[Closed] Four AM Drinking Session

[Nephill Kilner]

The Oyu'baat, Mandalore
0400 Hours

Nephill Kilner couldn't even read the labels of the bottles he was drinking. All he knew was that it was costing him a pretty penny.

He knew the barkeep would stop selling him drinks after his perceived limit, as he knew what Neph was capable of drinking himself into. But Neph outsmarted him this time.

He had bought several bottles of tihaar during the day, and snuck into the bar when it was closed. The barkeep was long asleep, and Neph had staggered into one of the darkened bar's booths and turned on the single hanging light and began drinking.

Neph was staying at the bar's adjacent hotel, visiting Mandalore on business. He had to buy supplies for the ranch. But things were weighing down on him. The nightmares kept plaguing him, and despite his newfound devotion in life due to finally finding a home in the Mandalorian Protector cause, he was unhappy.

Simply put, he was lonely. All of his old comrades had long since moved on in life, spread out across the galaxy, and as he was still "new blood" to the Protectors, he still wasn't really in the "in" group yet. Although he did have a few missions under his belt, and he wore the Protector's sigil on his armor proudly. All of his family was dead. Every single one. All he had was distant cousins and such in Aliit Fett. But they were strangers.

No women either. He wasn't on Nar Shaddaa anymore. He couldn't buy a girl for the night on Mandalore in some seedy club. Probably for the best anyways. At least he was managing to hold onto his creds, unlike the past.

His drinking wasn't that bad either. He was almost always sober during the day. It was just here and there, when he couldn't stand the thought of more nightmares, and he got to thinking about osik late at night, that he had to crack open a bottle and drink the night away.

He had already got through one bottle. He was mixing it with juice in a glass so he didn't kill himself straight off by the high alcohol content. As it was, he was quickly moving to his absolute limit. Everything was blurry, and even sitting, he knew he had lost all concept of balance.

As he moved to lift the glass again and drain the last remaining bit, he swayed in his seat, and the glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the booth's bench. Neph's head shot up as adrenaline burst through his veins, waking him considerably. The last thing he wanted was for someone to see him here. Especially the barkeep. He knew the man was fed up with him as it was. The Mandalorian peered around the corner of the booth to look, his buy'ce hanging off of his waist utility belt and clattering with the movement.

 

[Nike]

It was nice to be off The Brave Blood and be planet side, breathing real air. It was even nicer to be on Mandalore, a place she hadn’t been very often before. Never the less, it was home, and it was always nice to be home. Zara particularly enjoyed being at the Oyu’baat, a place cluttered with her people’s history. She had spent the evening sitting at the bar, silently grinning as the warriors around her told stories that got rowdier with ever drink. This was definitely home.

When the barkeep has closed the bar for the night, she shuffled tipsily to her rented bed. She was there now, somewhat awake, but quickly drifting back asleep.

Crash. Zara’s eyes shot open. Her heart picked up its pace and her skin started to tingle, as if her blood had suddenly turned to caf. She sat up straight and reached for the blaster resting under her pillow. The sound, breaking glass most like, definitely came from the bar, though who could be in there she wasn’t sure. Silently, she got to her feet, walked carefully to the door and opened it a crack.

A lonely light gleamed form the bar, though she had been there when the barkeep shut it down. She took a few steps into the hallway, eyes narrowed. Had the barkeep come back? Surely, nobody would be so moronic as to break in. Someone needed to check. Zara threw a glance over her shoulder and took a step forward. Perhaps it was just some verd who couldn’t sleep. But what if it wasn’t? A knot formed deep in her stomach as she wondered if this was even her place to go and see.

Yes, she decided, standing a little straighter. She was a Mando’ad, and a Protector. She was going to deal with this. Blaster in hand, she padded barefoot into the bar. A single light hung over booth and a swaying shadow sat under it.

It took Zara a moment to recognize the man sitting there, surrounded by bottles. Nephill, a fellow Protector, though not one she was familiar with yet.

Zara realeased the breath she’d been holding as a sigh and let her blaster hang loosely at her side. “Haar’chak.” Damn it. She ran her fingers through her hair. “You scared me. What are you doing down here so late, vod?”

 

[Nephill Kilner]

A thousand curses ran through his mind at lightspeed rates. It had to be a Protector. As if his reputation in the group wasn't already in the tank. Once word got out he was up at 4 am drinking his night away....osik.

"Holster that," Neph said rather roughly, gesturing at her drawn blaster. "And never mind me. Enjoying a glass of tihaar is all. Shereshoy," he muttered.

