Lamia Bes'tial
The Vegemite Enclave
Posts: 66
Affiliation: VSE, The Vegemite Enclave
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Post by Lamia Bes'tial on Nov 12, 2020 9:45:51 GMT -8
Lamia was still in her head thinking back to the wedding in the Secluded Glade. =Leto= ''You may call me Leto, m'lady. And providing rum is hardly a feat around here, even if the means of it were a little.. unusual.''
She could still hear his voice, tinged with the abundance of rum around them. He was a blundering idiot that night, insulting her and her master. She laughed as she remembered their argument.
=Lamia=
"I think I have heard enough from you, you little insolent little slug. First of all, don't you dare insinuate that my Master is anything other than a woman, because she most certainly is. Second of all, I don't need to find safety in anyone! I am more than capable of taking care of myself, and I weren't a lady, I would have half a mind to show just how well I can, you jerk. And third, I wouldn't suggest you go around insulting any of An Tiarna's children, especially Diabhal. They aren't nearly as nice as I am!"
And she was a hard headed fool, always on the defensive. They almost killed one another that night. She should have known that was setting the tone of their relationship.
Lamia shook her head and took a drink. She felt the energy shift and saw her old friend and Master moving toward them.
=Lord Sinistra=
"Howdy there Maddox. May his fire burn brightly through chaos and remind us of our duty to live."
Lamia chuckled at her old nickname. It had been ages since anyone had called her Maddox... or Mad Ox as it be.
"Master. Thank you for coming. I'm glad you are here. May I introduce you to our son, Ryddick. Ryddick, this is my former master and the woman that saved me, Lord Sinistra. I owe my life to her. She found me when I was about to be arrested and gave me a home and trained me. I'm forever grateful. Please, sit and drink with us. I've been sharing stories of Leto with Ryddick. Unfortunately, they have not spent much time together. I would like him to know his father as best he can."
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Lord Sinistra
Retired High Councilor
VE Human Capital Management & Talent Acquisition
Posts: 1,474
Affiliation: The Vegemite Enclave
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Nov 12, 2020 11:59:43 GMT -8
Sinistra eyed the boy and judged him true, nodding to the booth nearby. She took a pull from the whiskey in her hand, the ghost of a smile on her lips as she set the bottle down.
"My memories are fading and I am left with snatches of thoughts and scenes I cannot place. Your father was a right prick on a good day. But he was a hell of a character, and a bit dramatic at times."
She hit the bottle again, exhaling a warm breath of boozy air across the table.
"I do remember whipping someone for insolence. Could have been him. Might have been Carni. Might have been a bit of both. I'm not sure and I don't really know if I want that answer."
She looked around the room then on the table for something to throw at Inky's force ghost. When she couldn't find anything suitable on the table, she resorted to shouting at her former brother in law.
"OY! Get over here, you transparent ass!"
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Post by darthapollyon on Nov 12, 2020 13:00:21 GMT -8
May you rest in peace.
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Plu Or'dinii
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 159
Affiliation: Mandalorian Clan Or'dinii
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Plu Or'dinii on Nov 12, 2020 13:16:04 GMT -8
A crystal orb rolled into the bar from a direction that couldn't quiet be placed. As it had to break rules of both time & space to reach this place. As it rolled through the doors of the bar before they could swing shut, it bounced into the air as if it had been kicked. The holographic gatekeeper of the orb appeared, caught it & solidified into a truly physical structure.
