Pub Crawl

Posted on Mon Jun 24th, 2019 @ 8:15pm by Ensign Briaar Gavarus & Ensign Fiona O'Dell

Mission: Fractured Fairy Tales
Location: McGillicuttey's Traditional Irish Pub - Kabul 4
Timeline: 2396

While many of the crew of the U.S.S. Hera had been working hard to repair the mighty starship after its victorious performance against the Bloody Rose and the now former Queen regent of the Artan Pirate Family, Ensigns Gavarus and O'Dell had been hard at work bringing the experimental starcraft known as the Thunderchicken back up to specs.

The first, official combat flight of the variable mode fighter had been an unqualified success, and the light mech and its pilot had proven themselves with flying colors. It was so successful that, in spite of taking heavy fire, the pearlescent black mech was fully checked and cleared for action again after what amounted to little more than basic maintenance. Being a member of the engineering team, Gavarus could be put to use assisting with the repairs of the Hera while the ship was docked at the Artan fortress. But the head of the R&D Department, Mona Gonadie, had other ideas.

The head of the department had officially banished them both- not only from work, but from the Hera herself. Officially, they were being given shore leave in recognition of their outstanding service, but the cagey Miradonian Ensign had an ulterior motive in getting Gavarus and O'Dell off the ship. In just a few days, she would be completing her bonding ceremony with her partner and lover, the Hera's Chief Flight Control officer, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox. So the increasingly nervous aviatrix didn't want the notoriously hard-drinking pair anywhere near her 'perfect day'. So shore leave it was.

“So that’s the score. She said we need ta go see one of the resort planets here in the system, she wasnae takin’ no for an answer, and we’re nae allowed to check back in for another 4 days. So… where do ye want to go?” Sitting cross-legged on the foot of the Thunderchicken, the petite redheaded pilot who hailed from the unlikely planet Mariposa peered up at her oversized Tellarite flight mechanic.

“Polar, tropical, forest, city, watersports… or do we joos tour the pubs of a planet until we’ve been thrown oot of all of ‘em?” O’Dell asked cheerfully.

Grumbling while examining the knee joint of the towering mech, looking for something to give her work to do, Briaar Gavarus groaned. "I have no damn idea, Fee. Vacations are a pain in the ass, what do you want to do?”

“I want ta go somewhere that’s cold an’ rainy, where they have pubs fulla smoke, where people throw darts and arm wrestle and sing songs, where a proper brawl is practically expected and they toss ye oot when closing time comes to leave ye ta stagger home on yuir own!” Clearly O’Dell had not really put a lot of thought into a vacation beyond 'getting hammered in a pub'. Apparently, rather specifically, one reminiscent of her home. Which was in and of itself a cosmic knockoff of stereotypical Irish culture.

Pausing for a second, the towering Tellarite shrugged and chuckled. "Seriously? You get wasted on synthehol and can't fight your way out of a wet paper bag. That said, sure. Why the hell not? It sounds better than some frickin' beach."

“It doesnae mean I dinna like ta drink, I’m joost wee and it works on me easy!” O’Dell protested, her voice getting a bit squeaky as she defended herself. “Besides, I hate the beach. Lookit me! M’skin’s white as snow where it ain’t freckled! Beaches joost make me skin burn! I dinna like bugs, so no woods! I dinna like skiing or snow sports because I'm shite on skis. I mean, I live on a starship for lots of reasons, aye?” The curly-mopped Miraposian stuck out her lip defiantly. “Ah can too fight me way oot of a paper bag! I’ve just nae ever been challenged by one is all…”

"Well, this may very well be your chance, Leprechaun. They're literally kicking us off the damn ship." The portly porcine grumbled and sighed. "Well, let's find you a weird, 18th Century Jack the Ripper pub to be hilarious in before Gonadie stuffs us in empty torpedoes and just shoots us at Risa or some shit."

"I read the tourist brochure!" O'Dell picked up and waved a PaDD. "It says if ye canna find a bar on Kabul 4 that suits ye, they'll build ye one! But they have a surprisin' number of Irish pubs, actually. Apparently me ancestors favorite way of drinkin' is still a hit across the universe. Gah figure."

