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An Afternoon at the Pub
Moff_BoldtDate: Tuesday, 28 Apr 2009, 10:50 AM | Message # 1
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Günther Banning was having a bad day. There was, in the back of his mind, some concern about the Alignment's operation at Acherin (Banning, who was on reasonably good terms with "Wolf" Konig, had recommended to the Moff that he send a troop of special forces onto the planet, on the assumption that they would work with the local boys to make a fight of it against the Republic, which would arrive imminently. No chance in hell of winning, of course, but a few more dead Rebs was always a good thing, wasn't it? As usual, Banning's enthusiasm had exceeded himself, but this time so too had the Alignment, which committed itself to Acherin in a big way; sending in not special forces, but entire armies, walkers, and support troops. It was going to be nasty).

But more troubling―as far as Banning was concerned―were his orders for he and his men to ship out to Dorvalla tomorrow morning, aboard the Marathon. It wasn't Dorvalla that bothered him (indeed, he looked forward to some good, wholesome, skull stomping action), but rather the Marathon, the vessel captained by the most auspicious ass of the Pentastar Alignment navy. Clive Winston Heller. Even the name was pompous, and the man certainly lived up to it with his condescension to the army and his "open letters" to superiors. Banning tended think that most of the navy (or the "grays," as he unimaginatively called them) were all the same, but Heller was worse than most. If he weren't having sex with Moff Kaine's daughter, he wouldn't have a career.

But alas, even more disconcerting than having to spend a week on the Marathon was the embarassment that had befallen Banning only an hour ago. He had been out on one of his foot patrols of Perlemian Avenue, on the edge of the Alien Quarter, when he came upon a young and unaccompanied Twi'lek woman with a bundle of groceries from a local, alien-owned bakery. With a bounce in his step, Banning had left his stormtroopers behind and caught up to the woman, ordered her to halt and inspected her groceries, her receipt, and her identification (though, in fact, he didn't much care about these things). With poorly disguised enthusiasm, he then went about frisking her for "contraband," his hands lingering in certain, intimate places where, of course, there could be no such contraband.

The Twi'lek, rightfully offended, did not hesitate to deliver a knee directly to the Major's crotch. Winded, and in immediate agony, Banning ceremoniously―and involuntarily―spit out a partially chewed muffin that he had "confiscated" from her groceries and collapsed to the pavement into something approximating the fetal position. He tried to shout to his stormtroopers as the Twi'lek took off running into the narrow streets of the Alien Quarter, but his voice was only a high-pitched whisper (and his mouth still too full of muffin), and no one heard. The woman disappeared.

Thus, Günther Banning was having a bad day, and he needed a drink. So it was at half past two in the afternoon that the Major entered "The Officer's Club"―a new bar in Eriadu City which served everyone but was usually populated with Alignment brass because of the bar's name and its proximity to the local garrison―and ordered a shot of vodka as he seated himself very carefully on a bar stool at the counter.



Vespasian Boldt
Governor of the Yminis Sector
 
Takeru_MaatleDate: Friday, 08 May 2009, 9:57 PM | Message # 2
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Ben is the bartender of "The Officer's Club," the new bar that was established in the capital city of Eriadu that was also known as Eriadu City, of course. Eriadu was a very well known planet during the glory days of the Galactic Empire. The glory days has gone astray, but the pride has never been gone. Eriadu is now a capital planet for one Remnant faction and that is Pentastar Alignment. Ben is not the man to choose sides, faction-wise. He could have establish the bar within the Republic space, but he knew that his business would profit better when a lot of grumpy Imperial soldiers would be buying a lot of drinks to drown in sorrow, or to come to the bar and buy drinks in order to set the tone in the storytelling about the glory days of the Galactic Empire.

It was quite interesting to see all the hatred the citizens have toward the aliens were still very much alive nowadays. The bartender would never hate the aliens just because they were being aliens, but he knew he would have to follow the anti-alien policy that still exist throughout all those years. If he was to make friends with an alien, he would have to do it where nobody goes to the bar. Anyway, there he is. He has just finally launch his business, although he wasn't able to have his bar called a pub instead of club. So far, it seems to attract a lot of soldiers. That means he is running his business pretty well, and he sure is glad.

He have been too busy taking a time to sit down and relax, celebrating his recent success. Ben focused his mind to the reality, it was half past two in the afternoon that the place were crowded with soldiers. There was Major Banning sitting on a bar stool at the counter where he was working at. In fact, it is the only counter in the entire bar. He knew who Major Banning was not because he met him before, but because he heard his name a lot and that he have seen the man on the streets a few time. The Imperial had ordered a shot of vodka, and Ben would tend to it right away. He knows a lot about drinking business, vodka usually means two things: A ) a bad day happened, and B ) a man is so messed up with his life. The bartender had a safe bet on the first one.

After a short fifteen seconds of brewing up vodka, he would bring a shot and a whole bottle of vodka to the man. Ben poured the vodka into the shot and left the bottle right next to the shot. Ben began to speak in a heavy accent that came seems to be of Coruscant, "Having a bad day, huh? Well, this vodka should make your day a little brighter. Cheers, mate."

Message edited by Ben_Kishanti - Friday, 08 May 2009, 9:57 PM
 
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