He had been old, once, but now he looked young & fit again. Clad once more in the heavy black & red plates he had worn in his days serving the Mandalorian Empire. He had come not to wage war though, but to pay respects to a foe that had stood on opposite him. They had never met in person. But many times they had passed like warships in the dead of night.-Z'har Ijaa kyrayc ka'ra!There were already several here that Z'har knew more personally. Lord Sin a powerful if distant foe. Iniquitous who he had fought in places that didn't exist. Kaine, a sort of rival, but also a bit of a friend. Though his daughter thought far less of the old mando. Reyn, the old master that taught him smithing. So many others, some familiar, others not. All here for the same reason. There was a soft clink and clank outside the door, as a Mando'ad wrapped in a tattered black cloak approached the door. The old man walked with a noticeable limp, favoring his right leg, and little of his beskar was visible, aside from the red bucket surrounding his head. However, as he passed through the door of the legendary establishment, it seemed as if the years literally flaked off and fell away from him. His shoulders straightened, the tears and stains faded from his cloak, and his limp evaporated. If he was aware of the change, however, the formerly-old man showed no sign of it. His thoughts were fully upon the one in whose memory all had gathered here today. Not a friend exactly, and certainly not a vod in the sense of his own people, but a myth, and a legend, worthy of respect and honor.Two paces inside, he stopped for a moment, scanning the room, then spun a new direction, crossing the bar and clapping Z'har firmly on the shoulder, his strength now fully invigorated."Su'cuy gar, ner'tat." He said in a low voice, a lump forming in his throat at the sight of his long-dead brother. He bowed his head in silence for a moment.
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Atrum Equus
Member
Posts: 1
Affiliation: Black Guard, Dark Jedi Order
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Post by Atrum Equus on Nov 12, 2020 13:22:19 GMT -8
A low hum echoes from the depths of the bottomless pit as a faint glow emanates from the normally dark abyss. A skeletal man, clad in tattered black robes, slowly rises from the hole atop a floating abomination - the source of the glow. The lone figure steps off the hovering monstrosity, whose makeup can only be described as a big ball of rotten cukes, broken glass, and the bones of a million unlucky patrons plastered strongly together with the various force-infused bodily fluids of the myriad Boob denizens throughout the ages. Its purpose complete, the ball's glow diminishes as it falls back to whence it came.
Death had taken him, much as it had taken many of his brothers over the years and much as it had taken this, brother Leto, but it was never the end. Brotherhood, the bond shared between those of like minds and hearts, is not something that can be taken or destroyed. It is a thing that transcends all. Time and distance may pull brothers apart, but even in death their memories and the laughs they shared keep them alive in the hearts of the living until that time when brothers may meet again in the halls of Valhalla - or wherever it may be in that great beyond where the drinks flow eternal and the laughter never ceases.
The skeletal former Dark Jedi takes slow steps to the bar, puffs of dust left in his wake with each pained step, as he reaches behind the bar and takes a bottle of Captain Solo rum and pours its contents down what once was his mouth. The smooth tasting, hard-punching liquor washes across his bones before splattering into a small pool at his boots serving its purpose two-fold.
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Post by Nicademus Delvardus IV on Nov 12, 2020 17:06:28 GMT -8
There was little known, personally, of who was laid to rest here. The name was familiar, but the face was not. Nonetheless, it was the right thing, the respectful thing, to give a farewell to someone who was once a part of the many that called this place... home. That had memories of friends made, of rivals declared, of battles fought between individuals and armies. Where nations rose and fell, where power was taken and wrenched away, and where many names are sung for the deeds they performed. Now, his name could join the stars above. A bright star that could shine forever.
The Imperial, dressed in his plain officer's uniform, gave a simple salute. It was... effortless, but it was still an acknowledgement. A unspoken farewell.
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Post by Reyn Skirata on Nov 12, 2020 17:56:01 GMT -8
Reyn looked around the bar at the faces of those assembled, smiling in his alien way. He expertly split open the case of ale, and began tossing bottles to all assembled. He knew that his friend would not want them all to mope here in sadness, and so he lit a cigar that smelled of much more than tabac, took a pull of tihaar from one of the large jugs and bellowed out for music, noticing the jukebox in the corner. Tapping a few controls on his bracer, the jukebox began to play.
"Death is not to be mourned, rather life to be celebrated."
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Syren
The Vegemite Enclave
Posts: 229
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Syren on Nov 12, 2020 19:12:31 GMT -8
*Avarath was handed a bottle of Tihaar. She looked at it a moment, shrugged and stripped off the stopper. Drunkenness was not a state she could typically come across, but if she could find it, it would certainly be in the Boob. She took a swig and thought briefly about starting a fight with Targus before slithering into a corner booth to brood. Sometimes it was best to be alone with her thoughts, memories of better times, or less worse times, or just times.*
"The Darkness sings inside of you."
