The Citadel Cantina is located on the second level of the Arcona Citadel. The bar itself is small on the surface, but possess an expansive selection thanks to a clever servos-operated storage system built into the underside of the bar. A bartender only need punch in what drink they require (other than the typical stock) and within a minute the bottle is distributed transparisteel display panels. Relaxed, soothing music plays over the speakers, and a big-screen display terminal with access to the holonet sits across from a series of comfortable lounge chairs and stools.

The Cantina is full-service and is manned by a gruff, one-eyed Rodian named Mick. Mick is a grumpy, former sergeant who served in the Arcona Armed Forces years and years ago. He goes about his business with a series of grunts, gestures, and monosyllabic dialogue. Though a man of few words, he's a genius of alcoholic beverages and mixology. Mick has a very strict rule about no fighting or brawling within the Cantina. The mess hall, on the other hand, is a different story.

The Cantina opens up into a dedicated mess-hall that can hold up to a hundred sentients before it starts to feel claustrophobic. Open at all hours, the mess-hall has been sanctioned as an acceptable area for members to settle aggressions and other frustrations. The tables are all firmly bolted into the halls floor to avoid being thrown over, and are crafted out of durable material that has held it’s own throughout the years. At the far end of the mess-hall there is a pair of double-doors that lead to the kitchen and storage area. The mess-hall is maintained by a full staff of droids, and occasionally a new recruit who has earned the ire of the Rollmaster.

It was long into the evening. The cantina had been busy for hours but as time went on, the assembled crowd, mostly Arconan Dark Jedi, had slowly dispersed, leaving only a few of the more ‘determined’ drinkers. Among them were Andrelious, Kordath, Atyiru and a couple of soldiers from the Arconan Army. Mick, the ever reliable barman, continued to serve them drinks, long ago having given up any attempts at tempering any of their habits.

“Don’t you have a family to get home to?” Kordath questioned as Andrelious downed another Ebla Beer. Kooki and the twins had left only half an hour previously, the new mother having become tired after a long day nursing the growing girls.

“They’ll be fine. Not sure if you will be with the amount you’re putting away,” the Warlord retorted, turning his nose up at the sheer amount that the Ryn had drunk.

“Boys, boys. Don’t you two get started again. We’ve had enough fighting without it kicking off in here.” Atyiru interjected.

“Trust you to say that, Blinky! This Imp’s been riding my backside since I got here. Typical Imperial bigot,” the blue-skinned alien scoffed.

“You’re the one who blindly adheres to a stereotype! All words and no action to back them up! You’re just a typical frakking Krath!” Andrelious hissed, his eyes flickering deep red. Kordath could sense the anger building up in the Human before him.

“You two, please. Can’t you settle this over a drink?” the Galerean Aedile pleaded, nodding at Mick. The Rodian returned the nod, and set a large bottle of Tihaar before the two bickering Dark Jedi. Without saying a word, he handed each a shot glass.

“Very well, Atyiru. I shall show this Krath fool just how much a Sith can handle. Just get ready to carry him home,” the ex-Imperial said with a wink, realising only too late that his friend could not see his gesture. Kordath chuckled. “You’ll be sorry, Inahj. If there’s one thing I do well, it’s drink!”

The Ryn poured two shots of the Mandalorian beverage, grabbing the nearest and handing the other to his rival.

“Okay, boys, one each, maybe two. There’s no need to overdo it.” Atyiru sighed as her companions downed the Tihaar in a single gulp and immediately refilled their glasses.

“Hall.” Mick spat, pointing in the direction of the Mess Hall. He didn’t need the Force to see just how icy the atmosphere had become.

“Stay here, Atyiru. HE may need a stomach pump when I’m done.” Andrelious snarled, taking the bottle with him into the darkened Mess Hall. Mick flicked a switch, illuminating the area as the Warlord took a seat, Kordath not far behind.

The Tihaar began to flow as if it were water. Neither Andrelious nor his Ryn rival were prepared to give any quarter to the other. Whenever one took a shot, the other followed instantly, both glasses being refilled almost as soon as they hit the table. The insults traded became almost incomprehensible as the pair descended further into the depths of drunkenness.

