Interlude – The "Best Shot" - Part 1
by Colonel James Darson & Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin
Post Details
ON:
The turbolift slid to a stop and opened with a hiss. Darson strode out calmly, the rest of the people waiting for the lift giving him a wide berth before entering. As usual, he stood out from the crowd as an intimidating presence. This time however, his presence was augmented by the large attaché case that he held.
It was the middle of the evening, and the dinner crowd was beginning to clear out and be replaced by those in need of some “late night entertainment.” What he was here for was something along those lines, but more business related than actual enjoyment on his part.
Though he was the commander of over a thousand Marines, and had to watch the activities of over fifty thousand more people on board the station, he followed the concerns of his men and women, kept a finger on their pulse so to speak. And one of the things that he was most concerned about was their opportunities to get some R&R, especially after things like the invasion. Rested and happy Marines performed their duties much better than frustrated cooped up ones.
But, after Kaia had started charging the Marines a premium at her bar (which most of the enlisted Marines couldn’t afford to keep paying that high a price) they had started looking elsewhere, but so far hadn’t managed to find any place that could accommodate a large amount, for any length of time.
But then he had heard whispers of a new establishment on the station called the Box of Delights. It apparently was one of the new hip places to be, and was friendly to all who came though its doors.
Not to mention that its’ owner was proving to be a very interesting person to learn about.
And it was the owner that Darson was going to see.
He headed purposefully across the promenade floor to the Box of Delights, glowing brilliantly at this hour, and entered. He flitted oddly through the throngs of people already inside, somehow passing by them quickly and effortlessly, despite his bulk. He ended up at the bar with a swish of his cloak and took one of the few remaining open positions. He then rapped his armored hand on the counter to get the bartenders attention.
Several of the staff looked round, but seeing a customer encased in armor, Yolanthe decided she'd better handle this one in person. She moved up to Darson's space and smiled at him. "Welcome to the Box of Delights." She took him in, what little detail she could see. Probably human, and almost as tall as she was, he didn't look like a man who had come to party. "What can I get you?"
Darson took in the admittedly beautiful woman standing across the bar. Tall and statuesque, and shifting a myriad of colors, she was truly a sight to behold. He had only seen a handful of Bokkai in his travels, and each one was different, but very, very pretty. And this one was no exception.
He cleared his throat and said in what was maybe an over-dramatic tone, “My dear…I have traveled the cosmos, ever in search of the perfect beverage. I have backpacked through the ancient marshes of the Kawoloozian Binary system to obtain the rarest and most viscous and powerful space bee nectar, said to induce the strongest illusions of any other beverage in the universe. I have done battle with the nasty and disgusting cave trolls of Mordoran II to steal from them their finest export of Arsurian Ale, brewed in the magma pits that they call their home, and is said to be one of the finest liquors in the history of history itself.”
“I have even,” he said lowering his voice to a hushed and reverent whisper in order to deepen the suspense and keep the attention of those who had started listening to the epic story, “recently had the once in a billion lifetime opportunity to dine at Milliways, and partake of the legendary Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster…which was truly a transcendental experience. So my dear, what you can get for me…is whatever is the strongest drink you have.”
By the time Darson had finished his story, Yolanthe was trying, and failing, not to laugh, shifting through deepening shades of blue with each increasingly fantastic claim. Eventually pulling herself together she began to assemble bottles on her bar. "Technically, the most lethally alcoholic thing I have is Nek'tai. But if you're human, then it will kill you, so..." she pushed it aside.
"We have a toss up between Gul Gemel's Special Overproof Kanar," she laid a ocean blue finger on the twisted bottle, "a kali-fel that will clear your sinuses clear out the back of your skull, and an absinthe that is made with genuine, still hallucinogenic wormwood, so you can talk to the green fairy. Not exactly Zaphod's finest, but they still pack a wallop. Your choice."
“But then,” he said with a chuckle, “Nothing is, is it?” He glanced at the bottles, “Hmm…tough choice. But you know…I think I’ll actually have you pour me a shot of the Nek’tai. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
She gave him a long look. "What part of it kills humans did you not understand? Its what Klingons drink when they aren't fond of their livers, either of them. Its lethal to almost every other species, and I've seen it used to clean industrial lubricants off warp injectors. Giving you this is pretty much assisted suicide."
