Why Is the Rum Gone? [Vandros, Agent of Greystone]

[Mara]

(((A -link- to Pak's ship, for FYI...)))


[...from The Hangover]

There was a hydraulic hiss as the ship settled on its landing struts in its designated berth. The cooling engines ticked quietly to themselves. Swathed in dark red paint, the new arrival vividly stood out among most of all the other freighters, in various drab hues of white and gray. Not only that, but this ship was all angles, its bow coming to a point and its stern flaring out behind it. It somewhat resembled an arrowhead from a long-forgotten people in a long-forgotten era.

The quiet buzzing throughout the capital city of Ankhela's busiest spaceport as various beings, mostly Iktotchi, went around their business was rudely interrupted when the ramp of the crimson ship descended. In short order, a cascade of empty bottles rolled down with an angry clatter, a few of them shattering into glass oblivion. Their journey was accompanied by muffled swearing and cursing coming from within the opening above. A particularly loud and explicit oath was yelled as one last receptacle for alcohol arced through the air as if kicked and shot across the docking bays.

All this commotion was being caused by a Balosar who was currently experiencing the repercussions of a very poorly executed night out on nearby Prazhi. Just that morning, he had woken stiff and cramped in a corner of his galley, clad only in his shorts and surrounded by empty bottles of rum and a used deathstick capsule.  He had no memory of what had happened the previous night to have brought him to such lows. Though a consummate drunk, he had given up the dangerous hallucinogens upon entering the military.

As his head had continued to pound in an unforgiving manner, he had slowly crawled his way out of the ship's galley on his hands and knees and down towards the cockpit. Wanting to put as much space between him and whatever had gone down on Prazhi, he had reached up and punched coordinates into the navicomputer in a daze. The Balosar somehow had managed to take off from the landing pad, make atmosphere, and enter hyperspace; well-practiced motions of a pilot clicking in and overcoming his withdrawal symptoms made worse by a hangover. Then he had promptly fell into a fitful sleep, body shaking with its pleadings for more of the drug.

Warning klaxons had pulled him from his restless doze several hours later. Rubbing his red eyes, he had taken a few minutes to look over his console and to try to remember what he was supposed to be doing. But eventually his instincts had kicked in, and he had switched over to sublight in order to bring his ship in to the planet showing in his viewscreen. It was an unfamiliar rocky sight, and it wasn't until he had thought to double-check the navicomputer and heard Ankhela Control hailing him that he realized he had traveled to Iktotch instead of one of his more familiar hangouts in the Outer Rim. 

However, it was too late to change destinations now. Besides, the Balosar was barely hanging on to his senses as it was, his body thrumming for deathsticks, and his head aching for alcohol. In addition to all his physical problems, he was beginning to remember the emotional pain that he had been constantly drinking to keep at bay. The beautiful face of a red-headed Miraluka he had known in the past haunting him as he struggled to land his ship in one piece. Never having been one for romantic attachments, preferring flings without strings, he had nonetheless fallen for the woman, now listed as MIA. Her loss had surprisingly hit him hard, causing him to resign his commission and set out for the outer reaches of the galaxy.

Needing to silence the images as well as the cries for more deathsticks, he had scoured every inch of his ship the Crimson Requiem for any alcohol he may had had on board. Recently he had taken to the blessed smoothness of rum from Ryloth, buying a few cases whenever he made port. Though he generally wiled away time drinking in cantinas, it was always nice to have a few for downtime on his ship. But as he had looked, he had come across bottle after empty bottle of rum, dozens of them, along with other liquors and spirits, also drained away. Realization had hit him: his ship was completely dry, and he, Pak Har'endanno was utterly sober.

In a rage, he had gathered up all the carnage  of empty bottles and tossed them down the ramp, not caring if he disturbed the peace or littered all over the place. His anguish was unbearable; his malfunctioning antennapalps not helping matters. Afterwards, he sat down heavily just beyond the top of the ramp, and his head fell into his hands, fingers digging into his mop of brown hair. Pak was  mentally assaulted with snippets of his brief encounters with Shenhua as well as was bodily attacked with the occasional tremors. If only he could stumble his way to the nearest cantina and begin to repair the damage, but he was unable to move for the time being. A single tear squeezed past his hand and slid down his cheek. Everything had he been trying so hard to avoid was now out in full force.

