Operations Are For Doctors [Oatara]

[Fromikeable]

At one point, there had been a little pub in a tiny settlement on a tiny planet in a tinier system in the tiniest little point in space. And at this little pub, among many a drunk a'drinking and many a being a'being, there was a gathering. And at this little gathering was a little collection; a rough and beautiful assortment of the finest underworldites and fringe that little section of the galaxy had ever seen. There were pirates, mercenaries, assassins, shoplifters, ship-boosters, smugglers, smoking-in-a-non-smoking-zone smokers, and even a few ex-Jedi. And at the head of that little pack had been, among others, a commander, who had been a smuggler, who had been a mechanic, who had been a soldier, who had been a mechanic again once before. And at that little point, that entire collection had made a pact, an agreement of sorts, on how they would live and who they would live beside.

Now, a time later, there was still a little pub in a tiny settlement called Waypoint on a tiny planet named Oatara in a tiny system that helped composed a portion of the galaxy called the Mid-Rim. The only difference aside from a new sign out front?

That commander could now add "drunk" to his list of occupations.

Horst Stellar couldn't believe he was back in this scenario again. For the... what was it now? Fourth time? Fifth? He was too buzzed to remember; anything beyond if his glass was empty (or rather his bottle as the day wore on into the twilight of evening) was beyond his capacity to fathom, let alone consider, let alone even identify.

In a word? He was hammered.

The bartender, a quiet Duro man, knew enough about drunks to leave him to his bottle unless he caused trouble. The other patrons followed a similar course; those of them that knew who he was either disliked him too much to care or cared too little to like him. The only concern was if he could pay for his drinks, and he'd walked in with a bag's worth of credits, so it was hardly a concern.

Funny. Those credits used to be things that could fly. Now they were floating him up to the clouds.

Spearpoint was gone. Horst had simply failed to run it. Administration had never been his strong suit, and even when people had helped him, he had lack the pure ability to actually organize people into a profitable enterprise. Horst wasn't a business man, and even if he was, his mind had enough to keep itself occupied with. His girlfriend's walking out, followed by his partner's, followed a good number of other folks as well. He couldn't say that he could blame them; there wasn't a whole lot to do after that.

So... he'd given up. For the first time, Horst Stellar had thrown in the towel. He'd fought to keep it alive. He really had. He'd tried to learn as much as he could. He'd organized raids, stayed up at night to fix the ships himself, burned through the morning hours helping with training, and all but forgotten the concept of sleep. The bags under his eyes were deep and dark, and combined with his matted hair, reek of machinery and grease, small beard grown from his unshaven stubble, and slump (which was hard to miss in a man his size), it was evident that he was practically tempting death to try and knock him down.

And so he'd given up. He'd sold the ships and guns, imploded the facility (and done a good job of it too; he was almost as good at demolition as he was repair) to keep any and all records of Spearpoint from the Empire, and divided the cash among whoever had been stupid enough to stick around; 30,000 credits thereabouts for every man, woman, and scoundrel. Aside from the ship him and the LeFro'a triplets had built with their own eight hands and a bag full of 100-credit bars, all he had was the next bottle of whiskey and the biggest blow to his pride, his heart, and his drive since Geog had died.

Maybe even a little bigger.

[Ash]

Oh how Spearpoint and its once members have fallen, spreading out before the galaxy. People who have been with Spearpoint from the beginning have left her to die, including her once leader.

Many people fallowed, until there were but a few left, and the faction was but as shell of its former self. Eventually that collapsed in on itself. By then, Bit was a ways away.

Bit wasn't among the first to leave, but he wasn't the last. When he figured that Spearpoint wouldn't be able to bring him any profit, he took his ship and left, (after taking a few people, some arms, and some armor for the road. They wouldn't be missed, especially now.

So why did Bit come back to the planet, and the bar he, and a good chunk of Spearpoint, usually frequented? It wasn't that he missed the joint, its just he felt that he should come back, but he wasn't alone on this trip.