He shook his head, “No, I’m pretty sure I understand. From your description I can guess that it’s something so powerful that in a pinch it could double as an explosive device…or an acid. But never fear. Though it may be lethal to humans,” he leaned forward and said confidentially, “My constitution is stronger than most. So let me sign a waiver or whatever you need, and then let me have your best shot…if you’ll pardon the pun.”
Several customers were now watching with interest. A Nausicaan spoke up. "Let him have it. I'll tell security he was willing when he keels over." More aliens agreed.
"I am not letting someone die in my bar." She protested. "I've heard a lot of people boast they have constitution. I've picked them all up off the floor long before they expected to be there. And none of them walked in wearing a tin can." She rapped her knuckles on the front of his amour. "it doesn't give me a lot of faith in your claims."
Darson was glad that he had taken off the shiny new set of eagle’s wings that declared his rank in the center of his chest. It was adding a whole new interesting dimension to this little show, “My dear, I think this ‘tin-can’ can take a lot more punishment than you give it credit for,” he turned in his seat to point a gloved hand at the nausicaan who had spoke up before, “And you heard the big man…he’ll support your story that I was an idiotic bastard who was asking for it if you end up with a corpse on your bar floor. Hell, I think all of these sorry drinkers would, am I right?” he called the last part out to the assembled room as a whole, and was met by a mixed chorus of drunk and partially sober acknowledgements.
Meanwhile, in a booth at the back of the room, three Marines were sitting in civilian clothing, impatiently waiting for their forth to return with the next round of drinks. She had left a while ago and hadn’t returned, and to add to their irritation some fool was making an ass out of himself with a drinking contest or something at the bar, and was attracting quite a crowd.
They were about to go launch a rescue mission for their missing Marine when she dashed up to the table, breathless and noticeably devoid of drinks.
“You’re back…finally. And where are our drinks?” Said the fireteam leader with a tinge of annoyance, “Don’t tell me you forgot them…or ran out of money.”
She shook her head frantically, “No sir. Sir, you will not believe what’s going on up at the bar.”
“What? Some guy drinking himself into oblivion and making himself look like an idiot in the process?”
“Better than that.”
“A celebrity drinking himself into oblivion and making him or herself look like an idiot in the process?”
“Better than that.”
“…A hot celebrity?”
“Think more personal…and you know…hulking and armored.”
The Marine blanched, “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am. The Colonel is up at the bar, and he’s asking for a shot of Nek’tai.”
“What?” One of the other Marines interjected, “That stuff is lethal to almost everybody but Klingons. And I’ll be a week’s worth of KP duty that the Colonel isn’t a Klingon!”
“Do you think he knows?”
“Do you think we should stop him?”
As the Marines made to get out of the booth and head to rescue their commanding officer, the higher ranked one stopped them, “Guys, hold up a moment.”
“What?”
“Alright…so the Colonel is asking for this drink right? And its lethal right? Come on…he’s survived worse than this, I don’t think that a drink of any sort will be able to do him in. He’s a fucking demon…I think the only thing that will kill him is if we douse him in holy water and then hurl him into the sun. And even then he would probably haunt our collective asses forever.”
“So what you’re saying is…we don’t need to help him?”
“What I’m saying is that we use this opportunity to help ourselves. How much latinum do we have between the four of us?”
“Eh…ten strips and 82 slips. You can’t be thinking…”
“I am. Go place some bets Marines.”
“There’s no way the Colonel would approve.”
“Maybe he would. He seems like the type to award ingenuity like this.”
“Even though the cause of it was our own greed at the expense of his life?”
“Look at it this way…if he does die, then we don’t have to tell anybody.”
The Marines looked at one another, and then scattered to go place their bets.
