Another night, another generic bar scene [open]

[The Stranger]

I walked. That’s all I ever did. An endless cycle, a repeating loop. Put one foot in front of the other, then take another step back to counter it. Keep on walking regardless. Doesn’t matter where. Doesn’t matter how. Terrain isn’t an issue – it stopped mattering what I was walking over long ago. Sand, stone, wood, ash, grass, its all the same when you’re staring into the horizon. I’ve got a good pair of boots, soles so thick that you can’t feel what’s beneath you. It’s better that way, you can’t tell whether or not you’ve been somewhere before. I’d probably go mad if I thought I was walking in circles.

Can’t really remember how long I’ve been walking. Seems like forever. Forever and a day. My whole life? If you could call it life.

I look up ahead. The garish lights of Coruscant never did appeal to me. It’s caste upon caste Republic hypocrisy. Modern day saints in their pristine palace, surveying all of their dren-stained kingdom. Or at least that’s what the streetwalkers tell me. They want to fight against the system, to take back the boroughs by force. I don’t think I’d have enough energy in me to take a paper bag by force.

Still, there’s a bar. There always is a bar, of course. Wherever you go, people want to kill brain cells. This one looks pretty busy. Pretty old too, like it was made from the parts of a thousand others, all glued together by a blind man who didn’t know just who he wanted to sell the place to. But a bar is a bar, I don’t discriminate.

I come to the doorway, the entrance. It’s blocked, people swarming in and out constantly. The whole place smells like memories. Scents of things from all across the universe. I could have walked nowhere but here and seen it all. It was a microcosm, a little world in its own. Annual profit must have been phenomenal.

Someone runs their hands over my body. It’s not as firm as it used to be, ribs looking a little too prominent for comfort. Do they think I could afford a weapon? Frell food and shelter, I want to killkillkill. I shake my head as they hand back the heavy worn overcoat. I feel naked without it. It’s part of me, and I’m the only certain thing in this story. No matter how far I walk, I’ll always be here, won’t I?

Somehow I’ve ended up at a table. I don’t know how I got all of this money. It just seems like it never runs out. Not much, though. Just enough. Enough for whiskey and bantha meat. You’d think after this long – how long? – I’d be sick of it, but no. I order the same old same old and watch the table rush up to meet me.

Oh dear. I’m unconscious.

[Zachariah Darmok]

From the other side of the bar sat no less that Zachariah Darmok, deathly white with somewhat of a murderous grin circulating his lips.

It was highly rare that Darmok would visit the very upper areas of Coruscant but these were one of those rare occassions, Darmok was on a un-mentioned mission, atleast not mentioned in this story. Since joining the Kulos, Darmok had a higher confidence and he walked Coruscant on a more reguler basis than he used to and he much rather enjoyed it.

The stares he would get as he swept passed in his heavy black cloak looking ever smug with himself was extremely ammusing and it joyed Zachariah to no end. He loved unnerving people even if it emant never touching them.

Today however, would be a most interesting day. Darmok in his time deep below Coruscants most favoured society, had seen so many homeless people he could have stacked them on top of eathother one by one and have the top most be level with coruscants highest buildings.

This man however was much different, there was something about him, something that took Darmoks attention. A rare feat no less.

[The Stranger]

There isn’t much you can do while you’re unconscious. It’s a pretty linear state of mind. You lie still, maybe drool if you’re unlucky. Maybe your body will twitch. At least when you’re asleep you get dreams to pass the time. This is just blank black nothing, stretching out infinitely in front of your mind. Your conscious doesn’t care, it’s taking a nap. Your subconscious loves the chance to take the front seat. It won’t get it for long though, it never does. The clatter of the plate of food brought me out of it, or at least half way. Then again, I never was all there. Always sort of drifting meandering through life.

Keeping one eye on the road ahead and another behind leaves you dizzy.

“Thanks,” I slurred. I don’t know how my voice had ended so hoarse. I rarely used it. No one wants to talk to an unfamiliar face, and talking to yourself gets you nowhere.

The smell of the meat was waking me up. I’ve got a nose for meat, you know? I can tell good meat from a mile off, and this was good meat. My mouth was dry as the Dune Sea, but I forced it in anyway and tried to ignore the voyeur down the other end of the bar. He was just like a million others, always keen to know the story of the stranger from out of town.

[Leon Dagrelle]

' Who are you?' Whispered a voice within the ear lobe of the stranger. ' What do you search for, what do you want?, what do you desire?' The voice seemed to come from a unknown source, eerily, none stood behind the man to whisper in his ear.

[The Stranger]

Voices in my head. I haven’t drunk that much, I think. As I chew thoughtful on a piece of rough meat, I look around the rest of the bar. My eyes are drawn inexplicably to the gaunt man. The pale man. Insidious smirking lips and tiny gemstone eyes. A face that not even a mother could love. My hat shades a little frown, as I bite another chunk of the meat away. Masticating with rigorous patience, I leveled the watcher with an emotionless stare. If he wanted to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, he could come over here and do it.

[Zachariah Darmok]

' Would you enjoy something more...' He calculated his words carefully and with his slow, dripping voice he continued, an evil grin crossing his thin white lips. '...wholesome to consume?'

It had taken, eerily enough, only the short time that the stranger looked down to spear another section of meat with his fork and look back for Darmok to sweep across the room and be standing behind him.

'It would be my treat...' he said smoothly. Unknowing to the stranger and hidden expertly well was the sarcasem that pured from Darmoks mouth, with his voice being so rich and consuming it was hard not to resist.