"Who are you? And you welcome to a glasss," he said, and as the adrenaline began to slow, his drunkenness began to return. Already his movements were showing the sloppiness of a drunk man, as he poured more tihaar and fruit juice together in the glass. As he offered it up, his arm movement is so jerky that it splashes over his ungloved hands, although the Mandalorian does not seem to notice. His whole body is slightly slumped, and he clearly has not noticed or corrected it.

I'm damned anyways. Might as well over her a drink. I wonder if she's pretty, he thought, peering at her, as though that would make his blurry vision focus.

 

[Nike]

Zara stood in the doorway for a long moment, staring at the man with mild disgust. As he asked, she holstered her blaster. She wouldn’t need it. Even if things got violent, he looked as if a Jawa with a stunbaton could floor him without breaking a sweat.

“You’ve had a little more than a glass,” Zara muttered, walking over to the booth and sitting down across from him. The stench of alcohol made her nose wrinkle. She spoke slowly and gently tapped her fingers on the table. “I’m Zara. Zara Zhett. I’m a Protector. Like you.” Well, practically a Protector, anyways. Almost a Protector. She took the glass offered her and set it down without taking a sip. He was more than drunk enough for the both of them.

“How long have you been down here, vod? How much have you had to drink?” There was no reason to ask, the answers were obviously awhile and a lot.

 

[Nephill Kilner]

Neph shrugged and took a hefty drink of the glass when she did not. When he set it back down he began to speak.

"A Protector ehh? How com I'vee never sseen you around before?" he asked thoughtfully, the sentence mostly coherent, studying her features more carefully. So she was pretty. Hmmph.

He raised the glass again and drained halfway, savoring the taste of the fruit juice with a kick. The tihaar burned his throat slightly as it went down. How he relished that feeling. Again, he offered her the glass.

"Quality stuff ya know. Aged half a century. My treat."

 

[Nike]

Zara ran her hand through her hair again and shrugged. “I’ve been around.” Training, learning, but nothing useful, yet. She trailed a finger through the puddles on the table. Then, realizing he wouldn’t remember any of this conversation, she shrugged again. “I’m not a warrior yet. I…I haven’t passed my verd’goten. Yet.”

As stealthily as she could, she reached for the bottle of tihaar and pulled it a few inches away from Neph. “I’ll take your word for it.” She studied the man’s crooked posture. Something wasn’t right. He was a verd, right? A warrior, a Mando’ad. She had come to expect better of her brothers. “Is everything…okay, vod? Why are you here?”

 

[Nephill Kilner]

As soon as she said she'd "been around," Neph was thinking that particular noncommittal response sounded funny. Her next sentence doesn't even register until after he asked a second question, at which he began hacking, making a noise that could be either choked laughter or the noise of someone trying to expel liquid from their lungs. After a few seconds, he recovered, and blearily stared at the girl. There was two of her. Another hacking fit before he finally recovered, wiping his mouth. He took another few moments to compose himself. It was clear from the second hacking fit, that despite the implications of the first one, he was not laughing at Zara, but was merely so drunk the littlest things were absolutely hilarious to him.

Once composed, he adopted a serious expression and began to speak in voice with an edge.

"I know your type perfectly. Now Sara, I didn't get this here scar from herding nerfss," he said, pointing to the about two inch long scar running diagonally just below his right eye. "That was one particularly tough chakaar," he muttered, staring off at some distant image.

"But yeah, Sara, I know your type. You're just busting with eagernesss to prove yourself to the clan, bring honor and glory to ya name, sslot some aruetii. Waiting to prove yoursself. Look. I'm not going to try to disssuade you. I wass the same. And you'll learn. Jusst know it's not what you think," he said, his voice powerful, as though the words are trying to escape the slurring and drunken confines of his brain. To emphasize the statements, he detached his buy'ce and places it on the booth's table. It was pockmarked and scratched, and a pair of covetous Jaig eyes adorn the top right above the T visor. He stared her straight in the eyes with unsettling focus, as if his eyes suddenly cleared of blurriness.

 

[Nike]

The laugh was like a punch in the stomach. Zara stared at the table, grinding her teeth and dragging her fingernail against the wood. Why did she tell him? She knew it was strange, what was worst was that she knew she wasn’t ready. Sometimes, she wondered if she’d ever be. But she didn’t let that show on her face. Instead, she decided to be angry.

When he had finished, she looked up with her jaw tense and her eyes narrowed and did her best to meet his eyes, though occasionally she glanced down at his hands. “It’s Zara.” She corrected, though she doubted he’d care. He had her pegged a little too well for her liking. She wouldn’t let that show, either. There was twice as much confidence in her voice than she felt, but she plowed ahead. “What I think. What I think is that I was given a family when I had none. What I think is I want to be worthy of that. At least I’m working towards something instead of sitting in the dark drinking my brain cells away.”