 

[Vandros]

Vandros Kamdin
Location: Ankhela Spaceport, Iktotch, Delivering cargo

A loud yawn escaped from the pilot of the freigher-class vessel as his ship pulled into dock at the busy spaceport, the automatic landing sequence engaging and bringing the ship to a gentle halt on its landing struts as it settled into the hangar. After the gentle rocking of the ship, the dark-haired man stood from his seat and stretched - it had been quite the long trip, at least a week, and he was ready to get this cargo unloaded and unwind at the nearest cantina. Maybe he'd actually find someone to drink with this time around.

With that thought, Vandros grabbed the duster coat from the back of his captain's chair and slid it on over his shoulders, then followed that by grabbing his blaster belt and securing it around his waist, pulling it tight. He reached into his coat and retrieved the datapad that resided inside, looking down at it and reading over the details of the delivery as he began making his way toward the boarding ramp of the vessel.

With a hiss, the ramp lowered and settled onto the steel floor of the spaceport, and soon Vandros descended the incline and set foot into the large facility. He was almost immediately met by his client's unloaders, whom he directed toward the exterior of the cargo bay so they could begin unloading the freight for this delivery. He hummed a small tune to himself as they did so. It wasn't very much, so they only needed to make a couple of trips, and upon finishing Vandros had one of them sign the datapad to verify the delivery had been made and the credits could be transferred to his account.

With that done, he closed down the datapad and slipped it into his coat, then turned on his heel to begin making his way toward the nearest cantina. Or he would have, except that a person sitting on their boarding ramp with their head buried in their hands caught his attention, causing one of his dark eyebrows to raise curiously. With a hum, Vandros turned again and made his way over to the Balosar, clearing his throat before speaking. "Down on yer luck there, frien'?" he asked curiously, shuffling on his feet for a moment afterward, as he waited for the man's answer.

[Agent of Greystone]

If Carthus Okeer had owned another pair or large, rough hands, they would be buried deep into the pockets of his robes right now. At the moment they were busy carrying a long, thin package along with the rest of his body. The rest, besides his legs and feet, which were trudging down the isle of the docking bay. His head hung dejectedly, he grumbled to himself about as angrily as the large timid man had ever been, which was not very.

"Those men didn't know anything about pugilism. They were just throwing haymakers randomly like...like animals!"

As the people around him made stared and backed away from him, Carthus shrank back to his usual quiet self like a child who has been scolded by it's parent. He had come to Iktotch hoping to study the native species in hand-to-hand combat scenarios, Iktotchi having hands and fingers which were on average wider than other species in comparison to the rest of their bodies. He had entered into a local arena hoping to find some stiff competition, but unfortunately all he found was drunks with little-to-no real combat experience, who were easily bested with little effort. As a reward Carthus had received a moderate sum of credits and this mysterious container that made a slight tinkling noise as it shook in Carthus' arms.

With nothing left for him here Carthus was leaving the planet in much shorter time than he had originally planned on. The shuttle he was supposed to be leaving on would not arrive for another two weeks, yet he did not have the capitol to room on the planet and pay his way out in that amount of time, and he would be damned if he would lower himself by bringing his skills back to that worthless arena one more night. As he made his way down the row of freighters on the dock he would approach and call up the ramps and sheepishly ask for passage from the people of varying races inside. They either shook their heads no, wide-eyed at the intimidating figure, or quickly shoot down his timid offers of compensation.

Running out of options, he was forced to make his way down to the last ship in the row, the latest arrival to the bay. There were two men there, one sitting on the ramp to his ship, the other standing nearby. It appeared they were attempting to begin a conversation so Carthus, not wanting to interrupt, hung back and waited for a break to jump in.

