Drinks are on me!

[Mr Wednesdaydale]

The old man casually walked up to the bar, slapping down a chit on the counter. He gestured for the 'tender, who's eyes widened at the sum on the chit.

Evenin' squiyah. Ah'd like to ordah rounds foh awll the luv's 'n guv's en the establishment. Dun get mincey on the poison, eithah. Larf' en tittahs, Vera Lynns, bittah gay'n friskey, an don't be skimpen on the Brittney Speayahs. An tell'em ets awll compliments of me.

The tender reluctantly nodded, sliding the chit into his pocket, and began to tend to the increasing numbers of folks here for free drinks.

[Zeke]

"Dude! I want a drink!"

Zeke had arrived shortchanged today. He could buy food, or a drink, but not both. Since the old guy was buyin' drinks, he ordered some food. As his plate and bottles were delivered he flashed a happy smile.

"Thanks...Jeez, what's your name? Mine's Zeke!"

[imported_J'ktal Anajii]

"Tom Collins, on the rocks, slice of lemon to the side," a cool voice interrupted the others at the bar. The look on his face was enough to guerantee prompt service, and the gray Nehantite took his drink in paw with practiced grace.

J'ktal Anajii was not one to frequent Jedi bars, but he always had reasons for doing things. His cold pink eyes scanned the room, and landed on his target. Like a mechanical vise, the mongoose squeezed the juice form his lemon into his glass and then swirled it throught he icy contents, watchign the trails of citric acid mongle with the clear liquid. Coming to a smooth stop before Zeke and the night's benefactor, he nodded ever-so-slightly before taking a sip from his tumbler.

"Mr. Wednsesdaydale, I presume. This is awfully generous of you. From what I know of you, you aren't the type to go throwing money around. It leaves me to wonder what you are up to." Taking a seat without it being offered, he sat straight and proper, though posessing a commanding presence about him. Turnign his head, he looked across his muzzle at the man in thick glasses and asked, "I don't believe I have to introduce myself to you, do I? Though we have never met, we have each lined each other's pockets in roundabout ways. Thank you. For the drink, that is."

[Laine Eldarado]

"I'll pay for my own if you don't mind, old man."

::I wasn't talking unkindly but there was no warmth in my voice either. From my seat at the end of the bar, I slowly sipped the refill of scotch. One of the few pleasures I took from places like this was being able to pay for myself. It was like spitting on my father with every glass.

I ordered another.::

[Nasseeri Haalleerraa]

"Corrrelljian whjissskejy."

Nasseeri spoke from a table in the back of the bar, placing her order along with that of the others. Wednesdaydale had still been outside the establishment when her nose alerted her to his annoyingly boisterous presence. But she didnt assume that he hadnt known of hers as well. This old coot had a way of knowing things he shouldnt and Nasseeri wouldnt make the mistake of underestimating him. She knew her being here would be equally annoying to him so she immediately set about to do just that.

"Ssso verrrjy generrrousss of jyou, Wednesssdajydale to purrrchassse drrrjinksss forrr everrrjybodjy."

Accepting her drink from the 'tender, she holds the glass up to him in a mock salute, her next words dripping with sarcasm.

"To jyourrr long ljife and health, Wednesssdajydale."

[Commander Zemil Vymes]

"Drink for you, Commander?"

The question lingered thicker than the cigar smoke over my head, and all background chatter dulled to a quiet buzz. I suddenly drew a tongue across dry lips, and only then, realized how parched I was. What ails a double of Rebel Yell would cure...

...but it was always how it started. The first drink was because I needed it. The one after that...that was because I was ready to relax. The third was to distract myself from self loathing, or whatever guilt felt like showing its face this day. Whatever ghost I could slay in a stupor, I couldn't slay what it made me. There were some things that were given an amazing sense of clarity to an alcoholic. You could amputate yourself from life, and suspend yourself in a sort of netherworld, where there were no yesterdays, and tomorrows were always happy hour. You disembodied yourself, but you always came back. Sobriety didn't mean you were back to where you were. You were back five steps from even that. I could save a few bad memories in the booze, but it wouldn't save me in the end.

My mind splashed back in a chilling twang of the moment. I looked to the bartender.

"Caf. Just...caf. Thanks."

Each day though, it seemed to get harder to not see the bottle.