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Thread: Old Friends, New Enemies

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    Old Friends, New Enemies

    Flight Commander Bette Davis of the Imperial Navy, on leave from her duties on board the ISD II Termagant as a member of Shadow Squadron, looked down at her first shot of the evening. A ridiculous bright green, it seemed to glow as it sat there on the bar of Cloud 9.

    She narrowed her eyes at the fruity looking concotion, and asked the 'tender, "What did you say this was again? It looks.. girly."

    The bartender, a strapping young humanoid with huge muscles and an easy grin on his nearly-human face, shook his head. "Its something I made up myself, called an Afterburn. Have to guard the recipe, I'm afraid. But trust me," and there was that grin again, "Its not girly."

    Bette gave him a look that clearly said that any drink that was bright green was most certainly going to be girly, then shrugged. "What the hell." She scooped up the shotglass and poured the concoction down her throat.

    As she set the glass down firmly on the bar, the initial taste of the shot was indeed fruity. And then....

    Bette coughed, caught off guard by the intense burning sensation that followed the liquid down her throat, reaching gratefully for the beer that the bartender had poured as a chaser. Eyes watering for a moment, she blinked, and then grinned. "Hey, I'll have another."

    yo ho yo ho a pilot's life for me

  2. #2
    Commander Kelly Perris of Rogue Squadron hadn't seen downtime in months. New pilots, training, plus handling his own sqaudron was quite the mantle to bear, but he had stepped up, and appeared to be doing quite well. Excelling, even. He was in a bit of demand sometimes when it came to the training. Lately, it had been a tad monotonous, and monotony can be frustrating. There was a bit of a lull in the conflict arena, and his thirst for action - a standard amongst flight jocks - drove down his sanity a little when it wasn't satisfied. Good thing he was up for leave, or Kelly would have started really taking it out on the other jocks in the boxing ring.

    In any case, Kelly just wanted to get away from base, and mingle with some normal folk. And there's all sorts of folk around Bespin's Cloud City...not to mention a pretty handy bar and grill for a nice, hard drink. Maybe a few pretty ladies, too. Force only knows he could use the conversation, at least. That is why he finds himself this evening at Cloud 9 Bar & Grill, commandeering a stool and leaning hard into the bartop.

    "Hey 'tender...gimme a shot. Somethin' good, will ya? And thanks, man."

    Upon request, the bartender eyed him up real good, and poured something obnoxiously green, and hit the bartop with it, sliding him a Corellian Ale as well. It looked like the refined slime of some radioactive alien, and quite...girly, at that. Kelly returned the eying up right back at the 'tender, as if to question his sanity.

    "Trust me, guy. It isn't what it looks like." The bartender shot. Kelly quirked a brow, shrugged, and downed the shot in one fluid throwback motion. It didn't take long for the violently green concoction to burn all the way down the inside of his neck, illiciting a dry cough, and a quick hand reaching for the ale to chase it down and hopefully hydrate the pilot's razed throat.

    "What the frack was that??" Kelly grinned, looking quite satisfied. "Tell you what, I'll take another."

    "Afterburn, kid." The bartender looked rather pleased with himself, as he poured another. "Here ya go."


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    After the third Afterburn and chaser Bette had to excuse herself to the restroom. It was always a chore to decide which refresher door to choose in these transgalactic waystations. On Imperial ships and bases, the 'freshers came in two flavors. Male stick figure, or female stick figure. Of course, picture icons were not used in the modern Navy, though someone had scrawled a figure in a dress with a generously ample bosom on the door to the females' head in the pilot's barracks.

    To be honest, she was also used to having to share with the boys, as most older ships had no accomodations for female officers at all. However, here in Cloud City it was another story all together, with options for females, males, tentacles, and mysterious third genders. In the end she just picked the blurry little picture icon that looked most like a human and shoved her way inside.

    After relieving some of the tension in her bladder, Bette returned to the bar to find someone else choking down a vivid green shot. The little suckers had quite a punch to them, and after resting for a few minutes she was beginning to feel the effects of the alchohol. Hopping up onto her stool she was pleased to find the 'tender had already poured a fourth Afterburn, and reached for it at once.