[Mara]

Pak was shivering, sitting there in his hatch, legs splayed out down the ramp, head bent forward. In all the rampant chaos of the previous several hours, he hadn't yet managed to drag his body to his cabin and dress himself. And so he was still wearing just his thin gray shorts, the rest of his skin bared to the cool air of the spaceport. Adrenaline had kept him warm all that time, as he had navigated his ship in a dazed stupor and then later, had rushed around, looking for something alcoholic to drink away the pain that was surfacing. However, the temporary insulation was now inevitably ebbing away.

As well, the memories were assaulting him full-force, and his body shook with sobs. Images of the beautiful red-headed Miraluka always there, in front of his eyelids and behind them. His fingers dug into his head, past his thick head of brown hair, trying to push it away. But they were always there. Her laugh, her smile, the look of deep concentration she got while flying a starfighter. Everything that had caused the laid-back roguish Balosar to stumble head over heels for the woman. A woman he had lost before getting the chance to do anything about his inclinations. Drinking had been the only release, and now that door was closed to him.

He was so tormented that he couldn't even think of what his next step was. The logical answer would be to go back into the Requiem and be alone with his demons. Or to somehow work up enough strength to go find a cantina and get ragingly drunk so that he could operate properly again. Most beings got worse when they took in alcohol, but Pak was a highly functioning drunk; without the blessed liquor, he fell apart. It kept him sane and able to go about his day like a normal being. A drunken state was his normal, and his current situation was an aberration.

So it was kind of surprising that the voice coming up to him from the ground had penetrated his darkened fog. Pak blinked, wondering first if he had imagined it, but then the words were repeated, more clearly. Slowly, he lifted his tear-stained and reddened face and sat up. The Balosar dropped his hands, leaving his hair even more unruly than usual, sticking up every which way; his antennapalps drooped, so affected by the state of his mind that they hadn't alerted him to this new presence. A presence which swam into focus as a human male. Summoning all the wit he could manage in his half-aware condition, he ground out a guttural "Bugger. Off." before drawing up his knees and hugging his arms around them, dropping his head to rest on top.

[Agent of Greystone]

Even from a distance, Carthus could tell that the humanoid was obviously in a great state of anguish. He body was constricting around itself tighter and tighter with each passing moment, as if the man wished to somehow transform himself into a black hole and implode into himself. Another human had approached the man but no sooner departed with a shrug, obviously having been turned away. The large Jedi was thinking of walking away as well, he was bad with people normally, how is he supposed to deal with a person in that state? But the nagging thought of escape from this world kept him steadfast. This man may offer him a way out, and he would feel much the fool if he were forced to return to working in that amateur arena again. No! He thought to himself, I have money, and I have materials to trade. Surely he can be reasonable. Managing to convince himself to give it a go, he approached the ship and it's sobbing captain.

His shadow slowly overtook the man, and soon he loomed over him, his stare blank and void of emotion like a stone carving. This aura of danger and intimidation persisted around him despite the cute package in his arms, until he actually began to speak. Uh, well, uhm. Sir? A-are you alright?" He asked awkwardly. He took another step towards the man, but then reconsidered that he might be too close for comfort, and so took a step back, all the while his head was down and his vision would only hover on the man for a split second before returning to the earth beneath him.

"Uhm I mean, uh...well I was just wondering...see I have a place I need to be and uhm, well none of the other ships will agree to take me. And the shuttle doesn't arrive for two weeks so..."

He paced back and forth nervously as he spoke, the package now was held under one arm, and his hands were clenched behind his back. "I, uh, I know this might be a bad time for you," He said, skillfully stating the obvious. But I can pay you well for your services. I have credits or interesting items to trade, and...and I have this!" He held out the package that he had won from the arena earlier, it tinkled with a slight liquid-y sound as he moved it.
"W-what say you?"

[Mara]

The pain was unbearable. More than unbearable. It was a deep empty ache, a desperate yearning, that had left him all but crippled. A beautiful face he could have loved but never had been given the chance to haunted his mind, pinched his heart. After-effects of a drunken decision to buy some deathsticks ravaged his body as it called out for something he could not give it. Everything had come at him at once, and it was overwhelming him completely, to the point that he wondered if going on living was something he still wanted. Anything had to be better than this.