Pouring another shot, Kordath noticed that it was the last of the bottle. He handed it to his ‘drinking buddy’. “Looksh like we need more!” the Ryn slurred. Andrelious chose not to respond verbally, instead getting up as if to fetch another bottle of the potent drink. He noticed that the soldiers had departed and Atyiru had fallen asleep in a barstool. Mick was cleaning some glasses – it wouldn’t be long before he shut for the night. With a final glance at the bar, the Warlord hurled the empty bottle at Kordath, smirking.

The smirk soon turned a frown as the Priest leapt up from his seat, turned around and sliced the bottle in half with his lightsaber.

“That’sh cheating!” he shouted.

“I don’t see how. You’d still have been floored by the Tihaar,” Andrelious replied dryly.

“Well, at least one thing never changes: your jokes are just as bad as ever,” growled the Ryn. He stopped to take a deep breath to get himself back under control. Still, the mere fact that he’d taken the bottle out of the air on reflex alone, after the amount he’d drank? The Priest was pretty impressed with himself.

Kordath couldn’t help but let out a chuckle as he spun his saber about once, a chuckle that died as soon as it slipped out of his hand. He hissed in surprise as he watched it clatter across the empty mess hall floor, making far more noise then one would expect from such a small item. It sputtered out after gouging and charring the floor, leaving a smoky smell in the air. The Ryn grumbled to himself as it rolled into a chair leg, getting down on hands and knees to drunkenly navigate around the broken bits of bottle. He scooped the weapon up and went to stand, only to curse loudly as he slammed his head into the underside of the table.

Rubbing his head as he got back to his feet, Kordath let out a sigh and narrowed his eyes towards the chubby ex-Imperial pilot. “Still cheat...cheat...cheating. But heeeey, did you see me cut that out of the air? Like...like a Jedi or something, hahahaha.” Kordath smacked his lips together for a moment, running his tongue across his teeth. He’d never cared for Tihaar, as it always seemed to numb his tongue a bit. Probably why he’d sounded like a drunken idiot before.

Andrelious watched the Ryn slowly walk around the table, eyes down as he stepped gingerly around the deceased Tihaar bottle. The Priest was still shaking with laughter at his own joke when he began to yell. “MICK! Mick, hey! We need another bottle….no not that Mando’a poodoo water, give us something with bite! Corellian whiskey, that’ll dooooo.”

“Whiskey? Really?” asked the Sith, sarcasm seeping into his voice. “Such a pedestrian beverage.”

“Oi!’ shouted the Ryn, turning to shake a finger at the Warlord. “I’ll not hear that kinda talk against the proof of the gods’ love, I will not! You can choose the next bottle if ya like, Tiny. Well, if yer still upright, anyways..” His hand dropped. “Besides, something in the Tihaar makes my tongue go all numb. Prefer being able to speak plainly.”

“Well, in any case, must you yell? You’ll wake the Aedile.” Andrelious gestured towards the Miraluka sitting alone within the bar room.

Kordath’s right eyebrow arched up as he glanced in their Aedile’s direction before turning back to the Sith. “How do you know she’s asleep? She could be meditating, or just thinking. Always gives me the creeps, that. Never know when she’s actually passed out from the drink, hah.”

The Sith glared at the Krath, who settled back into a chair once more. Kordath grinned as he uncorked the bottle of dark amber fluid, pouring out another set of shots. Andrelious gave it a sniff, wrinkling his nose at the fragrant liquor before tossing it back. A burning sensation went down his throat, settling in his gut and sending out an infusion of warmth throughout his entire body. Across the table, Kordath was smiling, licking his lips as he moved to fill the glasses once more. Inahj glowered at the Ryn, fighting off a nauseous feeling in his gut. The mixture of alcohols was upsetting something inside of him.

He gritted his teeth as he went to pick up the small glass, refusing to acknowledge his discomfort to this alien lowlife.

“So, gotta ask...how’s married life treating ya?” said the Krath, smiling widely as his drinking companion tossed back the shot. Kordath followed suit, smacking his lips loudly.

“Fine, it’s fine, why?” asked the Sith suspiciously.

Kordath shook his head, then shrugged, “Just curious, really. Wild, isn’t it? You two come from totally different...different...cultures! Yeah, different cultures, but you’re the same...you got the same….species, yeah, the same species. You dunno how good you Humans got it, mate.”

Andrelious found himself intrigued, despite himself. Likely, it was the alcohol. “Wh..what? Yes, Kooki and I are both Human, what of it?

