What's new
  • If you were supposed to get an email from the forum but didn't (e.g. to verify your account for registration), email Wes at [email protected] or talk to me on Discord for help. Sometimes the server hits our limit of emails we can send per hour.
  • Get in our Discord chat! Discord.gg/stararmy
  • 📅 May and June 2024 are YE 46.4 in the RP.

A Quiet Drink

Status
Not open for further replies.
Commissar Farzi

Commissar Farzi

🎖️ Game Master
RP Date
YE 45.5
RP Location
Funky City
Funky City

The Green Ocean

Morris sat in a booth, his huge frame nestled as far back in an attempt to try and make himself as indiscreet as possible as he nursed the foul-tasting brew. Grimacing as he took another sip-even the old cesspit would be better than this overpriced crap. They wouldn't even serve this ancestor's forsaken garbage to prisoners. Glancing around at the assembled patrons; a motley mix of various military branches of DION, and a smattering of civilians and staff. The music wasn't much better-a loud, obnoxious booming, thumping, noise punctuated by some idiot wailing something in trade. The big man couldn't make heads or tails of what was being said-not that he cared honestly. All it was doing was making his head pound.

He, Machelle, and a few other Yeomen had been looking to unwind after a particularly vicious fight with a group of gangers-why the hell the Neps couldn't sort out a simple domestic he didn't know. ("I thought this was supposed to be a place to relax.") He grumbled in Valhallan, attempting to make himself heard over the 'music' as he set the mug down. A few of the patrons were starting to get a little rowdy, but nothing that really warranted his attention as of yet. ("At least the food is decent.") The meal was a surprisingly delicious meat patty of some sort-no Thurok, but good nonethless.
 
("There is that,") Michelle responded, considering her drink very carefully. The smell alone was almost enough to kill her appetite, but still, she persisted. She had, of course, left her body armor in the truck, leaving her in the bar in a simple black tee shirt and the pants common to the security Brigandine. ("This shit makes the way the cooks botched my ciders a mercy. I still hold the record for the biggest single drink of that crap.")

Her own plate of greasy wings called the name of her rumbling stomach as she stood, leaning against the booth to stretch her legs and begin eating. ("And you're not wrong. If this is what the locals call relaxing, give me one of the Grandmaster's 'dinner parties' or an extra duty night with Balruc's thuroks.")
 
Last edited:
("I remember when he set Freya to sleep on Garm.") The poor fool's shouting waking up to that had the whole barracks guffawing. Chuckling at the memory, he took another sip of the awful beer and attempted to kill the taste with a bite of the meat patty. The bread on it wasn't bad either. ("Screamed like a little girl if recall correctly.") One of his fellows replied, sipping his own beer. ("Aye, that he did.") One of the yeomen looked up a moment before gesturing with his mug. Looking to where he was pointing, the big man sighed; a rather large man was approaching with the floor practically shaking with his footsteps. ("Look alive lads.") Morris nodded to the fast-approaching individual. As he neared, Morris observed the man-didn't seem inebriated-either that or had the same tolerance he and Tacho did-his gait smooth and steady. As the man neared, the Yeoman Sergeant realized that the man was likely bigger than he was. More importantly, he was wearing the uniform of the DION-meaning if trouble broke out-they'd likely have to fight the whole bar.

Wonderful.

Resisting the urge to undo the strap on his holster, he watch as the idiot put on an exaggerated display, making sure to show off his muscles as he made to lean against the booth. "Hey babe," He said, looming over Michelle, likely misinterpreting her as some Nep floozie, "How's bout' you ditch these stiffs and come party with a real man." The entire table tensed as Morris gave a slight shake of his head to dissuade them from doing anything rash. Honestly? He was looking forward to hearing her response-serve him right for making assumptions.
 
Michelle looked the man up and down, giving a snort as her lips curled into a smirk. She twisted just enough to set her plate down, picking up the hefty tankard of bar slop to take a long swig. "Cute. You hear this, boys? He actually thinks I'd go for a sweet baby boy with mommy issues and a big truck to compensate for his steroids!"

Her laugh was sharp, venomous as it was laced with honey, her accent thick and provincial, reeking of her home as this soldier reeked of his booze. "Broski, I suggest you stop while you're ahead."
 
The entire group stood shock still for a moment, before breaking out into raucous laughter; the look on the man's face was priceless as his face changed from confused, to shocked, to furious as his face turned a particularly brilliant shade of purple. A few of the nearby patrons having overhead the comment joined in-elbowing as the pointed at the now thoroughly embarrassed soldier. "Daaaamnnn Man," One commented, a much smaller individual dressed in civilian clothes, as he knocked back a shot, shaking his head as he swallowed, "She just put you in the dirt, like from the stratosphere." To that the yeoman sergeant couldn't help but agree-he hadn't seen someone shot down like that since he'd first attempted to woo his wife some 20 years ago.

That had been embarrassing, to say the least.