"Soooooo we kin take a crappy little shuttlecraft, find us a pub and go get hammered in the best way possible- where nobody knows our names! Nobody will tell the Lieutenant what we did in the pub! No great beefy door girls to make you all weak in the knees! Joost a bunch of anonymous strangers, locals and assholes who we'll likely nivvir see agin. Dunnit sound lovely?" O'Dell spread her hand and swung it in a dramatic arc as if she were painting the sky.

"Soometimes ye wanna go... where nobody knows yuir name, and nobody cares ye came. Aye?"

Allowing the slightest of cracks in her cranky facade, Briaar had the hint of a smirk forming across her thick cheeks. "Anonymous shitfacery? Frick it, let's lose the uniforms and get the hell out of here. There's a type 8 waiting with our names on it, Fee."

"I'm g'win ta set the parental controls on the shuttle so I canna drink and fly!"

---------------

All of 40 minutes later, they were winging their way through rain clouds as the small shuttle broke into the planet's atmosphere. There was a slow rumbling thunderstorm, which made Fiona clap her hands excitedly. "Rain! Real honest ta betsy rain! Yeeee!" At that, winds buffeted the small shuttle, shoving it about the sky a bit. "Ach, and wind too, lookit that!"

Clutching the armrests of her seat, Gavarus had a bit of green to her as the tiny shuttle shuddered in the intense weather. "Oh, you frickin' WOULD like this! The s... s... sky is trying to K...KILL us and you're about to b... b...break out in song!"

Which was precisely what she did, caterwauling in the small shuddering craft as they plummeted to the planet below a drinking song.

"Ooooooh, Katherine, take my hand
I've got three pounds and change.
And I'll sing you songs of love again
And when I get too drunk to sing...

We'll walk in the Irish rain!"

It might not have been so bad- O'Dell could carry a tune and the tune was catchy. It was the way she stopped concentrating on her driving while she did it that was especially worrisome.

Leaning her head back, the nauseated Engineer moaned loudly, "Oooh... I'm g... Gonna throw the @#$& up and I have... Haven't even started d... drinking yet! For shit"s sake, watch the goddamn sky, O'Dell."

"Pffft. This wee thunderhead is naught ta this flyin box's sensor suite. I literally have her on automatic obstacle avoidance, so she could practically land herself. But I'll nae taunt yet wi' imminent death by fallin oot'a the sky," the wee mischievous maiden was as good as her word, and dropped them out below the cloud cover, and they zoomed across the hilly verdant landscape, scaring flocks of sheep in their wake.

Doing her best to keep what composure she hadn't screamed away in the upper atmosphere, Gavarus pried her own fingers free of the armrests of her seat desperately wishing that they would just land the shuttle already. It was becoming increasingly clear to anyone paying attention that the porcine engineer simply didn't like flying, which was an odd issue to have for someone that lived on a starship.

As the tiny type 8 shuttlecraft came around to land at the gloomy, rain-soaked landing pad in the edge of the small colony town, Gavarus let out an audible sigh of relief. "Okay. Now I'm definitely ready to get frickin' drunk."

"That's the spirit!" O'Dell chirped cheerfully as, true to her word, she set the 'parental controls' to keep her from using the shuttlecraft when she was drunk. Grabbing a light coat to keep off the rain, Fiona was outfitted in a pair of pants, loose and breathable, a white cotton blouse that also left a lot to the imagination, and good functional high-tech shoes. Slapping a small driving cap on her head, she beamed up at her porcine partner in crime with an irrepressible excitement. "Are ye ready ta go meet the locals, insult their sheep and boak on their shoes?"

"Probably in exactly that order..." The grumpy Gavarus muttered under her breath as she stood up from her seat as far as the too-short ceiling would allow for the two-meter tall Tellarite. "Oh, I can't wait! I'm beyond excited, can't you tell. This is my 'excited' face."

On her face was a sarcastic, fake smile projected from three kilometers away. As she stepped out of the cockpit to the rear ramp, the irritable engineer threw on a long dark gray overcoat on top of the snug black t-shirt with the words 'I'M A LOCAL' printed across the chest and grey cargo pants. Uncharacteristically, she was wearing a specially fit pair of boots designed to accommodate her porcine hooves. Her enormous, wiry platinum blonde shrubbery of hair was pulled down into a poof of a ponytail as she grabbed a small umbrella. "Lead the way, leprechaun. These are your weird ass, sheep-@#$%er people. Let's go get drunk with them and hope they don't think pigs are sexy, either."