“Well, like, you guys were able to find one another, totally different worlds! Different ideals, conflicting beliefs, but both Human, and now you got the larvae!”

Kordath felt the temperature in the room drop a bit as the Warlord hissed, “What did you just call my children?”

“Wait, right, children. Sorry. Forgot everybody calls their younglings different things, can never remember what you guys use. Hah. Here have another shot, great...woo! That hit’s the spot, huh? Burns aaaaall the way down, ha ha!”

Andrelious felt his head swimming, and watched as the Ryn reached for the bottle once more. The Krath had to make three tries before wrapping a hand around the neck, a big grin plastered across his face. The Priest’s eyes were a bit glazed over. Not long now, thought the Sith smugly.

“So yeah, you guys, Humans, that is, right? You guys can go out and...mate, doesn’t matter, plenty of you out there! Me? The Ryn?” asked the Priest, making a noise like ‘pfft’, blowing his lips out together. “No idea how many of us are out in the dark. Chances of me running across another of my kind at this point….”

The Krath trailed off, looking down at his hands for a moment, before heaving a sigh and raising the shot glass up in a toast. Andrelious sighed as well, more for the knowledge of how badly he was going to hurt in the morning then for some alien’s plight. He returned the toast, and instantly regretted it. The whiskey still burned as bad now as it had at the start, and closing one eye to focus on the bottle showed far more of it left then he thought was possible.

Kordath perked up, smiling again, though it looked a bit forced. “Anyways...anyways...blast I had something else...what was it?” He reached across the table, hand wavering, one eye closed as he grasped the bottle once more. Two fresh shots sat on the table, shaking slightly as Kordath put the bottle back down firmly. The Ryn nearly knocked the container over when he let go, causing him to let out a few high pitched whistles of laughter from his chitinous nose.

Picking up one of the glasses, Kordath held it in front of himself, so close to his face that his eyes nearly crossed, causing him to start chuckling again. He blinked a few times, trying to focus on the pudgy Imperial. “So, right, now I remember!”

The Ryn leaned forward a bit, glancing superstitiously at the barroom where Mick was cleaning up. Andrelious found himself moving slightly to close the distance, as one did in such a situation. “So, okay, your wife, she’s...well she’s pretty skilled with the Force right? Does she ever use it, to..ya know, you know how you and I can use it to like, jump higher? Run faster?”

“I...am aware of those uses, yes. Where are you going with this, Ryn?” growled the Sith, having a sneaking suspicion.

“Weeell,” said the Priest, smiling. “Has she ever...like...used it to fine tune her muscle control, when you two are alone and such?”

“WHAT!?” shouted the Sith, standing abruptly. Kordath heard a cry of surprise from within the bar and the sound of a glass dropping.

The Warlord was seething. Especially since Kooki’s elevation to the Equites, he had often found himself the butt of jokes and snide comments that his wife kept him on a ‘short leash’. Her pushy nature and short temper, particularly with all things Imperial, only added fuel to the fire that the Soulfire Captain was henpecked.

His present companion managed a wry smile as he tried to regain a little composure. The alcohol was beginning to make him feel incredibly sloshed. Andrelious, too, was feeling the effects of the drink. “What the hell would you know about that anyway? You’ve probably never been anywhere near a woman in your life!” the Soulfire Captain said crossly.

“I’ve heard things. Especially when getting drunk with ladies. A bottle or two, and a lot of them talk as freely as the booze flows down their throats.” Kordath answered.

Andrelious looked unimpressed. “Trust a grubby little drunk to talk about such uncouth things,” he spat, grabbing the bottle and taking a large swig. “Come on, Bleu! Let’s stop fooling around with those glasses and drink like men!”

“Only if you take a real swig. Not a girly sip!” the Ryn replied, downing almost twice as much as his rival. He handed the whiskey back to the Sith, almost losing his balance as he stumbled forward to reach the Human’s grasp.

“I really thought you of all people knew how this drinking thing works. It’s a marathon, Bleu, not a sprint.” Mimosa-Inahj scoffed. In spite of what he had just said, the ex-Rollmaster drank the remainder of the bottle. “Your choice. More of the Tihaar, I assume?” Kordath asked.

