Elsius Brandt
Jun 12th, 2002, 11:35:59 AM
"I'm the soap that's gonna wash the scum off this galaxy, small time. That's who I am. Now what in the hell is you're story?"
The Special Forces soldier shook his head in anger.
"No weapons allowed."
"1, 2, 3, 4, goddamn mother****ing 5. I see five little lightsabres dangling from the hips of these monks. Tell me, why the **** should I let them chop my unmentionables off?"
"They're Jedi, sir," the curtious soldier was finding it hard to include the honorary title of sir. "They protect the peace. They'd rather decapitate themselves then hurt an innocent," again, it was hard to insert a great many words best saved for a man of more patience and respectfulness than Elsius.
"Yeah, like I'm going to be hearing that noise."
Elsius unholstered his weapon and spun it around, handing the butt to the security guard.
"House rules. House rules. I respect that. Don't think I'm not wise to any little movement though, punk. These Jedi better keep their hands off me or I'm coming after you."
The soldier waved him through, disregarding his statement. "Thank you, sir."
Elsius turned around before fully entering the bar. "Phony."
The bar was a mix of cultures, all of which Elsius could remember putting in lock-up. No species or sex was without the "scum" gene. That fatal flaw that made them sub-par on the ethics wheel.
"My man.... Two shots, baby. Yeah, fill that up."
The bartender filled the shot glasses as requested.
"Ain't had a drink in two goddamn days. My liver be feelin' lonely. Know what I'm saying."
Without an answer, the shots were filled and the bartender was onto another customer. One following the other, the drinks were downed with a pleased groan following.
"Good ****. How many coins, brother?"
After hearing the price, Elsius payed with tip. He respected a bartender. They were like nurses to him.
"Fill them rims up."
Pouring the refill the bartender collected the previous payment. Elsius downed one shot and swung his seat around to face the bar, one fully filled shot glass still in hand.
The Special Forces soldier shook his head in anger.
"No weapons allowed."
"1, 2, 3, 4, goddamn mother****ing 5. I see five little lightsabres dangling from the hips of these monks. Tell me, why the **** should I let them chop my unmentionables off?"
"They're Jedi, sir," the curtious soldier was finding it hard to include the honorary title of sir. "They protect the peace. They'd rather decapitate themselves then hurt an innocent," again, it was hard to insert a great many words best saved for a man of more patience and respectfulness than Elsius.
"Yeah, like I'm going to be hearing that noise."
Elsius unholstered his weapon and spun it around, handing the butt to the security guard.
"House rules. House rules. I respect that. Don't think I'm not wise to any little movement though, punk. These Jedi better keep their hands off me or I'm coming after you."
The soldier waved him through, disregarding his statement. "Thank you, sir."
Elsius turned around before fully entering the bar. "Phony."
The bar was a mix of cultures, all of which Elsius could remember putting in lock-up. No species or sex was without the "scum" gene. That fatal flaw that made them sub-par on the ethics wheel.
"My man.... Two shots, baby. Yeah, fill that up."
The bartender filled the shot glasses as requested.
"Ain't had a drink in two goddamn days. My liver be feelin' lonely. Know what I'm saying."
Without an answer, the shots were filled and the bartender was onto another customer. One following the other, the drinks were downed with a pleased groan following.
"Good ****. How many coins, brother?"
After hearing the price, Elsius payed with tip. He respected a bartender. They were like nurses to him.
"Fill them rims up."
Pouring the refill the bartender collected the previous payment. Elsius downed one shot and swung his seat around to face the bar, one fully filled shot glass still in hand.