“What, ye nivvir heard the legend of Pigf#&@er Jones? He’s practically a legend in these parts! He’s g’win ta take one look at the buffet of Gavarus and fall head over heels in luuuurve!” The tiny test pilot giggled as she expounded on the local legend of the place she’d never been. “Dinna ye worry, yuir safe wi’ me. Our credit is good, we’re offworlders on a tourist planet, and all we hafta do is find a pub where the barstools can hold up your ass without them bein’ too tall fer me ta climb when I’m drunk and we’ll be right as rain!”

With that said, O’Dell stepped off the ramp into the misting rain, closed her eyes and lifted her face skyward, feeling the rain on her skin, the sharp bite of the wind, and the smell of the damp earth. It wasn’t exactly the same as her home planet, but it was close enough for her. Months of being cooped up on a starship melted away as she smiled and spread her arms, inhaling deeply.

“This. Ah miss this sometimes, ye know? Joost some cold, damp rain an’ puddles and the smell of soggy dirt and grass and the wind on yuir face… tisnae home, but it ain’t the sterile starship life, neither.” The bonny babe of the Bringloidians basked in the autumn rain, surprisingly content to be in a simulation of familiar environs for her that, for a change, was not a simulation.

Wrinkling her pig-ling snout, Gavarus sniffed the air. "Uhhh, that's not soggy dirt and grass, Fee. That's sheep shit. Yeah, that's definitely the smell of sheep shit. Ugh, I never wanted to know that."

"And it's cold. For once, I'm glad I come from a race of fat-asses." The prickly porcine whined. "Okay, I need to forget that smell. Get my ass hammered, Leprechaun. Lead the way."

“I canna guarantee that unless we meet Pigfu-" Fiona began, then seeing the look on Briaar's face, dropped it. "Tis a bit o’ dung too, aye, but that’s part ‘a the charm!” the little lass grinned, grabbing the large three-fingered hand of her alien comrade in cups and dragging her as the merry midget literally skipped toward the village. “There’s bound to be at least three pubs, because there’s the classy one, the trashy one and the one where the locals drink, where the bitters are watered down and the darts are crooked, where the tables and chairs are all mismatched and the locals are missin’ teeth!”

The minsicule Mariposian was literally bouncing as they moved, excited to be playing in the rain, tromping through suspicious mud and insistently tugging her beastly bestie toward the first pub whose shingle she saw. It was clear that she was excited and thrilled to be in her element, which was ironic given how soggy and miserable her element turned out to be. Interestingly, the cold didn’t seem to be bothering her overmuch, despite her lack of bundled clothing and lack of body fat.

“There we goo! McGilligoolicutty’s Traditional Irish Pub! Which, with that in the name, means tisn’t traditional at all!”

"Sooo, shitty tourist trap? BUT a shitty tourist trap with alcohol. Let's do it." Gavarus sighed slightly, accepting her fate for the evening. She was, of course, fairly content for her, but crotchety was her default setting, and the one in which she was the most comfortable. And since she was usually very comfortable in the presence of her unlikely best friend, she felt perfectly comfortable being crotchety. After all, O’Dell practically anticipated it, so to do otherwise would be just weird for the duo.

While the little leprechaun seemed to be perennially cheerful and sunny, she was in fact possessed of a strong sarcastic streak, and a teasing nature. Thus the banter between the two was a delight to them both. Gavarus never had to worry about offending the spirited sprite, while O’Dell could needle and cajole the grouchy Tellarite to her heart’s content. Which worked well as a dynamic between them, although to an outside observer it might look as though the two were perennially sniping at one another.

Pushing open the doors to the tourist trap pub, it was everything that Fiona had expected. Dark wood fixtures and paneling, wooden floors with sawdust on them to absorb spills, Kelly green pleather upholstery on everything, with signs adorning the walls which indicated the wonders of Ireland to tourists half a galaxy away.

“Ach, willye lookit that? MacGregor tartan and a set of bagpipes. That’s Scottish, not Irish! Pog me thoin!” Fiona rolled her eyes and grumbled as the strains of fiddle music could be heard at low background volume. Making her way to the bar, the tiny test pilot gestured grandly to a barstool. “Yuir throne, Madame Gavarus!”

The tubby towering Tellarite grunted slightly as she settled onto the barstool, leaning to the side to enjoy watching her pint-sized partner-in-crime ascend the stool to the best of her ability. "It's all you now, Leprechaun? You got this or do I need to crane you up?"