[The Stranger]

Hub hospitality, there isn’t anything like it. My mouth still half full, I look up at the man. From down here, seems like you could dig trenches with that hook-nose. Kind of musky smell about him, like too many afternoons spent in a library. I tilt back the front of my hat, so he can see me and I can see him. Eye contact is important for me. You can learn a lot about folks from the eyes. This mans eyes tell me that he isn’t the type for drive-by generosity. I keep my silence a moment longer, swallowing back the bitter mouthful. I don’t know how I got the idea that liquor and alcohol mix.

“Naw, thanks.” He sounds educated. I sound like a hick.

I hate to live by maxims, but people shouldn’t judge books by their poorly bound and tatty covers.

“Don’t need much more than this, and I wouldn’t want any debts.”

I smirk. “Well, anymore than I already have.”

[Zachariah Darmok]

' I think you misunderstand me, friend He said quietly

' It will be my treat...'

[The Stranger]

I’m still staring at the man, as I say with complete conviction:

“I think you misunderstand me, I don’t want your pity.”

I don’t think before I speak. I’ve gotten used to the anger and the empty threats that you get for backtalk.

Maybe one day I’ll learn some manners. Maybe not.

[Zachariah Darmok]

For a moment or two Darmok looked takenaback, somone was argueing against him? something extremely rare, but different, Darmok would let it slide this once.

Stalking around the otherside of the homeless man Darmok smiled menacingly. ' But i INSSSSSSIST!' he whispered loudly and he touched the shoulder of the stranger and for a split second a unaudible pain shot through the shoulder of the stranger and into the very mind.

Whatever Darmok had just done was working its way through the veins of the man, not painfully now but it could be felt shooting through every major blood conduit within the man as if searching for something in perticuler, not being able to speak, not being able to shout he could not call for help, he was, atleast for the moment, paralyzed.

[The Stranger]

It hit me. Something like a blow to the head. With a hammer. The sledge type. It was the kind of feeling that made you want to grab your head, for fear it might split down the middle. Paradoxically, I was numb. My arms like lead at my sides, I looked the picture of drugged comfort, with a sedated smirk. If I was able to, I would swear. Loudly. Instead, I just sit. There’s little else I can do, save for reassuring myself on the fact that I’m a good judge of character and spot a sick bastard from a mile away.

[Zachariah Darmok]

Blackness started to creep into the the eyes of the stranger as if pixel by pixel the mans view was being painted with a eternity of simply nothing. His arms were, by now, feels as if someone was trying to tear them off at the joint, his head was internaly, emotionaly being hounded, hunted, crushed.

His body was essentially shutting down.

[The Stranger]

What could I do? Nothing. I’m not scared of passing out. I’ve done it too many times. It’s almost comforting now. What I don’t like is passing out around people I don’t know, especially ones in billowing black cloaks who grin like rabid Nexu. It just felt like I’d drunk one too many whiskeys, ate one too many steaks and walked into one too many electrically charged fences. All in a days work for Joe Nobody. Still, I am about to pass out. I wish I could muster the energy to gasp something dramatic, but I have to settle for a whimper – and then I’m back to square one. Unconsious.

[Zachariah Darmok]

Finaly...

The stranger slumped awkwardly upon the table and with a great sigh breathed out his last audible breath, the rest were silent. A slow methodical in take of breath would come and then be released, the only part he coould move were his lungs and breathing ways.

Zacharah smiled devilishly.

The Power.

' Who are you, and whats wrong with this man?' Said a voice behind Darmok, turning on his heal, Darmok swept his cloak behind him, it was a Bar and Grill gaurd.

[The Stranger]

I, of course, can’t see or hear. If I could, I would be seeing a burly man with a rifle eyeing the caped crusader with an incredulous eye, and asking just why I was slumped over the table. Everyone else can see this of course, and it’s attracting attention. I wish I could grin, but sadly the muscles in my cheeks aren’t feeling like it. Still, there appears to be another cloaked man coming over to join in the analysis of my situation. Perhaps he’ll sort me out?

[Zachariah Darmok]

' Oh dear! My friend here, who i was just buying dinner for has fallen unconcious, to much of that rodian red it seems!'

Darmoks voice was no longer the slimey, greasy, smooth one that was his own. He spoke in a more rough, underground accent as if he had spent a good part of his life scrounging for food, a neglected accent.

' He seems to have fallen under the power of the drink, i shall remove him at once my friend.'

Glancing menacingly at the stranger he began to pick him up.

' Just you wait a moment...' The gaurd said shortly.

[The Stranger]

“We’ll get him to the on-site med bay. The Jedi will bring him back around in no time,” the guard continued, stepping forward and giving me a shove. What did he think I was, a rag doll? I would have socked him one in the face if I wasn’t so lifeless. Still, I suppose I had him to thank for saving me from whatever it was that the insidious fellow had planned for me. My arms are pulled quickly around the shoulders of the two guards, one of whom then asks, “Do you want to come with him or just wait here?”

[Zachariah Darmok]

' Yes, yes why not. Poor man needs a friend at a time like this' Darmok said, his eyes looking menacingly into those of The Stranger. At this point two gaurds hoisted the man and between then carried him towards the staff only area of the bar, perhaps one of the staff knew some kind of medical knwledge.

Darmok on the otherhand was enkoying every moment and at the first opertunity, would have the old hobo dead as a section of durasteel.

[The Stranger]

So I am being hauled into a makeshift gurney behind the bar. Not the most comfortable place in the world. Don’t really appreciate you slapping my cheek like that to wake me up either, pal- I’m unconscious, not frenzied.

“Someone will be here soon,” the barman says. Not that I’m listening.

“This guy stinks of booze,” he comments. Thanks.

“You should watch what he’s drinking in future. We can’t have him crashing like this every time he’s in here.”

Every time? How many times…