OOC: bangs head on table

“That does it!” Demon announced, bouncing up and down on the table a couple times. “I think you two have to get out of here for awhile and do something else. You look like you have far too much to worry about. We could go touring in Voinian space and look for Ki-jara, or go skiing on Kirrim, or SOMETHING!”

The last word seemed to echo, as Page and Ta-vora were more than a little shocked by the shapeshifter’s sudden outburst. “I’m going to look at map in Kamikaze ,” he continued, “and pick somewhere we can go, unless one of you comes up with a better idea.” With a flick of his tail, he was off the table and gone in no time.

The two remaining awake people at the table glanced at each other, wondering just what had gotten into him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

_Larra frowned slightly and pushed a few runaway strands of black hair out of her face. The frozen, icy wasteland around her seemed unfamiliar and unforgiving, but she was neither cold nor worried. She wandered off in a random direction, but shortly found herself back in the same place.

Not the least bit annoyed, Larra simply picked another direction, with the same result. Glancing over to her right, she noticed a lever sticking up out of the snow. Wondering why she hadn’t spotted it before, Larra stepped over grabbed the big red handgrip on the end. She tried to shove it to the left, but it wouldn’t budge. Slightly annoyed, she applied even more pressure, only to nearly lose her footing on the icy ground.

Determined to push the lever, Larra kicked footholds out in the ice and then threw all her weight against the offending thing. Still, it wouldn’t budge. Winded, she straightened to catch her breath, keeping one hand on the end of the lever for support. Furious now, she shoved the pole in the opposite direction. It fell into place neatly, and the square of ice Larra had been standing on vanished.

Falling through the black chasm, Larra’s only concern was why she was suddenly wearing a white dress. The puzzle was solved soon enough, when she fell headfirst through an opening at the end of the darkness. Immediately Larra was standing on her feet as gravity changed direction. Slightly disorientated, she glanced around at her surroundings.

A familiar song was being played by an organ, but Larra could only stare at the long carpet rolled out in front of her, the long benches filled with people on either side, at the men at the alter straight ahead. Panicking now, she began looking for another lever, hoping it would get her out of there, but someone was pushing her ahead..._

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Larra woke with a start, nearly falling out of her chair. Page, and Ta-vora were both staring at her. “Bad dream?” Page asked, looking over his sunglasses.

“You have no idea,” Larra agreed, shuddering. “I almost got married.”

JaceySquires, on Oct 19 2004, 02:55 PM, said:

Oh, God... there's so much to read before I can come back... Anyway, I was in the neighborhood and Just wanted to say hi guys.

Be well,
Mark
View Post

I feel exactly the same way.

I want to get back into this. But how? Is there still room for an insane Voinian emperor, an overly ambitious and cutthroat navy captain, and a crew of Dur'achi out for a thrill?

Or is it too late?

Solel, on Nov 8 2004, 12:54 AM, said:

I feel exactly the same way.

I want to get back into this. But how? Is there still room for an insane Voinian emperor, an overly ambitious and cutthroat navy captain, and a crew of Dur'achi out for a thrill?

Please, join right back in. We're going through a bit of a lull right now and we need all the inspiration we can get.

OOC: In that case, count me back in. I'm picking up (pretty much) from where I left off. If something I'm writing contradicts the current reality of the story, please let me know. And now...

-----

The Legend of the Voronov
Part VII

Isled Naval Research Institute, Isled

Fleet Commander Irayev was disciplined enough to remain seated at his desk while he waited. It wouldn't be much long, anyway. For now, he contented himself by looking at an ancient galactic chart, one that did not have the regions of human space and the domain of the Miranu marked on it. Those must have been better days, Irayev thought, knowing it was untrue.

The Fleet Admiral had arrived two minutes ago. He'd be in Irayev's office any moment now. Irayev wasn't too concerned; he'd met Arakev twice before. But now they were planning Shadowstorm, and the first phase was almost complete. Development of the neutron rotoweaponry—beyond just the initial rotocannons—had proceeded apace in the past year, and the fleet refit was just about done. Only the 5th, 9th, and 73rd fleets were still undergoing outfitting across the Empire.