As she spoke, she held out her arm straight in a stiff motion, mimicking a crane arm, making mechanical whirring noises while she did.

“Not til after me first pint! Then ye’ll need ta haul me up til I pass oot on the bar!” the bright-eyed bludger replied as she scampered up her stool, climbing until her head could peer over the bar. Rapping on the wooden bar, she looked around for the bartender. “Oi! You, wi’ the face! Kin Ah git a ha’pint a bitters fuir me and two pints fer me designated driver?”

The local, surprised by the fact that a midget and a giant pig were now seated at his bar at 3 in the afternoon, shrugged broadly and turned to draw the requested drinks. Parking them on coasters in front of the two strangers, he eyed them suspiciously until Fiona handed over her Starfleet voucher card.

“Ach, 'fleeters. O’course,” he muttered as he headed off to open the tab on the card. In his wake, Fiona raised up her glass to her friend.

“Here’s ta Chief Gonadie, who forced us ta go find somewhere ta stay drunk for the next four days. Sláinte!” The petite pixie’s grin was ear to ear as she held up her half-glass of dark beer, which was enough to keep her drunk for a day.

"Yeah. Slanty!" Gavarus grinned as she slapped her glass to O'Dells, purposefully mis-pronouncing the toast before taking a massive swig of her drink.

Then, looking around and smiling at the complete lack of statuesque and gorgeous security officers, let out a lengthy belch in celebration of their few days of freedom. "BRRRRAAAGGPPPP!!! To Gonadie."

The wee winsome lass sipped at her half-pint of bitters, and the conversations started.

"It's a limitation. Because it's dependent on me movements, I hafta reset the compensators whenivvir I wan' ta do somethin' the robot can do but I can't. Like spinnin' the arm all the way behind me ta fire. Ah kin see it on the sensors, but I canna joost move the arm ta do it wi'oot resetting the calibration every time. S'a bitch!"

"Then we run a shitload of sims and pre-program some shortcuts based on the most common needs. Something you can just, I don't know, switch over and back without having to reset manually." Gavarus replied, flagging the bartender down for a refill of her drink as she finished it off.

"C'mon! Keep it coming. I only get more annoying the more I have to flag you down. This is better for us all in the long run." The smart-assed engineer leaned over with her empty mug before turning back to O'Dell.

"But for @#$s SAKE, Fee, we're on shore leave. If we keep talking work, Gonadie will somehow hear us and make us go further away until we stop."

"Joost bring her a pitcher and save yuirself the trouble. Ay, ah know. Alreet, so we dinna talk aboot work. We kin talk aboot our hobbies." O'Dell took a good swallow of beer, then another. "Um, I like drinkin... izzat a hobby?"

"Only when there is BEER! Gavarus yelled back as the bartender was just then returning with the pitcher O'Dell suggested. "Bullshit, though. You... sing 500 year old Irish music and you've got all that... stuff in your quarters. What did you do in there before we started hanging around after work?"

"Well, I... I play the harp a lot. I mean, Ah play a lotta instruments, so I play 'em all from time to time, but I like the harp the best. Cuz I feel it, ye know? Thrummin' through me chest, it's joost a comfortin' feelin. Ah still do it in the mornin or the evenin sometime when I'm drunk. Oh, I used to drink, there's that. Limited meself to one night a week in 10-Forward so's I wouldnae get in too much trouble. I'd, ah, made friends and then lost friends?" O'Dell look a long sip of her beer at that. "I write letters home to me family. Ah still do that."

"Okay, the harp. That's a hobby." Gavarus took the refreshed beer and took a swig. "and you made... wait? You made and lost friends? What the hell? Who? And do we have to mess someone up?

"I... am not good at that... but with the proper encouragement... via alcohol... will destroy some assholes as needed." The towering Tellarite was now just a teensy tad tipsy, and getting progressively louder as she spoke.

"Aw, that's sweet that ye'd offer to commit physical violence fer me. That's the mark of a true friend, there." Taking another sip of her beer, Fiona looked around the joint. The lunchtime drinkers had left and only the bored waitstaff were in attendance, in the requisite uniform and points of eyecatching flair. Currently they were gathered around a high top smoking and drinking.