He glared at the patron, who simply saluted as he poured another shot from his bottle and knocked it back. Turning back to Michelle as he took a steadying breath. 'Don't do it lad.' He thought as the man opened his mouth to speak again. "Come on now babe," He said in arguably at least to Morris was his smoothest voice-though it sounded like a gribbly mating call, "Don't be like that; I can show you some of the best party spots in Funky City." The guy tried once again to seem suave and sophisticated, giving a wag of his eyebrows and a sly grin.

'Diggin' his grave ever deeper this one is.' Morris thought as he shifted slightly-taking another sip of the cheap swill.
 
"Funny, I came here to relax," Michelle's voice shifted to a slight whiny gravel. "To pay for my own drinks, and celebrate with my brothers... But you seem to be intent on giving me dinner and a show."

She turned to lean against the booth, considering her options. "Following some mindless soldier grunt to some highly overrated... What did you call them? Best party spots? Or watching him crash and burn like the sad little drone he aspires to be, my options are quite clear."

She sipped her drink once more before that venom, the hate that could lance forth and gouge armor or peel paint slipped from her lips wreathed in a honeyed sweet that offered its sickly choking flavor to wash down the poison. She let her facial expression turned from simple amused distaste to some cold rage that offered an image of ancient, untamable chaos that burned within her, waiting to be unleashed. "Learn some respect. Bother someone else, tiny."
 
Last edited:
The soldier's face contorted with rage, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. He took a step closer, invading Michelle's personal space, his body language aggressive. "You think you can talk like that to me, little girl?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "I'll show you what a real man can do." Morris before the man could do something stupid moved with a surprising speed and interposed himself between the soldier and Michelle-Ancestor's bollocks the bastard was at least a good two heads taller than he was. Staring for a moment in disbelief that someone would dare challenge him-the man loomed over him likely expecting his size to intimidate the Yeoman Sergeant. The others were ready to jump him. Morris gave a subtle twitch of his hand to warn them off.

"That's enough lad." His voice, gravelly as it was, held a calm, steady tone-he saw another man almost as big walked up behind him, "Oh yea? And what if I say it ain't enough!" A hand was laid on his shoulder "Uh John?" The other said, causing him to turn and glare at his buddy, "You might wanna knock it off." He gestured behind him-the Barkeep was paying far too much attention to the scene they were making. "And let-"

"Lad," Morris interjected, his green eyes boring into him, "Listen to your friend." 'John' turned back to him. "You think I'm gonna just sit here and be insulted by some bitch and her little simps?" Morris listened to him, maintaining a cool look. "John...wasn't it?" The ID-SOL glared at him. "Yea, but that's sir to you!" He snarled-his friend wincing at his words. Sighing, the Yeoman Sergeant continued. "See lad, I don't how you Neplesilians do things, but back home we have this little thing called the Aletruce." That brought a confused look to both of their faces. "The hell is that-some kind of pussy-ass excuse for a bar crawl?" The big man's eye twitched, before continuing. "What it means is that places like this-" Morris gestured to the bar, "-are considered neutral territory-wars have ended and pacts struck in them." Morris's tone was calm and collected, talking in the same tone he took with his children when teaching them the knowledge they would one day need.

"And what the fuck does this have to do with this?" He snarled, invading Morris's personal space. Resisting the urge to clock the prick, he continued his voice hardening. "It means, boy" Morris explained, his tone combined with his harsh, but faint accent lending an edge to the trade language that others taking a step back, "That yer disturbin' the 'Truce."

'Take a hint boy, before this escalates any further.' Morris thought as the man stared him down-fists clenched and clearly ready to brawl...
 
Last edited:
"I mean... Yeah, he's fuckin' the truce pretty good." Michelle shurgged, her tone an amused level of smug. "Also. Not a bitch. You can ask the boys. Momma Mike always takes care of her boys. Morris, can I spank him?"
 
Morris resisted the urge to sigh at Michelle's question. John tensed, then with a roar of "FUCK YOUR ALETRUCE!"-his hands snapping upwards to shove Morris out of the way-right before the yeoman grabbed his arm and twisted savagely before bodily throwing him across the room-the man slammed into the wall leaving a fair sized dent and shaking the entire establishment before landing a heap. His friend made to swing. Having no time to fully dodge-Morris took the blow on the shoulder. Gritting his as pain lanced through his entire arm he sidestepped as the man made to throw up a follow-up punch...

The other yeomen stood, more than ready for a fight...
 
Morris didn't have time to throw that followup punch as Michelle casually stepped up onto his leg, launching herself with a tankard clenched in her fist. She rocked her hips back, guaging, assessing with that cold precision that allowed her to engage targets so much larger and more powerful than herself. Throwing her weight into a savage downward swing aimed for the ID-SOL's head, her body untwisting like a coiled spring to enhance her strength with a near inhuman speed. With a distinctly Valhallan battlecry, Michelle's relatively tiny frame delivered a glass shattering blow to the temple, the sheer savagery and rage carried through the man's skull, the thick, heavy glass shattering with the sheer force and speed.

She landed on her feet and lamented the spilled drink for a moment before she turned, just in time to see the supersoldier fall. "I spilled my drink..."
 
Last edited:
Status
Not open for further replies.
RPG-D RPGfix
Back
Top