It was on the issue of the second phase that the commander of the Voinian Imperial Navy was coming to to speak to him personally on Isled.

The door to Irayev's office opened, and Fleet Admiral Arakev entered. He had no guards.

Not that he'd need them, thought Irayev bemusedly. The Admiral, though approaching old age, was still quite hale, and could probably hold his own in combat.

Irayev rose to salute Arakev. The Admiral returned the salute, and the two promptly seated themselves.

"Fleet Commander Irayev, it is good to see you once again."

"And you, Admiral. Shall we get started?"

"Absolutely." Arakev opened the portfolio he'd been carrying. From it, he took a chart of the Border Systems and the surrounding human, Emalgha, Miranu, and Voinian territory.

"As you know, we should be able to execute Shadowstorm soon. Before we can begin it, however, there is one more phase that must be completed."

"The attack."

"Not so."

"What?"

"There is another phase to the plan that was not discussed earlier. It was deemed too sensitive. And all the elements of that phase had not yet been assembled at the time to send out the strategy last year."

"Understood." Irayev was not pleased, but he did acknowledge the security concerns involved in the decision.

"So, what is this mystery phase you've come to speak to me about?"

"It involves a most intriguing piece of technology acquired by some of our agents. They retrieved it from the Rock, a pirate installation in the Strand Crescent. The exact details of their means of acquiring the technology, destroying all evidence of their work, and eliminating the threat of the pirates ever using the weapon themselves—all of that can be found in this report." Arakev handed the Fleet Commander a thick stack of papers. Irayev took it with a nod.

"And this technology...you speak of it as if it is more important than the Dur'achi generators or the rotocannons."

"Not so. It is merely another element to ensuring Shadowstorm can be implemented. I assume you've had your doubts about the feasibility of the plan."

"Indeed. Admiral, how do you and the Emperor plan to conquer so much space? And hold it? It is impossible. We can probably hold it, truth be told, but the number of enemy ships we'd have to neutralize or capture is rather...formidable."

"True. And that is why we sent Zathe ek Daal, Shek Sunrunner, and Lelos Somm to acquire a cloaking device."

Irayev was speechless.

Arakev stood. "I want all fleets under Isled's jurisdiction refitted with the mass produced Voinian version of the device within six months. The timetable of Shadowstorm is precise; deviating from it will force us to miss a once in a millenia opportunity. I have faith in your leadership, Commander. I know that you will bring honor to the Empire."

=====

Hall of the Light, Dur'ach, Dur'achi Star Cluster, Beyond the Voinian Empire

The Prophets of the Light had once again assembled and joined together in the mindflow. It seemed that the threat to the Greatworlds had passed for now, even as other great dangers remained.

_The balance is about to shift.

That can't be helped. And it serves our interests.

Does it? Will our services still be needed?

They will always be needed. So long as the Greatworld speak.

Perhaps. We shall see if you are correct. For now, we must recall the crew of the _Voronov _so that they may commune with Dur'ach. They have not returned to the Cluster for over a year.

Agreed.

Send for them, then._

OOC: Welcome back, and jeez its been a while..