"People get ta know me fuir reasons. All sortsa reasons. Sometimes it's cuz I'm wee. Sometimes it's cuz I'm different. Sometimes it's cuz I seem easy to talk to and not too prickly." Raising her voice, O'Dell barked down the bar, "Would it kill ye ta throw oot a bowl a pretzels? Ye got a menu maybe?"

"Innyway, usually the newness wears off and apparently I'm still the pesky little sister, even waaaay oot here in space. People cancel plans, kinda look away, and ye know they're kinda done with ye. That's aside from the ones who want ta do weird sex stoof or they got some kinda fetish or fixation. Joost the hair alone gets a lot of attention because of the color and the quantity. Lotsa curtains matchin the drapes talk. Long and short, most people don't want ta hang oot wi'me for very long. But you do." O'Dell beamed a smile that indicated her buzz was settling in nicely.

"@#$& those mother@#$&ers!" Gavarus griped as she took another swig of her drink. "People are assholes. Superficial little users that only care about what they can get from you and don't care about how it feels when they show their true goddamn colors. It's frickin' disgusting."

Now speaking in a mocking, fake sing-song voice, the porcine fleeter snorted, "Oh, Briaar. If you were just nicer to people you could go so far. A little bit of sugar goes a long way, piglet."

"Seriously, what kind of fake, ass-kissing nonsense is that? So, I should run around with an artificial smile telling them their shit doesn't stink? Look at this snout, Fee. I can smell when things are shitty." Gavarus grumbled. "But you're real. When you smile, it's frickin' real! anyone that doesn't like it can kiss my ass."

"Waaaaahhhl, unless I'm nervous. I smile a lot when I'm nervous. Or scared, sometimes. Or I think it'll help." O'Dell took another long sip of her beer. "It usually doesn't, truth be told. S'part a why I like you. When you smile I know it's real. It's because I said or did somethin' funny, not because ye think I'm a weird little thing that amuses ye. I like it that ye complain and grouse and bitch, cuz yuir honest. Most people aren't honest, they just want somethin." It was surprising to hear the normally optimistic O'Dell's take on people in general was so low. But the blush of pink had begun to bloom in the pale cheeks of the little lady, which meant the relatively small amount of beer she had consumed was already working it's magic on the legendarily lightweight lass.

"Yeah, but those smiles are all different. Your nervous smile is like this." As she spoke, Gavarus contorted her thick jowled face to mimic O'Dell's nervous smile. Her lips curled in a bit and her eyebrows were knitted, which elicited a giggle from her audience.

"And your scared smile is like this." Stretching her face out, she made another fairly accurate recreation of her pint-sized partner’s particular puss. "You've got different smiles, but I've never seen the same bullshit face smile I always see on the rest of the flight crew."

“Ach! That’s that that looks like?” Fiona responded, her face a mask of comedic dismay. “Yeee, here alla this time I thought it worked to hide what I was feelin’ not bloody broadcast that me teeth are tryin’ ta crack from keepin me teeth from chatterin!”

"Bah. I can tell because I actually pay attention. Dumbasses don't pay attention." Gavarus explained.

While gossip was frowned upon on the Hera, the slightly tipsy duo was far from the ship and the alcohol was loosening things up well. "And I'll tell ya', Fee. I don't think Dox likes any of those brown-nosing asshole pilots either. I looked up their service records and they were all assigned there by other chiefs before she got the job. Seriously, I looked it up. You're the first pilot Dox actually picked out herself."

"C'mon, man. Seriously. No menus? You're frickin' kidding me here." Gavarus shouted back to the bartender who seemed to be practically hiding at this point. Taking the tip with an eyeroll, the bartender came down the bar with menus and unceremoniously dropped them on the bar.

“Not even. Bring me a load of fish and chips, and bring her the biggest baked potato ye kin find, loaded wi’sour cream, chives and butter,” Fiona immediately ordered, having just wanted the barkeep’s attention.

"Oooh. That sounds good. And no goddamn bacon bits. I find bacon bits and I'm replacing it with bartender bits!" The porcine officer threatened with a smirk.

Turning back to Gavarus, she picked the conversation back up. “Well, we’ve a lot of pilots, even among the enlisted. And I’m getting the idea she likes me work, so I’m nae as worried aboot getting replaced by someone taller or better than me. And dinna ye worry, yuir part ‘a that package too. They canne get rid a’ ye wi’oot havin ta replace me too. We’re in this together, ye and me!”