Deep within his misery, it took him several seconds until he realized someone was talking to him. Maybe the human he had told to go frack himself hadn't gotten the hint. But the voice was different, more hesitant, shy. Was everyone in this spaceport so utterly unintelligent they could not see the Balosar was not even close to pleasant company right now? Perhaps it had been a poor decision to perch inside his hatch at the top of his ship's ramp, but he just hadn't been able to move any further after expending all his energy chucking the empty bottles out of the Requiem. And so the parade of dumbasses in front of him had persisted.

Slowly, he lifted his head off of his knees. He glanced down at a tall human-like man who was standing there with a package in his arms. Pak hardened his gaze, trying a hard stare, glaring at the being who dared interrupt him, but his tired and misty eyes were incapable of anything except a weak squint. "Just fine and dandy," he mustered with as much sarcasm as he could manage in his current state. "Don't step in the broken glass," he added, his tone of voice saying the opposite: I hope you cut yourself open and bleed all over the duracrete.

Undeterred, the big humanoid continued on, stumbling over his words, explaining that he needed to get off-planet. And of all the crazy stories Pak could have heard, he was apparently being solicited for a job. The Balosar laid his head back down on his knees, this time sideways, looking away from the other man. It had been a miracle that he had even made it here to Iktotch on one piece. He was in no condition to be taking on hires, piloting them across the galaxy. Pak was hardly holding himself together right now, falling apart from every direction. There was no way he could function right now. Not even a billion credits could change that.

Still turned away, he told the guy as much. "Unless you have a death wish, you better move on. I'm not available right now." Pak didn't want to state the obvious; this bumbling giant had already done so, and ignored it, trying to hire him anyway. He lifted his hand in a shooing motion, willing this man to just leave him alone. Alone to figure out whether he still wanted to live. Or to work up enough strength to stumble over to find some booze in a nearby cantina. Anything to dull the pain that he was currently suffering through.

But then, a familiar noise sloshed in his ears. Could it really be? It was like a lullaby to him, the sound of alcohol moving around a glass vessel. Something he would recognize anywhere, anyplace. His personal soundtrack. And his saving grace, if his senses weren't deceiving him; the fog of his pain clouding everything. Pak straightened up once more and focused his light blue eyes on the big humanoid standing there near the bottom of his ramp, joyfully holding out his rectangular package.

He began to wonder if there was an ulterior reason for this man to have approached him. A case of too good to be true. Paranoia born of his deathstick withdrawal had blended in with his steep depression and anger brought on by his sobriety. So he concentrated hard, getting his antennapalps back to working order. It took a moment to shake off the cobwebs, but he eventually focused them on his immediate surroundings. The Basalor sensed no deception coming from this hopeful client, just hopeful naivete.

His whole body thrumming with the prospect of refueling, returning to normal, he found himself saying, "Explain yourself. Is that... alcohol?" trying and failing to keep the hopefulness from his own gaze. Pak could almost taste the sweet liquor that he had heard. However, despite his altered state, he still retained his instinctual caution, learned on the hard streets of his home planet. Only once he got more information could he decide his next move, and whether it was worth it. He would not get ahead of himself; this giant could just be a prankster, wanting to have some fun with a guy down on his luck. And if that was the case... the Balosar would gladly teach him a lesson.

[Agent of Greystone]

(Sorry I took so long. School and stuff )

At first the man had snapped and growled up at Carthus and waved him away with angry words and threats of bodily harm. Suddenly though, his tone changed in a heartbeat though when the large humanoid presented him with the package. Offers of credits this man had brushed aside, yet the offer of a mystery item had caused this man's eyes to bug and his opinion to completely reverse? Obviously this man was not very logical. Then again, seeing the sheer wealth of broken empty containers of liquor and drugs that this man had in his position, Carthus guessed that he wasn't exactly in the best way mentally at the moment. He wondered if this was going to be such a good idea, flying with a man in such a stupor, but then if he had managed to fly here after consuming all of these, one more bottle wasn't going to pose him any great challenge. Plus, hiring ships to taxi you across space always came with it's dangers, and Carthus would rather fly with a drunk then risk going down to the seedier population looking for aid.

