Date: Mon, 5 Dec 1994 14:36:31 -0600 (MDT) From: Sean To: crystal@duke.poly.edu Subject: Big Trouble in little Taal'en Message-ID: Rhys, after spending the day trying, unsuccessfully, to swim out some of the resonance in his blood, spots a small bar on one of the docks, and, being from a water world, enters the establishment for a little company, and some decent liquor... Rhys enters the bar, opening his eyes wide against the darkness inside. The place smells of old wood, old whiskey, and salt spray. Home, to Rhys. A few of the locals look up as light floods into the bar, and the gaudily dressed young man, obviously an off-worlder from the colour of his skin, steps inside, and smiles to himself. Rhys smiles as he steps up to the bar, looking over the bottles on the wall, and nods amiably to the barkeep, "H'lo, there...." The rather gruff-looking man nods politely, taking in the stranger in a long lookover, eyes resting for a moment longer on the fingers of the man's right hand, which seem an oddly fresh looking colour. Putting away a glass, he peers up at the young man, and speaks evenly, "What c'n I ge' ye'?" Rhys hmms and looks over the man's thick shoulder and spies a bottle with a substance he hasn't seen in a while. A low chuckle comes from his throat as he points out the bottle with a single finger, "The Screech will do just fine..." With a snort, the barkeep peers at the other man, and raises an eyebrow, "Ye drink Screech, d'ya now?" Rhys absently rubs the back of his neck, at the same time another man at the bar rubs the arm nearest Rhys, looking puzzled as to why his hair is on end. Rhys peers at the man, and nods, a slight smile forming on his face, "That I do..." The barkeep hmms and nods, reaching up to grasp the near-full bottle, and pull it down, beginning to pour Rhys a shot, "Ye a sail'r then, boy?" Rhys smiles and nods, "Once..a long time ago, I thought that was all I'd ever be..." He watches the barkeep pour a modest shot, and start to pull the bottle back. With a slight shake of his head, he stops the man's hand, "Leave the bottle..." Eyeing the stranger carefully, he chuckles slightly, "D'ya know what yuir drinkin', lad? Rhys laughs a little and nods, 'All too well...take an old whiskey barrel, put some water in it, let it soak up the whiskey in the wood, distill it a little more...and you got Screech...' The barkeep nods and sets the bottle down heavily beside Rhys, "I'm Kryn. Own the place..." Rhys smiles and extends his hand, "Rhys...." Kryn pulls his hand back suddenly as it nears the other's crystal buzzing hand. Kryn looks at the other man suspiciously and lets his eyes slide off the other man as he moves back to cleaning the bar area, "Jus' tell me, if y'need an'thin'..." Rhys nods, the smile dropping off his face, as he grabs up the bottle and heads for a quiet table, taking the already poured shot in one smooth gulp. Rhys mumbles to himself slightly as he drinks, muttering about 'damn resonance', and not seeing Callista yet. A few of the locals keep glancing back to Rhys, frowning as they walk by him, both because of the odd tingle, and the steady rate of decrease of the Screech... Rhys takes his time with the bottle, watching the chrono on the wall tick by, standing only once to get another bottle of screech. Kryn eyes the man even more suspiciously as he stands smoothly, and walks evenly, without swaying even once, "And how'll ye be payin' for this, lad?" Rhys grins smugly and inclines his head to another bottle of the sour stuff, "Credit I am *not* short of, Kryn...the other bottle, if you don't mind..." Kryn nods curtly, still appraising the other man, who seems to have a tolerance for alcohol he hasn't seen matched in a long time, and hands the bottle over slowly, "Dinna be stinkin' up m'place too ter'bly, y'hear?" Rhys chuckles again and walks steadily back to his table, talking more to himself than anyone else, "Sobriety is also something I'm not going to be short on..." Two more men, sailors by the look of them, enter the bar and join another pair. They frown heavily and unconsciously smooth the hair on their arms down as they pass by the relatively pale skinned young man. If Rhys notices their reactions, he doesn't show it, brooding slightly now at the bartenders reactions, everything that's happened to him on Ballybran, and missing Callista at every turn. Having his blood run hot from resonance does nothing to improve his mood, so he simply sits and drinks, idly wishing that he *could* get drunk, if only for a bit. The four men at the nearby table continuously glance over to Rhys, and mutter lowly to themselves, or what they think is lowly, and is caught easily by symbiont-enhanced hearing. Rhys' irritation build for quite a while until he feels a hand on his shoulder, which suddenly pulls back as if burned, "Wha' in th' hells, are ye, boy?" Rhys turns himself in his chair just enough to view the weather-worn sailor behind him. Although he tries to keep his voice clear, and light, the resonance in him makes it a little harsher than his usual warmth, "What I am, is minding my own business...I'd prefer you do the same..." "Oh, would ye, now?", the other man's voice is filled with some kind of bitter humour, and Rhys hears the sounds of other chairs sliding back a bit. With a little resigned sigh, Rhys looks at the nearly empty bottle beside him, and stands slowly, looking at the other man evenly, "Look...I don't want any