Pirates are a rowdy lot. It is a fact rarely questioned and merely accepted by those who deal with them regularly. While the Herald’s crew is no different, the band's leader has a different approach to facilitating their tendencies. To this end, one of the Matron's smaller hangars — designated Hangar Zerek — has been recommissioned as a combat arena... or execution chamber.

Once a dedicated repair bay, Hangar Zerek is still equipped with fabricator arms and an assortment of Trade Federation droid parts that have fallen into disrepair. A squared off section, including illumination banks at each corner, designates the intended 'arena'. The section is denoted by active shock fences, run by nearby generators. It is here that the crew lets off steam, with the hangar bay sealed.

The hangar itself still has a fully functioning force field that comes into play when matches are meant to become more interesting, or when it comes time to jettison troublesome captives. The hangar bay doors peel open, leaving only the active field to separate the arena from the vacuum of space. The control mechanisms for the hangar doors can be operated manually from the control booth or on a set timer, including the force field's toggle switch.

The control booth is the last segment of Hangar Zerek worth noting. Doubling as an observation deck, it is the only obvious entrance to the hangar. All maintenance hatches and access-ways have been sealed in advance, though the catwalks crisscrossing along the upper layers of the hangar remain. The booth itself is sealed, providing a safe haven for when the force field comes down.

The Ryn opened his eyes and regretted every decision that had lead him up to this point in his life, squeezing them shut again to block out the glaring lights. He wasn't sure where he was, yet, though hazy recollections of carousing his way through several of the drinking establishments aboard the Matron suggested how he'd gotten there. With a growl, he sat up from the cold, metal deck he'd woken up on and smacked his dry lips, reaching into his coat with a questing hand.

"Bleedin' loud in here," he grumbled before his tired eyes lit up. "Aha!"

With a sense of victory, he pulled forth the bottle he'd thoughtfully stowed away in his jacket for just this sort of emergency. Pulling the top out, he took a long draw of the amber liquid within, relishing in the burn as it coated his throat. He felt his ears grow warm as he pulled the bottle back, wiping his mouth with the back of a sleeve and finally turning his head to take stock of the situation he'd found himself in.

"Huh. Oh. Bugger."

He sighed and slowly stood, his muscles aching from laying on the hard floor for however long he'd been unconscious. There was a forcefield, lights, and a crowd. If the Ryn hadn't been familiar with the concept of fighting pits already, it wouldn't have taken him long to figure it out as he noted the other person in the cell. Tall, much taller than Kordath, and lanky in what look liked a field doctor's get up, some kind of medical clothing all dyed black.

"Makin' me fight a bleedin' medic? This a joke?" he asked the air, glaring up towards the control booth where silhouettes moved. "How big a tab did I try ta skip out on?"

A speaker crackled and whined, silencing the crowd as it squealed to life. The more noise sensitive members of the audience winced and clutched at their aural organs in annoyance as the feedback faded.

"It seems both of our volunteers are awake and ready to rumble, folks! Get your final bets in between the Doc and the Barfly! And you two, down in the ring? Best put on a good show or out the door you go!"

Kordath blinked a few times in confusion at the mention of a door before flashing warning lights along one wall drew his attention. An obvious seam in the bulkhead, as well as mechanisms along the sides, told him why the decking was so cold here.

"Hangar. Kark. Me."

"Well, Ryn, I don't suppose you have a way out of this?" came the voice of his apparent foe, who was closing in on him. Bleu tried to focus past the encroaching buzz, not realizing he was peering through one eye past the upturned bottle once more, to take in the tall fellow. He'd encountered a Nautolan or two in the past, but he didn't recognize this one. Not that it mattered, the unblinking stare was almost enough to draw his attention from the way the medic's hand rested on the grip of a pistol not yet drawn.

Kordath lowered his whiskey and craned his neck to look at the aquatic humanoid in the face, glaring. "Aye, we bleedin' fight, we do! Now make it snappy," he grumbled, swaying slightly, "ain't got all day, Fishy."

The irritation on the Nautolan's face was apparent, though his gaze broke from the Ryn as Kordath shoved the top back in his bottle and tossed it into the air.