Indeed, Carthus too had a good idea what was in the package, and he tore it open to reveal a bottle of the finest Corellian wine. The fact that it was alcohol was not surprising to Carthus, what was surprising was the high quality of item which he had won from a rather run-down fighting arena. It must have cost them quite a bit of money. Carthus held it away from a pair of grubby hands reaching for the alcohol weakly. Carthus looked down into the man's eyes, and he saw many things. Though in the Force Carthus was exceptionally untalented, especially in the aspects of the mind, this man's mental barrier was exceptionally weak. Carthus sensed an overabundance of the obvious pain and anguish, but underneath it like the yolk of an egg under a hard shell was love and a feeling that Carthus had trouble unearthing but it might be loss or betrayal...

Suddenly Carthus snapped out of it. He had been zoned out, staring into this man's eyes for an awkward amount of time, and the man had been growing even more impatient all of the while. He couldn't have helped it, it had been his first time really successfully sensing the thoughts of another, and the man was such a fascinating read, it was seldom that Carthus really took interest in the thoughts of another. Nonetheless he once again pulled away from the man, holding the bottle like a baby whom the pilot was trying to snatch up. "I will give you the bottle once we are on the ship and off of the planet." Carthus said in a surprisingly commanding tone, possibly still riding high off of the adrenaline from his usage of the Force. "Th-though it is against my b-b-better judgment-t." He sunk down again and looked away awkwardly. "Y-y-you're obviously g-going through a sp-spell. This might just make it w-worse."

[Mara]

Pak's mouth involuntarily turned up in a sneer once he saw what was inside the man's box, and he turned away. It was alcohol, yes, but it was also just a bottle of wine. Quite frankly, he would have preferred the weakness of ale. Or even water would have been better, honestly, in this situation. He sighed; it had been perhaps an empty hope that hidden inside the package would be something stronger, more palatable to the Balosar. Something that would snap him out of his state more quickly, instead of just lightly pat him on the back like wine would do.

However, he then slowly reasoned through his fog, he wasn't exactly in a position to be choosy, sitting here a mess on the top of his ramp, almost naked. What other option did he have at the moment? This was still alcohol, it was right in front of him, and this being was offering it to him in exchange for taking him off Iktotch. He still hadn't the presence of mind or the energy to get up and go find a cantina and reverse his sobriety; that task was still daunting. Pak wasn't one to pass up such an opportunity as this, and this weak dribble of wine was better than nothing, remaining here with his demons.

The Balosar lifted his head and looked back to the being standing before him. He nodded once, agreeing; he had been in worse scrapes, and any trouble this stranger might cause was dulled by the prospect of alcohol in his veins. "D-deal." Pak realized then that he was cold, freezing actually, and his stutter was in response to his shivering, not a mockery of his newest passenger. His adrenaline from his earlier exertions was no longer keeping him warm, having rapidly burned off, leaving him exposed. Yet another argument against wandering into town to find a bar to drink at. Attempting such a movement would likely have left him stumbling around and collapsing somewhere, all alone. Never achieving his goal.

With a lot of effort, he eventually heaved himself to his feet, his shaking arms making it a longer process than for someone with all their faculties. Pak wrapped his arms around his chest in a failed effort to warm himself. He tilted his head towards the open hatch behind. "Inside." Then the Balosar unsteadily turned around and went back inside his ship, jerkily going forward towards the cockpit. Ready to get this show on the road. Because the quicker he did what this man wanted, the quicker he could get the alcohol and start to feel at least a little bit normal again.
 