Page smiled, and lit a cigarette.
“I think you need a ######in’ drink,” Page waved over to the waitress. “Hey can I have a pitcher of Rum please?”
“Sorry sir,” She replied softly, “We only sell pitchers of beer, I don’t even think you could drink a pitcher of rum.”
Page raised an eyebrow.
“Did you just question his drinking capacity?” Larra said groggily.
“I’m sorry but I don’t even think the three of you can drink a pitcher of rum.”
Page grinned, “Miss, what do you say we make a wager.”
Ta-vora rolled his eyes, “Oh no, here we go.”
“I bet we can keep drinking as long as you can keep bringing it.”
Larra opened her mouth and let her jaw hang in shock.
“Oh yeah wise guy?”
“Yup,” Page slammed a cred stick on the table. “I’ll bet you half a million credits we can drink the whole damn bar.”
“You’re on buddy.”
The waitress turned on her heel and headed to the bar for the first round.
“YOU’VE GOTTA BE KIDDING ME?!” Larra yelled. “The whole bar?! Have you ever heard of alcohol poisoning?”
“Oh yeah, very familiar with it.”
“You really like throwing your money around don’t you?” Ta-vora mused.
“My money? HAHAHA!”
“Okay I’m going to go to the shi-“
“Sorry cat man,” Page interrupted, “I just bet half a million credits with that waitress, if you leave I lose.”
Ta-vora’s eye’s bored into Page’s skull. “So you’re telling me you bet that WE will drink all the liquor behind the bar?”
“Yep.”
“Do you have any idea how much there is back there,” Larra whined.
Page stared at the bar for a moment. “Probably a few kegs, forty bottles of liquor, not that much.”
Larra slapped her forehead and slunk down into her chair. “Okay liver, don’t fail me now..”

OOC: I just spent 6 hours playing Halo 2. That game kicks ass.

Drake had snuck behind the bar. She sat, trying to come up with some way to incapacitate the group she had been hired to capture. If only she could just shoot them, it'd make it so much easier. Ah well.

A flash of inspiration struck her, as the talking dog shouted something. Scuffling quickly into a back room, she donned an apron, and folded a paper hat. Returning to the front, she checked her appearance in the bar's mirror. It could've been better, but she doubted the patrons would really notice.

Just then, the obnoxious chain-smoker waved to her.

------------------

"You're on." She smiled. Maybe they'd all pass out...

A drinking game. They must think they're safe. This certainly makes my job easier. Now, how much alcohol can I find in this place?

OOC: Dech was a pirate. There's lots of hard stuff, and lots of beer. I've got an idea... thegreenfile@gmail.com if you want to hear it, otherwise just take this post wherever you want. Just don't kill Kenady.

“I hope you understand that I am not used to drinking alcohol.” Ta-vora said, then he grinned. “On the other side, since this body is of energetic nature, thus I can make it dissolve any fluid that comes in touch with it.”
Larra raised her eyebrows. “Energetic nature? Oh, let me guess, a mental pojection again?”
“Yes, I need to burn off a little energy.”
Page interrupted him. “Wait a minute, dissolve? Does that mean ”
“It means I could probably 'drink' the whole supply of alcohol on this station that way. On the other side, wouldn't that be like cheating?”

“I wouldn’t mind all that much if we cheated,” Larra complained, shaking her head. “At least it’s only money...”

“You kidding?” Page laughed. “We can win this easy.”

Cursing under her breath, Larra began banging her head on the table, but stopped suddenly. “How long has Demon been gone?”

“About ten minutes,” Ta-vora answered, enjoying the situation quite a bit because he probably wouldn’t have to drink anything himself.

“Ten...” Larra whined. “If this would have happened ten minutes ago, Demon could drink almost all of it, as long as he’d be allowed bathroom breaks. Cast iron stomach, remember?”

“But if Demon joins now, I lose,” Page reminded her, grinning from ear to ear.

“Next time Demon decides to dye your hair hot pink while you’re sleeping,” she remarked, giving up the argument, “I’ll not only let him, but make sure he doesn’t use any of that wimpy wash-out stuff.”

OOC: Solel : IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou!

But I have really, really bad timing, and will be away from computers starting tomorrow and ending next Tuesday. Bah, you guys know my chars well enough by now...

TGF: I’d still love to hear your idea... maybe you can post it on that board of yours?

OOC: Good Idea greenie, I think we should play this one by ear tho, see how it goes, If you feel like emailing me your plan I wouldnt complain tho.
--------
The waitress walked over with a tray holding several bottles. He smiled as she put the 6 shot glasses down on the table. She set the 8 or 9 bottles down next to them, and strolled off chuckling.
"Okay," Page began, "I'll take the hard s### and you two divie up what's left."
Larra rolled her eyes and began checking proof's.
"Oh and remember the golden rule."
"And what might that be?" the projection of Ta-vora asked.
Page grinned from ear to yead and lowered his sunglasses.
"Beer before liquor never been sicker, Now lets drink."
The three raised their shotglasses, tapped them together and sucked em down.
"Who'se up for secconds?" Page asked tying a girly red scarf around his head.

