or an idiot. Adds a little much, and before you know it, what looks like a case of some poor kid with a little too much liquor ends with a corpse choked out on their own stomach lining." Hiram paused, and sighed, before releasing his grip. He playfully slapped Lyra's cheek and dismounted, retreating to a relaxed position opposite her. "Lucky for our friend here, she's just dumb and drunk." The naval officer mused, clasping his glass of rich whiskey, "But, if you're ever on a world like this, your friend starts vomiting with no decourm," He raised his glass, "Check the insides of their mouth for blistering. If so, get them help." He left it on a cheerful note.

"But also," And now he gave a derisive scowl, "Be responsible for your damn liquor."

 

[Agrippa]

I squinted trying to discern what the hell Lyra was trying to say. To no avail. Her condition was me on my graduation, maybe even worse. Absolutely terrible. It wasn't all because of the drinks, given the bile on the ground looked insidious. It's funny how a soldier's used to seeing guts and gore without batting an eye but Force help ya if someone throws up. I silently chuckled like a maniac - I was going nuts, no lies.

A voice called me and I looked up and stared at a mirror. Worn out, tired, exhausted. I looked as terrible as the tincan calling me. The Major General Waylon Treicolt tincan. You rarely recognized someone by face unless they were high up the ranks, that's where you, more or less, seen anyone without the helmet. Enlisted, NCOs, etc - all helmets, they come and go. Try and never remember them so you never mourn. It's how it goes in war, friends. And Gen. Treicolt? He was a head honcho at the tincans (armored divisions), his face'll pop up in nearly any brief. It was only normal. I thought he probably wasn't anything higher than an LT, like me, back at the Legionnaires. We all were. This war was the war between lieutenants and generals. And the generals got their ass kicked on Muunilinst. Funny how the galaxy works, huh? One day you're on top, then the wheel turns and down you go rock bottom.

Anyways.

Waylon beckoned and I heeded, warily stepping away from Lyra's situation. The old naval hardcase seemed to have it under control. I grabbed my drink and moved besides the major general. I couldn't be bothered less with putting up the responsible officer guise, the Company never did, to be fair, except for Belisarius, but neither were the rest of the Imps swimming in debauchery in this hellhole. Treicolt included.

"Tipsy, brother." I tried being a smartass. I knew what he was asking. Belisarius was a veteran of veterans. They knew him well, they respected him. We loved him. A fatherly figure we never deserved. Shoes so big, a thousand Agrippas wouldn't fit.

Lips curved into a sorrowful grimace and my eyes drowned in my drink. Its reflection caught my attention - Appw'rii. Genesis Company's renown captain, Lyra's right-hand. She was renown for a lot of things, her combat capabilities were never doubted but that was never the topic we examined at Gladius Company. Nah, we were from more interested in her tumbling capabilities. Don't judge - we're all animals down at the core. We locked glares for a few moments before I jerked my head at Lyra - 'do something about it, for fuck's sake.'.

Throat cleared, to Waylon, "Ain't much to feel, General." the reply sobered me up. It was either brutally honest or I was stubbornly deceiving myself. "Your boys pulled a miracle down the front." I raised my glass for a toast referring to the tincans' breakthrough. We had to focus on the victories, on the silver lining or we were bound to drown in a sea of sorrow. "At this rate, it will be D-Day on Bastion earlier than expected." I wasn't sure what i was trying to accomplish with the joke.

Maybe we needed it.


Konrad Bolter FN-999 Hiram Voss Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Lunafreya Solidor Nima Appw'rii

 

[FN-999]

LOCATION: PHAEDA, BAR
OBJECTIVE: ASSESS THE SITUATION
ASSOCIATES: Agrippa | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Hiram Voss | Konrad Bolter | OPEN

The situation seemed to be dying down.
​

Commander Lyra was drinking the water in earnest, and FN-999 hoped that she would be back in good condition soon. While his respect for her as a drinking partner had diminished, she was still a skilled warrior and his superior in the Corps. Additionally, simply abandoning her wouldn't do anything good for FN-999's own reputation. So he took a seat to her right and pushed his tray of alcohol further down the table, safely away from the reach of the Legion Commander, as well as his own reach. In a situation such as this, neither of them could afford to become intoxicated.

"At this rate, it will be D-Day on Bastion earlier than expected."

His thoughts were diverted by the arrival of another trooper, one he vaguely recognized as a member of the Gladius Company. He had heard that their CO had died a soldier's honorable death on Munnilinst, and that many members of the company continued to grieve for their fallen commander to this day. For a moment, FN-999 wondered if the trooper had come to the bar in an attempt to dull the memory of the death of his commander. If it were true, then he could understand the trooper's pain; he had lost hundreds of squadmates in his two decades of service, including some troopers on Mygeeto.