    Except that the shotglass was partially between her and the other person at the bar doing shots, and they grabbed it at the same time. After a brief moment of confusion, Bette relinquished the drink with a laugh and an apology, and looked up to see a familiar face.

    "P - Perris? Seven hells, it is you!" Warmed by her drinks, Bette's face lit up in a huge grin, and she practically tackled the taller man as he tried not to spill his shot. "What the frell happened to you? After Alderaan the rumor was you'd been remanded to the psych ward."

    She released him and thumped him heartily on the back. "Stars, I never thought I'd see you again."

  4. #4
    "Oof!" The shorter woman thudded into Perris with enough force to almost knock the wind outta him. Kelly grinned widely and somewhat goofily, hiding his shock at being tackled by what was now his enemy, and practically bearhugged Bette, being more than happy to see the sweet lil' thang regardless. The volume of alcohol consumed thus far was making him feel at least a little warm. He had felt his third shot splash a small drop onto his finger, and again when she thumped him on the back. Kelly licked those up, eyeing her all the while.

    "Psych ward - right, Davis." He sized her up, and got a rather sly grin on his face, as he checked her out. "Damn, you still look quite fine yourself, woman. You still moisturizing your innards with screech?"

    Kelly chuckled. She had no idea about him, and he'd like to see how long he could keep it that way. Alcohol had a funny way of dealing with things.

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    She sat back on her stool, resisting the urge to thump him again and make sure he was real. Lieutenant Kelly Perris had been her wing leader when she'd been assigned to Shadow Squadron almost six years ago, and in the short time they'd known each other they'd really gotten to know each other. One of those situations of a ship having no separate accomodations for female pilots, and she'd lost the majority of her inhibitions on Carida anyway.

    "The stronger the better, I always say," she retorted, and the bartender obliged her with another shot of Afterburn and a refill on her amber ale. She clinked her shot against Kelly's, and the two of them downed the drinks in unison.

    Eyes watering, she gulped at the beer, and coughed. "Frell, this dren is strong!" Clad in tight black pants and a blue tank top that was certainly not Imperial regulation, she leaned back in towards Kelly. "Things weren't the same after you left, y'know."

  6. #6
    He nodded, taking a few hearty gulps from his fresh glass of ale, still sporting a wrinkled nose and squinted eyes from the last ingested shot. Things definitely were different. Every day, things were different. The ball just keeps rolling, the slave-driving never stops. His weary mind would sigh of its own accord if it could.

    "I can agree with that. This 'tender sure knew what he was doing mixing something this decieving."

    Kelly leaned closer to Bette, after she leaned into him. He thumbed her chin, smiling bemusedly. His cheeks were a little warm from the drink. That didn't make any difference in the blatant fact that she still looked edible. That definitely wasn't the drink talking.

    "Not havin' you 'round sure makes a guy left wanting. Not to mention you almost sound like you missed me."

    Perris was remembering the countless nights when he first came to Rogue Squadron that he sure wished he could be hasslin' her day in and day out. Banishing that thought, he cut quick to a somewhat idle question.

    "How's Grisham? I remember that prat. Is he still the same brown-nosed slacker?"
    Last edited by Kelly Perris; Jan 3rd, 2008 at 02:34:57 PM.

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    His touch on her chin made her bare her teeth in a smile. "Miss you? Me? Hardly." But she winked as she said it, before rolling her eyes at the mention of Shadow Leader.

    "Oh gods, don't get me started on him. Thought he'd of been transferred up and out by now, especially after DS2," one of the many slang terms for the Battle of Endor, "But he's still around. Still the same. Guess its good for me - he keeps the brass happy and off my back most of the time."

    Bette grinned at her last comment, adding, "I still have a little problem with authority... you may remember it from when I was just a wee Ensign and you were trying to boss me around."

  8. #8
    Kelly laughed. Oh, did he ever remember it.

    "You were quite the fresh lil' sass. I see at least that hasn't changed. Good thing too. I've always had it in for that spunk you cart around so freely."

    Perris motioned the 'tender for another drink, telling him something more like a whiskey. He liked inconsistency when it came to his beverage lineup.

    "I bet, at least by now, that they've got even a troublemaker like you in some position of authority. You were always a good flight, and a wicked shot. That's the least I can say about anybody who was watchin' me kick up the dust."

