You're an All Star

[Prudence]

tHeMe
OtHeR tHeMe​

The Devastator, A Hunter-Class Enforcement Ship floated through space like a giant tub of fun, the party inside blazing as hot as the flames of Mustafar. A party jam, considered to be a bit risque by some more civilized systems, was playing through the ship's internal comms, a thick haze filling the compartment, and a series of drinks spilled across the floor.

Prudii leaned down onto the game table and squinted an eye as if it would increase his vision. Leaning closer he felt his eyebrow dip into the soft powder and immediately recoiled, violently shaking his head to clean the powder from his hairy brows. Finally manning up he took out his paper, an old photograph of him and Emil together, and rolled it up. Pressing it to the line of spice he violently jerked his head back, snorting as he did. The spice sucked from the counter and into his nose and he leaned back, coughing violently.

"Ok ok ok hold on I gotta do this fast!"

Scrambling to his side he grabbed a rolled joint of spice, and grabbed Djura Volfe's lightsaber, igniting it and slowly bring it closer to the rolled up bit of spice. When he saw a puff of smoke and flame he deactivated the lightsaber and tossed it away, pressing the spice to his face and taking a long drag of it.

Waiting a solid moment, his face looking as if he were on the verge of an epiphany, he finally relaxed, his face a mask of disappointment.

"JEMMA YOU PROMISED ME IT WOULD BE STRONG. I'VE HAD A BETTER HIGH THAN THIS WHEN A HUTT FARTED ON MY FACE!"

Dropping the still burning cigarra of spice onto the floor he picked up his glass of whiskey and began sipping at it, staggering around the ship as he did. They were parked in some backwarter bit of space, the Brentaal grid, the system running its diagnostics on its systems, their nav computers programmed, and the long range sensors running a sweep of the surrounding space for a frequency.

"Hey! HEY! Computer! DO THE THING AGAIN!"

The computers voice came back, "Please transmit the authorization codes." of course, there was no need for authorization codes, they were nowhere near any civilized part of space.

"YUR MOM!" the Mand'alor slurred back

"Authorization denied." the computer plainly said back, the code it was looking for was Mand'alorRox, and all it would do was play a separate party jam playlist. Howling with laughter Prudii walked through the ship, unsure exactly where Jemma was.

@Proleptic

 

[Breezy Breezer]

"That a boy dawg, that a boy.'' crooned Breezy (by all accounts the single hippest Dawg on the vessel) as the Mandalore and leader of the most dangerous group in the Galaxy, imbibed the latest taking of Spice. "Sounds like someone needs to lighten it off with a Death Stick if you catch my drift?" he added, unaware which drift he was referring to, or indeed encouraging the Mandalore to 'catch', but oh well. Flipped a Death Stick in the general direction of the Mandalore, Breezy found himself wondering how the hell he had ended up on a warship with one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy.

Just a week ago he had been performing alongside the Yuzzem, the Myth, the Legend that was Yum Kaboom (@Yum Kaboom), and at that particular event there had been a particularly dashing young Mandalorian, whom he had decided would most likely adore being one of his groupies. Well, you know how it is, offer them a death stick, call them up fro a song, and let the music do the rest, you dig? He had been invited to the ship for some 'light refreshments' shortly after, and unfortunately it had taken off before he could scarper in the morning.

Just like Hutta, he chuckled to himself, as he took to the dance floor, his flared trousers (complete with color changing trim) and open necked rancor hide shirt, complementing his famous 'Thriller' Dance, as he clicked his fingers, and changed the track to the corresponding dance. "Lets see the moves of the Mandalore!" declared Breezy, holding out an outstretched hand to the leader of the Deatch Watch, as he began to demonstrate why he had been the winner (and only contestant) of the 'Jiguuna Dance Off', six years running.

 

[Proleptic]

"THIS PARTY IS FIRE!" Jemma screamed from her place on the ceiling. The mandalorian girl was trouncing about in a pair of magboots, a tight white tanktop and some gym shorts. Jemma paid little attention as Prudii bent down to snort the spice. He was practically yelling to himself when he went to light the joint. Jemma was far too busy in her own affairs. From her upside down position, she raised an inactive vibroblade, held horizontally between her two hands, making sure to keep it level.