*She spun the stopper absentmindedly as his words came back to her.*
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on Nov 12, 2020 20:48:08 GMT -8
Two paces inside, he stopped for a moment, scanning the room, then spun a new direction, crossing the bar and clapping Z'har firmly on the shoulder, his strength now fully invigorated."Su'cuy gar, ner'tat." He said in a low voice, a lump forming in his throat at the sight of his long-dead brother. He bowed his head in silence for a moment. -Z'har Enough to pay my respects at least.He snapped a flying bottle out of the air in a smooth motion, not even bothering to look at the source, Reyn of course. It was a simple gesture to cleanly crack the top off the bottle, ignoring completely the stopper. The bottom part of his helmet folded back just enough to reveal his mouth for a deep draft of the brew, before the bottle was passed to Plu.-Z'har In that regard you seem to have the upper hand slightly. I wonder how & what you have been up to?
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Deadniquitous
Retired High Councilor
I AM THE LAW!! Wait.....wrong movie. Sorry.
Posts: 182
Affiliation: The Force
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Deadniquitous on Nov 12, 2020 22:07:05 GMT -8
He looked over at Adi and chuckled, raising his drink slightly, then looking to the heavens. He winked at the sky then took the shot. He smacked Adi on the back in fondness, then turned to Nexus
"Retirement is.....boring. Being dead can be fun. Currently I am picking on Max on Ambria. Good times. Not gonna lie. I miss you idiots."
He looked over at Sin as she yelled at him across the bar, and nodded, yelling back
"I'll be there in a second you old bag!!"
He smiled and winked at her, letting her know he was being a twat.
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Post by Bedrovelse Hevn on Nov 13, 2020 6:51:09 GMT -8
Inky’s call to arms thumps through the haze of his mind like a war drum. Glancing away from the sign at last toward one of the greats. Around him the past became all too vivid. Overwhelmingly aware of faces he’d long missed. Powerful presences in a galaxy once so densely clustered with strength and ego, assembled to honor a star now vanished from the midst of their amassed radiance. How beautiful it was how many took notice. How fiercely he had tried to fill the void of their absence. As each had disappeared the vacuum grew louder and stronger. The abyss grew and consumed him. To feel their warmth again was beyond words. He could only wade through the euphoria and lose himself.
He didn’t fail a single one of them in joining a raised glass. The dark, the light, the buckets. Each time they honored his brother another gratuitous splash of rum washed down his throat into the vast emptiness inside of him. The bitterness couldn’t clench his throat any further than the loss had already constricted it. His belly too full of a swampy sickening weight to feel the burn of booze trying to eat through.
Smothering his death stick into the bar counter he took a moment to compose himself. To observe the crowd. There were some personalities that muttered in solemn thought. A quiet reflection. Offering their personal tributes of respect and sinking into a silent stillness he felt he knew well. Others began to rise in energy to offer raucous celebrations of life. He found wisdom in it. A desire to embrace it. So many familiar faces. Those of his brotherhood would celebrate when they were good and ready. Each as strong of mind as the next, would decide for themselves how long they needed to process the moment. There were those alike too, in their solitudes, that shared that deep and intricate necessity to come to terms. He would not disturb their required peace until they were good and ready for it. As sorely as he’d missed some of them, and as happily as he observed those who were never yet gone, it was no time to be selfish in reunion.
It was the faintest tingle of warmth in his cheeks that reminded him he had more work to do. He’d managed to down countless more swallows before suddenly coming to from the stupor that enthralled him. He straightens the black krayt leather great coat, embroidered with seemingly flowing quicksilver patterns, over his spider silk tunic and robes. He runs his thumbnail under each eye to scrape away whatever emotion remained from them.
::Fetch:: He punches the command into his forearm. The droid on his ship was at the ready to provide it, hustling with a case across the terrain of Thyferra to the giant boob. As he made his way through the thickening crowd he offered nods to those whose attention he was managing to attract. Upon reaching the door he acquires the gift prepared for those Leto left behind.
Lamia was busy offering greetings to new arrivals and conversing with those closest. He’d run in with her a few times during the height of their order. She was close to Rhea, a woman Hevn had taken labors in training in some small part. Strong. Sharp tongued. A warrior on every level of the spectrum. A fitting mate for his fallen brother in every sense.
