Dinged Up But Not Down

[Aeron Mathis]

Aeron's eyes watched the altercation unfold before him with great interest. It was clear the blonde could handle himself, but the Zabrak wasn't giving him much room to work with. At least until the little furry gremlins were taken care of. His loyalty was clearly associated with his paycheck and the being seemed to forget that he was embroiled in a fight. The blonde man capitalized on the moment and delivered a solid shot right to the horned man's nose. A sickening crack sounded the end of the fight and Aeron relaxed. He pulled out his pack of cigarette's and lit one up.

Aeron chuckled bobbing his head in appreciation of Morgan's words, but he waved away the compliment as he strode back to the bar. He took a couple more puffs in quick succession realizing his break was most definitely over.

"Don't mention it... and sorry, I'm still on the clock," he politely smiled at the rogue and then slipped the apron back over his head. He gave the moreling a quick acknowledging nod and then stepped back into the bar. The crowd had calmed down substantially and after a couple of laps around the dive he'd caught up on his work. The bartender cut him loose and he was on sitting on the other side of the bar in no time. He noticed the blonde man from earlier and once they met eyes, and Aeron waved him over. He turned to the bartender and said, "Hey Benny, mind pouring me a couple of shots?"

"What?! You drink? When did you get cool," shot back Benny. While he teased Aeron the bartender took a pair of shot glasses and poured filled with Whiskey. "Drink up buddy. You deserve it."

Aeron thanked him and then turned toward his new friend, "Names Aeron by the way. Shot?"

@Pontus @Darasuum

 

[M. Arcas]

At the bar-back's response, Morgan simply nodded and offered a small hand gesture that seemed to say 'Fair enough'. Following Aeron in, the Corellian-born shot the Morling an apologetic look while he displayed his more bruised hand. A silent 'thank you', for allowing a bleeding man into the bar.

By the time he was inside, the man plopped down into the corner of a couch-like seating arrangement and, in a half-seated, half-lying down pose started to dress his wound. After asking for a couple glasses of some strong, distilled drink that is. He considered asking them to leave the bottle, but fights seemed to follow him as of late, so it wouldn't be a bad thought to save some credits for a possible Medcenter visit. By the time his order had reached his table, his arm had mostly been taken care of. The service wasn't bad, though.

He'd just gotten a lot of practice in dressing his own wounds as of late. When it finally came time to drink, the fair-haired man swept a glass up and drained it without a second's thought. Spirits burned a little more when you had cuts on the inside of your mouth, and possibly even in the walls of your esophagus, but it was the good kind of burn. This was the burn that'd put some hairs on your chest, or so he'd been told when he first arrived in Hutt Space. It'd felt strange at first, but over the years he'd developed quite the taste for it.

So, as the cool drink made it to his stomach, the man - who had finally gotten some room to breathe - simply tilted his head back, closed his eyes and let the symphony of smells and sounds take him away. Clearly, the people that wrote about inner peace didn't understand the simple joys of a nice, strong drink after a fight.

By the time he floated back down into the real world, Arcas spotted the bartender calling him over, and figured 'Why not?' Finishing the last sip of the booze that had otherwise 'evaporated' from his table during his little 'meditation' session, he moved over, his gait far less hobbled as the spirits had numbed his pain.

"Morgan." - he spoke, replying to his dark-haired friend, as a smile crept up on his face - "And I never pass up a drink."
@Zay @Darasuum