For a few moments after he put the helmet on the table, Zara remember to still be angry. But as soon as she saw the Jaig’s eyes, it was impossible to look anything but awed. Then, when he stared her in the eye clearer than before, she saw the warrior she had been looking for earlier. “How…how did you earn those?”

 

[Nephill Kilner]

Neph knew he had hit the girl hard, his words a blow to the gut, knocking the wind out of her. He regretted that, but he wouldn't say it. However, he did stop himself and decided to loosen up on the girl, compassion breaking through his drunken state. He respectfully noted the edge that entered her voice as she tried to throw an insult right back at him. Had to respect that. Even among the warriors of the Mando'ade, there were lesser beings who would have succumbed to his comments and let it get to him. Not this girl.

His last action completed his point. And before her eyes, the warrior emerged from the angry, dispirited drunk.

His voice seemed far away as his mind transported him to a different time. "Hypori. During the Civil War. Near the end. Supposed to be a mopping action, clean up the Loyalists that wouldn't give up, even after their leader did. Most of the men had gone home to their families after Mand'alor defeated Veshok in that duel. The vode that were left were the crazy chakaars with nothing to lose and a bone to pick. Me and my jet squad, we went in first. They were camped near one of the oases. I hate desert worlds...so hot and damned sand everywhere." He paused, and began to run his hand absentmindedly over a dent embedded in the right side of his buy'ce.

"Anyways, osik hit the fan fast. We were told to expect a dozen Loyalists. I had ten men with me and another ten back in reserve on foot. We flew right into a trap. Two guys were gone before we could even react. They drew us into the trees, where we couldn't jump back into the air, and traps in the bushes. I got rushed before I could get a shot off. The chakaar tackled me and was trying to run my neck through with a beskad. We grappled, and only the knife dance got me through that. Without all those years of learning that martial tradition, I wouldn't be standing here today. Snapped his neck, I did." Neph nodded a bit. He could still see it in his head, the sickeningly pop crack as the man's head twisted at an obscene angle, and the blood that had flown out as part of the man's neck bones pierced through skin.

"I jumped back up, shot off my wrist rocket, got a few of em. Another two of my guys were down, and backup was still minutes away. I counted fifteen hostiles still up, taking their time, hiding in the bushes instead of rushing us. We tried to make a fighting withdrawal, but we were too exposed. So I ordered a charge." He paused. "That was stupid. It was the end of the war. We should have played it safe, dashed out of that patch of jungle and gotten airborne. But I was seeing red. So me and the five others, we ran like hounds from haran towards the enemy. I didn't even notice how my guys were doing. All I did was run over the first Loyalist I saw, took a few blasts to the chest plate. I could breathe as I knocked him in the buy'ce with my armored elbow pad, then stabbed him through the armpit with my wrist blade. Got back up, trying to catch my breath, the traitor gave me a good one to the head with a beskar mace. That would be this dent right here. Nasty one, that was. Huge, green beskar'gam. He had spikes on his shoulders. I liked that." He paused, finger running through the dent he was talking about.

"Anyways, I went straight to the ground. Couldn't move for a few seconds. He grabs my neck in one hand, starts throttling me. I already was out of breath. I started seeing stars fast, barely had the energy to even attempt to kick him or anything. Kebiin, he was one of the men who took me in once I joined the right side. He saw what was happening. Blasted him with a grenade to the back. Big guy goes down. I'm there, trying to remember how to breathe when I see big guy get back up. Smack Kebiin in the visor with armored kom'rke. Kebiin crumples. Big guy's laying it on him, smacking him around. All around me, I can hear blaster fire as the ground team arrives to help us out. I'm so hurt I can't even get up. Big guy crushed my throat, actually. That was a nasty reconstructive surgery. Anyways, I draw my beskad. Only relic I had left from my dead Aliit. Arrange myself so I'm pointing at the green beskar'gam. Ignite my jet pack. I smack into green man with my buy'ce head on, beskad driving through his busted back plate. Impact gave me a concussion, I knock out."

Neph paused, and the bar is eerily silent again except for the nervous swishing as the warrior rotated his cup in his hand.

"When I wake up, I'm in some hospital. 8 out of 20 of my guys made it. Kebiin went into a coma, they let him go after two weeks. 0 out of 35 of the traitors were left too. Last time I used that beskad to kill someone, you know. Our surgeons know what they're doing. They been patching up busted up vode since they passed verd'goten. That's why our hospitals are better then aruetiise. All of our doctors are warriors first. We aren't vulnerable in the rear echelon med unit. Anyways, month to recover from surgery and shit. Sometimes I still get headaches, pretty bad migraines a few times a year too, that's what happens when you get smacked around too much. My commander gave me these for that particular action, since I didn't have an aliit'alor. And that's that."