"Let's hope so." replied FN-999 to the other trooper's statement. "Then, we can make those Sith pay for the comrades we lost on Mygeeto and Munnilinst."

"I heard your company lost its CO." continued FN-999, taking a more sympathetic approach as he put a comforting hand on the trooper's shoulder. "We'll get a chance to avenge your commander and every other trooper who fought to the end on Munnilinst soon, mark my words."

 

[VK-462]

// THE WOLF IS LOOSE //
// VK-462 MSTR SRGT //
// WARLOCK //

For most people, Phaeda probably wasn't their first choice for a 'vacation'. For Yieda, however, it was absolutely her first choice. Some would have called it trashy, grungy, or unsafe, even despite the massive turnaround it'd undergone beneath New-Imperial occupation. It reminded her a lot of Nar Shaddaa, which was where she'd spent most of her life before New-Imperial enlistment. Despite the bad memories her time on Nar Shaddaa held, it still felt like home. Besides, where else in New-Imperial space were the laws so lax, and the spice so good?

She rolled in like a tornado, hopping from cantina to cantina and making a ruckus. Not a single establishment she'd entered this evening had been safe. The number of shattered glasses could only be measured by the cases, broken chairs by the shipment, and the unconscious individuals beat into the dirt by her metallic fists by the dozens. Tracking her down would be as simple as following the small-scale destruction. The only reprieve from the constant violent revelry was a quick drop into a tattoo parlor. 'THE ONLY GOOD SITH IS A DEAD SITH' inked forever in small, but easily legible aurebesh across the top-outer side of the left lekku.

Her boot forced open the door of yet another Phaedan cantina. The initial inebriated scan of the patrons came to a dead halt when she spotted Agrippa and FN-999 across the establishment. She made a steady, yet intoxicated beeline towards the other two troopers. "Grips! Nines!" She shouted as she came up from behind them. Both of her arms came up to snag them both into headlocks. The cold prosthetics squeezed tightly as she shook them both roughly. "What's up fuckers!?" Her Ryl accent further slurred by the inebriation. She'd release them both with small shoves, emitting a drunken laugh and recovering from a small stumble.

"Uh-" she blinked rapidly as she watched the naval officer on the table before the Legion Commander. "What the hell is going on over there?"

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt FN-999 Agrippa Konrad Bolter Hiram Voss ​

 

[Nima Appw'rii]

The length of the bar was occupied with soldiers and sleaze bags alike that Nima had no issue with pushing aside. Laying claim to some attention from the bartender, the insistent tap at her shoulder met with a shrug, someone was on a tirade about paint thinner and Appw’rii was to focus the round of amber being poured out. The whole fiasco unfolding at her back was completely missed as the Captain slapped down the credit line in trade for the filthy tray. Gracefully hefting it up, the ice clicking and the glass sliding. She turned around to be greeted by the faces of the fledgling little group of greedy noncoms.

“Ma’am there is an-”

“Not my problem, here drink this and don’t talk.” Nima boomed over them, thrusting the spirits toward the first lieutenant to speak up. If they were forced on leave to this backwater trash compactor, she wasn’t going to be putting up with any whining. Maybe it was in bad taste to encourage the drinking but it had been a combined effort of herself and Colvy. No one could know what a bad influence the pair of them could be, and a dry chuckle escaped her.

With a slight sway to her step as Nima’s mirth trailed off into a hum to the beat of the screechy music, abandoning the tray to trooper as they were pushed out of the way of other eager drinkers. The place was packed and the local additude grew increasingly rowdy. Her eyes roamed over the heads and helmets. She didn’t want to admit it but she was already tired of the night scene, and reaching over to claim the last glass they had procured.

Cinn was laughing a bit loudly and she had to step back to catch her breath. Her brows pinched as she noticed the General and then she recognized Agrippa at his side. It was good to see the likes of them, it had been-Agrippa was glaring at her and Nima cocked a brow returning the gesture with her own sneer. Gladius had fought hard, but the woman wouldn’t step foot in their hangar unless there was a blaster pointed at her. Making a face, Appw’rii stuck a finger up rubbing at the corner of her eye; clearly flipping him off.

She had heard what him and the likes of his boy got up to.

When he jerked his head, she sighed-pressing her glass of brandy to her lips relenting. Following the vague direction he had thrown, what was he at now? Her eyes landing on Lyra at the booth, getting manhandled by some naval fart. Who did those shavits think they were?