[Agent of Greystone]

It was a rather cringeworthy moment for Carthus, watching the man lift himself from his seat on the ramp. For a moment he thought he may have to catch the man should he fall, an idea that a socially awkward being such as himself certainly did not relish, for the physical exertion looked like it might do the man in. Alas he succeeded in rising and beckoned for Carthus to follow him before proceeding into his ship. The tall alien stood still for a moment, he was a little perplexed. He looked down at the bottle of wine in his hand and then back up at the ship, realizing that he hadn't really expected for this approach to succeed after so many previous failures, and wondering how desperate his new host must be that such a small item could persuade him to truck a stranger across a galaxy. He questioned how good of an idea this was for a moment, but decided that this was not about to let a golden opportunity such as this pass him by. Carefully he stepped over the mounds of broken bottles and made his way up the ramp and into the ship.

It was a two-pronged attack that struck Carthus as the atmosphere of the planet behind him receded and the humid and musty atmosphere of the ship engulfed him, and the hatch closed behind him trapping him in this uncomfortable space. It felt less like he had just entered into a moving vehicle and more like he had just been swallowed by some great beast. Around him were strewn many a personal items that certainly belonged to the Balosar, including even more empty liquor bottles of various shapes from various cultures. "W-w-what a c-connoisseur..." Carthus grumbled to himself. He cautiously began to make his way down the unfamiliar halls. The alcohol was bad enough but he had spotted something even more disconcerting among the trash piles. He lifted one of the tiny glass vials to his face, smelled it, then touched it to his tongue. "Putrid!" he announced, spitting the minuscule drop of liquid to the floor. "Deathsticks!" He tossed the small glass away as if had suddenly become extremely hot, and winced as it loudly shattered against the wall. "Oops-s-s-sorry."

He reached the cockpit, finding the Balosar already in his seat and preparing his ship to take off. Still moving rather slowly and cautiously Carthus moved to the other side of the cockpit and slid down into the co-pilot seat. He waited there quietly and awkwardly as the pilot pulled levers and punched in buttons of various colors, he couldn't tell if the man was extremely focused on doing the job or if he was zoned out and just working on instinct. After a time Carthus turned to him, bottle in hand. "W-where do you want me to..." When the Balosar made no reaction to Carthus words he stopped awkwardly and settled on resting the alcohol in his lap for safety. He remained quiet for a long time, well into the flight. It wasn't until they were out of orbit until he said another word. For most of the time he had honestly been building up the courage to speak. On one hand he didn't want to disturb the man as he worked, but sight of the empty bottles and the hallucinogenics had disturbed him and left him with many questions. So finally, after a long sigh and an audible gulp, Carthis decided to go for it.

"S-so," the large alien said, his voice trembling a little. "Wh-who was the girl?"

[Mara]

He was on auto-pilot, having done these steps more times than he could count that they were second-nature to him. Like breathing or drinking. That was the only thing allowing him to function right now, working by instinct. Everything else around him was a blur, a fog, including his new client, as he got the ship's engine going and prepared it for takeoff. Engaged the repulsors and folded the landing struts back up. Pak even somehow managed to speak to spaceport control and get his clearance to leave while he mechanically went through the well-honed motions.

It was too bad for the Balosar that his state of mind was so lacking. For if he had been even a little aware, he could have gotten on the path of recuperation much earlier. If he had only noticed that the strange tall being sitting next to him had offered up the bottle of wine--or really, took in that the man was even in the cockpit next to him--Pak would definitely have snatched it from him and guzzled it down. Weak though the wine might be, it was alcohol. And he needed alcohol to survive, to live. Piloting was one thing; that he could do in his sleep, it was so ingrained. Anything else required him to be clear-headed, and for that, he needed booze.

Not more than an hour later, they had burned through the planet's atmosphere and were settling into orbit around Iktotch. Subconsciously his hand reached for the navicomputer, but then it paused in midair. He blinked at the controls. Glanced through the forward viewscreen at the curve of the planet below, the stars twinkling in the darkness around it. Back to the computer, wondering what was next. Where was he going? What was he doing up here in space? And why was he so blasted cold, he thought, as a shiver shook his pale unclothed body.