Walking next to him was an unlikely ally he discovered during his extended time with Spearpoint. He was a man who had said nothing of his history, and was pretty much sold to Spearpoint for lengths of time, only to be randomly taken away for an assassination mission.

So Bit and that man, Phantom, walked into the bar. Not surprisingly, he didn't recognize most of the people here, save one large back. Phantom split and went for the bar, where he usually sat, leaving Bit to do what he wanted. Perhaps that was for the better as Bit went to the large man known as Horst. He unzipped his black jacket as he did so.

You need to get out more, big guy. Just because Spearpoint is over doesn't mean you should be, either.

[Squee]

((I pretty much just ran a scan through SWU to dig up what I could of Oatara. If my info is wrong, lemme know. Lol and I'll come back through and edit it. It was really just the concept that's important anyway.))



This is certainly my fault, thought Calith as he walked through the capital city of Oatara. It wasn’t too large of a place. There were only so many places Kendall could be, right? Where did pilots and part time smugglers go to hang out? Calith was unfamiliar what people would do or where they would go when their romantic advancements were turned down. Of course, he’d been offered intimate engagements, but he rarely encountered someone with a true romantic interest in his person. Even rarer were the times that Calith had known said person for several months. The pain that had been on Kendall’s face had been so tangible. It had broken Calith’s heart to break his friend’s.

For a couple of months now, Calith had witnessed Kendall’s growing attraction. The Lorrdian man saw it in the light pink blush and from the special glitter in emerald eyes. The consistent smiling. The difference in vocal tone used around others versus when speaking to Calith alone. Body language said everything and never lied.

Calith had been wary of the sudden spike increase of attraction before Kendall had tried to kiss him while watching the jungle’s bioluminescence light show off the bow of a tour boat. Kendall had paid for the experience. I am so, so sorry. Had Calith had known Kendall was going to make a move, he would have paid his own expense. For all the benefits of reading other people, Calith could only predict what people would do just before they acted.

Bars… heart broken people go to bars, yes? Especially smugglers and pilots. At least… that’s what all the stories say. Upon entry, Calith realized the color scheme of his clothing was very bright compared to the interior lighting of the establishment. The effeminate man had worn a sunny yellow today. A brief moment of embarrassment passed through Calith, though his passive expression only hinted his discomfort. He had to find Kendall. They had to return to Aiaru with his accumulated knowledge about the jungle’s medicinal plants.

Table by table, a person here and person there, a light touch to get attention or a glance to know to avoid, Calith began his rounds. “Have you seen my friend?” he asked, following his question with a description of Kendall. Only once or twice did Calith ever feel the urge to subtly reach around his waist and touch his staff for a bit of comfort. Some of the more roguish or more drunken individuals did make him nervous. Yet all answered no or never to seeing Kendall; Calith could feel his worry and stress begin to pound in the vein nestled against his temple. Or was that from a lack of etherium? How long had it been?

There were two more men yet, by the bar. One was slouched and appeared disheveled enough that Calith would usually take pains to avoid the poor soul and leave him to his drink. However, beside him seemed a man who hadn’t unnecessarily filled himself to a dangerous level of intoxication. It would be worth the risk of the larger man if the smaller one beside him knew anything. But, who knew, perhaps the bigger one knew something too.

The vibrant gemstones hanging from his robes clinked softly against the silver metalwork knots. He ignored the tug on his robes from one individual as he walked by her seat, though Calith heard her little whistle. For Mythos’ sake…

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Calith pardoned, a pleasant smile drawn over his lips. “I have misplaced a friend of mine and wondered if you had seen him. He has this shock of dark brown hair, green eyes, a scar across his eyebrow and about… mmm… yeh so tall in height. Last time I saw him, his was wearing a dark blue longsleeve and tan-ish colored bottoms. He goes by Kendall Hendre and sometimes he likes to tell tall stories. Was he in here by chance?”