Their son. It was for Ryddick that Hevn has best prepared. He waited patiently for an opening, almost forebodingly given the generally grim demeanor he held aside from the occasion. “Lamia, Ryddick, a moment, if I may.”
The young man looks toward his mother, and then back to him. Seizing him up more likely than asking permission. Staring at Leto’s clone gave him a moment’s pause. Hevn gestures toward a nearby table, upon which he places the case and opens it.
“A gift for you, son of our lost Jen’jidai.” Hevn opens the case. Within it was armor that nearly mirrored the like favored by his father. A collar of bones, encased in a thick leathery skin. “Rancor bone, and skin. Leto’s preference. No doubt because he fought like one.”
‘And often shared its temperament,’ he mused to himself.
The final piece was a pair of phrik dueling gauntlets. “The gauntlets are tools you will grow into.” Hevn gestures towards each of the dark jedi spread about the room. “Each of us tailored them to our strengths. What yours are, you will find in time.”
As Hevn grasps the collar of rancor bone he imparts the words of wisdom passed on by Leto himself. “The first to get in their opponent’s head wins, Ryddick. This is to make sure you never lose yours.”
With a nod he leaves Ryddick with his tribute to the family of the fallen. Turning to Lamia, his wielding of words seems to desert him. Any expression of loss couldn’t really be expressed. In an almost rare occurrence a compliment without thorns slides from between his lips toward the softening gaze of empathy he offered her. “I trust you both will make Leto proud.”
A deep breath, and step toward excusing himself found him face to face with Sinistra. The warmth in his checks had spread through his face, though the alcohol had yet to impair his step or regal posture. It widens his grin as far as it’s stretched since stepping through the doors of the boob.
“Lord Sinistra.” If he recalled correctly, and his memory seemed extremely firm on the draw, she detested the use of the term ‘lady.’
“Violet serves you well. In all its shades.” His gaze shamelessly meanders over her form from head to toe, and back up again. “It would please me to steal you for a dance. At your leisure of course.”
A wicked flash of charisma passes through his grin, before he makes a quarter bow to each of the women, departing for a table Ishmael inhabited. Sitting across from his fellow necromancer, he offers a dry joke to his accomplice from long ago. “Usually all the ghosts and walking dead are our fault.”
Swatting the cuke from the table, Hevn demands a hookah and more rum. His spirit finally elevating with those who were finding joy now that sorrow was finally, finally, beginning to ebb away.
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Post by Alkor Centaris on Nov 13, 2020 7:16:48 GMT -8
It was an unlikely meeting, but not to be sad.
Respects had to be paid where they were due, but once the tax was paid, the veil lifted. Sadness was not in the book of Leto Bes'tial's life. He was a man who thrived on his good friends and good company. Never one to shy away from the drink, he sat at the right hand of the Sage and drank with the best of them. Reign, Hevn, Eversio, Cthulu, Lahash, Targus... they were like gods sat at the table in Valhalla. Their legacy had already reserved their seats. Leto had simply gone ahead to set the table for them, for when they met again.
Alkor was content to drink to the man's memory. Greatness shined over the place, hard earned brilliance. It was almost bright enough to burn a man's eyes.
The burning flavor of the alcohol far outweighed the fruity aftertaste, which made it tolerable by leaps and bounds. Alkor preferred that fire to something flamboyant or meant to "taste good." It never did. Every toast that went up sent another wave of numbness that dragged him closer to oblivion. Every cheer deafened him just a bit more. His dumb smile became one of languid bliss as he slowly faded away from this world and toward the darkness in between.
"To you, Bes'tial," he said in a Corellian drawl, deeply uncharacteristic of himself. He took another drink, this time unbidden by the crowd. He could still see them, but they had gone so far away. Or perhaps he had gone away. As he leaned an elbow on the table and stared into the liquor that filled his cup, the Jen'jidai could have sworn he felt a familiar, cheeky grin from across the table.
He glanced up and smiled back.
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Lamia Bes'tial
The Vegemite Enclave
Posts: 66
Affiliation: VSE, The Vegemite Enclave
Traffic Light: Yellow
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Post by Lamia Bes'tial on Nov 13, 2020 9:24:15 GMT -8
Lamia saw his face on the rooftop shortly after the wedding fiasco. He had come to apologize...
