Alcoholism vs Anger Management--Wei vs Phoenix.

[Wei Wu Wei]

Wei stumbled out of the Corsucant dive. He hadn't been kicked out. By all means he was a quiet drunk who could pay for drinks. But eventually even the seediest of bars had to close down.

That left Wei in the Coruscant streets with his Corellian brandy in his hand. He paid for the whole bottle, so he was gonna drink the whole thing.

There was something about alcohol that was therapeutic for Wei. Whether that benefit was real or imagined, he couldn't tell. But the depressant worked a number on his frayed nerves and dark outlook. Things were ok. Stuff was distant.

Feeling at peace with the world and his brandy, the fallen Jedi shuffled down the street to a place where he could sleep for cheap.

He stumbled down the walkway and managed to stop at a crosswalk, leaning on what he thought was the lamp post.

"Man, what they doing covering their lampposts with fabrics?" Wei asked. He poked at the thing with his brandy bottle. "Squishy lamppost. This supposed to be flexible to handle the winds that rush throught the skyskreppers?"

Wei gave it a push to see if it would wobble back and forth.

[Lucianus Adair]

The lowlifes, the down and outs, the filth... it was much like it had been on any other planet, except with the layout and very nature of Coruscant, there was more of it. The whole of it was as disgusting and aberrant as the whole of the Empire itself and the ideals it was built upon. Ideals of fear and control - too much control. Not enough chaos. Unbalanced. An iron fist leaves no room for weakness, but instead, crushes the souls within. There was one thing the predator did appreciate about the ridiculousness of the Empire, and it was their allowance for the hunt. The unquestioned and unrecorded secret employment of Marsuo'ur'stalis in the weeding out of the overabundance of Jedi was pleasing to the predator. This sated his hunger greatly, and served his purpose - no, the purposes of the Balance - which Terso'ur'stalis would never have understood, but he was sure... he was sure their father would have had an appreciation for it, before becoming the blasphemous creature he was. The thought of the man disgusted him.

Peace was not balance, no matter how much the throng desired it. Phoenix Mars Whyte rarely had purpose for stepping foot on the capital world, short of the abundance of worthless lives. It made his blade cry out in disgust that he would dirty it on beings not worthy, but in these cases, the blood called out for want of freedom from its encasements, and the bloodlust willed him to answer it, regardless of how filthy the predator would feel about cutting those rather unmatched to his abilities. The sharp edge had snacked, but was dissatisfied - the bloodlust, too, wanted a more worthy opponent. It was not yet apparent to him but the Balance had, in a fashion, dropped one right in his metaphorical lap. The forces of his existence had for once done him a good favour.


***

"Pitiful."

The Beast was out tonight, hungry and ready. You could hear it in the multitude of unearthly tones in his voice. Mars had been standing silent, watching the inebriated peoples, arms crossed tight across his strong chest. The fine, almost eight foot frame of the man blended strangely and cleanly into this dank darkness of Coruscant's underbrush, and he remained unmoving, without a purpose to budge for - yet. The filth surrounded him, weaving about, knocking about - mumbling, moaning, quarrelsome. One of them just now was mistaking him for a lamp post. A small smirk just about crossed his beautiful features, when the Sense kicked in. This member of the filth was not all that he appeared, and it was glaringly apparent to the Ancient One.

"This lamp post does not grant you light, nor does it appreciate being poked at purposelessly." He turned his eyes down onto the shorter man, examining him through narrow slits, before turning the gaze back to the world in front of him. One large hand moved to rest on the hilt of his blade, a different hilt sitting just ahead of it in his armaments. The other hand, the left, came to rest on the head of the shorter man, making a mockery of him in use as a leaning post. He dug his almost-clawed fingers into the man's head, slightly annoyed.

"Filthy, pitiful man. Do not waste your time on this lamp post." His voice emitted a deep, normal tone, with a twinge of growl.