[Fromikeable]

Another long swig from a nice, tall bottle of Corellian whiskey was interrupted by some kind of mumbling emanating in Horst's eardrum. Not bothering to put down the bottle on it's account, the ex-soldier finished his swig in full before lightly slamming the bottle down on the counter, taking in a bit of air before lazily turning his head. It took his eyes a second to focus on the form standing behind him, but between that signature face and that posture, all he could do was grunt with a minimal amount of surprise. "Tha' frak you care Bit? I ain't over; I'm drunk."

Between the slight slur of his words and the general lazy tone he adopted, the second part was very clearly true. To pile on top of that, he looked a sight; grease on his clothes, a very beaten leather jacket with his old Rancor patch clearly displayed on his shoulder, his shirt untucked, his jeans worn and frazzled at the ends. Even his boots were beaten and muddy, and his hair looked to be two steps away from a birds nest. Earlier that day, in fact, he'd been wrestling with machinery. Now he was wrestling with the aftermath.

But, nevertheless, Bit was here for some reason, and at the moment Horst wasn't willing to accept any sort of sentimental or even practical excuse. "Hells' 'r you doin' here anyway? Wired yer' 30 grand coupla' days ago." He wiggled his bottle, the slooshing of the liquid within making him grin sheepishly, almost tauntingly. He was drunk enough not to be sober, but not quite drunk enough to be withdrawn and angry.

At least, not yet. Horst considered offering up a drink to his former comrade, but quickly decided that it'd do more good in his mouth. So he took another long swig, glaring around behind Bit.

That's when the glowstick showed up, or at least, he looked like a glowstick to Horst in those bright yellow robes. Had he been sober, Horst might've thought he looked like some door-to-door missionary there to preach to them all about the horrors of drinking and ask them to some temple. But with the beer goggles on (or whiskey goggles, as the case stood), he looked like a giant walking glowstick, bouncing the lights of the room off himself in a slightly nauseating display of vibrant color. When the guy asked Bit very politely if they'd seen someone he seemed to have misplaced, Horst couldn't help but interrupt his drinking and butt in rather brazenly and carelessly.

"S'matter Glowy? Lost yer' boyfriend?" As it was with most people that the Corellian met, this man's name, now and forever, regardless of whatever it actually was, was Glowy.

[Squee]

“Glowy?” Calith supposed it was appropriate. No doubt the man was drunk, though Calith never assumed anything by speech alone. Smell, however, suggested the man had been drinking. What concluded Calith’s assessment that the man was drunk was the blood-shot, watery eyes. “I apologize if my garb hurts your eyes, sir; I wasn’t planning on entering dim bars and disturbing people at their drink today.” Even though I don’t have any robes less bright.

“Kendall is not my boyfriend,” Calith answered nicely. Mythos, my head hurts. “Contrary to that, actually, and all my fault. You see, that’s why I’m looking for him. He left me last night after we got back on the dock, the, uh… over where they give the tours of the jungle from the water? At night? He left saying he would return this morning, but he wasn’t in his room when I checked. His bed hadn’t been slept in. He didn’t return by midday, either. I’ve been searching for him since.”

Worry stirred in Calith’s heart once again, and the pleasant expression he consciously maintained dropped to something more neutral. I want to cry. More and more, it looked as if Kendall might have abandoned him. Part of the man was afraid of returning to Kendall’s ship and finding it gone.

The Lorrdian man’s tone continued on with a heartbreaking tremor. “I never like to assume, sir, but I would say you have been here a while, judging by the way you speak and the way you look. I would be grateful for anything you might know, because Kendall is a good man. I worry for him. As I said, he does like to tell unbelievable stories and might have gotten annoying. He does do that sometimes…”

Calith rubbed his temple and sighed. He was blabbering on to someone who was only going to tell him they hadn’t seen Kendall and the pain in his head was growing at an exponential rate. It’s the etherium. It has to have been long enough. No wonder Calith was feeling less like himself; he was less connected to the Mythos. I need it soon. Very, very soon, or the shadows of my mind will consume me. A shadow wavered across the back of the large man, startling Calith enough his trinkets jingled before he realized it had belonged to a walking patron.

