Arriba, abajo;

[idkmybffbloodwing]

CHARACTERS: Mordecai, OPEN!
LOCATION: Space Babylon
WARNINGS: None
SUMMARY: Mordecai found the bar. Good luck getting him to leave, ever.
NOTES: Prose or action is fine, take your pick. Oh, and feel free to join existing threads or start a new one.

It was amazing how quickly time could pass. Already, Mordecai had been stuck on this damn ship for a week - a week too long, in his opinion, but there wasn't much to do about that. Most of his and Lilith's thoughts on how they might get out of here already had proven futile. Having spent as much time reading the comms as he had, though, that didn't really surprise him. There wasn't much that they'd thought of that hadn't already been tried.

He wasn't about to give up on at least finding out more about the workings of the place, though. There was a lot of information out there that the ship's other residents knew that wasn't written down in any obvious place - he'd learned that much already from Jaye and her descriptions of the ship's interior. He doubted those he really wanted information from - namely, the ship's Captain and Commander - would ever visit the bar and talk openly with the passengers while inebriated. That would be too good to be true. But getting to know a few more people could yield surprising results.

Well, that, and really, he just wanted a drink, so justifying it to himself didn't actually matter. Besides, he was curious about the place. He sent a quick text to Lilith, who he'd never known to turn down a night of social drinking, then headed on in to see who was there, and most importantly, what the regulars recommended he try.

Comments

[supfirehawk]

She had received Mordecai's text and knew when he said a few minutes, he probably meant seconds and immediately headed to the bar to see what it was about. If it met his approval, then it meant it at least had some good drinks available for them and after finding out she was indefinitely stuck here, she could use a few of those.

She tracked him down shortly after she had arrived and went to take a seat beside him. "Hey, got anything good?"

[idkmybffbloodwing]

He'd located himself a bottle of whiskey and poured some, but then taken the whole bottle with him anyway. Free refills, right? He grinned as he saw her walk in, then slid the bottle toward her when she sat down. "It's not bad, give it a taste."

[supfirehawk]

She grabbed the bottle and had a sip before taking a bigger drink. "Better than I expected to find on an ship that kidnaps people."

[idkmybffbloodwing]

"I know, I was surprised, too. After getting shitfaced on rakk ale and moonshine, the stuff's actually pretty good."

[supfirehawk]

"I was getting fond of some of the booze I'd find on the Bloodshots."

[killarevolution]

Haymitch hated this bar, but after so many months of detoxing, he'd take the closest thing he could get to the Hob until someone decided to make a Hob. Besides, he'd been up here with Carolyn and it proved it could be more than just a loud party place for all the insane children on board if you came at the right time.

Luckily, said insane children, bartenders aside, were elsewhere tonight, so the atmosphere was a bit more subdued and Haymitch was on his third glass of something strong and likely alien in nature. He hadn't tried alien liquor since Megamind was on board and probably shouldn't have dove into it so soon after falling off the wagon, but, well, it happened. Not much he could do about it now except order another round and look, quite frankly, like the most drunk man at the bar at this moment.

Best first impression ever.

[idkmybffbloodwing]

It was an impression he was very used to at this point. What was a bar without a few people enjoying its alcohol to it's fullest extent, after all?

Of course, being that he was on the lookout for new booze to try, Mordecai periodically left the little group accumulating at his table to see what else was available. And this man, being that he was very, very drunk, clearly had found something strong.

"Any good?" he asked, nodding at the glass.

[killarevolution]

"Good enough," he exhaled, cringing a bit, all without actually looking the man's way. He held up two fingers to indicate two more and slid the second glass over. "You tell me, though. Not the best judge of what they've got on this boat, but it's effective."

[idkmybffbloodwing]

He had a seat and tossed a gulp of the drink back, then grinned. "Damn. Yeah, that's somethin'." He eyed the glass and swirled it a little. "What the hell is this, anyway, d'you know?"

