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A glass touched Marcus' lips once again. This was home to him now. Not the rough Mandalorians; not the lavish House Demici. It was a sad, forgotten bar, on a sad, forgotten planet. Its allures called to him, and he had no right denying its call. He gulped down the last of his drink. Ordering another, he twirled in his seat, awaiting the familiar sound of glass slamming onto wood. He fully took in his surroundings. Drunken men chatting up exotic women, hoping to take them home in the magic hour. Friends buying drinks for their recently dumped friend. Women on a "girls night out," trying their best to ignore the desperate men that keep coming to them. Marcus had seen it all before, and it would see it all again.
He shared his home with these people, each person finding their own reason to be there. Marcus' possibly the shameful of them all. Thunk. Twirling in his seat again, Marcus found his drink awaiting him. Throwing the appropriate credits to the barkeep he picked up his glass and took a sip from it. It was all he could do to not drink it all in one large gulp. Sip, after sip, after sip. He yearned for more alcohol than these glasses granted him. More, more, more. But he knew it was his addiction putting unreasonable thoughts into his head.
Marcus' head lowered in shame, how could he let himself fall into this deep of a hole? Avoiding a war against your brothers is excusable, forgetting who you pledged to be isn't. He slowly turned in his seat once more, holding the glass in his lap. His head still lowered, he peered into his seemingly endless drink for an answer that wasn't more, more, more.
He shared his home with these people, each person finding their own reason to be there. Marcus' possibly the shameful of them all. Thunk. Twirling in his seat again, Marcus found his drink awaiting him. Throwing the appropriate credits to the barkeep he picked up his glass and took a sip from it. It was all he could do to not drink it all in one large gulp. Sip, after sip, after sip. He yearned for more alcohol than these glasses granted him. More, more, more. But he knew it was his addiction putting unreasonable thoughts into his head.
Marcus' head lowered in shame, how could he let himself fall into this deep of a hole? Avoiding a war against your brothers is excusable, forgetting who you pledged to be isn't. He slowly turned in his seat once more, holding the glass in his lap. His head still lowered, he peered into his seemingly endless drink for an answer that wasn't more, more, more.
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