The ex-Imperial smiled. “I’m actually impressed by this particular brand of whiskey. Mick’s outdone himself once again. Two more of them please, Mick! And you can have our glasses back. We’re done with them!” Mick grumbled to himself as he handed over the demanded beverage. The wobbling Warlord probed into the Rodian’s mind. They were the last two.

The Priest cracked open one of the bottles. “Blinky and I love this stuff! She mentioned it was rather hard to get hold of."

“Yes. I remember. She sent Soulfire for it. Means it’s Nighthawk’s turn next time.” Andrelious warned, necking almost a quarter of the contents of his bottle in one swift motion.

“She’ll never send the ‘hawk on such an errand. We’re the elite of Arcona. Your boys and girls in Soulfire…perfectly trained for such things.”

The Warlord grimaced as his rival drank half the whiskey in a single swig. Even for Kordath, a seasoned drinker, that amount proved a little too much and left the Ryn breathless for a few moments.

“Careful. Atyiru’s in no shape to help. And I don’t think Mick would be very happy to carry you home. Perhaps I could. How strong is that tail of yours?” Mimosa-Inahj taunted, pausing for a second as if to catch his own breath. Shutting his eyes, he placed the lid back on the bottle, before tipping it back towards his mouth again, this time for long enough to finish its content – if its lid had not been returned.

Kordath narrowed his eyes. “Fine! I can drink all of it too!” he barked, and did just that, throwing the bottle away seconds after drinking its final drop. The glass shattered into a million pieces as it hit the floor near Atyiru, waking the Miraluka with a start.

“Mo-“ the blue-skinned alien began, but he found himself unable to finish. His already blurred vision began to distort even further, although the large, grey surface of the floor appeared clearer and closer than it had. Slowly, the cold feel of the durasteel told Kordath that he had keeled over. He tried to get back to his feet, but found his legs to be impossibly heavy.

Maybe I’ll just have a nap. the Priest thought, shutting his eyes. Within a few moments, he was snoring, despite the hardness of the floor.

“Andrel, dear. You know using a mind trick isn’t really in the spirit of things?” Atyiru asked, having watched the final moments.

The still standing Warlord chuckled. “Spirit..haha.”

“Oh calm down before you have a heart attack, old man,” the Ryn’s grin never slipped, nor did he break eye contact with the Human. If Andrelious hadn’t been so thoroughly sloshed, this behavior would have triggered some kind of caution. Instead, it simply made the Sith’s already growing temper surge, prompting him to fumble drunkenly for his lightsaber. The emerald blade sprung to life as he finally managed to disengage it from his robes.

“You little..furry...insolent…”

“Yes? Do go on,” spoke the Krath, smiling as he slowly pushed his chair back. Andrelious seemed to be having trouble forming a sentence, much to the Priest’s amusement. “Come on, Chubs, you’ve been hitting the sauce for almost as long as I’ve been alive. Surely a bit of Tihaar and Corellian whiskey, couldn’t have got you so far gone you can’t talk? I know you love to spout off about how superior you are, so come on, spout.”

The Warlord glared at him, eyes squinted as he focused on the Krath. “In..insult..ed...my chil...childre….my kids. Insulted...my..wife. Gonna take...your bloody tail...give it to Kooki...as a..a..a...belt.”

“Good! A whole sentence almost without a slur or a pause, very well done Andre!”

The Sith snarled, anger and alcohol taking the controls as he began to vault on to the table top. Kordath smiled again, before waving his hand slightly outwards and drew on the Force. The table suddenly moved back towards the Sith, who found himself stumbling instead of landing atop it. With his footing gone, Andrelious barreled forward with a curse towards the floor, landing face first in a small amber puddle.

Kordath laughed as he stepped over the drunken Sith to retrieve the whiskey bottle, before he turned back to face him. He placed a foot on the Warlord’s right wrist, pinning it in place for the moment while the ex-Imperial attempted to regain his bearings. The Krath took a pull from the whiskey bottle, sighing in contentment as he felt the warmth spread through his body. A sputtering sound drew his gaze down and he knelt to have a better word with the Human.

“I really didn’t appreciate the bottle toss earlier, I mean yeah I picked it off. But still. Not a nice thing to do while a friendly drinking competition is going on mate.”

The Sith had pushed himself up with his left hand and was annoyed to find his saber arm pinned. Something was dripping off his nose and into the puddle he’d landed in and his face felt like it was burning.