Back at the bar, Yolanthe gave Darson another long steady look. Her skin shifted from blue to buttercup yellow. "This goes against every instinct I have." she muttered, not convinced. But she put the shot glass in front of him. And picked up the bottle. Several people were exchanging money surreptiously. She unscrewed the lid and the fumes jumped out to greet them. Her hand was steady as she poured a single shot, though the yellow was blurring to green and back and back again.
"Down in one!" Shouted the nausicaan. Others took up the chant.
Yolanthe put the bottle down and stood back from the bar, arms folded. "Please don't do this."
Darson shifted his gaze back and forth from the obviously concerned color changing bar owner to the ominous drink in front of him. He leaned forward and said in a low voice that was meant only for her, “You really don’t want me to do this, do you?”
"Of course not." And it wasn't just that he was a man and her cultural chauvinism that made her reluctant to assist in any such insanity. As far as she was concerned her job was to take care of her customers, not let them murder themselves.
“Most bartenders I think…at least at the bars I’ve seen, don’t give a damm about their customers. If they had something like this happen in their bars, and they were released from all liability like you are now…they would actually be encouraging me to drink it. If it increases business, then its good for them. But you…you care a little bit more. And that confirms all of my suspicions about you…in a good way.”
Leaving that cryptic remark he spun around in his seat and jumped up out of it, “Ladies and Gentlemen!” he cried out, getting the attention of the crowd, “I must take this opportunity to remind you that what you are about to see is incredibly dangerous, and that I am a trained professional…relatively speaking. I must also insist on no flash photography…it would only cheapen the moment.”
He turned back to grab the drink from the bar and addressed Yolanthe one more time, “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to turn out fine…probably. If I live though, I want a picture on the wall somewhere.”
She snorted. "If you live, I might just mount you on the wall, tin can and all."
He turned back to the crowd, shot glass in hand, “You all think this is going to kill me, don’t you? Well…you know what they say. You only live once. So cheers, prost, salut, BOTTOMS UP!”
OFF:
Yolanthe Ibalin
Owner, The Box of Delights
Colonel Darson
Marine Commanding Officer, Deep Space 5
by Colonel James Darson & Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin
Post Details
| Title | The "Best Shot" - Part 1 | |
| Mission | Interlude | |
| Author(s) | Colonel James Darson & Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin | |
| Posted | Thu Jul 01, 2010 @ 3:41am | |
| Location | Box Of Delights | |
| Timeline | SD 23 - 2100 |
The turbolift slid to a stop and opened with a hiss. Darson strode out calmly, the rest of the people waiting for the lift giving him a wide berth before entering. As usual, he stood out from the crowd as an intimidating presence. This time however, his presence was augmented by the large attaché case that he held.
It was the middle of the evening, and the dinner crowd was beginning to clear out and be replaced by those in need of some “late night entertainment.” What he was here for was something along those lines, but more business related than actual enjoyment on his part.
Though he was the commander of over a thousand Marines, and had to watch the activities of over fifty thousand more people on board the station, he followed the concerns of his men and women, kept a finger on their pulse so to speak. And one of the things that he was most concerned about was their opportunities to get some R&R, especially after things like the invasion. Rested and happy Marines performed their duties much better than frustrated cooped up ones.
But, after Kaia had started charging the Marines a premium at her bar (which most of the enlisted Marines couldn’t afford to keep paying that high a price) they had started looking elsewhere, but so far hadn’t managed to find any place that could accommodate a large amount, for any length of time.
But then he had heard whispers of a new establishment on the station called the Box of Delights. It apparently was one of the new hip places to be, and was friendly to all who came though its doors.
Not to mention that its’ owner was proving to be a very interesting person to learn about.
And it was the owner that Darson was going to see.
He headed purposefully across the promenade floor to the Box of Delights, glowing brilliantly at this hour, and entered. He flitted oddly through the throngs of people already inside, somehow passing by them quickly and effortlessly, despite his bulk. He ended up at the bar with a swish of his cloak and took one of the few remaining open positions. He then rapped his armored hand on the counter to get the bartenders attention.
Several of the staff looked round, but seeing a customer encased in armor, Yolanthe decided she'd better handle this one in person. She moved up to Darson's space and smiled at him. "Welcome to the Box of Delights." She took him in, what little detail she could see. Probably human, and almost as tall as she was, he didn't look like a man who had come to party. "What can I get you?"