The Legend of the Voronov
Part VIII

The Sarpi War Academy, Dur’ach

The wind from the Far Waters flowed soothingly across the plains surrounding the Dur’achi war temple. Millions of tall, thin, and yellow blades of gleamgrass swayed to the music of the skies. For the moment, all was peaceful in the Dur’achi Star Cluster.

The Prophets of the Light stood waiting for the Voronov to arrive. The arrival of the all-Dur’achi VSD taskforce was an event of some note on the homeworld, and several thousand people had journeyed to witness it.

A flaming point was spotted. Within a minute, the Voronov had touched down, and a few minutes later, the crew disembarked.

The Eighteen approached first.

“Welcome home, Warriors of Sorul.”

Soon they were all in the feast halls of the War Academy. Zathe, Shek, and Lelos seated themselves with the Prophets and many of their old instructors who still taught at Sarpi.

“It has been too long since you last returned,” one of the Prophets commented. Zathe couldn’t remember her name.

“Yes,” agreed another. “You risk losing your battletrance abilities.”

Shek waved his hand dismissively. “This is not the only world where Sorul holds sway.”

“Yes, but it is the only world with His great Temple.”

“What matter?” Zathe speared the Prophets with an accusing glare. “We carry Shards with us. When we first went to join the Voinians in the War of the Empire, you assured us that the Shards would provide us with an unbreakable connection to the Tower of Sorul’s Might. It seemed that they worked. They had to be blessed again every two years or so, as you instructed, and we have been diligent about such instruction throughout our years of service across the Voinian Empire. Are you telling us now that the Shards no longer work?”

None of the Prophets spoke.

“Did they ever work?”

Silence.

Zathe grew angry. “Speak, Sorul damn you! I will be answered!”

All the Prophets closed their eyes. Finally, in unison, they spoke.

“Sorul is dead.”

To the surprise of everyone of the Voronov ’s crew, no one in the hall seemed surprised by the pronouncement. What indeed had happened while they were gone this past year?

“Dead? How can he be dead? Sorul is our god!” Zathe rose violently from his bench at the table. “Explain yourselves, Prophets.”

They motioned for Zathe to sit. After a moment’s hesitation, he retook his seat. And the Prophets spoke.

“Sorul as we knew him was our god. He was our creator. The truth seems more complicated. After analyzing several strange archaeological finds that have been cropping up recently on every world of the Cluster, we believe we now know the truth.”

The Prophets paused again.

“We believe the Dur’achi are the original self-aware lifeforms in this Greatworld, in this Universe. We do not know who the other Progenitors of the other Greatworlds, of the other Universes, are, but we are certain now that we are the First here.

“We further believe that our ancestors embarked on a quest to explore this Greatworld, in search of other self-aware beings such as themselves. But they found no companions.

“So it was that our ancestors searched for likely candidates for self-awareness, and worked to guide their evolution to a state of sapience.

“We believe that the results of this work led to the rise of several thousands of self-aware species.”

“But only a hundred or so remain today!” exclaimed Zathe.

“Indeed. Some of the original thousands, after advancing sufficiently in their culture and technology, embarked on genocidal wars of conquest across the cosmos. We believe that our ancestors, seeing this damage, abandoned their disciples and withdrew within their original space. They then set about a program to forget what they had done, in awakening those who brought destruction down upon the Greatworld. We believe that our religion, our belief in Sorul, was the means of forgetting.”

Zathe considered what they were saying. Sorul...but then how?...

“What about our strange abilities? The battletrances that we attribute to Sorul’s might?”

“We believe we’ve found the answer to that as well. In the past we’ve considered our great strength and superb health to be gifts from Sorul. Never did we think it would be an invisible characteristic hidden within ourselves.

