A New Season

[Mistress]

Zabić had been out for a drink. To be honest, if need be, she was way past just a drink hours ago. It's a cold night, not physically. She didn't have a thing to do nor anyone to meet. The little room over the pub served her well, but it felt too damn small plenty of the time. She could have moved on and lodged somewhere else more expensive, but then she would have to walk to the come to the bar; that just wasn't going to suit her primary needs at all.

She didn't mind being left to the thoughts of her own head, while others around her chattered excessively. A short exchange had interrupted her solitariness, when one man came by and barreled into the other who was seated beside her. They continued their scuffle, and in the process spilling her drink while pulling lightsabers on one another. The bartender, who rented Zabić the upstairs room, went ballistic on them.

Zabić rose quickly brandishing a Blaster Carbine. "You better be feeling lucky enough to deflect blaster bolts after your whiskey, because I'm certain I can aim just fine." The bartender was armed and aiming as well. The liquor apparently took quite a toll on the two drunkards, as Zabić suspected. They separated. But Zabić wasn't finished. "Which one of you is replacing my drink? The other is going to be shot!" Both men dropped credits upon the bar and exited out different ends of the bar.

"Geez, Dolt! Put that thing down! Its longer than your own arms! Were you going to shoot me too?!" she asked the bartender as she holstered her gun. "Look I got two more hits coming from you now. See here?" Zabić slid the dropped offering across the bar to him. "C'mon, Dolt!" Zabić glanced around the room before she retook her seat. She held out her hands to him. "Look, my hands aren't even trembling, and you've gone catatonic?!" The bartender finally reset his rifle upon the hooks which hung over the mirror behind him, above the many liquor bottles. Zabić knew the sound of jingling coins would snap him out of it.

 

[AaronW]

Hood up, head down.

It was in this manner that Zallek entered the bar, his black cloak over top of his red Acolyte's robes, boots hitting the floor slab with muffled thuds. Mere seconds in the joint and a daft, drunkard of a man came barreling through the same entrance Zallek had just came through though going the opposite direction. The gruff and clearly irritated man was oblivious to his surroundings as he stumbled into the yellow-skinned zabrak. As with all inebriated men, it was most certainly not his own fault. "Watch were you're walkin' or I'll..., " he trailed off as he slammed head first into the door before stumbling the rest of the way out. Zallek watched him for only a moment, rolling his eyes beneath his cloak and then walking up to the bar. One might not say that the place was packed, but it certainly wasn't empty either. The bar itself was nearly full and most of the tables and other seating arrangements had occupants save for those situated in the far back of the joint. Zallek walked up the bar, glancing at each customer briefly before choosing an unoccupied seat between a young woman and a rather obese man. The man was of little consequence, but Zallek's eyes were drawn to the young woman, as his eyes often were. However, he'd come here for a drink to alleviate him and he meant to do just that.

By now, the bartender had made his way over, looking expectantly at him. "I'll take the strongest Corellian whiskey you offer. Put it on a tab," removing his hood as he ordered. The bartender went right to work and Zallek went to his thoughts. His sister might have scolded him just now, as she deemed any sort of alcohol minus the cultural Mus of the zabrakians a mere poison. All the better that she wasn't here this evening. He'd been growing rather wary of her following him about anyways. The yellow-skinned zabrak took a side-long glance at the woman next to him, noticing her short, dark hair and feminine appearance. He could only wonder at why she would find herself in a place like this. Then again, he had come to learn that nearly everyone on this planet was dangerous in their own way and he guessed that she was no different. A drink was placed before him, the size of a double-shot glass filled with a whiskey he could smell the moment it hit the bar. Strong was an understatement, apparently.

 

[Mistress]

The bartender was a Gungan. How he got on Korriban, right in the heart of the Sith Imperium, she'll never know. She supposed he fell into slavery or something. Or maybe he was just lost and stuck here like, well, not many others she presumed! That would be terrible luck indeed!

However with the cheap cost of her lodging, Zabić couldn't be cruel to the creature. He did her a huge favor, and she won't let the deed go unrewarded. Loyal to those deserving she will remain, unless the rewarded runs the well dry too quickly, with the intention of proving himself no longer worthy.

"Dolt, I think I'm going to buy you a whip and teach you how to use it, from back there behind the bar, to across the room." She is serious. "You can disarm your patrons without having to feel like your lifting weights in order to do it. And I say this also in light of my own selfishness, because I don't want to be in my bed upstairs and have some ass to cause my floor to come crashing down."

Zabić would be his bouncer if she had any time to hang out here. But this is her first few days away from training to be by herself, since she arrived on Korriban.

She noticed the glance from the possibly sober gentleman next to her, and his avid attempt to catch-up. "Sorry about sending that guy out your way," she referred to the drunkard who had run into him. "I didn't see you were on your way in."