Darson took in the admittedly beautiful woman standing across the bar. Tall and statuesque, and shifting a myriad of colors, she was truly a sight to behold. He had only seen a handful of Bokkai in his travels, and each one was different, but very, very pretty. And this one was no exception.
He cleared his throat and said in what was maybe an over-dramatic tone, “My dear…I have traveled the cosmos, ever in search of the perfect beverage. I have backpacked through the ancient marshes of the Kawoloozian Binary system to obtain the rarest and most viscous and powerful space bee nectar, said to induce the strongest illusions of any other beverage in the universe. I have done battle with the nasty and disgusting cave trolls of Mordoran II to steal from them their finest export of Arsurian Ale, brewed in the magma pits that they call their home, and is said to be one of the finest liquors in the history of history itself.”
“I have even,” he said lowering his voice to a hushed and reverent whisper in order to deepen the suspense and keep the attention of those who had started listening to the epic story, “recently had the once in a billion lifetime opportunity to dine at Milliways, and partake of the legendary Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster…which was truly a transcendental experience. So my dear, what you can get for me…is whatever is the strongest drink you have.”
By the time Darson had finished his story, Yolanthe was trying, and failing, not to laugh, shifting through deepening shades of blue with each increasingly fantastic claim. Eventually pulling herself together she began to assemble bottles on her bar. "Technically, the most lethally alcoholic thing I have is Nek'tai. But if you're human, then it will kill you, so..." she pushed it aside.
"We have a toss up between Gul Gemel's Special Overproof Kanar," she laid a ocean blue finger on the twisted bottle, "a kali-fel that will clear your sinuses clear out the back of your skull, and an absinthe that is made with genuine, still hallucinogenic wormwood, so you can talk to the green fairy. Not exactly Zaphod's finest, but they still pack a wallop. Your choice."
“But then,” he said with a chuckle, “Nothing is, is it?” He glanced at the bottles, “Hmm…tough choice. But you know…I think I’ll actually have you pour me a shot of the Nek’tai. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
She gave him a long look. "What part of it kills humans did you not understand? Its what Klingons drink when they aren't fond of their livers, either of them. Its lethal to almost every other species, and I've seen it used to clean industrial lubricants off warp injectors. Giving you this is pretty much assisted suicide."
He shook his head, “No, I’m pretty sure I understand. From your description I can guess that it’s something so powerful that in a pinch it could double as an explosive device…or an acid. But never fear. Though it may be lethal to humans,” he leaned forward and said confidentially, “My constitution is stronger than most. So let me sign a waiver or whatever you need, and then let me have your best shot…if you’ll pardon the pun.”
Several customers were now watching with interest. A Nausicaan spoke up. "Let him have it. I'll tell security he was willing when he keels over." More aliens agreed.
"I am not letting someone die in my bar." She protested. "I've heard a lot of people boast they have constitution. I've picked them all up off the floor long before they expected to be there. And none of them walked in wearing a tin can." She rapped her knuckles on the front of his amour. "it doesn't give me a lot of faith in your claims."
Darson was glad that he had taken off the shiny new set of eagle’s wings that declared his rank in the center of his chest. It was adding a whole new interesting dimension to this little show, “My dear, I think this ‘tin-can’ can take a lot more punishment than you give it credit for,” he turned in his seat to point a gloved hand at the nausicaan who had spoke up before, “And you heard the big man…he’ll support your story that I was an idiotic bastard who was asking for it if you end up with a corpse on your bar floor. Hell, I think all of these sorry drinkers would, am I right?” he called the last part out to the assembled room as a whole, and was met by a mixed chorus of drunk and partially sober acknowledgements.
Meanwhile, in a booth at the back of the room, three Marines were sitting in civilian clothing, impatiently waiting for their forth to return with the next round of drinks. She had left a while ago and hadn’t returned, and to add to their irritation some fool was making an ass out of himself with a drinking contest or something at the bar, and was attracting quite a crowd.