“Cinn! You lost the Commander!” the woman barked, drink sputtering as she dropped her elbow into the man’s back. She hadn’t noticed to be honest, the silence should have been the first tell tale. Shoving the trooper before her, out of the way. Nima fumbled through the crowd-barely missing the puke on the floor. Her drink hoisted high to avoid spilling it and wearing a look of determination that came across as a poor drunk pout. There was a mild sort of panic rising as she watched her Commander raise a steel hand-she had served alongside the woman long enough to know where this was going.

“Colvy! Don’t do it!” Nima hollered over the heads of the other soldiers.

Agrippa FN-999 Hiram Voss VK-462 Konrad Bolter

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Lyra had frozen under the administration of the leathery old hands of the man. A single coherent thought registering as she got a good look at Hiram Voss . This was some navy lad on the table in front of her, but who invited them? The pinching and pulling mildly painful and an odd sensation to have the scars plucked out. Was this man raised by dogs? Trying to shy back as he made paws at her face. A plain look of pure mistreatment washed over her face.

"Why..? Stooop," she crooned. Bile? Had no one ever seen bad cook out?

Whoever he was, he was talking alot and Lyra made a light screeching noise as he poked his fingers in her mouth. Had this man even washed his hands? Her glasses had slid down the bridge of her nose as she stared at him, unsure what to do with the glass of water. What in the Maker’s name was going on, she had just wanted to drink in peace. Her glare was a damning one, golden orbs narrowing as she went on. Lyra leaned forward slowly as he had finished his inspection, far to gone in the throes of the brandy to care about who saw the corruption on her face. She hoped he was satisfied.

Whoever let grandpa out of retirement was going to regret it, her confusion simmering until it boiled over into absolute outrage. all but tossing her glass in the lap of FN-999 who had buddied up. Rising in a drunken flurry, her hip hitting the table-shaking the bottles. One durasteel servo hefted up, the neons glinting off the grey metal-stronger than a god’s smite and twice as shiny. The little voice of good consciousness and who ever was screaming at her forgotten. Lyra reeled her metal hand back, snapping the air as she went to slap the living shavit out of the man.

Hiram Voss FN-999 Agrippa Konrad Bolter VK-462

 

[FN-999]

LOCATION: PHAEDA, BAR
OBJECTIVE: HANDLE THE "SITUATION"
ASSOCIATES: Agrippa | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Hiram Voss | Nima Appw'rii | Konrad Bolter | VK-462 | OPEN

"Easy now, no need to get worked up." stated FN-999 calmly as he moved out of the other trooper's hug, also catching the tipping glass of water and pushing Lyra's hands safely away from the naval officer.
​

"Let's just have some water and pretend this never happened." continued the stormtrooper, lowering the Legion Commander's hands to rest upon the glass of water on his lap.

While being so intimate with his superior did make the trooper a bit uncomfortable, he also understood that she was in no condition to handle things herself. Consequently, it would be his role as a responsible officer to ensure that the dignity of the Stormtrooper Corps remained intact at its highest levels. Even in times of peace, letting one's guard down was only advised when it was in a place where public reputation could be maintained.

In an attempt to distract himself from the condition and proximity of his Legion Commander, FN-999 struck up another conversation.

"I know some of you," stated FN-999, gesturing to Lyra and the Gladius trooper. "But it seems as if we all aren't exactly the closest of friends. I think that we should introduce ourselves so we can get a better idea of how we can function together efficiently in these coming weeks. Ever since I was recruited, I've been FN-999, former First Order and current New Imperial Order stormtrooper officer. My callsign is 'Nines'."

 

[Konrad Bolter]

"Yeah...yeah I feel you on th-." The Concordian had to cover his mouth as he felt the burn of liquor settle in his stomach before reached out to pull Agrippa closer. His glassed over eyes seemed to slowly pull from matching with his and browsing emptily at open air, eventually shifting back into focus to his comrade, his brother in arms.

"Not a miracle...not a miracle. It's just fuckin' guts man. Just...they wanted it more than the enemy. That's all it takes man." Waylon says only to be reaffirmed by Agrippa's claim of a great and final victory over the Sith Imperial Palace. Immediately as his mind began to piece together the vision, his Cataphracts at the base of the palace steps he had to scrape it away. No no no no. Couldn't let the hubris of a brief eye awash in a sea of anguish thwart the work ethic in between.