[Fromikeable]

"Yeah, Glowy." Horst lifted his hand holding the bottle, extending his index finger lazily to pointt up and down this interloper's garb. Wherever he was from, his outfit was either hilarious or just down-right odd; the Corellian was a bit too buzzed to tell which yet. Even still he shot up another grin before taking another swig from the bottle. "Ya' look lika' friggin' worklight." And then came a short chuckle.

"Glowy" then went on to explain himself. Horst listened, amused enough to want to hear what he had to say, but drank and grinned all the while, feeling a bit of mirth and merriness wash over him. Was he happy? Hell no, but for the moment he was happily lit, problem-free, devoid of responsibility, and being entertained by someone straight out of the circus. Besides, if he didn't think of it like that, then he'd get pissed, and even in his distorted state he wasn't quite up to feeling combative yet.

"So Kernel over there ducked out on ya', huh? Know tha' feelin'." He grinned a little wider, shoving down the feelings behind that statement with a focus on his carelessness. True to his other habit with names (this one unintentional), he butchered the name of the man in question. "N' yeah, I been here fer' a good, long while. Where else'm I gonna' be?" The question was rhetorical, or at least it should have been, as he just kept drinking and talking rather than wait for an answer.

The request, however, made the Corellian actually buckle down and think for a moment. Doing his best to get past that swimming sensation he'd achieved in the last few hours, he did his best to think of anyone annoying that he'd seen as of late. Le's see... that Zeltron bastard... that other Zeltron bastard... er, wait... same guy? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh frak it, who else... It took him a good long minute of squints, hums, and additional sips, but eventually the Corellian started talking again, nodding slowly and tapping his chin (and missing a few times).

"Kinda' a chatty SOB? Some guy went ramblin' on fer a coupla' minutes 'bout, uh... can't friggin' remember... ridin' glow wolves? That 'er a shark." Horst shrugged, giving up his period of thinking and glancing over at Calith. To his subtle surprise, the man seemed a bit shaky. Rubbing his temples, the exasperated sigh, and even jumping at... well, nothing so far as Horst could tell, but then again he didn't put a whole lot of faith in his senses right now.

So, naturally, Horst decided that he would help him out. Reaching over the counter, the smuggler blindly grabbed under the wood for anything made of glass. Finding something, he clumsily slammed it onto the counter only to discover that it was a wine glass. Shrugging with apathy, the smuggler swirled his bottle of whiskey again before sloshing a bit of the firewater into the wine glass, sliding it in front of the stool to his left, and in a combination of patting said stool, pointing at Calith, and waving him toward the seat, grinned once more. "'Ere, somethin' ta' help ya' with those nerves. Drink it 'n I'll tell ya' more, deal?" After all, he could use a drinking buddy, or at least somebody to remind him which was up and which was down once he uncorked another bottle.

[Ash]

Bit wasn't paying much attention to the man who was wearing quite the outfit. He was thinking Phantom was dressed oddly for being in such a place, but this new guy certainly took the top spot from him in Bit's eyes.

The nickname that Horst decided to give him was great though: Glowy. It was something that was easy to remember for a drunken mind. Bit would have chosen, and still probably would be much easier to roll off the tongue.

And that was when this man went and told how his friend decided to leave him sometime in the middle of the night. Seriously, it sounded like some sad lovers tale, and the man even looked as if he was going to start bawling his eyes out any moment.

Bit pulled himself a chair, sitting down at the same table as Horst, and stole himself a bit of the larger man's drink. That went right down into his gullet quite quickly.

Bit went to say something before the larger man at his side spoke up again, telling a short ballad about someone he spoke to not that long ago. Bit stole himself some more drink during this time, before pointing a finger at the vibrant man.