trouble...I'll leave..." He starts toward the bar to pay for his drinks when the hand fixes on his arm again, and spins him back. "Ye start'd trouble when ye came into this place, lad...we don't much like you offworlders comin' into our 'stablishmen' uninvited.." This time the man manages to hold onto Rhys's arm, until he gives it a little snap, breaking the grip with a Singer's easy strength. Rhys's eyes harden considerably, but his voice remains mostly level as he glares at the other man, "Look...its a public planet...and a public place...I'm sorry I disturbed your little 'establishment'...I'm leaving now, if that's ok with you?" "Wha' does i' take t'get y'offworlders t'react? D'none of y'have any..." The man's sentance is broken by the sharp sound of a fist hitting flesh, and he is tossed almost two meters over a table, having never even seen the punch coming. Rhys stands, fists clenched, eyes blazing as the combination of the alcohol, the resonance, frustrations about Ballybran, and this annoying 'good old boy' push him past his limits. One of the other men rushes suddenly, tackling Rhys through a table, and knocking over a few chairs. Now thoroughly infuriated, Rhys flips the man onto his back and pins him, emphasizing his words with hard strikes to the man's face, "Why..don't.. you..leave...me...alone!" Barely aware of his surroundings, Rhys fails to notice the first man get up, and grab the bottle on Rhys's table, which he promptly swings into Rhys's jaw. Rhys, resonating badly enough that most physical pain is, at best, irritating, is knocked off the other man, and climbs slowly to his feet, and glares at the one who hit him. The man holding the bottle stares dumbfounded as Rhys bites down hard suddenly, realigning his dislocated jaw, and spits out two teeth. Amazement quickly turns to rage however, as he tries to gut the freakish outworlder with the broken bottle. Rhys easily sees the swing coming, and neatly catches the wrist holding the bottle, twisting it painfully until he lets go of it. Rhys is again caught by surprise as the remaining two men tackle him and drag him to the ground. Rhys takes several blows around his face, and to his body before finally swinging one arm free, and into the nearest man's throat, who rolls off him, choking. He then manages to scramble into a kneeling position, and drives his fist heavily into another man's face, off-balancing himself in the process, and falling to the ground again. Sensing his opponent's apparent helplessness, the first man delivers a series of short kicks into Rhys's ribs, until he rolls out of the way, and stands, using a nearby table for support. Breathing heavily, more from anger and hatred than physical exhaustion, Rhys covers the distance between himself and the remaining man in two long strides, greeting him with a swift punch, driven by anger, and symbiont-enhanced speed and strength. The other man's head snaps back, and he falls heavily to the ground. Rhys peers around, the only sounds in the place being his heavy breathing, the coughing and choking of the man he punched in the throat, and the moans of the one with the broken nose. His breathing settles quickly, and he turns and walks back to the bar, absently wiping the blood from his mouth. He looks up at Kryn, and nods curtly, 'How much do I owe you for the two bottles?' "Nothin' lad...nothin'", the man looks appraisingly at the Singer, thinking about how in the hells this man just took that many blows and is still standing. "Look...", Rhys's normally warm voice is tinged with the icy coldness of deep space, "..I *don't* want to owe *anyone* on this planet *anything*...How much?" Kryn nods and puts away another glass, "20 credits a bottle..." Rhys looks around and walks over to the wall unit. After a few moments, he turns back to the barkeep, "There's 250 credits...to help pay for the damages...you can get the rest off them..." He jerks his thumb toward the men, just starting to pick themselves off the ground, "And thanks for the Screech..." He turns and walks calmly out the door, into the early evening air. Kryn watches the man stride out, seemingly no worse for the wear, and allows a slight grins to cross his broad features, as he mumbles to himself, "C'n always tell when a Sing'rs in town..." he then goes over and begins to straighten the place up for the inevitable evening crowd. Outside, Rhys takes a deep breath, and a few moments to calm down, before he chuckles a bit to himself, and rubs his near-healed jaw, "I think I needed that..." After running his tongue over the gaps in the back of his mouth, where his teeth were, he clicks his tongue, and ambles lightly down the dockway, whistling a little tune to himself, and smiling to everyone he sees. The three men who watch him leave are conspicuous only by their impecable clothing in this area of town, and the pale skin which marks them as offworlders. "That the one?", one of the two larger men asks the small man in the middle. The other man nods slightly, and continues watching Rhys's retreating form. "We'll get it done, Mr. Katz..." With that, the two men begin walking east, toward the spaceport, while the other man watches until Rhys has disappeared from sight. With a self-satisfied little smile, he nods and mutters to himself, "One way or another, niece...we'll find out what you know..." Devon turns and walks toward the spaceport, patting at his forehead with a cloth as he walks away...