=Leto=
''I.. have come.. to talk.''
''And, maybe even.. apologise..''
''But you had to go over it before I even had a chance to open my damned mouth, you big, blundering female!''
Lamia laughed to herself when she thought of the insults they hurled at each other when it turned out that all they wanted was each other. She was pulled from her memory when Ryddick put his hand on her arm.
"Ma..."
Lamia turned her attention to the man in front of her. Bedrovelse Hevn. It had been ages since she laid eyes on him.
=Hevn=
“Lamia, Ryddick, a moment, if I may.”
He pulled a box out and presented it to Ryddick.
“Rancor bone, and skin. Leto’s preference. No doubt because he fought like one.”
Lamia smiled at the man.
"Thank you. This is a beautiful gift, and very fitting. Leto's personality was much like a rancor in many way... especially when he was fighting. I appreciate that you have come to join us today. Now please, drink, tell stories and celebrate Leto's life. I fear if we are too serious he will come back and haunt us for it."
Lamia filled everyone's glass around her, and then produced two more bottles of Manaan's finest.
"Drink people! Drink!"
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Post by Whill Shaman Xixo on Nov 13, 2020 9:45:05 GMT -8
There's a chair against the wall of the Boob. Its origin was contested. Where did it come from? Had it always been there? If you were to ask the longtime residents of the venue, they'd start to form an answer but then stop and catch themselves speechless. Maybe the guy who's sitting in it brought it with him. Had he been here the whole time?
The motionless avian creature gazes, jet-black eyes wide open, peering through the ceremony without reaction. Seeing all the proceedings, but if you stood in front of him and established a staring contest (you'd lose, by the way) you would arrive at the realization that he is looking at something different, something beyond. Towards a place that perhaps even transcends this material world. The purple flashing of Erevis's sign - LOVRO - splashes intermittent patches of color across his glossy beak. The hands of an architect rest, palms down, on the pillar-esque arms of his stone seat.
What is captured here in the picture painted by this scene - an outpouring of grief, of love, of memory, of sheer emotion, from those who remain - speak more than could ever be said in testament to this man. 'How many lives', Xixo muses, 'did he touch?' The measure of a man cannot be fathomed. Not in any precise means, anyways, and not by some number like thirty-six. But at times like this, you can get some sense and some estimation for how vast a man's quality is. Respect for those who have gone before us and condolences to those left behind.
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Post by Whill Shaman Nyx on Nov 13, 2020 15:18:37 GMT -8
Nyx floated effortlessly to the door of The Giant Boob. She did not know the man they were celebrating. He was well before her time, but the stories of his prowess as a fighter was well known amongst the Whills.
She stepped through the door, and the smell stung her nose. She suddenly understood why The Boob had been closed for so long. She shook her head and looked around the room. She floated slowly around the crowd, nodding to those she was familiar with. A drink she thought, would definitely help. She moved to the bar and was instantly handed a whisky by the bar droid. She raised it to thank him and moved to the corner, where no one was occupying the space and settled on a chair. She raised her glass to the man.
"May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind always be at your back... "
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Plu Or'dinii
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 159
Affiliation: Mandalorian Clan Or'dinii
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Plu Or'dinii on Nov 13, 2020 21:19:00 GMT -8
-Z'har Enough to pay my respects at least.He snapped a flying bottle out of the air in a smooth motion, not even bothering to look at the source, Reyn of course. It was a simple gesture to cleanly crack the top off the bottle, ignoring completely the stopper. The bottom part of his helmet folded back just enough to reveal his mouth for a deep draft of the brew, before the bottle was passed to Plu.-Z'har In that regard you seem to have the upper hand slightly. I wonder how & what you have been up to? The retired Mand'alor's eyes twinkled behind his helmet, although none could see them. There were times after the Battle of the Forge that he'd wished he had perished, like so many others had that day. His injuries had taken years to heal. But he had joy and light in his life now, and a certain measure of peace, despite how broken his body had become."You could say that." Even as he spoke, he unclasped his helmet, and peeled it up to his forehead, revealing a badly scarred and pock-marked face which Z'har had never seen before. Evidently, Plu no longer wore a mask to hide his face. Taking a flask of tihaar from his cloak, and paused for a moment to take a pull from it. "I'm only half-dead, and I have the pleasure each and every day of training my ade." He swapped bottles with Z'har, and sampled Reyn's brew, then raised it in toast to the solemn occasion."At Bestial -- Mando'ade draar digu." * [/font][/ul]
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Post by House of D'Ordinii on Nov 13, 2020 21:28:56 GMT -8
The large man nodded solemnly as he traded bottles & then took a swig of the tihaar. It was a shade stronger than he had expected, but certainly good.