“Our bodies seem to be home to millions of picocytes, miniscule engines of creation no doubt engineered by our ancestors as part of the scheme to erase the memory. It seems that the picocytes, in addition to their more benign work, promote the production of a chemical that reinforces the belief in Sorul. However, as we have seen after the discovery, revelation of this secret seems to deactivate this function of the picocytes.

“This is why we have called you back. We believe the Shards you carry are merely part of a vast store of artifacts left us by our ancestors. We must discover the extent of the powers these picocytes grant us, and we must also discover the methods and history surrounding our ancestors’ activities of enlightening other races to self-awareness.

“Remain here on Dur’ach for a month to commune with your friends and family, and to become attuned to the chaotic individual energies of the picocytes within you, for they are the means of the battletrance. Then leave. You will start your search on Voina.”

http://playlist.yahoo.com/makeplaylist.dll...qtw=640&qth;=400

Del Markov leaned back into the comfy chair with his bottle of Saalian Brandy.
He knew that this would cost him his life and his ship.
It's the only way.
Del drank heavily from the bottle before returning to the review of his ship systems. The report was good. The upgrades were in.
Del transfered four million credits from his personal account.
Movement at the otherside of the table drew Del back into reality.
It was Nita Hoffman.
"Did you get them?" Nita nodded and handed over the data blocks.
Del ran them through his ship database. and focused on the moment.
I was right. Del activated the perscom on his flight suit.
"Azardi, prep the Cruisers for jump."
Del looked at Nita.
"Nita. You were there from the beginning. No further."
"What? You can't do that Del."
"The hell I can't." Del pulled the tranqnife and stabbed her with it.
Sedative pumped through Nita's System and she collapsed.
Del moved for his Cruiser.
Sorry kid.

Sean Meaney
s892646@cdu.edu.au

OOC: Hellloooo....

Larra lost count after what she believed to be the 25th shot, when she realized that 24 just might not come after 57. The grinning waitress constantly brought drinks, but still the three patrons chugged them down just as fast. Larra was beginning to suspect that Ta-vora, being unused to drinking but not yet showing signs of being drunk, was vanishing at least every other shot. There was no question about Page, though. He was clearly enjoying every swallow.

Reaching over, she grabbed one of the glasses the Vellosian had reserved for himself, under the excuse that the other two “couldn’t handle it”, and chugged it down.

“Hey, that one was mine!” Page complained, turning to look at her so fast his scarf smacked Kenady in the face as she brought more drinks.

Larra grinned innocently. “Not anymore.”

=================================

It was a beautiful day - the cheap fluorescent lighting was bright, the pirates were grumpy, the smell was atrocious, and Demon couldn’t think of a better day to be alive. Then again, he was running around the black market with an air horn and a paintball gun, alternating between blasting the horn behind unsuspecting victims, and splashing his more well-groomed victims (they were few and far between) with paint.

Boredom hadn’t lasted long, not when you had an arsenal of endless ideas and a whole group of people to terrorize. Halloween day found him running around with a big white sheet over his head, playing “trick or treat” on the doomed population of the Rock. No one had been willing to give the treat, but that was exactly what Demon had hoped for.

The average daily street fight count had doubled after he began sticking rude signs on people’s backs. The price of medical goods skyrocketed. As far as the shapeshifter was concerned, he was a very important part of the economy.

A few hours ago, he had toured the docking bays until he discovered the most expensive ship he could find, excluding those owned by his friends. After painting a big red target on the side, he began chucking overripe fruit against the hull, keeping track of his score and telling everyone he was doing a study on the ‘splatability’ of various types of fruit, then asking whether they prefered watermelons or grapefruits. As if they didn’t think talking dogs were weird enough.

It was all in good fun, until the owner showed up with his crew, and Demon had to make a quick escape into a nearby sewer pipe. Unfortunately he managed to get stuck directly under the sewage dump, but that only presented to opportunity to spread the stuff all across the streets once he escaped.

OOC: sean, you weren’t clear about where your characters are. If they aren’t on the Rock, then everyone can just ignore the rest of my post.

