(open) gettin' tipsy

[sfoils]

CHARACTERS ▶ The crew of the Durga + Luke Skywalker + Others
LOCATION ▶ Some seedy bar with Irkallan booze
SUMMARY ▶ Rogue Squadron tradition: buying drinks after a successful mission
WARNINGS ▶ PG-13 (Alcohol)
NOTES ▶ Stragglers allowed, but gotta buy their own booze

Luke's arrival reminded Wedge of a tradition he couldn't pass up: buying booze after a successful mission.

Post-mission, he hadn't had much reason to celebrate. He was ashamed of that, really. The Durga's crew might not be the Rogues, but they were still his crew. Duty was duty, and in the name of camaraderie, it was Wedge's duty to foster friendship among this rag-tag group of recruits, pro tem or not.

The bar is seedy and out of the way, frequented by mechanics and soldiers and the sort of people who would like the decor. As a matter of fact, the bar was cobbled together from bits and pieces of a downed hovercraft. Wedge is sure there's bloodstains on the metal beneath his feet, but whoever those poor soldiers were, he's sure they wouldn't object to their grave turning into a place where people celebrated life.

So, to life. And third-rate Irkallan whiskey.

"I'm doing quite a few favors at the shipyards for this party." He raises his bottle, probably whiskey. "So make sure you all put a dent in the alcohol supply." And downs half of it in an instant.

Comments

[antiochattitude]

Antioch had several traditions of its own. Discipline, a fairly spartan lifestyle, dedication to work... and also booze. Mine milestones and ship launches were worth celebrating, after all.

So luckily for everyone, Maria had a tolerance to fall back on. Though in no hurry to slam back shots, she still held steady in her seat despite the bottle in front of her being only a quarter full. The only thing stopping her from getting all shamelessly gregarious on people was that said people hadn't wandered too close. Yet.

[servomotor]

Tony doesn't merely wander close, he plunks down on a seat by her. Promptly reaches over to pick up her bottle, trying to check the label. By now, he knows a little about alcohol in Zion and the surrounding cities. He spends his labor on it a little more often than he should, though not often enough to be A Problem like it was before. "Nice. Cheers," he says, starting to pour out each of them a glass from two of the cluster available, even though he didn't ask.

Obviously the party is for sharing. "I'm not a hundred percent sure what a 'first mate' does, but I'm pretty sure you did an adequate job." He raises a glass. It's more of a compliment than 'twelve percent,' if that makes her feel better.

[antiochattitude]

What was she going to do, protest? The alcohol wasn't on her metaphorical dime. She took the compliment, too, despite her own personal and massive misgivings about her performance.

"Definitely not what I expected." She lifted her glass to him in turn, then tossed back a swallow. Not the whole thing. She knew herself too well to tempt fate like that. "Really interesting. Really amazing. Agh, I wish we could have fixed up... everything, though!"

[servomotor]

"Uhhh." Tony is annoying on purpose sometimes by being too literal with people, but other times-- such as now-- he is genuinely mystified. "Fix two military-grade hoverships that a couple dozen Sentinels and an EMP went through like the Bubonic Plague did Europe?" he asks. He motions with his cup, then drinks half of it too.

"I don't care how Native you are, but you couldn'tve pulled that off in three days."

[antiochattitude]

"Well we'll never know now, will we?" The alcohol added a little extra annoyance in she hadn't meant to let slip. She cared very much about hovercrafts, okay? "There's a certain built-in amount of hardening to let the pulses actually be useful without crippling the ship even in its run-silent mode, so there might have been something salvageable if we could've done the checks... but no, in and out faster than the EMP itself was. It's like leaving a comrade's body on the field. Hurts," she concluded melodramatically.

/wedges in here hahaha get it

[sfoils]

Wedge listened intently to the conversation, despite appearing to only care about the drink around his hand. He's still isn't drunk enough to let emotion slip into his default expression (impassive) but he is drunk enough to be chattier than usual. "A comrade whose life we can easily replace if you give the shipyards enough metal and wire."

Maybe it's because the hovercrafts are not X-wings that he can't afford them the same amount of respect just yet. Even so, the hero worship surrounding what's, all said and done, replaceable machines, bothers Wedge. "Always bet on your crew over the ship, Maria. No one's going to remember fondly the captain who sacrificed lives for an oversized freighter."

[antiochattitude]

Maria lifted her glass to make a point, noticed the faint wobble in her hand, set that back down, then lifted her finger instead.

"Not questioning the decision. Sometimes you even leave a body behind because you can't sacrifice the living just to honor the dead, right? But that doesn't mean I have to like the necessity. They were good ships. They deserved better."

She didn't know if anyone could understand. Not like she did, growing up in the shipyards and watching them come to life, like a proud parent. Sad.. it was sad. "Cut down in their prime."

[servomotor]

Tony is weird (yes, acknowledgedly, weird) about doing things like 'prioritize live people over equipment' in a sincere and explicit way, so he merely sucks on his drink while he watches Wedge and Maria talk about it. Privately, he agrees with Wedge, of course. He did just blow a dozen of his own suits within the past-- fifteen months or something like that. Time being immaterial.

"The Defense Grid might go back for them," he remarks, finally. "So much of Zion is built on scrap, we all know the tradition is there. And I'm pretty sure they wouldn't want Irkalla to get their hands on that hardware. So." He waves a hand. "Maybe there's hope for your electric sheep yet. You could go bother them about it. Bureaucrats love that." He lifts his eyebrows. He might look like he's being annoying but this is actually his technically-helpful-face.

[antiochattitude]

"They're more likely to repurpose the parts instead of rebuilding. Less a resurrection, more an organ donation. Not a bad way to make use of a lost life... still a tragedy."

She swirled the liquid in her glass, just an idle fidget, before taking another measured sip.

"Another innocent heart crushed by the horrors of battle," she said, a wry and self-mocking smile on her lips. At least she knew she was strange, as other people reckoned these things.