 

[Elijah Brockway]

While Jaron didn't normally go to bars - after all, he almost never drank, seeing no point to it - he couldn't deny that every once in a while it was nice to go to one, to unwind, and, let's face it - eat good food. However, his entrance to the bar was being blocked, by a rather inebriated - and belligerent - man. Jaron mentally sighed, preparing to shove the man out of his way, when the drunken human preempted him.

One shove and a muttering of "Lavender-skinned freak" later, and Jaron decided he'd had enough. While he would rather have gotten into the bar peacefully, that, obviously, was not going to happen. Instead, a knife quickly found its way into his hand; with clear blade and black hilt, the thin, stiletto-like knife easily showed itself as a dangerous weapon - most importantly, in the eyes of the one who wouldn't allow Jaron his way through.

"Thank you for the entertaining conversation, sir," Jaron said, still somewhat politely, though with an undertone of sarcasm colouring his words, "But I'm afraid I really must go into the bar now; I'm tired, thirsty, and most importantly, hungry. I trust that is acceptable?" The man in front of him, suddenly aware of his thoroughly inebriated state, nodded quickly and stepped to the side. Jaron resheathed the shikkar, walking inside and over to the bar, ignoring the eyes upon him; the short confrontation had, it seemed, been witnessed - or at least heard - by multiple people in the bar.

Sitting down, the Keshiri acolyte sighed again, this time aloud; that was not how he'd wanted to start the night.

 

[Mistress]

"Dolt, I think you need to set up a trap door for the drunks. Put one just outside, make it open up to the sewer. You'll make more money that way when people can get by to come inside without having such a hard time."

Zabić watched the newcomer as he entered and sat down. "So I take it, you don't like the new floor mats?" she asked him with a slight smile, referring to the man who was blocking the doorway. "Really, I could just do without the door altogether." To Zabić, the existence of a bar is meant to be at, and she lives upstairs anyhow. She hasn't any need for an exit!

"Well, you're here now," she said to the newcomer. "The hard part is over."

 

[Elijah Brockway]

"If they wouldn't be such belligerents, I wouldn't have the trouble I do with them," Jaron said, taking a wry twist to his mouth. "And yes, the hard part is over...until another drunken man comes along and he has to be dealt with as well. Honestly, I'm not sure why I don't get a job as a bouncer. It's easy to force somebody out when you actually use the Force."

 

[Mistress]

Zabić smirked. Just about every asinine regular that she found since she arrived has been tossed out upon their ass. She hated the rowdy types who kept her from a sound sleep upstairs. She would make it so they couldn't step foot inside again, if she had her way. Dolt wasn't entirely against it, but when he saw credits, he had to get his hands on what he felt would be rendered his way! In short, this is how he stood in her way. But she would not back down, if she had to first rob the patrons before she would kick them out.

"It's a very popular pastime here." Zabić received her drinks from Dolt, and turned around in her barstool to face the room. She didn't know the man next to her to be a regular. "Wait about twenty minutes, and you'll have your chance. See the guy in green camo, sitting off in the corner? He's about meet his limit."

 

[Elijah Brockway]

"I think just about everybody in here has met their limit regarding something, no?" Jaron asked, a smirk of his own finding its way to his lips. Looking around, he looked at the various regulars in the bar - some he'd seen before, some he hadn't. He unstrapped his sword belt, leaning it (and the sword and scabbard it came with) against the bar, before turning back to the woman next to him.

"Ah, but proper introductions have yet to be made - I'm Jaron. And what, may I ask, would your name be?"

 

[Mistress]

Zabić suppressed a laugh at his comment, but smiled. Korriban definitely lets people learn their limits, and then it piles some more upon that! And many did appear to be at their whits end to be specific. She looked around the bar. She couldn't believe she is here. "Good Lord! What have I allowed my life to come to?" Did she look or feel as bad as some of these others? She'll think about it, if she remembers, when and if she sobers up. Drink in hand, she already forgot. But it wouldn't matter anyhow. Zabić has alot to be pleased about. She suffered alot of loss to land herself here, and it truly has paid off. She's met some absolutely fantastic people in such short a time!

"Jaron," she repeated. "I'm Zabić."

 

[Elijah Brockway]

Jaron nodded, slighly, noticing the Gungan begin to come back this way. Wonderful; he might actually have some of what Jaron was going to order.

"Nice to meet you, Zabi￾ć," the Keshiri said, smiling, as the Gungan finally made his way over, asking for his order.

"Domaine de la Maison sur le Lac," was Jaron's quick reply - the bartender's eyes widened, for a moment, before he nodded - with the quick price of 75 credits being named for the bottle - Must be a rather recent vintage, but it's never really bad, is it? - which Jaron rather quickly agreed to pay. After all, whatever he didn't drink then he could keep for later.

When the bottle was brought over, Jaron smiled at Zabić.