Demon grinned as he ran, remembering all the fun he’d been having. Skidding to a stop at the door of the No Name, the shapeshifter almost slammed headfirst into a stranger leaving. Abandoning all thoughts of visiting Larra, he followed Del for a short distance, then took aim with his paintball gun and gleefully fired several rapid shots.

These people sure can put it away... Kenady thought to herself as she walked back to the bar with an empty tray. At least there's plenty more. They're only about a quarter of the way through all this... and there's twice this much in the back room.

Loading the tray with several tankards of dark stout and an equal number of shots of almost pure alcohol, she balanced the tray expertly as she hurried back to the table. Pulling a lighter from her back pocket, she announced, "Irish Car Bombs, all around!"

She proceeded to pick up a shot, light it on fire, drop it in the pint of stout, and drain it in one go.

Wiping her mouth after spitting the shot glass back into the tankard, she commented. "You guys don't mind if I join in a bit, do you? Bringing you lot drinks is a thirsty job." Not waiting for an answer, she plopped down next to Larra. "Finish these," She lit a shot. "And I'll go get some more." She dropped it in a tankard, and handed it to Larra. "Any requests?"

Markov's Wolves were heading for Kade.

Del focused on the data recording of Emil Mannering.

Emil Mannering descended the ramp of his craft and stepped onto the surface of Centauri Prime. Emil violated the rules and cracked the seals on his suit and pulled off his helmet. The medallion around his neck bounced into view. His second, Francis Grey, could be heard over comm.
"Damn it Mannering! The bioprotocols are there for a reason."
Emil smiled.<
Grandfather said that smile got Mannering elected President of United Earth.

Del paused the recording and backed up to the medallion. He zoomed in.
Mannering was a follower of Sheppard. The Church of Alan.
Del gripped his own medallion and smiled.

Del thought of Nita collapsed in Del's comfy chair.
I should have told you I love you just once.

One last step, one small leap for mankind. :blink:

It was only then that Del noticed the paint!! :mad:

This post has been edited by seanrobertmeaney : 19 November 2004 - 02:10 AM

The Palm tre chuckled from its seat in he corner, next to the elevated red booth. It looked at the clock, and then to the ususal residents of its booth. It had been maybe 2 hours straight. Even the waitress had joined them.
The palm tree brushed the red leather booth lightly with one of its branches, and began tapping how long would this last?
-------------
"Keep em coming!" Page slurred, lighting the cigarette he put in one of his nostrils because he missed his mouth.
The waitress stood up and staggered over to the bar. There were only 2 bottles of saillian brandy left, so she turned off into the store room, and brought back a case something so strong it could probably strip the bolts off a shuttle.
"They wont be able to get past this," she said to herself quietly.
She re entered the bar and Page was pounding on the table with his mug. Larra's skin had turned paper white and one of her eyes wandered over the bar while the other, seemingly glazed over, just staed straight ahead.
And Ta-vora's projection was cycling through colors.
"See!" Page spat, "Mental projections can get drunk!"
The waitress rolled her eyes and set the case on the table. Page tore at the cardborad freeing a bottle, and began guzzling. Larra slowly followed, At this point she had already drank so much that just about anything tasted like water, and every time Ta-vora's projection eached for a bottle its hand disappeared.
"This is too easy," the waitress whispered.

The Legend of the Voronov
Part IX

Voina Overworld, Voina System, Voinian Grand Empire

The V.I.S. Voronov emerged out of the chaos of hyperspace and was quickly acquired by Voina's defense platforms and the long-range planetary artillery. Even after the VSD had confirmed the ship's identity, the gun crews kept their watch. One never knew if the Earthscum or the Emalghan dogs had tried something.

One never knew. The thought occurred to Zathe ek Daal as well, but it was in a different sense. Sorul, the god he had fought for, killed people for, had never existed. It was all a million-year old illusion designed by his ancestors to evolve with them, so that they would continue to forget. The only reason he knew otherwise was because his ancestors hadn't bothered to clean up all their trash.

Zathe covered his eyes. For what had he done murder?