    How egotistical. Jocks tended to be like that. Even more so the less sober they became. He had to take care to not get too hammed, or else he just might let something slip. That would be a perfect rip in his not-so-sane bit of fun for the evening.

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    "Lieutenant Commander," she grinned, "Got my Flight Commander status just before Endor. Guess they were getting desperate for capable help."

    Bette turned to her beer, drinking it down to about half full. "We've been going through pilots lately. Too many skirmishes with the Rebels, and either the cream of the crop is rotten or the Rebels are getting better." She grimaced into her glass, "I'm not sure which is worse."

  10. #10
    Kelly looked down into the whiskey glass. He knew the Rebel pilots were always getting better. To be honest, he'd suffered very little loss of pilots, and the same seemed to go for other squadrons within the rebel fleet. As for the other side of the coin, he had nothing he could say about that. It wasn't his place anymore. It hadn't been for six years. Those six years alone were a testament to both himself and the old friend that sat beside him. It counted for something. They were both doing something right, in the battle of sides that each believe the other was doing something wrong. He would have stayed for her sake, actually having carried some form of care for Bette, but the loss of every member of his family had shattered him completely. It wasn't until the past year that he had really shown true recovery. That didn't mean Perris would ever forget.

    "Could be anything." He said quietly, omitting the truth, and breaking the momentary silence. "This life is too unpredictable. But I think I like it that way." At that, he smiled. "We never became pilots to sleep in a bed of monotony...Just like the adrenaline rush far, far too much. It's an addiction."

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    "I'll drink to that," Bette said, tipping her glass back and emptying her beer. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she flipped her black hair out of her face and grinned. "But enough serious talk! Too much talkin' gets in the way of the drinkin'!"

    She slapped a palm on the bar, her hand stinging a little from the force she used, and ordered up a couple shots of a strong, clear alcohol. The bartender poured the drinks promptly, and she slid one over to Kelly. "To old friends."

    Bette lifted her shot and clinked it against his.

  12. #12
    "Old friends!" He agreed, their shotglasses tinking together before they threw back the shots. The liquid flew down his gob, and into the stomach.

    "Tha's jus' like ya, babe. Ya don't take it slow. Fast n' strong, like always."

    Kelly watched her, a grin forming on his face at what he'd just said. Mayhaps it was filled at least partly with innuendo. It was at that point, and anyone that knew him could always tell - his speech didn't slur - that he began to talk like some farmboy on and off, and no one, not even him could say where that came from, except that the alcohol caused it.

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    She snorted at his comment, recovering in time to gesture for another beer. "Oh, don' try to turn that backwater charm on me, Mr. Perris." Bette grinned up at him, "You'd be tryin' too hard."

    Fresh beer in hand, she swiveled around on her stool and put her elbows on the bar behind her. Tilting her head towards Kelly, she said, "Funny coincidence, meetin' up with you like this." After a sip of her drink Bette added, "I really never thought I'd see you again."

    The slightly wistful tone in her voice indicated that the thought had troubled her for some time.

  14. #14
    He scoffed.

    "Backwater? I'll remind you, missy, that I am no backwater child. Funny seein' you here. Never thought i'd see you again, either. Not in a million years."

    He figured by now he'd have blown her outta the speckled black. Kelly knew that in almost every confrontation side against side, he'd been the one chasing her down, and vice versa. They were both the cream of the crop, always on top. Even if at least one of them had drank a little too much the 'night' before.

    "I never planned on coming back. Alderaan just hurt too damn much. Tarkin, that frackin' crazy bastard had it comin' to him when he got spread all over the empty at Yavin. Had it comin'. I don't get how you could still be gunnin' just like you are, havin' seen me suffer it."

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    She sat back a little at his comments, stung at the hurt in his tone. Confused at her emotions, Bette shook her head and grabbed her beer to buy her time. "I swore an oath, Kelly. To protect the Galactic Empire." Her face twisted a little. "There are bad apples in every barrel, Perris. Tarkin did get what he deserved. But I can't just toss the baby out with the bathwater."

    She drained the beer, setting it down on the bar a little harder than she'd intended. "I can't -" Suddenly dizzy, Bette swayed on the barstool and nearly capsized before she grabbed the edge of the bar to steady herself. "Frell... wha' was in those shots?" She blinked, and put a hand to her head.