"Care for a glass of something other than liquor? It just isn't right for somebody to drink wine alone."

 

[Mistress]

"Likewise," she nodded at his courtesy.

She drank day and night! Certainly she was better off with a concoction of poisons coursing through her veins, a habit which most people would probably prefer to steer clear of. Wine was the preference of those she knew who exhibited a maturity. But when Zabić wanted to be drunk she met the woodsy types, and she's been addicted ever since! Zabić had many refined features, her appearance, her poise, her talk, but her fighting mouth and her drinking habits were her untamed polar opposite.

Her eyes lit up at his offer. "It's been ages!" But that cost, from a stranger she simply could not accept, "So long as you permit me to repay you with anything to your liking."

 

[Elijah Brockway]

"It's a deal," Jaron said, shrugging - reaching over, he grabbed a pair of wine glasses, pouring some of the Nabooinian wine into each.

After a moment, he raised his glass in a toast, a wry twist to his mouth.

"To never again having to deal with belligerent, obstructive, semi-sentient doormats again," he proclaimed, bringing the glass to his mouth for a sip.

 

[Mistress]

Zabić accepted the glass and burst out in laughter at his toast. "I, erm...don't believe that particular grace is ever going to shine down upon us...here. But it's sure worth a try!" She took a sip.

"To the glass!" she said. "Without it we wouldn't be able to toast!" she declared.

 

[Elijah Brockway]

"Indeed we would not," the acolyte said, smiling. "So, how's it taste to you?"

 

[Mistress]

Before Zabić could reply to Jaron's simple request, the usual occurred within the bar. The atmosphere changed suddenly into a roar. Now Zabić had made it her mission to rid this bar of the rift raft, but she knew that since most fit the bill, only the most dangerous would need to go on a permanent basis. However the establishment still had to be able to bring in money, which kept her rent down, so she had to manage those frequenters who remained.

From the corner of the bar, like he was set to a clock, the patron who typically spent his day's pay in this bar had picked a fight with three others. He was an arrogant man indeed. But the three had friends of their own. Zabić had to act before the brawl increased to damages to the establishment. She was also designated by the owner to protect his investment.

Since most were standing, she used the Force to lift the furniture to pile quickly in the opposite corner of the room, out of harms way. And she held it there with her mind so no one would use it as a weapon.

Zabić smiled at Jaron and asked, "So when was the last time you saw fun like this? Can you think of just one thing you need practice in? Mine is multitasking," she whispered with a sly grin, hoping he would keep it her secret, but not that it mattered. Then the real fun began as blaster fire was strewn about the room. Zabić drew her lightsaber in a flash and deflected the rogue fire. She aimed the blasts not to kill but to graze, trying to anticipate the movements of her opponents and merely graze the flesh. She protected Dolt who ducked down behind the bar without first having even grabbed his gun. Now he knew he had no chance of standing back up again to reach for it!

 

[Elijah Brockway]

"Mine's providing a quick end to a fight," Jaron replied grimly, draining what was left in his glass. Within a moment he stood, his vibrosword gently, quietly humming as he drew it and switched it on. Taking a short time to assess the fight, Jaron's rather neutral expression grew to a frown. Aside from the original four combatants, twice that number again had joined in - and as he and Zabić both knew, no small number of them had blasters to use.

"You try to avoid hitting me with your deflections," Jaron growled, "And I'll disarm - or dismember - as many of those fools as proves necessary. Agreed?"

 

[Mistress]

"Goodness, no! They must be able to return tomorrow. They keep my room and board low. I couldn't let you dismember them. They need to be able to walk here and then drink tomorrow night! It's the usual, you see. After I kick them out I can sleep soundly upstairs. But the establishment cannot be set on fire or anything like that." Zabić pondered her next more while she deflected fire without even looking, but she was looking at Jaron. "How is your Force Grip? Try necks. It's always prosperous."

 

[Elijah Brockway]

"My dear, I thought I would more likely try to remove their weapons than grasp their necks," Jaron replied to Zabić's question, smiling again. "Though if you wish to see it, I might try."

 

[Mistress]

"Whatever amuses you most! By all means! It's just that if they are passed out here, Dolt can feed them in the morning!" Zabić laughed. "This isn't an emergency...unless they wield grenades. You know." Anything could happen.

 

[Elijah Brockway]

Jaron didn't reply, he only nodded. Stepping forwards, he reached one hand out, the blaster pistol of one of the combatants quickly flying into it, while his vibrosword remained in his other hand. As the others who had been in the altercation turned to him, he brought up the pistol, and the first one to draw a weapon on him was promptly forced (pun not intended) back into a few of his companions.

"Now," the Keshiri began, not even bothering to keep the contempt for this rabble that he felt out of his voice, "You will all stop your mindless fighting - or you'll all find yourselves dragged to the nearest Imperial prison - what's left of you, at any rate. Am I understood?"