"When he's done with his little story, and you've finished your drink, then i'll be the nice, grown up man and help ya find your not-boyfriend. Sounds good?

You know, we don't really have the time to go on and find some lost kid.

Bit turned around with a slight startle to see his companion, Phantom, standing behind him, arms folded across his chest. Bit grinned and got himself some more of the drink.

Sure we do. After all, you cant leave here without me, and if you do, there goes my help. Perhaps I'll stay here and drink with my old buddy and have you help out Mr. Sparkles over there.

Bit grinned his usual, toothy grin, already feeling the first affects of the alcohol. Phantom, however, was not amused in the slightest. He simply closed his eyes, shook his head slightly, and sighed.

[Squee]

"'Ere, somethin' ta' help ya' with those nerves.

Calith returned his gaze to the large man after scanning the bar for the next person he would question. He held out his hand, palm facing toward him. “I really don’t need-“

“Drink it 'n I'll tell ya' more, deal?"

“Okay.” More out of muscle memory than anything, he pulled his sleek staff from his back and twirled it upright before leaning it against the counter. A deep throb echoed across his temples as Calith sat on the stool beside the drunken man. I need etherium, not what this man is offering. What did he offer me?

Calith grasped the wine glass by its stem and slid it in front of him, its contents sloshing with the motion. He tilted the glass a couple of times, watching the liquid, before glancing at the other two men. They were drinking it easily enough.

"When he's done with his little story, and you've finished your drink, then i'll be the nice, grown up man and help ya find your not-boyfriend. Sounds good?”

“If you like. If you’re looking for compensation, I don’t have much by way of it. Might want to rethink then.” Calith lifted the wine glass and took a drink of the unknown liquid.

And instantly choked. Calith felt some of the drink manage down, leaving a burning trail, while he embarrassingly dribbled remnants back over the lip of his glass. “What – huh! – in Mythos’ name!” He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth repeatedly, taken aback by the spicy flavor. “Why didn’t… didn’t – huh! – don’t you just put fire in this glass? No need to trick me, sir! Ack!” Calith rubbed his lips with his thumb as they started to burn slightly.

Though he couldn’t decide whether it was just as bad or worse than the first time he’d snorted etherium rather than smoked it. Of that… Calith wondered how appropriate it would be to light a portion of it. Just to mitigate and slow down the withdrawal. He slid his hand to where he kept a small pouch of it in his robes and pulled it out to roll it between his fingers. “You said something about a man chattering about glow sharks?”

[Fromikeable]

Watching from the corner of his eye, Horst cared little when Bit offered to help Glowy find his companion. He hadn't been planning to deny him that in the first place, though to be fair, it would probably go a little smoother with Bit on the job too; Horst wasn't entirely sure that he could walk straight, let alone actively and systematically search for a missing person.

But all that noise ended with a spit-take as the Corellian watched this man, this strange individual, choke on the whiskey he was given. Said spit-take was followed by a giant snort of laughter, then another, then a dozen more, and soon Horst laughing, chuckling, coughing, and all together hysterically exuding amusement. His fists hammered on the counter as his face was flushed red with blood, soon finding himself unable to breathe or make any sort of thought, drunken or non. The only thing that made his laughter start to die down was a crushing demand from his lungs for oxygen, which was answered just before the walking glowstick made his comment, condemning them both for disguising fire in a glass. That summoned forth a few more chuckles before Horst could finally sit up, wiping a couple tears of laughter from his face, which was practically scarlet with giddiness.

"Glowy, pal, lemmie tell ya'... oooo-hoo-hoo..." He hooted off a few last laughs, grinning wildly. He hadn't laughed that hard since before he deserted. "Fire ain't got tha' same kinda' kick this stuff's got." He slid the bottle down, pointing to the label with a slightly wobbly finger. "Corellian whiskey. Anythin' else's water 'n Bantha piss." Proving his point, he gulped down whatever drops were left in his own glass before sniffling, enjoying the warm feeling in his throat, his gut, and his head.