“What is this stuff, what did you do? Is this...did you….you didn’t soil yourself, did you Ryn?”

Kordath barked a short laugh and patted the Human on the back with his left hand, his right hefting the bottle for a moment. It wasn’t quite empty yet, he noted before replying to the Sith.

“No, that would be the whiskey I didn’t drink. I’m a bit ashamed of wasting good whiskey but...well, let me explain. I used to pull this con back in the old days, when I was ship hopping and stowing away. It was a good game, lots of fun for me and whatever passed for a crowd at the local watering hole. I’d challenge some guy to a drink off, put what credits I had on the line. We’d take shots till one of us passed out, kind of like what you and I have been doing.”

The Ryn paused and drained the last of the whiskey, smacking his lips together and smiling.

“So,” he continued, “When you got a crowd watching, you get them to watch the other guy by making him mad or get him laughing. Now you and I are lacking an audience, sadly since Blinky in there fell asleep,” Kordath gestured vaguely towards the cantina and the now snoring Miraluka. “But the effect was the same. You took your shot, I dumped mine whenever your head went up. Or just didn’t take the shot at all and acted like I’d just filled it back up when you got your focus back.”

“What I’m saying here,” Kordath spoke with a grin, leaning in closer to the Human, “you drank almost an entire bottle of whiskey. After we split the Tihaar, awful stuff that is. And all the beer. How you feeling, Andrelious? You wanted me to take some action earlier, well here it is.”

“Gonna..skin...you…,” growled the Sith.

“Well that’s not very nice,” murmured the Krath, hefting the now empty whiskey bottle in hand. He felt the Warlord’s muscles tense up, preparing to toss the Ryn off and bring his saber into play once more. Kordath shook his head, he was well aware how badly that would go. Even with the Sith incredibly intoxicated it would be a close thing, the Priest just wasn’t that kind of fighter. He brought the bottle down with a loud, hollow sound as it rebounded off the back of the Sith’s head.

Andrelious let out a cry of surprise and pain, while Kordath stared at the bottle in shock. Shock faded as he remembered his purpose and bashed his former drinking companion in the skull again. And again, finally watching the bottle shatter and the Warlord go limp under him. Kordath cautiously reached over and shut off the Sith’s lightsaber, before sitting back to take a breath. As the adrenaline and excitement petered off, the Krath got an idea that made him grin once more.

-|x|-

It was morning, judging by the blinding light that was streaming in through the high windows. Andrelious was coming to, slowly but surely feeling his head throb as he licked his lips with a tongue that felt like sandpaper. Parts of him felt cold, other more internal bits felt like they were about to mount a revolt. Slowly he opened his eyes, lifting a hand to shade against the light. He was sitting up, was the first thing he noticed as the world swam into focus. The next thing he realized was a person was standing before him. A dark haired, stern looking figure who appeared to be seething with anger.

“Andrelious, are you quite awake now?”

“I…” The Sith blinked a few times, eyes feeling gummy before he froze as recognition finally set in. “Lord...Lord Marick?”

“Very good, you might not be brain dead after all. Two things. One, why are you in my throne?”

Andrelious looked about in surprise, trying not to panic as he took in the Arconan throne room.

“My...my Lord …” The Warlord trailed off as he noted another figure, Kordath standing a few feet behind the Consul. The Ryn was bright eyed and smiling, his tail twitching about in obvious amusement.

“Secondly, why are your pants missing?” the Hapan’s voice was cold, and the Human Sith hoped against hope he hadn’t had a drunken accident in the night. “I swear you people are going to drive me to retirement,” muttered the Consul.

“Found you a robe to wear back to your quarters, mate!” the Krath stepped forward, talking far louder than the situation called for and holding up a pink bath robe. “Borrowed it from Atyiru, sorry about the color but you know how it is. Better get home to the wife before she thinks you’re avoiding her, hmmm?”

The Sith took the robe gingerly, every movement making his head throb as he glared at the Ryn.

“We will speak of this when you’re more….cognitive, Andrelious, do not doubt it,” the Consul gave him one last glare before stepping aside, allowing the Sith to stagger out of the Throne room. “You should thank Bleu here for warning me before I came in. I might have reacted poorly.”

Andrelious stopped, head turning to give the Priest another withering look before he stumbled towards the door. Behind him, Kordath tried not to laugh.