[Wei Wu Wei]

Wei didn't show any sign or pain or discomfort from the very tall man's actions.

But what he did notice were the weapons on the man's waist. Especially the one that looked like the the weapon he carried under his shirt on his waist.

"Hey, dude. You got a thing on your side."

Wei pointed at the object. His hand veered away from its intended course in all directions. He moved his hand closer to try and make it more clear which weapon he meant.

"The silvery one that looks like just a handle. I got one of those too."

The drunken former Jedi took his hand back and picked his shirt up to show.

"It's a sea green color. It's pretty. Here, let me show you."

Wei felt around it until he managed to get a hand on it. Then he brought it out and thumbed the switch on.

"Man, I love that sound. The humming. Constant. Like it'll always be there for you no matte what, you know?"

Wei lost himself to the humming and soon there was nothing. Only the Force.

[Lucianus Adair]

Hissing, the predator released Wei's head and shoved the drunk down on to the cold ground. This foolish, wishy-washy acting presented to the Ancient One was insulting at best, especially since it gave the impression this man was not taking him seriously. And Mars rarely did not mean the words he said. In an imperfect mirroring of the younger man's actions, Phoenix Mars Whyte grasped the hilt of his lightsaber and pulled it out in the open, whipping it out to his arm's full length and willed it on with ease like breathing, the blacklight shaft becoming an extension of his long arm. The voice that issued from his mouth, his knees bent (one foot back from the other), was not one of this realm, its multiple tones giving the impression of a hungry demon. The analysis was confirmed: this man would sate his thirst well enough.

"Tell me: Do you have a wish for death, worthless being? I will willingly play the granter for you."

He flipped the powered-on hilt over in his large hand, and bent his arm. The blade of black light pointed downward, backward - angled. The opposite shoulder was forward, down, toward his fresh and alcohol-saturated opponent - the elbow, out as well.

"Or else...Prove me wrong, if you can..."

A corner of his mouth lifted, a cruel half-grin.

"...Jedi."

[Wei Wu Wei]

Wei raised an eyebrow. "Jedi."

His lightsaber flashed in front of him.

"Yeah. Jedi and Sith carry these."

Wei got up slowly, tottering back and forth as he sought to keep his feet under him.

"Jedi."

Wei's grin was relaxed. "Only the Force."

The former Jedi's vision swam, but his ears were filled with the constant humming of the weapon he wielded. He wove a bit as the alcohol tried to topple him. Wei paused a moment. Form I and VI he mastered just before the purge.

Something whispered in his head that Form IV would be useful. Wei shrugged at the nothing and leveled a wobbly lightsaber at the tall man's face.

"Well, I guess I better stab you with this glow stick so I can go home."

[Lucianus Adair]

What it was this one had been, and in some part of him, still was - that was all that the predator needed. His knowledge of the Jedi teachings, the forms, stances, beliefs - the name was apt description enough, drunk or not. This man would be supped upon with the cauterizing hum and flash of the lightsaber blade. Not the weapon of choice for the Ancient One, but it would suffice well enough. One blade was usually enough, though if the circumstances required it, a second blade could be brought to heel on the man's one. The challenge he offered was of a measure that was as yet unknown. Just because he was under the influence was no reason to underestimate him. Things are not always as they seem - this was a lesson that any user would do well to take to heart. Or whatever semblance of heart each one had, if at all.

In a barest blink, Mars brought himself about - his inverted blade following suit and running quick into the the blade of the other, standing almost unsure in its path. The lighted blade of the Ancient met resistance in the attempt to follow through. He did not need to see to know what was occurring or to be aware of movements and stances. The senses, physical and more important, those senses of otherwise, would feed him all the information he needed to know. The blades stalemated a moment, two. The predator awaited a movement from his opponent. He stood sideways to the shorter man's front, his blade pointed backward, holding sideways against the other blade standing tall. It was from here on out that he would fully gauge his prey and make preparations for the feast.