  16. #16
    Kelly had been feeling the effects of the shots they'd ingested, too...but not nearly at the length that Bette was feeling them now. The boys back at squadron put each other through considerable liquid abuse some nights and days, yet went to decent lengths to appropriately care for themselves outside of such activities. The term "well-oiled machine" certainly was not lost on him. And when Bette tipped a little, slamming a small hand to her pretty head, his gut reaction was to reach out and keep her stable. Of course, while remaining relatively stable himself. The seasoned pilot had leaned forward to his former comrade and slipped an arm around her, just below the shoulders, and firmly placed the other hand on her right arm, which was closest to him.

    "Whoa, babe. I think the 'tender did ya a good lot, there."

    This position he was in now gave complete opposite intent to how he had been expressing himself only a minute earlier. He couldn't help it, it was who he was. Pretty lady, not in fine form... instinctually, Kelly couldn't resist aiding her.

    "You gonna be ok, Bette?" He said slowly, putting ignorance to the fuzz that had formed around his brain over the past....Hour? Two? Kelly didn't know and right now didn't seem to care much, either.

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    "Yeah," she slurred - he smelled so good! She leaned into him for a long moment before she remembered what they'd been talking about.

    Bette pulled back out of his supporting arm, nearly sending her body off the other side of her stool but managing to maintain her balance. "Look - I never said I was ... perfect. I... I do my job." She slid off her bar stool and dug in her pants pocket for the credits to pay for the drinks. "Hells, its the only thing I'm good at, Perrisss. Whaddya want me to do, join the Rebels?"

    She laughed at that, almost hysterically, slapping her creds on the bar.

  18. #18
    Her comment about joining the Rebels spiked his heart rate for half a moment before it calmed again and he answered her slurred words in a most deadpanned tone, matched with his best 'serious' face...considering the circumstances his body had been subjected to over the past...hour? Two? Time had blurred.

    "I wouldn't stop ya if you did, babe." Kelly breathed, doing a good job of not slurring at all.

    He had his reasons. Most of which would set her against him.

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    "Frell..." The credits slipped off the bar and onto the floor, and Bette turned and bent down slowly to chase them down. Her rump firmly against Perris' leg, the TIE pilot groaned as her change in position caused the effect of the alchohol she'd ingested to ratchet up in intensity.

    Chits once again in hand, she used her barstool to help her back into an upright position, and carefully lined up the credits on the bar. "I thin' I should go back t' m' room." Bette smiled, stumbling backwards away from Kelly, who reached out and caught her arm just in time to stop her from running into a passing trandoshan.

    Putting a hand to her head, she reiterated, "What was in those shots?" Except that it sounded more like "Whasha in thsss shaws?" She hadn't been this drunk in at least a year. She felt like she was suddenly floating and Kelly's touch on her arm was the only thing keeping her attached to the floor.

    Bette giggled.

    Bette never giggled.

  20. #20
    The trandoshan with which Bette nearly made contact slowed his stride a second or two, like he was thinking about doing something untoward, but then decided he probably didn't want to put up with what other trouble it just might bring him and grunted lowly instead. Kelly retained his grip on his former co-worker, and pulled her even closer when she started to giggle, wrapping his other arm around her shoulders for extra support. Now, there had been only so many times in the past twelve years that he had heard Better Davis giggle, and you could count them all on one hand without using all the fingers available. It was simply a testament as to just how drunk she was. Granted, both he and she had been phenominally drunk more times than anyone could count...but this was well into impossibly drunk - or worse.

    No doubt that Bette wouldn't remember a whole lot in the morning. Perris was better off, but there would be a massive hangover, and maybe severe spottiness in his memory about tonight. Kelly Perris had always had a knack for being exceptionally coordinated when sauced, which rarely didn't work in his favour.

    "Easy there, pardner." Kelly sort of craned his head around for a moment to make sure the credit chits he'd fished out of his pocket made it safely to the bar counter, then turned back to the task at hand.

    "Where're you tryin' ta get offta?" That was usually the sure indicator that alcohol was affecting the X-wing pilot - he started to exhibit a backwater hick in his speech.

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