The vigor that took the Protector when he told his story wilted again, and he gulped down another swig, albeit a lighter one, to comfort himself.

 

[Nike]

As Neph told his story, Zara found herself leaning further and further over the table, her eyes wide. Other than that, she stayed completely still. Listening to his voice, watching his expressions and the small gestures of his hands, was more interesting than the last five holodramas Zara had seen, combined. When he had finished, a grin crept across her face. She looked at the helmet again, and reached out to brush her fingers against the dent, and then the Jaig eyes. “Kandosii,” she said in a whisper. Awesome.

The Civil War. She remembered what it was like, at the end. Both her parents had fought in it, and they had their own stories as well. But suddenly, something about Neph’s story stuck out to her, and she looked back at him with a cooler eyes. “‘When you joined the right side’?” She repeated, cocking her head to the side. “You didn’t…didn’t fight for the Loyalist at all, did you?”

 

[Nephill Kilner]

Neph turned and stared her dead in the eyes. "Maybe another time."

He capped up the bottles, seemingly done for the night. But he doesn't get up. "My turn for questions. Tell me why you want to join the Protectorss so bad. And who were your parentss? You made it sound earlier that you lost your family."

Simple questions. But Neph seems to have a very intense interest in hearing Zara's story now after telling his own.

 

[Nike]

She watched through slightly narrowed eyes as he closed up the bottles. Now that he was changing the subject, her curiosity was peaked. She considered trying to get it out of him, but something in the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice told her she’d have an easier getting a Hutt to bathe.

“My parents are Mandalorians and both strong warriors,” she said, with some defense in her voice. “But, before that…My mother, the one I was born to, she fixed junk and sold it. Sometimes, when she was in a good mood, she sang while she did it.” A smile touched Zara’s lips at the thought. “I had a brother, too. Leo.” She swallowed hard and tried to keep the grief off her face and the darkness out of her voice. “They’re both gone now. The Alliance may not have fired the blasters that did it, but it’s as much to blame.”

“Leo, my brother, he used to tell me stories when I was little about people who risked everything they had to save people and worlds that weren’t even their own. People who have been dead for thousands of years, yet we still know their names. In Basic, we call them heroes.” Zara stopped for a moment, nodded and smiled. “There isn’t a word for hero in Mando’a. I like that. Every Mando’ad is expected to give everything. Thats why I joined the Protectors, so that I could be sure to give everything. I think Leo would be proud."

 

[Nephill Kilner]

Neph nodded. He liked her optimism. When he had lost his family, the guilt and anger had consumed him. He liked to see this fresh outlook on life, the hope. He wish he retained that innocence.

"That's good, Zara. Well, jusst so you know, I'm here to help you achieve that goal if you need me. I believe in you," he said with a wry smile, before turning back to the still half full glass.

He seemed to seriously consider draining it before abruptly standing to his feet, the glass clutched in his hand, as he began to pathetically attempt to stumble his way over to the bar's sink. He hasn't gone two meters before most of it has sloshed all over his hand and the floor. Nephill cursed in a dark tone.

"Now I'll have to mop up this hole," he scowled, still doggedly making for the sink, fighting the drink's influence with each missplaced. He could feel his heart beating so slowly, and his head was beginning to hurt. He was going to have the hangover of hangovers after this particular session, he knew.

 

[Nike]

Neph’s words made Zara frown slightly and she ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I won’t need you,’ she almost said. ‘I can do it on my own.’

While they were talking, Zara had almost forgotten how drunk the man was, but she remembered quickly once he stood up. She watched for a few moments as he stumbled through cleaning up. By the time he had completely spilled the rest of his drink over his boots, she was on her feet, rolling her eyes. “Stop, wait,” she said, rushing to his side. One arm hovered behind his back, ready to catch him if he fell, while she tried to take the glass from his hand. “Let me do it, go sit before you hurt yourself, vod.”

 

[Nephill Kilner]

"Vor'entye cyar'ika," he said, and staggered back to the booth and collapsed back into the seat. The phrase is awkward. It could be perceived as sort of old man to younger girl. But Neph is only 6 years her senior, and does not appear to be older then his age. He looks to be on the younger side of 25, not older. In that context, it could be perceived romantically almost.

His blank expression as he struggled to breathe did not indicate which one he intended. He was clearly descending deeper into his drunken stupor, and he held his head in his hands as he tried to focus. His headache was building. He cursed quietly. No choice.