"Listen man...I think we got a shot...we fucked em up down there. We really did like- I wasn't sure. When Tav and the boys all left, I didn't- I thought it was suicide man. I didn't- I just...I just accepted it. Hell I think Tav did to, accepted we'd fail but fuck man. I got a home down there, Concord Dawn. It's been all...bombed to shit, torched. They ripped me out from the Protectors to fight in the Legions...like fuck man, what was I supposed to do? Just some scared guy. But man, Agrippa...we got a shot." He said, clasping a hand around the side of the man's neck as he speaks reassurances, a tear welling up in one of his eyes. Sometimes...it was just all too much. All of it, the pain, the victory. This contrasting envelopment was more than he was confident he could handle, not without a belly full of liquor.

"Keep- get me another glass, man." The Concordian asked to the bartender.

Agrippa | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Hiram Voss | FN-999 | VK-462

 

[Hiram Voss]

Agrippa | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | FN-999 | VK-462

Hiram took one sip of his whiskey. His eyes fluttered shut as the warmth settled in his stomach. There was comfort there. A sort of papable satisfaction in the malt and vintage of the alcoholic beverage. Only for him to open his eyes to the stinging smart of a slap. The old man, was sent flying. His head slammed against the wall of the diner. A raw, white mark of fury against his sun ravaged skin. The officer was torn asunder from his seated position, his whiskey glass clattered and shattered against the cold floor, pouring much of the liquid onto the navy man's trousers.

Captain Voss was out of it. His form frigid. Eyes shut, while blood dripped from his mouth, "Kriffing..." He gargled, trying to pick his ragged form up, "Kriffing...." He gargled, before spitting out three molars. "Kriffing hell...." His head slammed against the table, and he groaned in pain. Lyra's slam of her palm against his cheek had been clinic. One hit KO. Quite an accomplishment. "Can I get a uh..." He paused, "Some liquor," He spat, blood spraying across the table, "I need some goddamn booze to ease the pain..." He winced, before picking himself up and falling back into his seat. Palm nursing his wounded cheek.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Nine’s chatter was lost on the woman, just an echo over the obnoxious choice of beat the bar decided was music. One moment she was raising her durasteel servo and next Lyra found her hands tangled up in the grip of the soldier; practically dragged back into the worn booth. A woosh of air escaping her as her back hit the seat, jerking forward only to find a grip stronger than a vice on her. A disgusted look passing over the woman's visage as she looked at the trooper, a few garbled words and mostly disbelief before she gritted her teeth.

“Thats..easy for you to say,” she said, guttural and stewing still. She smacked her lips still tasting something sour..

Lyra’s vision still dipped if she turned her head too fast, but worse yet the blissful state was still being impeded by the sober brigade. Though corum was still the last thing on her mind, it was Phaeda after all and that was synonymous with trash and deep in her heart she was still a little industro rat. She hadn't been fighting for the last decade not to cut loose a bit..Worse yet the Naval dog looked far to smug and it only served to fuel the fire, and Lyra stared across the table and past the tray of beer-if looks could kill...She scoffed plainly as the trooper sought to iron out the frayed edges in the wake of the odd events.

She wasn't that sober yet so, the paperwork this would cost her was still lost on her.

“Friends don’t stop friends from beating flyboys, Nines,” Lyra muttered,craning her head as she looked back at the trooper; she sounded almost comprehensible then. The attempt to diffuse the situation brought about rusty gears turning her head as she sized him up; brows pinching.

There was a moment of silence that followed his introduction and Lyra jerked her arm so violently from his grip, raising back to her feet. Going as far to plant her boot on the booth to propel herself and following through with her wrath. Even if the trooper clawed at her and tried to reign her, she shouldered and brought her servo down on the face of Hiram, overestimating the force as the satisfying slap echoed. A few curious souls gasping and the ever faithful chorus of 'ohs' breaking out from the nearest circles.

Artificial nerves burning and half sprawled out over the table and stumbling from the booth-catching herself on the ledge as she nearly tumbled into the crowding troopers. Her vision swarmed, and Lyra’s head swiveled eyes wide as she pressed her face into her shoulder, pushing her lens back up the bridge of her nose. A single huff escaping her, as her legs shook and she pulled herself back up to stand relevantly..straight. There was a certain vindication and she barked with laughter a hair bitter..vaguely aware of the bloodshed.

“Don’t do that..again. And..you,” Lyra gestured with her whole hand, waving toward FN-999 with a limp servo. Raising her voice her voice, as she jerked her thumb toward herself still slurring. "Hellhound, don't mess..with my business."

Glancing around, as if that would produce some challenger-she tossed her hands up.

“I’m leaving..place smells..terrible right? Right, goodbye..goodbye..” the woman declared,, stepping back bumping in to the poor soldier and Agrippa .

Hiram Voss FN-999 Agrippa Konrad Bolter VK-462