Drinking Away the Sorrow (Open to anyone)

[Jack Bryson]

Master Yoghurt's Bar & Grill- a popular restaurant where so many came to indulge in long, friendly conversations and appetizing food and drinks. It was a place of relaxation and exhilaration; a place one could escape to. However, for Jack Bryson, it was nothing more than an overcrowded, overrated bar where he could perform some magic. He could make his sorrows disappear... with the aid of a few drinks of course.

"Here's to life, and all the misery that comes with it."

He gave his depressing toast to himself and quickly downed his drink, only waiting moments more before taking another gulp. He consistently tapped his fingers upon the bar counter while his mind drifted into the deep recesses of his mind.

[Deric Rion]

I could use some company, he thought, scanning the bar with eyes hidden behind deep black shades. Handing over his pistol at the doors, he stepped inside the place. He was 'thirsty' and it was time to wet his whistle in Coruscant. He'd heard'a this place and it was no secret that all types came here--roughnecks, thieves, pirates, businessman, and smugglers. A diverse crowd of crooks. . .his type of place.

"You ain't kiddin', buddy," he said gruffly, taking a seat next to the man. He was shorter than average, but more stout than most. He wore attire not too uncharacteristic of a bar--a pair'a blue jeans, a dark blue t-shirt, and a jet-black leather jacket. His sunglasses remained on for the moment--even in the dark bar--as he called the tender over. "Tender--Corellian whiskey on the rocks." He turned back to the man he addressed previously.

"Misery, huh? I've been down that road. Nothin' a little whiskey won't ease though," he smiled. "The name's Rion--what's yours?" He outstretched a tough, grizzled hand to the other.

[Solomon Daenal]

Delete my post, please?

[Jack Bryson]

An inebriated Bryson gave the stranger a careless glance. Though hesitant at first, he decided that the man was nothing more than he was; another victim of life's perpetual torture.

"Name's Jack Bryson."

He really didn't care enough to further their conversation, but after drinking enough alcohol to tranquilize a horse, he saw no point in ignoring his comrade in life's grief.

"Just what brings you here?"

[Deric Rion]

"Oh ya know," he said, downing the whiskey without thinking about it. "Same 'ole, same 'ole. Speaking of, same thing, tender." The bartender brought another shot to Rion who promplty took it in his hand. He looked back at Bryson and proposed a mock toast, grinning.

"Here's to'a night'a blissful ignorance, brought to you by everyone's favorite friend alcohol," he said rasining his glass to Bryson's. Pulling it away, he downed the shot and swallowed the stinging liquid. It stung a little less each time.

"So, Jack," he spoke, another whiskey on the way. The alcohol was taking effect as he felt drowsiness and happiness set in simultaneously. A numbing effect, he'd always thought. "Whaddya do? Ya know, for a living?"