"Kalashnikov's", Zvezdny Gorodok

[bluntpencil2001]

Ares sits in his seat, next to his usual drinking buddies, his most trusted lieutenants, Captain Miroslav Baranov and Commander Yuri Striatov, giving a one-sided grin at the party. He was pleased to see his boys and girls getting their well deserved recognition.

His half-sober eyes scanned across, spotting a man with, of all things, a Cardamine rebreather playing a song on the jukebox. He started, reaching for his pistol, before realising that the man was wearing Coalition uniform, and wasn't hiding the fact that he was a junky scumbag. Like everyone else, the officer was yelling "Get some!" and swilling vodka...

... of course, it was only his nature to respond like that to Cardamine in his sight, especially after recent events, what with rumours of new strains. But Doctor Gorodetsky did mention that some addicts had joined up recently, due to fear of the Outcasts and their alien buddies, or simple revolutionary sentiment.

This brought new confidence to the young man, a former Corsair, as he knocked back his beer, speaking to his closest officers...

"Si... let's get some... Kirk's command crew think they can take us..."

With that, he joined in Eugen's brawling, proceeding to punish Kirk's insubordinate deck crews in an unofficial capacity, laying several unconscious whilst en route to the bar. The Doctor, Petr Gorodetsky, would be pissed off with the extra work tonight, but he seemed rather happy to be assisting the Commodore by beating in a prone junior officer's face with a pool cue.

Another night at Kalashnikov's.

---

[Turkish]

Gabriel stood staring into Kalashnikov's, well over the station's mandatory limit on occupants. He was confused about what was going on, after a moment he walked in and picked up the nearest drunkard.

"Oi Comrade, whats with the festivities?"

The well sauced man responded with words only decipherable to a pirate of the Coalition. They equated to something along the lines of "new pilots, must get drunk".

Gabriel stood thinking for a moment, new pilots? Who the hell could that be? Then it dawned on him, they were toasting him! Of course they would be toasting the other new Red Squadron recruit, Arent? Arson? Erol? That was it, Erol Stirrup.

This was a party alright, but it was the usual run of the mill get yourself so drunk that if the Alliance reforms we'll have no chance party. Gabriel wanted to make it a real party, just like the ones back home in the club districts of Manhattan, and he knew just how.

It only took him moments to locate the artificial lighting circuit from the nearby console and isolate it, once that was done all he did was flip the switch and shuffle his way in towards the jukebox. Once he'd reached the end of the room he drew his pistol and began to fire at the Jukebox indiscriminately.

One his clip was empty he pushed away the broken glass that was obstructing the external media reader and reached into his shirt, revealing a high compression data card.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Coalition! Tonight you are going to party like you have never imagined! Yeeeehaw!"

Gabriel thrust the card into the jukebox and began singing along to the song that began to play.

"YO! SAY natsu ga mune o shigeki suru....."

---

I have a fetish for all things Norse.

[bluntpencil2001]

Ares, straightening his uniform after having proven to Kirk's men that they are just a bunch of mother-loving spineless weekend soldiers with no cojones, decided, in a semi-drunken haze decided to 'fix' the music as yet another fight broke out.

He shrugged (slightly bored with the fighting) as bottles flew by, someone with a Bretonian accent, probably one of Bigeard's boys, shouting about 'noodle-munching tunes!' as the glass smashed near Gabriel's head.

One would think that altering the music would calm the atmosphere, but, of course, it got more aggressive. Mao deserved it, the little prick. Him and his flashy poncy songs needed showing a proper Coalition party.

Glass smashed around the poor Libertonian bastard, yelling from the Bretonian marine corps contingent getting louder, in an attempt to be heard over the music. Predictably, it all went downhill from there as a former Blood Dragon, fed up with their old feudal ways, took offence to the semi-good natured taunting, drunkenly headbutting a marine and being thrown over the bar in return, obliterating two of the optics behind the bartender.

The bartender wasn't amused. Brawls weren't to cross a certain line. It's all a bit of fun until the booze is getting wasted, after all. He retrieved his shotgun from under the bar and pointed it threateningly.

To those new to Kalashnikov's, this would be frightening, if the fighting had bothered to stop (there now appearing to be two teams, roughly based on ethnicity). Interestingly enough, though, nobody that wasn't taking a rest and politely purchasing a drink was within ten feet of the bar.

---

[Turkish]

Gabriel lifted his head from the broken glass and table elements. As he began to stand the overwhelming impulse to vomit came over him, he repressed every sense of the urge. He soon surmised that he was suffering from a concussion, two broken fingers, and what would later develop into a hang over.

