Where everybody knows your name

[Dire Wolf]

A short glass slammed against the table with only a thin fluorescent film of the liquid that was once within on its clear surface. Then another. Then one more hit the table with not a drop of its brilliant red liquid within. The man who gulped them down was a large one with a sleeve of ink etched into either arm and his eyes closed. A deep exhale quickly followed the cinnamon flavored shots and he surveyed the multitude of empty glasses that weren't there with a frown. They soon would be.

Marcus Davion tapped the bar a few times before a rather cute blonde girl walked up with a wide smile on her face. To say that he was a regular was an understatement, and to say that he didn't tip well could have been considered slander. "What'll it be, Marc," she asked. They had this nearly down to a script, "you know, the usual. Rum with a little bit of 'forget my life' mixed in. Shaken, on the rocks. Actually, give me a few more of those cinnamon shots, too. " The cute little blonde beamed a grin at him and walked off towards the other end of the bar to begin serving up his drinks after that.

Marc, of course, watched her walk down to the bar before he took a quick look around. The Cantina was a nice enough establishment. The lighting was just right, the place smelled great, and the proper amount of random things were strewn about the wall. While the people inside weren't exactly as friendly as the cast of an older holovision sitcom set in a bar, they were nice enough people. The Tilted Kama may as well have been his second home.

Moments later his drinks arrived, and with them a little grin on his face. Drinking was largely considered a problem by some people in the galaxy. Marcus called that ridiculous. He didn't have a drinking problem: he had a drinking solution.

[Kella]

The man looked at Grizz over a bad hand and a haphazard pyramid of empty glasses. He swayed ever so slightly. The three other seats at the table were empty, their recent occupants having stumbled off in resignation or fallen to the floor. The man sneered and finally laid down his hand. In that moment, Grizzelda considered her life choices. It was a terrible decision to drink only because you were bored. So she got around that logic by instigating a drinking game. This particular one was a variation on poker. The mechanics were usual, but instead of the pot going to the winner of each round, the losers had the chance to buy into another round by drinking a glass of scotch. Last man standing got the pot. Or woman.

Grizzelda rolled her eyes and laid down her hand. The man spit on the table. "Fuggin' schutta! Another round," he slurred, with some difficulty, as he poured and downed a glass. Ten seconds later it downed him.

One of the bartenders stepped up behind her. "Nice haul?" he said, stepping over the bodies to gather the rest of the empty glasses.

"Nix, I'm not even tipsy yet, this is depressing," she said, and he laughed. "Winning is boring. And sober."

"I know someone who might give you a run for your money."

"Yeah, who's that?"

Nix tipped a thumb over his shoulder, and Grizzelda turned to look. "Marcus!" she exclaimed, "How'd you sneak in here?" She turned back to Nix to say, "This was a wonderful idea," and then back to Marcus, "Wanna play some poker?"

[Dire Wolf]

Marcus had been half way through his bourbon when a familiar voice called to him from the other side of the bar. He had been far too absorbed in his own little world of private thoughts and musings to notice her before, but he could never forget that voice. Why, you ask? The first time he heard it, the man wound up passed out on his bike and in the middle of a field. Late for work.

Oh yeah, and then the next time he heard it he wound up with a daughter losing her mind over a bunch of kath pups. One of them, a male, had been named Princess. He quickly regretted allowing her to call them whatever she wanted. Princess, Sasha, Mimsy, and Buttercup all had a loving home now, and yes... Sasha was a male.

The man slowly rose up and lumbered over to the poker table, drinks in hand and a little smirk worn on that rugged face of his. "I was a ninja at one point. I used the ancient art of, 'walking in through the front door.' But yeah, I'll play. Just don't take my bike," that smirk turned into a little smile, "again." With that, the man sat down at the poker table and waited to be dealt a hand.

"I hope you don't mind buying the next few rounds, Grizz." Marcus had spent a lot of down time doing nothing but playing cards with his friends during the military. He could use some sobering up, though, not to mention money: his daughter's birthday was coming up within the next few months.