Calith, meanwhile, began fidgeting with something inside his robes. Horst couldn't see what exactly, but in the course of thinking about it, a small battle broke out between his inebriation and his instinct. On the one hand, that old training instinct warned him about a gun under the robes; a weapon of some kind, at least. On the other hand, the whiskey told him that he was being paranoid and up-tight; relax! Sniffling his nose a few times and remembering his own words, Horst decided to agree with the whiskey; his life wasn't that worth preserving anyway. He cleared his throat (rather loudly) before continuing. "B'yeah, uh... all else I remember's somethin' he said 'bout tha' docks. Went BSin' on 'bout how his boat was only in fer' a day, I think... ahhh, wha'd he say?" He tapped his chin, trying to remember. The laughter, while maybe not the most effective method, had helped wake him up a little and clear his head.

"Ohhhhhhhhh yeah. 'Tha' Great Hunt'. Was gonna' bag thirty sharks by tha' end of tha' cycle." That earned a few more hearty chuckles. "'Tween you 'n me, he left headed in tha' wrong friggin' direction. Dolt's probably by tha' spaceport by now sprayin' some other kinda' crap."

[Ash]

Im done here

Phantom was gone quickly, leaving through the door as quietly as his title's-sake. He drew no attention to himself as he did, and all he knew was that he wanted to get out and away from the drunks and the flashy kid.

Bit, meanwhile, didn't even bother looking back at his companion. Or at least, he didn't really seem to notice that the sober man had left. Bit did, however, steal himself more drink.

And more followed that as he watched as the brightly dressed person tried some of the whiskey. Bit nearly lost his mouthful of whiskey as the brightly clad barely managed to swallow a little of the liquid, and let the rest dribble back into his glass.

As soon as he was able to, he swallowed his drink, and joined Horst in a nice laugh. He managed to recover before the larger man. He had a giant grin on his face as he drew out a small metal box, and drew out a cigarette from it, lighting it with a lighter from the same box, and then he put the box back into his jacket pocket, taking a drag from the cigarette as he did so.

I thin you're too drunk to retell a story, bud... Better have another drink.

[Squee]

The whiskey’s taste lingered on Calith’s tongue, just to spite him, it seemed. He was still rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth as the big man beside him talked about the Corellian whiskey. Well… your whiskey tastes like bantha piss… Calith didn’t want to offend the man by saying so, though. No, the man had meant well when he’d poured his drink to share. A friendly gesture, with no intention to embarrass.

It was just not what Calith needed to “calm his nerves”.

“The Great Hunt?” Calith echoed as he pulled out his pouch of etherium from his robes. A smooth, blue-ish white silken pouch which contained on of the most important necessities of a Mythics life. He could feel the dust shift beneath his thumb and fingers as he pinched and rolled the pouch. He combated with his desire to tilt a little onto his palm and lifting it to his nose to inhale. All signs of his increasingly agonizing headache would quickly cease, his increasing fogginess would shift into enlightened clarity, and the shadows… they would become less distressing.

“...too drunk to retell a story, bud… Better have another drink.”

“Too drunk and to drink more?” Calith didn’t see the logic in it. That would only make someone drunker. A cringe-worthy pulse racked across the forefront of Calith’s head, outwardly manifesting itself in the way Calith gripped his pouch suddenly, rapidly. After it curled off slightly, Calith gestured to the bartender, setting his cup to the side for the duro man to collect. When asked if he wanted something else, Calith politely turned down the offer.

“To the spaceport I go, then. Perhaps my friend did return to his ship in lieu of comfort.” Earlier, walking to the spaceport would have been a long trek. Calith had cut the distance in half since he’d started searching for Kendall. “Thank you for your… fire in a cup. If you have nothing else to suggest where I continue looking, then… I suppose I’ll be on my way.” He wrapped his hand around the smooth body of his staff and slid off his barstool. He clutched his pouch of etherium tightly as an urge to exit the bar tugged at him insistently.