After all, if she didn't keep it level, the line of spice would be compromised. Jemma carefully let her right hand fall, making sure her left arm maintained solid hold of the prize; she had to retrieve her straw. Pulling a rolled up crepe from its place resting on her chin, she quickly swiped up a line of sparkling powder. Immediately, she dropped the blade, accidentally knocking an already highly intoxicated individual unconscious.

As she dropped it, she pulled a bottle of spice-infused liquor from between her legs. This particular blend came from the now-deceased Zephyr Kast. She had been far too close to Prudii, which was something Jemma had willingly allowed to happen, but the girl knew how to make some cocktails. Historically speaking, she had shagged Ral with the help of this particular brew. She found it in Zephyr's personal items when Prudii told her what it had been able to do. She figured that if there was anything that could do that, then she needed to drink that.

Prudii ran right past here just as she dipped the bottle into her mouth, taking three gulps before cutting herself off. "JEMMA YOU PROMISED ME IT WOULD BE STRONG. I'VE HAD A BETTER HIGH THAN THIS WHEN A HUTT FARTED ON MY FACE!" Prudii screamed practically into her face. He was entirely unaware that she was practically breathing on him as he stormed to a different section of the ship in search of more entertainment.

"PRUDII KYRAMUD DON'T YOU YELL AT ME YOU PETULANT MAND'ALOR! I said you have to drink something STRONG, not that weak crud you let roll down your throat!" She said with equal rudeness. She released the mag boots as she felt the spice and booze kick hard, and she fell flat on her face. Thoughts of the Mand'alor were long gone as she stumbled to her feet and joined an overweight rodian on the dance floor. She wasn't quite sure what stop she and Prudii had picked this guy up on....but then again, she wasn't quite sure what year she was born, or what year it currently was, for that matter.

Jemma's eccentric ideas of dancing were particularly unique while under the influence, and this was the ideal time, in her mind, to show her skills. Jemma took a roll of spice from her pocket, sticking it in her mouth and reaching to a nearby table where some weapons lay harmlessly. Grabbing a dual phase pistol, completely uncaring that it was on high power, she lined the barrel of the gun up with the tip of her joint, pulling the trigger and taking a long drag.

Meanwhile, the blaster bolt collided with the ceiling of The Devastator and leaving a red hot blaster burn on the metal. Eh. it was just decoration. Prudii wouldn't notice. Having ensured now that she was sufficiently hopped up on all of the things, Jemma threw herself into the dancing, executing a move that would likely be ruled punishable by death on more conservative and primitive worlds. She ducked herself down, sticking her rear out as far as it could conceivably extend, and shaking it viciously up and down.

After sufficiently knocking down a few people due to her extreme lack of balance, the woman leapt into the air and flipped upside down as she did, reactivating the mag boots and latching onto the ceiling to continue her bizarre dance moves. In the back of her mind, she heard the computer responding to Prudii's mindless ramble. This is a party.

 

[Loco]

Mikha'el leaned back in his swivel chair, where he was seated comfortably in his spacious office in the ancient fortress of Kad'Har'Rangir on Mandalore. He took a sip of the hot caf one of the younger warriors had just brought him, along with the newest search reports from Death Watch agents scattered across the Galaxy. Things were not looking great at the moment, but they still had a lot of ground to cover- the Galaxy was a big place, after all. Even Mand'alore Kyramud himself was working on this one though, to be fair, Prudii often liked to have a personal hand in things. It's something Mikha'el liked about the man. Mand'alore Prudii Kyramud. A man of action. A man of principle. Mik should call him- see what he and Jemma were getting up to. A few commands later, and the holo-comm built into his massive desk flickered to life.

"What in the beslubbering name of the bloody warmongering Gods..."

Mik could barely whisper in disbelief at the scene greeting him as Prudii's ship board computer answered his call. Drugs and alcohol on every available surface, a half naked psychopath bouncing about on the ceiling, a fat Rodian dancing awkwardly in the corner, and there- in the center of it all- was Mand'alore Prudii Kyramud, snorting a line of spice up his nose... For several moments Mik could do little more than sit there, mouth agape, and take it all in. Then, in a panic before anyone present on the other end of the holo-call could acknowledge, him Mik scrambled to terminate the connection, knocking over his caf and sending a stack of datacards sprawling across the floor as he did so. The holo-comm shorted out, and the Warpriest breathed a sigh of relief at not having to actually deal with what he had just witnessed. Mikha'el slumped back into his seat and covered his face with both hands.

"What have I unleashed upon the Galaxy?" He asked of no one in particular.