[killarevolution]

"Nope," Haymitch drawled. "But it's stronger than white liquor, so it's got that going for it." He was never going to get used to calling it vodka, despite what Russia insisted. Never mind that the stuff Ripper made was a bit stronger than standard vodka and tasted less like lighter fluid.

"You just arrive?" Small talk was the bane of Haymitch's existence, but he was getting to that point in drunkenness where he talked to fill space and kept from throwing up and passing out on the floor. One of these options was better than the other.

[tigers]

Moran was hardly the most welcome customer in the bar in recent days. It was completely understandable, really--even to him. After all, he had only shot one of their most beloved bartenders for the entire network to see and gotten off with only a week in the brig and a month's ban from the shooting range.

Even if it had taken him a good five minutes of negotiation and argument just to get one glass of whiskey out of any of the bartenders, that shot was well worth it. Even if he'd been punched twice in the face after that incident and the bruising still hasn't faded even a week later, it was all worth it. Months without firing a gun at anything living or breathing or moving had him pacing the floor. That shot proved to him that his nerve was still there. Then, as he sat in the bar with his glass, he was somewhat satisfied and incredibly smug. Even if he wasn't remotely drunk.

[idkmybffbloodwing]

By now he was getting a feel for who was a regular and who wasn't, so when someone he didn't recognize showed up and started making a scene just a few spaces down from him at the bar, he took notice. "The hell's that all about?"

[tigers]

Moran quirked an eyebrow as he took his seat with his newly acquired drink, calm and hardly looking ruffled at all despite the commotion with the bartender. "You may need to specify, chum."

[idkmybffbloodwing]

"Sure seemed like a hell of a hard thing, convincing them you needed a drink. Get kicked out one too many times for havin' a little too much?" The guy didn't look like someone who'd get into a fistfight, but you never knew when booze was involved.

[tigers]

Moran chuckle darkly, gaze shifting momentarily to the bartender who he's just come from arguing with.

"None of that, my good man, but I may have done something else to earn just a bit of scorn. Too soft-hearted, the lot of 'em. Don't take kindly to self defense when it's against one of their own."

It had hardly been self defense.

[armsmaster]

James doesn't let anybody but his uncle Emilio (and maybe he might've given Shepard permission that one time they squared up mano a mano... whatever) call him by his first name. Yeah, some of the Normandy crew got away with it; who's gonna say no to Liara? And Garrus' suggestion of Jimmy Vega? Maybe he thought that was kinda funny, Omega stripper-like or not (plus those dancers make a pretty good pile of creds if they really put their backs into it - and James knows a thing or two about Omega). Besides, Shepard's crew are different. There's a pang of longing that drops heavy in his gut and grows, the sense that he's left his squadmates, his friends, and Shepard, his leader, facing the Reapers alone can't be dulled no matter how many cervezas he knocks back.

Officially he's Lieutenant Vega, but he's learnt fast this isn't an Alliance ship, so though he hasn't introduced himself to anybody but the mercenary from his own universe, Zaeed Massani, he's just Vega here. The frustration he can feel still tearing his stomach into shreds is still caged up inside of him, the only frayed edges on display the bottom of his standard issue Alliance shirt. Crawling around unfamiliar ships is like second nature to him by now, but here he has nothing but a jumpsuit he's not gonna wear to change into. So he rocks up to this bar they're talking about on the network looking every inch (and there's a few of those to Vega) like he's been doing battle with tight spaces and places he probably should've steered clear of. What he'd like now is a beer, cold as they come, condensation rolling down until it collects in a circular pool under the base of this perfect bottle. He's been in the Alliance too long to not expect something less perfect, but a guy can imagine. Space rations, hard beds and showers that run cold because the guys who got there first use all the hot water aren't strangers to Lieutenant Vega; but warm beer is the least of his problems.

His massive form takes up a spot and a half at the bar, one scarred at the knuckles hand rests flat, open and unarmed on top of the surface, and his eyes roam the bottles for something that looks like it just rolled right outta his dreams.

Just one for the road... for the shuttle back to the Sol system. Back to Earth.