With that, the little leprechaun swung her legs to and fro as she cradled her half-pint of dark beer with both hands, taking a few swallows of beer this time as her intoxication set in, the rosy blush filling her ordinarily pale cheeks.

"I showed you the rankings. You're head and shoulders above those twatwaffles. And you say what you’re thinking, AND you have a head for why the ships fly. Remember, Dox likes to tinker with the ships, so she appreciates that kind of thinking. You are frickin' IN and all you had to do was just be yourself and kick frickin' ass." Gavarus bragged, legitimately happy for her new best friend.

“Well, I couldna done it wi’out me flight crew!” Fiona grinned broadly and raised her glass in a toast, then took another sip of her beer, which was actually down a quarter from where it started at this point. “So, are ye gittin' yuir buzz on yet? Ye ready to play some darts or billiards, or do ye joost wanna sit here and people watch a bit?”

"I'm getting there. Takes me a bit more to get good and schnookered. But what I WANT, is that frickin' POTATO!!!” Gavarus yelled, but with a smile and a laugh. "That said, this is your turf. Show me the fun stuff, Fee."

“Alreet! So first we start wi’ drinkin songs…”

An hour later, they were at the dart board, Fiona standing on a chair to throw darts while Briaar just hurled hers downrange, threatening the life and limb of nearby patrons as the pub was slowly starting to fill.

An hour after that, there were more drinking songs, this time with much of the bar joining in as O’Dell proved to be a stumbling, giggling, storehouse of Irish drinking songs. When she discovered there was a piano, a large book was procured so that she could reach the keys, and musical accompaniment joined the drinking songs.

An hour after that, they were both back at their seats at the bar, debating philosophy.

“So me questions shtansh…. What does God need wi’ a starship?!?” Fiona was absolutely hammered, but managing her buzz to keep upright while continuing to drink, having made it more than halfway through her half-pint of bitters. Gavarus had lost count of the number of pitchers she had drained, but she was feeling no pain and making friends, oddly enough.

"B'cause... Starships 'r frickin' AWESOME, Fee! M'be God wan'ed to paint his big beardy face on the saucer and just chill. I dunno." Gavarus was still throwing them back, and without the added stress of a distractingly gorgeous Amazon security guard around, the contents of her stomach seemed to be quite content to stay in place.

"He had a beard, right?" Gavarus leaned back. "A beard and a snout and big ass tusks, right!" She bared her own teeth, showing the lower tusks common to Tellarite's that were still visible even though she regularly had hers shaved down cosmetically. "Or is it jus' some asshole Q? Q... R, S, T, U and V!"

“Hee hee hee! If I e’er git ta be a god m’gonna cally meself ‘An Sometimes Y!’, aye?” Fiona was fully and absolutely snockered, but in high spirits as she was getting to do all of the things she wanted to do in pubs, and people were glad to have her there and singing along.

“Ohhhhhhhh As I was goin' over
The Cork and Kerry Mountains
I saw Captain Farrell
And his money, he was countin'
I first produced my pistol
And then produced my rapier
I said, "Stand and deliver or the devil he may take ya"

As Fiona got the song started, she gripped the bar tightly to support herself as she climbed off the barstool, then nodded firmly. “Alreet! Ye got this, Ah’m g’win a curr pess!” With that, the miniature Mariposian maiden tottered off to the loo to relieve herself, leaving Briaar to look around at her drinking pals, who were all still singing along to the song Fiona had begun. While it may have been a knockoff Irish pub halfway across the galaxy from the Blarney Stone, apparently Irish drunken cheer was a universal language that Fiona O’Dell spoke fluently.

"I... I got nuthin'." Gavarus grinned at a group of drunk young locals to her left. "She's the living database 'a drinkin' songs and... Shit... cheer."

A while ago after the pair finished their meals, the bartender produced bowls of snack mix and Gavarus was easily through the third produced bowl as she fished around for more. Without O'Dell, the pickled pig didn't quite know how to socialize with the gregarious bargoers so she took to meandering, one way conversation with whoever was next to her.

"D'you know any drinking songs. I got shit. I c'n... I c'n sing 'Journey', but that's 'bout it. OOH... Is there a whatcamacallit... a jukebox?" Gavaruse leaned over the bar far too far, her prodigious belly pressed flat across it.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey... You got a juke... thingy. The song box! Shit, I jus' said it?" As Gavarus spoke, the irritated bartender pointed to the far end of the bar.