They were about to go launch a rescue mission for their missing Marine when she dashed up to the table, breathless and noticeably devoid of drinks.
“You’re back…finally. And where are our drinks?” Said the fireteam leader with a tinge of annoyance, “Don’t tell me you forgot them…or ran out of money.”
She shook her head frantically, “No sir. Sir, you will not believe what’s going on up at the bar.”
“What? Some guy drinking himself into oblivion and making himself look like an idiot in the process?”
“Better than that.”
“A celebrity drinking himself into oblivion and making him or herself look like an idiot in the process?”
“Better than that.”
“…A hot celebrity?”
“Think more personal…and you know…hulking and armored.”
The Marine blanched, “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am. The Colonel is up at the bar, and he’s asking for a shot of Nek’tai.”
“What?” One of the other Marines interjected, “That stuff is lethal to almost everybody but Klingons. And I’ll be a week’s worth of KP duty that the Colonel isn’t a Klingon!”
“Do you think he knows?”
“Do you think we should stop him?”
As the Marines made to get out of the booth and head to rescue their commanding officer, the higher ranked one stopped them, “Guys, hold up a moment.”
“What?”
“Alright…so the Colonel is asking for this drink right? And its lethal right? Come on…he’s survived worse than this, I don’t think that a drink of any sort will be able to do him in. He’s a fucking demon…I think the only thing that will kill him is if we douse him in holy water and then hurl him into the sun. And even then he would probably haunt our collective asses forever.”
“So what you’re saying is…we don’t need to help him?”
“What I’m saying is that we use this opportunity to help ourselves. How much latinum do we have between the four of us?”
“Eh…ten strips and 82 slips. You can’t be thinking…”
“I am. Go place some bets Marines.”
“There’s no way the Colonel would approve.”
“Maybe he would. He seems like the type to award ingenuity like this.”
“Even though the cause of it was our own greed at the expense of his life?”
“Look at it this way…if he does die, then we don’t have to tell anybody.”
The Marines looked at one another, and then scattered to go place their bets.
Back at the bar, Yolanthe gave Darson another long steady look. Her skin shifted from blue to buttercup yellow. "This goes against every instinct I have." she muttered, not convinced. But she put the shot glass in front of him. And picked up the bottle. Several people were exchanging money surreptiously. She unscrewed the lid and the fumes jumped out to greet them. Her hand was steady as she poured a single shot, though the yellow was blurring to green and back and back again.
"Down in one!" Shouted the nausicaan. Others took up the chant.
Yolanthe put the bottle down and stood back from the bar, arms folded. "Please don't do this."
Darson shifted his gaze back and forth from the obviously concerned color changing bar owner to the ominous drink in front of him. He leaned forward and said in a low voice that was meant only for her, “You really don’t want me to do this, do you?”
"Of course not." And it wasn't just that he was a man and her cultural chauvinism that made her reluctant to assist in any such insanity. As far as she was concerned her job was to take care of her customers, not let them murder themselves.
“Most bartenders I think…at least at the bars I’ve seen, don’t give a damm about their customers. If they had something like this happen in their bars, and they were released from all liability like you are now…they would actually be encouraging me to drink it. If it increases business, then its good for them. But you…you care a little bit more. And that confirms all of my suspicions about you…in a good way.”
Leaving that cryptic remark he spun around in his seat and jumped up out of it, “Ladies and Gentlemen!” he cried out, getting the attention of the crowd, “I must take this opportunity to remind you that what you are about to see is incredibly dangerous, and that I am a trained professional…relatively speaking. I must also insist on no flash photography…it would only cheapen the moment.”
He turned back to grab the drink from the bar and addressed Yolanthe one more time, “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to turn out fine…probably. If I live though, I want a picture on the wall somewhere.”
She snorted. "If you live, I might just mount you on the wall, tin can and all."
He turned back to the crowd, shot glass in hand, “You all think this is going to kill me, don’t you? Well…you know what they say. You only live once. So cheers, prost, salut, BOTTOMS UP!”
OFF:
Yolanthe Ibalin
Owner, The Box of Delights
Colonel Darson
Marine Commanding Officer, Deep Space 5