Black eyes tracked the bottle, and the man pulled his pistol in anticipation of the Arconan somehow turning the situation into an attack. Instead, the medic caught the barest flicker of movement from below and found himself empty-handed, his pristine blaster plucked from his hand and thrown to the side by the fur covered little man before him.

"Hey--" he started to shout, swinging at the shorter being who seemed to sway back out of the way drunkenly. Kordath leaned back in, as if recovering his balance, and swung his head forward and into the black-clad man's midsection with as much power as his small form could muster.

"Guns is cheatin'," muttered the Arconan, catching his bottle with his tail and handing it back over his shoulder to himself. "Gotta pay better attention, mate," he spoke with a grin as the Nautolan straightened up, watching the Ryn take another drink.

Tebbo sat up. It's not everyday that someone got a drop on him. Tebbo tried to remember the last time he even saw a Ryn. He might have done an autopsy on one a few years ago, but that was a long time ago. Tebbo looked to see his blaster across the rink. This was gonna be a hard fight.

Kordath was swaying back in forth with his hands facing Tebbo. Kordath was walking around the ring almost falling, but always catching himself. Tebbo knew this wouldn't be a quick fight so he looked around for anything that could help him win.

Kordath stopped right above Tebbo's blaster and waved his hand over in a challenging manor. "Here fishy fishy fishy. I know you got some fight left in ya even if it's not much." And then gave a loud hiccup. Tebbo noticed the many scars Kordath had. The Ryn looked like he had a weak left but an overall fighter. Tebbo had to be careful.

If Tebbo wanted to win it had to be quick and decisive. Tebbo took off his medical pack, it would unbalance him. Then Tebbo made a dead sprint towards the Ryn. The Ryn smiled, the Nautolan wasn't weak willed at least.

The crowd cheered as the Medic charged in, zigzagging as he went. The Kordath could tell that the crowd wanted to watch a good old fashion brawl and he didn't want to be anywhere near the hanger door. Tebbo swung with a left wide. Kordath grabbed his wrist and a handful of his clothes and pivoted with the motion to toss Tebbo.

The Nautolan went head over heels and barley turned into a roll to recover. As Tebbo picked himself, grinning like a idiotic fool, Kordath felt something wet on his arm. He looked and saw a small gash on his forearm. The crowd was going wild at this development. Kordath looked and saw a blade coming from Tebbo's bracer.

"Don't worry," the Nautolan, still smiling "I've poisoned you just a bit, but nothing lethal. Just something to make things easier for me. I'm happy I missed any major blood vessels and I'll patch you up afterwords, free even." The Nautolan's eyes narrowed "You made a mistake to underestimate me."

"Huh, barely bleedin', what's tha point?" mused the Ryn aloud, flexing his cut arm. "I mean, sure, it hurts a wee bit, but why'd he even bother?"

"Ya got bigger problems, mate," came a voice that sounded far too much like his own for comfort, and seemed to emanate from the bottle lying nearby. Kordath crouched to big up his abandoned libation, checking to make sure it hadn't been too damaged when he'd had to drop it to toss the medic. An energy discharge could be heard, and the smell of burnt ozone filled the air as he scooped up the whiskey.

"You...you do nae usually talk." Bleu turned the bottle about in his hand, running fingers over the labeling in confusion. Something, a hazy part of his mind mentioned 'the Force,' suggested with some urgency that he move to his left, so he did. Again the cracking, high pitched whine and the scents of fried air.

"Course I don't, you moron, but like I said, ya got bigger problems."

"Oh? Like what? I'll feel bad if I've been drinkin' down yer mates this whole time and never bleedin' knew ya could talk!"

"Would you stop moving!" came a shout from the Nautolan. Kordath directed a glassy-eyed glare at the man.

"Oi! Havin' a wee bit o' a talk with me mate here, bugger off!" The glare turned into a stare as he watched the aquatic alien, holding a pistol that looked very familiar to the Ryn. It wasn't the blaster that caught his eye, as he stumbled in a chaotic manner towards the man, noting scars in the decking as he moved along and the weapon discharged.

"Just let me shoot you in the leg so we can get this over with," hissed the tall bloke.