More than a little drunk now, Gavarus wobbled her way to the jukebox, drink in hand, which was simply a modern computer panel against the wall. The lack of theme caused the porcine drunk to let out a snorting scoff. "Looks like a frickin' workstation. Where's th' neon 'n shit. Fake ass Irish wannabe pub. OOH, they got the GeeBees. Fee, they got..."

Forgetting that her pixie partner went to pee, Gavarus looked around for a moment as her brain caught up. "Shit, right. She had to... what's taking her so long?"

Punching up a long queue of songs, Gavarus downed the rest of her drink, returned her empty mug to the bar, flagged the bartender for another pitcher and wobbled down the hall she saw Fiona go down. "Now I gotta pee... Where the hell are the reclamators in this stupid place..."

“Thisaway!” As if on cue, the petite pixie pilot appeared next to her pickled porcine pal, taking her hand and ineffectually tugging her in a direction. “I knooow the way! Ah kin astrogate wi’me eyes closed!” O’Dell, having broken the seal, was now dead drunk off the beer she’d been nursing since they arrived, even while her much larger compatriot had been giving the local drunks a run for their money and then some with her drinking capacity. Both were considerably drunk, however, and had by this point been disqualified for shooting darts as a team, Gavarus propping Fiona up to stand on her gut as the test pilot tossed the tiny missiles with surprising accuracy.

Dragging Gavarus along by one thick finger, O’Dell insistently tugged until she managed to get them into the reclamator, then she wandered into the stall next to the one she steered her gal pal into. “Ah got ta pess agin…”

"How much piss c'n y' even hold? I swear, that beer was half y'r body weight n'..." There was a thunk on the partition as Gavarus' head flopped to the side, followed by two other sounds generally not heard at the same time.

The first was a positively Titanic flushing sound that wasn't the reclimator, but was made by the massive Tellarite letting out what had to have been three pitchers worth of beer in one fell swoop.

The second was a snort followed by a long, drawn out snore as it was clear that Briaar Gavarus had passed out, literally while peeing.

Realizing the peril involved, Fiona O’Dell finished peeing, got herself clothed again, then stepped out of her own stall before debating ducking underneath the stall door to enter that of her slumbering spanner jockey. Drunkenly considering the best way to handle it, O’Dell opted for the version least likely to result in bodily harm to her. Standing by the sink, away from the stall door, she amped up her volume to banshee levels and shrieked at her partner in crime.

“BRIAAR! Wake yer lazy arse oop and git offa the chamber pot!” the diminutive dame squawked, her high-pitched voice screeching as she aimed for a higher volume than normal, hoping to rouse the towering Tellarite, because while Gavarus could carry a drunken O’Dell like it was child’s play, short of hijacking a forklift O’Dell would need a miracle just to drag one of Gavarus’ arms any distance, forget about her entire 2 meter frame.

Waking up with a shock, Gavarus sat up ramrod straight on the reclimator. "Ah'm up, Mom! Whasit?!"

After a second, the adrenaline rush wore off and the alcohol kicked back in, though she remembered where she was again. "What? I... I was jus' peeing... 'N... thinking. Thoughts. Thinking thoughts... about... Shut it, let me wipe, a'ready!"

Gavarus grumbled, yelling one side of an argument nobody was making with her before she stumbled out of the stall and over to the sink to wash up. Exercising excellent survival skills, O’Dell managed to duck and weave and stay out of the way of her oversized and overdrunk comrade in arms.

Taking her by the hand to lead her out, O’Dell tugged insistently on the fuzzy-headed fixer. “C’mon, Briaar. We need to take a lie down, and I kin find us an inn to curl oop for the night.”

Leading her porcine pal by the hand, the wee drunken leprechaun walked them into the hallway where the two were wobbling, disoriented and very, very drunk.

In the background, the sounds of frivolity and billiard balls crashing against each other could be heard, partly drowned out by one of Gavarus' musical selections. As Olivia Newton John's 'XANADU' was playing overhead, O'Dell tugged them towards a door at the far end of the hallway she was fairly sure was the exit. A door that, unlike the vintage wooden doors everywhere else in the pub, slid open with a whoosh as the pickled partners-in-crime flumped into the darkened doorway, and promptly passed out, blackout drunk.

...To Be Continued...