One For The Ages

[Dominick]

There are many times in a Zeltron's life where they chalk up the morning after as being at fault of the night before. Two livers may grant the ability to out-drink most other races, but it certainly doesn't improve the odds of knowing your limits. Of course, as best Dominick could tell those times in his life had been huge in number and often were the start of some very good stories.

As his eyes opened and queasily took in the view of the empty bar that particular mid-afternoon though, the thought of what a great story it would someday make didn't even enter Dominick's mind. In truth, not much aside from a groan could even take hold of his mouth, nevertheless his mind. Waking up in an unfamiliar location was a source of sudden panic for most, but with the Zeltron it was just another day. Probably a rather bad day, but just a day.

It wasn't until several moments of blinking, trying not to move too fast and praying his stomach would settle that he even began to wonder Where the hell am I and why is that Bothan staring me down like I just robbed the place...?

A slight patting down of his jacket however, revealed what quite possibly amounted to the most important thing in that moment: ...and where the frak are my smokes?

[Maren Dirge]

The Bothan's fur ruffled, his nostrils flaring for a moment, before he turned and nodded to someone beyond the Zeltron's line of vision.

Maren did not make a habit of visiting drinking establishments at mid-day. In fact, she did not make a habit of visiting them at all. It was a pastime she had indulged in once or twice, out of sheer morbid curiosity, only to be deeply, deeply disappointed in the results. She saw the embodiment of that disappointment – of the self-induced agony – sitting half-slumped against the counter in front of her, a man who had given so much of himself over to the idiocy of alcohol that he had lost all sense of where and what he was.

The thought almost made her smile. He'd done half of her job for her.

The room would have been silent, if not for the faint strains of an old-fashioned radio struggling to be heard. Behind the bar, at the opposite of the counter to Dominick, stood a sour-faced old man whose piss-yellow eyes followed Maren Dirge slowly across the room, as if his pupils were magnetised to the sight of her. She stopped, five feet behind the Zeltron and stared at the back of his head.

“Who are you?”

[Dominick]

Dominick pictured in his mind a dramatic spinning in the bar stool of where he sat...and that was about as far as even the thought was allowed to go. It was that spinning bit that had brought an entire halt to it and didn't let the vision go any further towards him saying something remarkable to the female voice behind him.

What actually occurred was a slow breath to try and stop his mind from that whole spinning bit before he looked over his shoulder at the woman, instantly feeling betrayed by his own body that his plan of suave introduction just wasn't going to happen.

"Who am I?" Even his voice refused to have the usual lilt to it, coming out almost croaked as the Zeltron found his mouth unhappily dry. He paused long enough to form up some spit and swallow it to try and fix the issue, but the cottonmouth persisted.

"I am the hottest damn thing to hit this planet without forming a crater." Dominick was nothing if not persistent once he got an idea in his head. He figured that was a good quality, mostly.

Of course silence may have been the better way to go... it would have hurt less, that was for sure.

A forced lopsided smile that was barely above a grimace was given before he turned back towards the bar and went about trying to figure out just what bar he knew of employed a Bothan. None immediately came to mind, but Dominick figured that was just the gears turning too slow. It needed some lubrication.

"Oi." He raised a hand but instantly let it go limp on the bar as the entire effort really just seemed far too much. The urge to just curl into a ball on the floor was starting to sound appealing. "Can I get a pint?"

His stomach churned in protest. His next words were said loud enough to obviously be directed at the woman behind him, but more to convince his own body of the fact. "Breakfast of champions, after all."

...It still fraking hurt to talk. He always was a slow learner.

[Maren Dirge]

The bartender moved to pour a pint, caring little for who he was serving as long as they were good for the credits. Maren frowned for a moment, then both eyebrows raised. She watched as the Zeltron tried to animate himself. Behind his eyes, there was a flash of pain with each sudden shift in his posture. Even his smirk looked as if someone were stretching the skin of his cheeks back across his skull. Maren almost smiled herself.

“Champions of... what, exactly?”

[Dominick]

"Awesomeness."

As the beer was placed before him Dominick forced himself to sit up, his spine popping in several places that brought whole new meanings to the concept of pain for pleasure.

The first drink was like the nectar of gods and while it didn't do much for the pounding in his skull, it did help the Zeltron to at least feel the teeniest bit righted.

"So..." With one problem sorted it was time for the other. "I'd ask what a girl like you is doing in a place like this, but I aint one to judge. So rather I'll just ask if I'm lucky enough that you have a cig I could bum off."

[Maren Dirge]

“I don't smoke.”

The bartender, stepping back from the pint he'd set before Dominick, gave her and expectant look. Maren lowered her eyes in what amounted to a wordless: no. The bartender's lip twitched up at one corner, a muscular tick, like a shrugging of the mouth.

Though it was a question Maren suspected she knew the answer to, she asked it regardless.

“Do you know where you are?”

[Dominick]

Looking around the bar wasn't going to do much good at assessing his location, but Dominick did it anyway. As he did so, he could swear he could feel his brain sloshing about in the remnants of the evening before. The sloshing bit was what got to him and forced another gulp of the beer down his throat. Liquid on liquid didn't seem like the best idea, but gods it just worked sometimes.

"Yeah, well, judging by the lack of people as good looking as me I'd say I aint on Zeltros anymore." He avoided the urge to call her the name of the girl from that book with the witches and flying houses and short people and some hideously colored shoes.

"And since that's where I was last night I think it makes the answer a huge resounding: Nope."

He had used too many words and the hangover was going to take it out on him. He caught a burp somewhere in his throat and for a moment Dominick thought he may just very well lose the bit of refreshing liquid he'd managed to intake that morning...afternoon...whenever.

Thankfully his body cooperated and kept everything inside, but to appease it all the Zeltron put his head down on the bar, watching the bubbles of carbonation make their ascent from the bottom of the glass of ale towards the top.

A small groan left him again before he blinked slowly and managed to speak up again. "Not that it matters much. I'll catch a ride back home when the ground decides it wants to sit still."