[idkmybffbloodwing]

This guy, Mordecai decides, is more like Brick than anyone else he's spotted here. Definitely not someone who's used to sitting around on his ass doing nothing like most of the people he's run into. He gets himself another beer - by now he's lost count of how many he's had today, not that it matters, when he's had hours to space them apart while reading old network posts at his seat - and downs a gulp of it, then gestures with the bottle in the man's direction.

"What's the tattoo mean?" he asks - and there's a few to pick from, but he's pointing at the one on the side of the guy's neck. For all he knows, it could be the same as the one on his arm, connected underneath the shirt. It looks like it's in a similar style, anyway.

[armsmaster]

The stool he's taken for himself actually creaks as Vega twists his head and his hips turn almost imperceptibly with the action. He studies the guy sitting a few seats up and though his brow furrows briefly he decides one little conversation isn't gonna hurt. Neither's one little story: it's a gift.

"Tribe business. If I tell you rules dictate I gotta kill you," he says and though his game face is impressive - just like his poker face - he's just a little too fatigued to pull it off completely. His jaw juts out as his eyes fix on the beer bottle being pointed in his direction. Yeah, he wants one of those.

"Or payment in cerveza, Goggles."

[idkmybffbloodwing]

He grins at that reply. "Cerveza I can do. Lots of it here." He waves a bartender over and has a couple bottles sent their way to be placed between them for easy access. "Now, then. Dígame el cuento, ese."

[armsmaster]

Fair's fair and Vega's a fair man without needing to be reminded too much; just don't challenge him to a game of Skyllian Five.

He reaches a hand towards the bottle nearest to him and lifts it like it's feather-light, lifts an inch or two further in thanks and wastes no time savoring the taste. He drains half and barely fights the natural reaction to so many bubbles in such a short space of time. He's not winning any prizes for being a gentleman any time soon but he's got bigger things to work on. He recognizes the Spanish for what it is and that earns the guy the quirk of the corner of his lip before he begins to tell his story.

"There's three trials you gotta face before you get your ink. Starts on your seventeenth birthday," he starts and none of this is anywhere near true; when he was seventeen he enlisted - his dog tags, Alliance shirt and fatigues betray what he does for a living - but that's still nobody's business.

"Know what Klixen are?"

[thenormalsquint]

This is definitely not the best bar Angela's been too, but it's the only bar she has access too. Unlike most of the people here, she's come looking for socialization and less booze because the walls of her room have been awfully quiet these last few days. No one she knows is here, not like she expected them anyway, but there are people in the place. As she orders a glassful of whatever that neon purple space liquid is (there she goes, drinking what is pretty and not considering the alcohol content), Angela turns on her seat to scan the crowd for people who look like they need talking to.

[idkmybffbloodwing]

Mordecai comes here for all the wrong reasons - he finds it a place he can get work done, since drinking in his room leads too quickly to drunkenness and too little actually accomplished. Though there are days when that's really all he wants, tonight he's back at the bar, leaning over his comm and drinking something the bartender mixed for him. He's not real sure what it is, but it burns just right.

When he looks up, there's a woman not too far away who he hasn't seen here before. He shuts off the comm device, and nods over at her glass. "The hell's that you're drinkin' there?" Man, the variety of booze at this bar never ceases to amaze him. He thought he knew a lot about alcohol, but this place has some really unusual stuff.

[thenormalsquint]

Angela's leaning back onto the bartop, elbows taking most of her weight when she lifts the glass up to eye level and shrugs out an answer. "You know, I have no idea. I just thought it was pretty and I wanted it. Tastes like... chicken."

She's still out on whether that is a good or bad thing.

[idkmybffbloodwing]

"Like chicken," he repeats, pretty sure she has to be joking. "Who makes a drink a color like that an' has it taste like chicken? That just doesn't seem right. You want somethin' better?"

[thenormalsquint]

Nodding, Angela confirms she said exactly what he heard. "Some space dude, I'll guess. Can't be picky when it's the only stuff we can get though."

But an offer? She'll accept that. "I would say you're paying, but apparently drinks are free here."