Behind him, Shek Sunrunner and Lelos Somm were working with the Voronov's engineering chief. The subject of the inquiry, an isolated cluster of Sorucytes--as Shek had named the picocytes--was attempting to escape the confines of a Dur'achi gravity field.

All that they'd found so far was what they'd already known. The Sorucytes repaired the body, with the required materials available. They increased cognitive functioning. And they were responsible for the battletrace ability. They'd figured that out rapidly enough.

At least the confirmation was comforting. The crew suspected the clues they'd find on Voina would not be pleasant.

---------

They landed at a VSD military base. After disembarking, they quickly logged their presence and acquired vehicles. Then they went searching for one of the rarest buildings on the Empire: a library.

Demon giggled girlishly to himself as he watched the man walk away. How could someone not notice being hit several times by with paint pellets? Raising his weapon, the shapeshifter took aim at the nearest bystander, only to find out he was completely out of ammo. Disgusted, Demon trotted away to drop the weapon off in the Kamikaze and make new plans.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“I don’t believe it,” Kenady admitted, staring at the three overly drunk patrons. She, of course, had been smart enough not to get herself too drunk. “But you three just finished off the last of it.” The fake waitress couldn’t help wondering how they were even alive.

Ta-vora’s projection hadn’t moved from where it was ten minutes ago, when Kenady had left to search for any liquor that might possibly be left. It flickered erratically, like a dying light bulb.

“Pay me,” Page slurred, slumped over the back of his chair, his words seemingly directed at the palm tree.

Larra remained stationary for about a minute, before mumbling a dull “Woohoo,” and promptly passing out cold on the table, her head making a loud clunking sound as it connected with the solid surface.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

There was only one big problem with Demon’s plan of attack. He had entered the bar as stealthily as possible, planning to have a little fun with his invisible, quick-drying crazy glue, but his targets were in no state to even notice. Holding back laughter, he transformed himself into a tiny little gecko, and climbed the wall on the opposite side of the bar.

Working his way across the ceiling, the shapeshifter positioned himself above his friends’ table, blending in with the shadows. Watching with amusement, Demon had only one regret - he didn’t have a video camera.

OOC: I'm not going to post as Ta-vora anymore, as the site keeps forgetting my passwords if I switch the user.

Ta-vora's shape vanished in a flash of colorful light.
He felt kind of strange when he awoke in the regeneration chamber. He tried to stand but his knees were weak and he collapsed to the ground.
Eryss! That was too much!
The last minutes in the bar had been painful. The others were wrong, he was not drunk. How should he be, none of the alcohol had actually entered his body. His psionic energies had been depleted, thus he had drawn physical energy directly from his body. Now he felt like he had not slept or regenerated for weeks.
Drawing energy from the pulsing crystals around him, he slowly refilled his body's energy reserves, careful not to touch his psionic reserves. They would refill soon enough by themselves.
As unpleasant as the experience was, however, it would keep the threshold syndrome away for some time.

After an hour or so, Ta-vora felt like he could stand again. He left the chamber and headed for the sickbay.
“I need something against hangovers.” he told the physican.
“Hangovers? You don't seem drunk, Kre.”
“No, but I know somebody who probably needs it.”
The physican nodded and handed him an ampule containing white pills. Ta-vora nodded, he knew them from his medical training.

Before the Ka-nuth left the ship, he armed himself with his Crescent Sword and his lightning matrix. Right now he had no psionic energies left and although he still had his training and experience, he was more vulnerable than usual, something that could prove fatal in a place like this.

Upon entering the bar, Ta-vora saw Page and Larra where he had left them. Both were apparently out cold.
“If you want anything to drink, you have to go to a different bar.” the waitress said without turning around to face him, “We're out of alcohol.”
“I know.” the Ka-nuth answered.
She turned around, looking at him with a confused expression but didn't say anything. He sat down at an empty table. Now that he smelled the strong scent of alcohol, he felt disgusted.
Now he waited. From time to time, the waitress directed glances at him and he kept her on the edge of his awareness. There was something strange about her. For a waitress she behaved quite unusual.
Looking up, he noticed Demon sitting on the ceiling. He grinned slightly.
Out of tricks? he thought.