-Z'har Aye, family should always come first. My little girl has a cluster of ad'ikase herself now. The timeline marches ever forward it seems.
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Post by Whill Shaman Erevis on Nov 13, 2020 21:30:33 GMT -8
Erevis descended through the roof, floating to the floor of the bar almost gently. He nodded to Nyx and fangirled at Xixo......*cough* A wink and the gun to his other half at the bar, which seemed oddly self serving, but Iniquitous was an ass anyway. The EPBOW formed in his hand, mirroring the one in Stinky's palm as he wandered over to Nyx, flopping in a seat next to her. He too cheers the sky, took a long drag through his mask, then winked at Nyx
Little Sister. How are you faring?"
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Kaine Australis
The Vegemite Enclave
Consuming Copious Coopers
Posts: 1,029
Affiliation: Vegemite and Mandalore
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Post by Kaine Australis on Nov 14, 2020 2:51:46 GMT -8
Kaine finished his flask of tihaar all by himself, and this was enough to inebriate even a man of his advanced age and stature. He felt the wobbles as he pushed off from the pillar he'd been leaning against. With experience, he managed to right himself without plummeting, and found his equilibrium.
Steady, old man, you don't want to embarrass yourself too much. Just a bit will do. Beasty would have appreciated someone making an ass of themselves, but don't overdo it. Kaine mused drunkenly to himself as he stepped forward and breathed into the fire, making it do a little 'whoosh' as the alcohol charged breath did its work. Kaine wasn't worried about spreading germs with the equivalent of a full bottle of hand sanitizer dribbling out of his gob.
OYA! Kaine yelled a little too loudly.
Osik, that was a bit loud. Kaine's inner voice continued to harangue him.
Shut up. Kaine said to no one. The inner voice laughed. You're hammered. Kaine grinned to himself. He was pretty pissed. Turning around to look, he saw several very attractive looking females. A warning voice which was very quiet now tried to remind him that this was The Boob and all of them were well able to take him to the cleaners, especially in his current state. Kaine, being Kaine, ignored that voice and continued admiring from afar.
At this point, the flames from the fire had begun to lick at the Australis Alor's scabbard that hung from his belt. The smell of scorching leather reached Kaine's nostrils.
The kriff is that smell? He asked no one, looking around to see which Weequay had farted...
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Shaman Chill
Administrator
Stay frosty, my friends!
Posts: 2,229
Affiliation: The Ancient Order of the Whills
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Shaman Chill on Nov 14, 2020 20:15:34 GMT -8
*A small patch of frost began to form on the ceiling. Slowly, it grew, spreading out in a circular pattern until it was nearly as wide as Villa's mum. The, a portal was torn in the fabric of reality, and a being made of solid ice rifted into the room, and floated down to the floor. Standing almost seven feet tall, the male humanoid was made of solid ice. At first, he appeared rather thin and frail, but then he began to gain ice-muscle mass, as water all over the room evaporated and was drawn to him in a frosty steam bath. The Ice Being surveyed the room, and wondered to himself how many gathered here would recognize him. It had been many years since Chill had appeared in this form, rather than the more approachable and relatable penguin. However, it felt appropriate for such a somber occasion, and for remembering a bygone era of this reality.*
*Chill's frozen incarnation stepped forward toward Lamia and Riddick, and bowed his head solemnly.*
My deepest condolences on your loss.
*He turned and looked at all those gathered here.*
I have a new delicacy for you all, especially prepared in memory of Lovro.
*Chill snapped his fingers twice, and his Icebox suddenly appeared, opening to reveal many paper cartons.*
Behold, cucumber ice cream for all. *He winked.* And I think there's still some Coopers in the back, if Seraphiel hasn't drunk it all yet.
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