Neph suddenly began ruffling through his utility belt, and removed a syringe. He then removed his wrist gauntlet and rolled up the under sleeve, finding a vein and injecting a brown liquid into his arm. That done, he dropped the used syringe on the table and leaned back into the seat, his eyes rolling slightly into his head as his heart rate began to speed up. His head began to loll back, and the arm where he had injected himself began trembling.

 

[Nike]

Zara watched the man shuffle back to the booth with a raised eyebrow. Cyar’ika, eh? The only time she had been called that was by her mother. “Ba'gedet'ye, burc’ya,” she said dryly, setting the glass in the sink and reaching for a rag. “But if you call me that again we’ll have a problem.” She smiled and shook her head. It didn’t bother her too much, she had learned a while ago not to accept terms of endearment from men who couldn’t see straight.

Still smiling, Zara dropped the rag on the floor and pushed it around with her foot, mopping up most of the spill. “It’s so late, it’s early, vod, you should go to—Me’ven?” Her lips parted, the smile gone, and her brow furrowed as she watched the syringe go into his arm. Suddenly, she felt sick. “Nephil, what are you doing?” she asked in a harsh whisper. She knelt on the ground beside him and ran her hand over the spot he had injected himself. “Osik, what was that?”

 

[Nephill Kilner]

It was several moments before Nephill sat back up, his eyes looking a thousand times tireder then they had before, if that was possible.

His heart rate slowed, and the sweat that had been building on his forehead was wiped away. "Some drug cocktail the doctor gave me. Adrenaline, painkiller, and something else. If I didn't sober up a bit, I think I'd die in my sleep," he said with a chuckle, the joke dry. All he knew was that it was expensive as osik, but it did sober him up somehow. Something to do with enzymes.

It was his emergency fallback. He could already feel his alcohol concentration had been too high, and although he was still wasted, he was able to stand and walk now, even though his head still felt like it was drenched in molasses and it took extra effort to form coherent sentences. If he had allowed himself to pass out or attempt to go to bed, he knew he would have required hospitalization. This drug would wreak havoc on his system, but it would do for this one time. I can't be doing this to myself...get it together Neph.

He made his way out of the booth, taking a few hesitant steps that are surprisingly normal, although very shaky. "I'm sorry to leave you with the mess. And this isn't my finest hour," he said, and now that the drinks' effect had receded just a bit, he was ashamed of himself. He could see her more clearly, and she was pretty. Blast...

"I know we just met, and this was a fairly awkward meeting....but can I ask you a question Zara? Keep this our little secret. And to make up for it, let me buy you breakfast tomorrow morning. Err..brunch. And today," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"The tihaar is yours. Do with it as you will," he added on, his expression stricken. Reason was returning to his mind now, and he was devastated. He hadn't binged like this in a while. And he had been dong so good lately. How could he make such a fool of himself.

He could only hope she would accept his invitation. Things would be much different there second meeting.

 

[Nike]

Zara wasn't a stranger to drugs. Living on the streets, she had know her fair share of addicts and spiceheads. Strung out, anxious druggies who sparked like live wires and usually ended up dead with a needle in their arm or a blaster bolt in their back.

She watched Neph in silent, composed, terror. A tremor ran threw her hand as she shook his shoulder. "Vod, you okay? Neph. Nephill. Say something." When he sat up and managed to make a joke, Zara's fear disappeared and was replaced by mild fury. The sick feeling remained. "Ha. Drugs. Death. Funny." She spoke under her breath, shaking her head.

She didn't know what to say as he fumbled through an awkward goodbye, so she sat at the booth in silence for several moments after he left before finally whispering, "Shabuir." A part of her wanted to hit him. Her hands rested on the table, and she slowly clenched and unclenched them. Maybe she could go find him and smack some sense into him. She doubted he could defend himself in his current state. "Osik mirshe di'kut."

So the tihaar was hers? She uncapped the bottle and raised it to her lips. The strong stench made her hesitate for a moment, but she screwed her eyes tight and took a long swing. She could feel it burning her throat and bubbling up to her nose. Osik, it was strong. Walking with purpose, Zara made her way to the sink and slowly empty the bottle down the drain.

He wanted her to be quiet? Of course he did. And maybe, if it had been a one night thing, she would of. But something, mostly the drug he had ready to sober himself, told her this happened with frequency. And that could kill him.

Shaking the last few drops out form the bottle and leaving it in the sink, Zara realized she wanted nothing more than to be in bed. As she walked back to her room, she saw the sun starting to rise through the window. Her bed greeted her with an embrace as she fell onto it. Sleep came slowly, but she woke up several hours later knowing what she had to do.