As he contemplated these tough questions, a voice worked its way through, tentatively but enough to snap Pak to the surface. Or close enough that he was conscious of someone else nearby. The Balosar slowly turned, taking in the rest of his surroundings, and then spotted the tall alien sitting next to him. And then the bottle of wine resting there, calling to him, invisible arms reaching out to Pak.

His mind clicked. Girl? What girl? Pak was confused, probably as much as the other guy was. So he just ignored the inquiry and instead just reached for the alcohol and snagged it out of the big being's lap. Popped it open with shaking hands and immediately pressed the neck to his mouth and sucked it down in big gulps. His face twisted in disgust but he kept on going; it was the only saving liquid around, and he had to take what he could get. Hopefully it would be just enough to get him through the next few hours or so until he could get his hands on something better.

Only about a third of the wine remained in the bottle when Pak finally released it. He closed his eyes in pleasure, almost feeling the alcohol mixing with the blood in his veins. Closing off all his pain and past and horrible memories. All the things that he had to keep at bay in order to live his life in the happy-go-lucky method he was used to. It wasn't completely fixing him, but it was a good enough bandage, and he started feeling a little bit like himself again.

And now completely aware of what was going on. That he had just been hired by this being sitting there, who had paid with the wine. That he was sitting in the pilot's chair in his undershorts and nothing else. That his ship was in orbit around Iktotch, waiting for his new passenger to let him know their destination. And more importantly, that he had just been asked about a girl, and no longer was quite so ignorant of where the question was coming from or who it may refer to.

Pak's eyes, normally a light blue but now clouded over kind of grey, narrowed. Though somewhat coherent again, his loving nature had yet to return. "I don't know what you mean." When in fact he had a pretty good idea, but it just wasn't the big guy's business to know. This was merely an employer/employee relationship, and a temporary one at that. He knocked back the rest of the wine, tossed the empty bottle back at the tall alien, and unstrapped himself from his chair. Time to take care of his chilly problem, he thought, as he made his way to his cabin to find some pants and a shirt to pull on.

[Agent of Greystone]

(Sorry about the long wait. Computer's still dead so I am currently borrowing.)

Carthus clicked his tongue as the pilot brushed him off, though he could concede that it wasn't his business to ask of such things, and the man rose from his seat and left for a different compartment of the ship. This left him all by himself, with nothing but the bright white infinite reaches of hyperspace to keep him company. He sat alone for a few minutes, hearing nothing more from his host besides the rattling of bottles and his curses as he had apparently tripped trying to slip on pants. He took out his lightsaber from his belt and studied it. There was nothing new to it of course and it was still as shiny clean and unused as it always was, but he enjoyed admiring his handiwork. He furrowed his brow, a bead of sweat appeared as he began to deeply concentrate. The silver hilt sat still, seemingly unaffected by Carthus' attempted influence. He tried once more, harder, blocking out all of the feelings and noises around him. Finally, it began to rattle. At best, it was shaky, it twitched and jerked, but still it began to slowly rise through the air. He had it up to about eye-level when the Balosar came back into the room behind him. Startled, Carthus broke his concentration, causing the metal hilt to fall immediately onto his lap.

He hooked his saber back onto his belt as his companion climbed back into his seat, now fully dressed. Carthus was now wearing a small smirk, pleased with the results of his short practice. He looked back at the pilot a few times out of the corner of his eyes. He felt awkward and out of place, he wanted to get up and leave the room to get away from the miserable self-pitying person next to him, but he also didn't want to disturb his or cause any trouble, so he just sat there. Soon though, the boredom began to take its toll. Still curious, he considered attempting to control the man's mind like he had seen some other Jedi do to the weak minded, but then he thought better of pissing the Balosar off when the man could just throw him out the airlock.

"Hey b-buddy" He began, immediately regretting his choice of words. "Y-you look like you could use sssomebody to talk to." He said, trying his best to sound comforting. "You n-know what they say, it's b-better to talk to some-somebody then to b-bottle up your emotions-s." He tapped the empty wine that the Balosar had just downed. "Pun intended."