[Wei Wu Wei]

Wei's arm wobbled to catch the big man's blade with his own.

He held it there for a moment, staring at the two blades and trying to remember what was going on.

Oh yeah. I got to fight him.

Wei decided to listen to the nothing and decided to start in with Yoda's form. He stepped to the side and let his blade come away from the big man's. He spun around behind Phoenix and let the motion help him put some extra force behind his swing.

[Lucianus Adair]

On his follow-through, the prey's blade sliding to set his free, the prey made his move, spinning about - a reaction easy foreseen, gauged, and countered. His senses - the Force at his will and command - told him of the opponent blade's destination, and the physical damage that would follow suit if he were to follow a line of inaction. Which he had no intention of doing.

Increasing the speed of his follow-through arc, the predator switched the carrier hand of his saber, and came to face the night's adversary mere seconds before his strike would have impacted, knees bent, meeting the strike with the defense of his own lightsaber, blade still upside-down. The sizzle and crackle of the impact of Wei's blade on his own was a satisfying sound - not nearly as satisfying as the schwing of more material-form blades, but the effect had merit all the same: the small tale told of a battle of any size or purpose occuring.

Just as soon as their sabers greeted, he was on the offense, pushing Wei's blade hard away with his own, the motion carrying with it the force of a nearly suffocating Force push, intent to more than knock the drunken fool off his feet. Quite intent to imprint his smaller body into the buildings behind him by at least a few inches, if fully successful.

[Wei Wu Wei]

Wei slammed into the building, noting the thud but feeling no pain due to the alcohol that continued to intoxicate him. Wei hit the ground and rolled to his feet, bobbing and weaving with half an intent to defend himself and half an intent to keep standing up despite the alcohol.

The Jedi bounced and rolled. Wei was never one to go against the flow, so he used his drunken wobbling to aid his attacks. He slashed low at Phoenix's ankles, then his body jerked him to the left and back, so he swung upward along the arc. Wei continued the backwards motion until he fell down, then whirled up on his feet again.

[Lucianus Adair]

His last offense meeting success, Marsuo'ur'stalis grinned wickedly to himself, a short-lived emote, as the drunkard seemed to shake it off. The fact that it did not incapacitate him was irksome, until the thought occured to the ancient that the drunkard, by description, was saturated very much in alcohol. The scent of it wafted from his every pore, and would threaten to intoxicate an animal that sniffed to deeply should this man end up unconcious and the animal become curious.

The fact that the 'former Jedi' was flowing with the erratic movements his drunken state gave made him no more difficult to read than if he were a sober Jedi of the Old Order. The further fact that he was fighting back somewhat conciously made him fair game, if fair game were on the docket. Which in the realm of Marsuo'us'stalis, the matter of modus operandi was dubious in direction.

With each slash - to the ankles, he leapt - and swing - blocked with enough force to aid the drunkard in his groundward trajectory - he deftly kept the man off him, sent him to the ground again, only to watch him rebound again to his feet. In that moment, annoyance spiked ever so slightly, and he grunted a growl, resisting the urge to attempt manipulation of matter on this man's flesh. The lack of appropriate headspace to concentrate gave him caution that he might chance disassembling his own flesh as well, and the predator thought better of it. Instead, making use of the lightsaber in hand, he went for his prey's right shoulder in a quickened, pointed stab, always aware of the potential erratic or (Force forbid!) normal reaction this man would have for him next.

[Wei Wu Wei]

The humming rang in his ears. With his inhibitions down Wei lost himself in the Force more easily than if he had been sober. His vision was shot from the alcohol, but the Force cued him in on his surroundings.

The Drunken Jedi bobbed, weaved, rolled, swayed, ducked, and crouched to get out of the way. There was the lamppost--the real one--to the left. Wei leapt to it and kicked off it, spinning along his vertical axis to add power to a cut aimed at the tall humanoid's head. The Force could not aid him in his power control and he spun too hard to keeo himself steady.