[JP] Marshall & Sienelis - Start as You Mean to Go On (Part IV)
Quinn Reynolds
(( Dungeon Rock, Hai Tac Outpost ))
::Choosing that moment to drop back into their orbit, Ollie slid a tray of four sort glasses onto the table and waved around a bottle of clear liquid in his hand. Smile as broad and welcoming as it always was, the same steely sheathed swords behind it. He popped out the cork with his teeth and blew it from his lips somewhere onto the sticky floor, then poured out a sloppy measure into each of the waiting receptacles.::
Zuccaro: The only thing they had that wasn't given over with eyebrow waggles was vodka. So, vodka it is, boys and girls. ::Bottle placed on the table, he took a seat and picked up his glass, gazing at it.:: You don't usually see vodka with a head on it.
::Curling his fingers around one of the glasses, Bear chuckled and knocked it back, thoroughly unprepared for just how potent the Dungeon Rock's supply of Russian produce was. He blew out a breath and sat back in the chair.::
O. Marshall: As rare as finding an Iotian with a conscience. ::Was vodka supposed to be moderately thick, too?:: Right. What's the plan? We hide out here, watch our backs, try not to die?
Josett: For a day or two. Plasma storms are forecast to die down soon, and we should be able to fly with a minimal chance of getting atomised.
Sienelis: Atomised.
::Valesha had been staring at her vodka with a morose expression, but that comment recaptured her attention — and her displeasure. Lena smiled, eyebrows quirking upward in amusement, already pouring out a second round.::
Josett: In plasma storms.
Zuccaro: There's nothing like a good plasma storm to make you appreciate ablative armor.
::Bear rubbed his palm across his forehead and took the refill of his glass, narrowing his eyes at the hybrid sitting opposite. She had the measure of them already, and a plan it seemed she wasn't about to share the intricate details of.::
O. Marshall: Fly to where?
Josett: Home sweet home. ::She grinned, knocking back her second drink.:: The walls have ears, little spoon, and you're already the talk of the town.
::At that, Bear laughed with a wide grin, snaking the bottle out of Ollie's hands to fill up another glass. A pirates den was exactly that, with little left to wonder about who the occupants were.::
O. Marshall: It's almost as if we're the only fugitives in here and you wouldn't trip over ten walking to the door. ::Still, he considered her again for a minute.:: Where's home? How did you get into this?
Josett: You're going to have to buy me dinner if you want to hear my tale of tragedy and woe. ::She chuckled, her demeanour implying her tale was anything but.:: Or maybe you just want to go first?
O. Marshall: If there's one thing I've learned from being here, ::he tilted his head, a sly grin remaining,:: it's never to give everything away on the first date. People become tedious when there's no mystery to unravel, don't you think?
::She looked at him for a long moment, delight dancing in her eyes, her grin broadening into a smile.::
Josett: You and I are going to have so much fun together.
::The hybrid's evident glee made Valesha groan, finally picking up her vodka and throwing it down her throat, grimacing at the burn. Stealing the bottle away from Bear, she filled up her glass again, holding it in her fingertips with sourness writ large on her face.::
Sienelis: I'm so glad someone here is enjoying themselves.
O. Marshall: It's better than enjoying yourself in the brig. There's only so many times you can count those tiles. ::Pinching the bottle back, he filled up his glass and knocked it against Valesha's.:: Besides, we're here for a few days. Might as well make the best of it.
Sienelis: I'd say "don't let me stop you", but you wouldn't. ::She shook her head, lips pressed together, corners downward.:: So, fine. Mhiohs.*
::Looking entirely unhappy with her situation, the Romulan raised her glass and downed it one. Her subsequent wince was tale enough that the "vodka" didn't go down any easier for being the second.::
::Still chewing around on whatever snacks he had managed to pocket, the Iotian made for the bottle again, pouring a third drink into Valesha's glass, sloshing some of the clear liquid onto the table where it began to bubble.::
Zuccaro: That's the spirit! ::Glancing at his own tumbler, he picked it up and raised it up.:: Saluti!
::The fuzziness of the alcohol, currently trying to melt through the table, had wormed into Bear's brain. He tried to think around the haze that the fourth drink had done nothing to lessen. Somewhere to sleep, somewhere to change, possibly shave so that his appearance resembled more of an endearingly scruffy pirate instead of an impeccably groomed Starfleet Officer, and in a few days, they would be winging their way… elsewhere.
::His blue gaze found the Bajoran/Cardassian pirate again and his eyebrow arched slowly, lifting his brimming glass to her. She echoed the upward quirk of an eyebrow, an impish smile catching at the corners of her mouth.::
O. Marshall: To unravelling mysteries, particularly the tragic and woeful kind.
Josett: To interesting times.
fin
*Romulan: A traditional toast, shortened from the full form "mnek hifvarh aellei mhiohs" -- "good health and success."
--
Orson Marshall
Fugitive
G239304JM0
&
Fugitive
T238401QR0
&
Oliver Zucarro
Former Barmen of the Songbird Lounge
&
Lena Josett
Scallywag
Orion Syndicate