Kordath kept staring, watching as what he'd thought were simple head tendrils of some kind started to shift and move. "Mate..." he began. "Uh, mate, ya got...ya got a wee...oh bugger, do nae move! I'll get 'em off!"

Now it was Tebbo's turn to stare in bewilderment as the Ryn stopped in mid-step, both hands held up in a placating manner, though clutching his bottle still with one. "What?"

Bleu held one hand up, palm out, as he knelt and set his bottle on the deck. "Ya nae go anywhere, we need ta have a chat later, mate."

The whiskey remained silent, though the Ryn couldn't help but feel that it was judging him. His hands-free, Kordath unslung the staff from across his back and gave it a quick spin, testing the weight. Then another spin, and another, until he found himself keeping the motion up and giggling to himself as he watched the lights reflecting from the weapon's surface create patterns in the air in front of him. Much like the streaks of light coming from the Nautolan’s weapon as he shot at the out of his mind Ryn.

This drew Bleu's attention, though it was held by a thread, enough so for him to notice the 'things' writhing on Tebbo's scalp.

Right. Some kinda vipers, or somethin'. Maybe I take one back one of tha big heads'll know what species it is. Can nae be good, havin' a nest o' snakes on yer head, though.

"Alright, mate, Imma get 'em off of ya, eh? Just...just stand still." The Arconan did his best to stay calm, focused, and unknowingly threading the Force into his words as he hefted his staff.

"What...get...what off of, what?" The Nautolan stared at him, his black, unblinking eyes going a bit unfocused. He shook his head and tried to fight off the influence, feeling his control return as the Ryn closed in. "Hey, back off!" he shouted, raising the blaster with a shaking hand.

"Gotta get them snakes off of ya, mate, stay calm, eh? Do nae want 'em ta bite, yeah?"

"What snakes you lunatic!?"

"Shh, shh," mimed the drugged up, drunken Kordath, who had a moment of dizziness. All the excitement and adrenaline, he figured, leaning his body on his staff and sticking a hand in his pocket. Maybe he had something hidden away to help with this. A whistle to charm the blasted things, or a snack, he could go for a snack right about now, yeah.

Tebbo watched in morbid fascination as the short, hairy man before him started tossing items from his pockets. A set of brass knuckles, a few playing cards here and there, one turning face up as it hit the deck revealing the face of the Idiot. He almost panicked when a cylindrical grenade went rolling across the floor before noting the pin was still in place. The little man was grumbling to himself, and the crowd had grown oddly quiet as well as if waiting to see what would happen next. A glance towards them showed an audience leaning forward in rapt attention. When he looked back he saw Bleu sigh in frustration, his hand coming out balled into a fist, though loose, as if holding something.

"Bugger it! Got nothin' ta help with snakes, mate," shouted the Ryn, sounding despondent as he tossed the collection of pocket leavings from his coat, like fine sand, into the air. A strangled cry brought his attention back to the tall Nautolan, who was clutching at his face after the pocket sand was flung into his lidless eyes. "Oh no! They bit ya!? Oh bugger, stand still!"

Kordath took a step back from the medic, who'd fallen to his knees and begun rubbing vigorously at his eyes. He lined up his staff on the writhing mass of snakes that seemed to have nested on the back of the Nautolan’s skull, taking a deep breath as he reared back with the weapon. Unactivated as it was, the electro staff was more of a club anyways, the perfect thing, Bleu figured, to whack a few snakes before they could do more harm.

The heavy end of the staff came down with a sickening crunch, causing several of the vipers to go limp, and he followed it up with several more strikes as the crowd got louder and louder. When he saw none moving anymore, the Ryn took a step back and fell promptly on his arse, the booze, drugs, and adrenaline having taken their toll. Still, the audience went nuts.

"People must really hate bleedin' snakes," he mumbled, glancing over at his bottle, so close yet so far away as darkness closed in. The Ryn blinked and reached for it, noticing anew the wound in his arm. "Oh no," he whispered, "they got me."

He passed out on the deck, much to the delight of the crowd of pirates watching, hand inches away from his precious whiskey. As the darkness took him, he thought it spoke one more time.

"Wanker."