As he began to stand he suddenly realised that his music wasn't playing! Break his fingers, beat his brains, even submit him to forced alcohol consumption, but never touch his music.

Gabriel found Ares o Jovem himself standing before the jukebox, to most people this would be a deterrent. But to a mostly drunk Libertonian boy? Well, he didn't know any better.

He shoved past his sensational commanding officer and began to play with the jukebox. Before anyone could grab him it exploded into a sonic maelstrom of such epic proportions several of the more inebriated men fell down.

---

I have a fetish for all things Norse.

[Blodo]

Amidst the flying glass, breaking furniture and deafening music, at the side of the room sat Yuri, secretly pouring himself a glass of vodka under the table, from a bottle he had been hiding away for an appropriate moment. He pours some to the other two empty glasses at the table, and holds a toast to the empty table...
- "Zah Vas."
...and downs his glass in a single go. He then stands up, visibly tipsy, and goes straight into the crowd in the direction of the bar, before taking a sharp turn, grabbing a body from one of the "mosh pits" and dragging it out forcibly. He then shouts to the guy:
- "Weise! I'll pour you a drink if you stop chasing after fighters in your bomber next time we're in Liberty!"
He then takes an empty bottle from the floor, looks behind his shoulder and throws it at the smashed up jukebox. Another tune starts playing. Yuri shouts over the crowd again.
- "Find the others, I got two bottles left. Don't tell Kirk's officers."

[Othman]

After a befitting extent of deferring his upheaval, Captain Baranov felt the coercion to escalate his head from the table he was with Ares and Striatov. Having had enough of the beer and vodka, which was precisely redeemed to him in a stealth success by his Commander, the Captain respectively confirmed a strong pose in order to commandeer a fulminating glimpse on the awfully messed up podium of strife, inform of his alacrity to come up from the bench and enroll the rest.

"Hey, Yuri! Keep me a spot there.."

As the alcohol dealt with recklessly fighting men in a scatologic method, an Outcast operative laboring under the fake name and ID of Martin Edwards, who was fairly close to Mcintosh's table, fell into Baranov's recognition, much to the Hispanic's aversion and hysteria to find a way for surviving this ordeal. How this man had managed to sneak through was a question to be asked..

Expectedly though, the Captain had a sturdy understanding of eluding intoxication once needed, as it was meant to be indoctrinated through the intense tuition he had been having so far from his early boot camp days.

Both men took the same instant to stand up while Mcintosh's eyes caught Baranov reaching the grip of his TX-4 as did Ares'. The two knew very well that Baranov had always been damn cold serious with guns. The jukebox started to play a plausible banter at that moment.

---

On the uncharted lagoons of anguish, I sail with a canoe made of my sins.

[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>
SCRA Recruiting--SCRA Feedback--SCRA Message Dump--SCRA Faction Status

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.

[Xing]

"... drunkards... how do they manage to actually fly in a straight line and manage kills at all is a wonder."

Xing looked at his drink. Not his usual tea. The liquid was crystal clear.
Vodka.

He sighed in annoyance.
"Oh, why the hell did I allow them to grow rye on Mikolaiv biodomes..."
Worse, how did 2 of the station' supplementary storage pods became entire vodka fermentation room?!

"drunkards..." he sighed slowly as he continued his work on the coalition war machines, sipping slowly, very slowly the alcohol...

---

[Aggelos]

Aggelos, walked in forwardly from the airlock and into the bar, chased by worried gazes. he then approached a corner of the room by a Comm, a canteen of whiskey snuck out of his brown coat. a stunned room looked at him ominously and with obvious question.

not noticing at first he took a swig, looking at the dead room surprisingly.

"i was invited by LT.CMDR.OLSAV." he said looking up turning uncaring, but cautiously smug.

everyone turned to what they were doing, and Aggelos drinking thought of how many members there were 2 years ago, and how these people, all of which he didn't know, were so unknowing of who was in the room....

under his breathe he stammered into a Comm a stressful plea,
"Olsav, any questions you have please do ask, this is a harsh room."

---

Those of freedom walk with guns in broad daylight, and as the weak are killed freedom becomes nothing but a dream.

[Xing]

Yue Fei, much like her predecessor, Xing KeSi, barely ever drank alcohol at all.
Her last experience with vodka actually ended pretty bad - she preferred not to think about it at all.

But the bar had a nice ambience she usually enjoyed. Yeah, that is, until this, whoever he was, appeared.

"You are aware... your life probably won't last long from here on. Who are you?" She simply asked, with a very blank voice.

She sighed a little while, before adding, less or more to herself,
"do we still have to abide by that stupid rule of switching music -every- single time we enter this place? At that rate I'll only have junk to broadcast..."

---