- Joined
- Nov 5, 2012
- Messages
- 2,065
- Reaction score
- 326
The Bastille-class station was, first and foremost, a battlestation. Being an Imperial design, there was little thought given over to the recreational activities of the hundreds, if not thousands, of personnel that traveled through it daily. Granted, Rhen Var was little more than a wasteland iceball floating in the ass end of nowhere. The desolate frost rock could easily have been forgotten if not for the presence of the station, and Kai'a was fairly certain that there was probably not more than a few hundred people passing through this station at any given time. This was the heart of Imperial territory, one of the most secure regions of space; no more than half a dozen patrol ships passed through Rhen Var on a given day.
Except for today. Today, Kai'a Hale was passing through Rhen Var Orbital. On a lesser note, Wraith Squadron and the Malevolence were also docked with the station. Perhaps the bars would be a little more crowded than usual. At least she'd be able to meet some exciting people she thought as she wove her way through the bustling corridors. She was off-duty, but her attire still spoke volumes - strapped with skin-tight syntex pants, an imperial grey military-style neo-leather jacket overtop a sheer blood red zoosha top. Kai'a had only been stationed her for a day awaiting reassignment, and that had driven her stir crazy. She was a fighter pilot - her ass belonged on something that pushed the G's and quaked with power, something high speed, that could kill her at any moment, that really made her feel alive - not this sluggishly boring place made of squares and circles.
The bar, as always, managed to fall below even her abysmal expectations for this place. She would have been surprised if they served her favorite drinks on a good day, but with all the knuckledraggers mulling about she'd be surprised if they even had a good shot of fire water. She crashed into the bar, jamming her shoulder into a man to squeeze her way to the front before grabbing the bartender by the arm, demanding he stop fixing a drink to take her order. "A shot of something strong," she commanded with a strength of a woman who would crush the man if he delayed her order, "tonight's going to be high speed."
She turned her back to the bar and skimmed the faces of the crowd. Scores of new people to meet, maybe a tenth of them would be mildly amusing. One group in particular drew her attention - a large number of men circled around one in particular. They were celebrating. She pondered to herself what that could be when the bartender tapped her should. She pivoted on a single bootheel to face him, slammed a credit chit to the counter and gently pinched his cheek before slamming the drink down her throat. She pushed off the bar and moved to a rectangular grav-pool table, grabbing a stick and teasing one of the men who looked in her direction with a look that challenged him: come here and show me how talented you are.
@Alhon
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