OOC: I used to frequent the Albatross bar, way back in the day. Then I got involved in the Hypergate (which is now, apparently, dead - I miss it, although I didn't post there as often as I should have), and then I found this, where I've been hanging out since. Anyway recently I came to ask a question relating to Nova, and in passing I saw this, and thought; "hmmm". And so I decided, why the heck not? I've read the first few pages, and the last few pages, but not the entirety of the thread, I'm afraid ... here goes nothing!
IC:

Coincidence is fickle. It cares nothing for what might be going on, for circumstances or for the wants of the people whom is strikes. In this case, it means a ship dropping into real-space not far from the Rock...

The entity known as Shade (and also as Khar Kasine, and Arkhinat, and "I want my money back you bastard!") hummed quietly to itself, carefully polishing it's boots. One must mantain one's appearance, after all.

There was a noise, from somewhere else in the cluttered quarters of Shade's vessel, but then there were always noises. The Morrigan was cobbled together out of many different vessels, after all, and the parts fit poorly.

The noise repeated itself, resolving into a high-pitched ping.

"Voi dteh?" Shade looked up in suprise, to see a small grey kitten sitting atop a stack of books. "Oh, it's you. We're out of hyperspace already? I wasn't expecting it to be so soon. That mass we dropped last system must have helped."

"That mass" had been part of an Igadzra warship, disconnected once it had been stripped of all useful items.

"Yes, we're out of hyperspace," the kitten replied, and pinged again. "Now approaching the Rock. You remember the Rock? Renegade hangout?"

"Cha, Morrigan , I remember the Rock. I wonder if they'll have anything decent this time?"

Ping. The little AI avatar yawned, and pronounced; "Upon our last visit, you pronounced the bar "a fermented hellhole", the market "entirely lacking in anything resembling culture", and the station in general "inefficient". This coming from someone who liked Freeport..."

"Freeport had that collection of old Gaiman novels. The Rock had ... what was it? "The Collected Works of Beatrix Potter"? Ab horrent, Morrigan. Simply abhorrent. Still, interesting things tend to end up in places like this..."

"Good luck."

"Thankyou, Morrigan. I may need it."

Shade finished lacing it's boots, and stood, examining itself in the mirror; a humanoid of indeterminate gender clad in black trousers, white shirt, and what it thought of as a "tastefully cultural coat"; a red-and-tan trenchcoat embroidered with ripple patterns at hem, collar and cuffs.

A long grey scarf, black beret, and fingerless gloves rounded out the apparel. The square-rimmed glasses perched on Shade's nose were not so much necessary as they were, in Shade's words, "a necessary label of my lifestyle and occupation"; dealers in antiquities, even dealers in antiquities which were in some cases older than the human race, had glasses.

"There. Will you be coming, Morrigan?"

"One of me." There were, at Shade's last count, several dozen different avatars of Morrigan 's AI, with this one being a recent addition, purchased at North Tip Station from a fellow dealer in antiquities.

"Very well, then. Bring us in to dock, and then I think I shall be going for a drink. You can watch, I suppose. There may be people of interest."

"Already done. If you'd spend more time on the bridge..."

"There was an interesting annotated translation of Kehezhamet's Thoughts Upon the Universe. I was reading."

Morrigan said nothing, but the little kitten-avatar hopped up to ride upon Shade's shoulder.

"Ready?"

"Ready. Shall we go?"

The Rock was just as noisy, smelly, and generally "inefficient" (a word Shade used to mean "wasted space", i.e. areas not filled with archaeological relics) as it had been the last time the collector had been through. For now, Shade ignored the markets thronging the chambers of the Rock, heading rather for the bar. They hadn't had a decent tomato juice the last time round, but they might by now. One never knew, after all.

As it had been last time, the bar was redolent with the scent of fermented products; Shade wrinkled it's nose delicately in disgust. Approaching the bar, it fished a credit chip from one voluminous pocket, and placed it carefully on the bartop.

"A tomato juice, please, if you have such a thing. Spiced."