"Kalashnikov's", Zvezdny Gorodok

[Koolmo]

Eugen, although completely sloshed, was exuberant. He'd just been invested in the Order of the Shield of the Coalition, for smashing a fighter three times his size, and saving the lives of most of his wing. Staggering back inside from the jacks, he watched as Miroslav Baranov fired three rounds into the chest of an Outcast spy, his status confirmed by the coulds of Cardamine spewing from his open wounds. As the bar lapsed into silence, Eugen laughed, his uniform in tatters, finery askew, and pistol in hand.

"Comrades? Why so serious? Ahahaah!"

He attempted to leap to his usual table, but was intercepted in midair by his feet, and landed on a table full of gunboat captains. Snatching a bottle, he blazed madly at the jukebox, until it spat out one of his favorites. Dancing on his heels, he managed to lay out all three officers at his table, and most of the liquor in the surrounding area. Singing along, off tune and exuberant, he downed the remainder of the bottle and tossed it behind him.

"Ra ra rasput-"

With the final recitation of the chorus, he slipped and landed in a puddle of broken glass and booze. Staring at the rather battered ceiling, he began to slip into a happy bliss, until a foot roughy jolted him into wakefullness. Ares glared down at him with a disaproving expression.

"What do you think you're doing down there Hermando? It's still early! Get this in ya!"

A sputtering Eugen rose from the floor, drenched int Ares' Tequila. He slapped his arm around the other man, and together they staggered to the bar for another drink.

---

<span style="color:#FFFF00">&quot;General Solo, is your strike team assembled?&quot;
&quot;Barely, they're pretty drunk.&quot; </span>
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I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.