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Last Orders Tavern
A smoky haze hangs in the air of this shadowy tavern, with chalky white walls of cartilage and tables that look like flat-topped mushrooms surrounded by cushioned metal benches.
The central bar counter is a D-shaped structure of gray-green bone and cartilage, coated in the familiar protective webbing seen elsewhere aboard Comorro.
Holovid projectors display news reports from throughout the worlds of Hiverspace, from Rigor Strand to Hekayt Prime.
James Sterling sits at the bar counter, staring with a blank expression at the holovid projectors. "Don't they get any sport on these things?" he complains.
Y'darin meanwhile rolls up to the bar counter, but as of yet, doesn't announce his presence. Instead, he slowly oozes up onto the bar and forms into another holovid projector, just waiting to be turned on.
Sterling reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws a cigarette, sticking it into the corner of his mouth. He fumbles in his jeans pocket for a lighter, noticing a powered-down projector within arm's reach. "Huh, this one's turned off." He reaches out to mash the power button with one finger.
The button gives off an audible click, but the viewer does nothing. At least at first. A few moments later, a mouth forms in the middle of the display and gives Sterling a raspberry before disappearing, once again looking like a regular holoviewer.
Micky arrives from Tradeport.
Micky has arrived.
James Sterling is seated at the bar, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. On the bar is a holovid projector that's not usually there...
Sterling jerks his hand back from the strange holoviewer, nearly falling off his barstool in surprise. "What the hell?" He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and stares at it a moment. "No, these're the regular ones," he mutters.
Y'darin continues to sit quietly in the shape of a holoviewer. Yep, just a normal old holoviewer...
A somewhat shifty eyed Micky comes wandering into the bar. If he notes the out of place holoviewer, he doesn't really react to it. Instead, he gives Sterling a nod before placing a drink order.
Sterling lights his cigarette, still staring at the holoviewer. He glances up momentarily when Micky enters. "G'day, Micky. I see y'got free from Her Galactic Highness."
Y'darin quickly forms the mouth again, and repeats everything Sterling said, complete in his voice, then the mouth disappears.
"Gave up on passive resistance, laid it out for her in plain English, she got crazier, me and Fish left," shrugs Micky as a water glass full of bottom shelf liquor is brought to him as well as the bottle. Maybe he registers the echo, maybe not. "If she screws with me again, it'll go pear shaped. It was like day two of crazy creatures straight abusin' Micky. Gettin' a bit old hat."
Sterling scowls at the holoviewer. "Goddammit, cut that out! What is this, some kinda prank?" He takes a long drag from the cigarette as he listens to Micky's response. "Day two?" he asks him. "What happened on day one?" He keeps a leery eye on the strange viewer.
Y'darin forms a couple of feet, and begins to tap dance on the counter. He can't help but let a giggle escape as he does so.
"Ain't her. She ain't a giggler," notes Micky as he also keeps a weather eye on the holoviewer. He grimaces before he relates a short (by his standards) story, "See, there I was. Sharpenin' knives an' talkin' to my buddy Y'ond who had just brought me a bottle of Jack. Jack Daniels. Was right nice of him. Then, this thing jumps up on me from behind. So, I slam my chair back and pin it under me on the ground. I stab it a couple of times - did I say it jumped up on me while I was sharpenin' knives outside the cafe? 'Cause I meant to. Anyway, I stab it a couple of times. Nothin'. Then, all kinds of folks wanna get all up in my business about how it is my fault. So, anyway, I fling this thing - looked like a fox with a buncha tails - at one of my main molesters. He kind of stutter steps, catches it. Then, I'm gettin' up and gettin' scolded when the fox grows all giant and comes at me again. I start screamin' an' stuff. They're all like: she won't hurt you, she just wants to play. And, they threaten to sic their giant ape robots on /me/. Crap on a cracker, it was like somethin' out of a nightmare. The lunatics runnin' the asylum. Always my fault when I get abused by psionics. That's why you can't trust nothin' these days. They're all out to get me."
Sterling blows smoke out his nose. He nudges Micky, pointing at the tap dancing viewer. "You seein' this?" he asks, incredulous. "Please tell me y'c'n see a dancin' holoviewer." He blinks at the story. "Hell, Micky," he says. "Y'know, sometimes I dunno if yer straight in th'head when y'tell stories like that, but given I'm seein' a tap dancin' holoviewer in front o'me, I gotta step back. At least this time."
It's about this time the holoviewer reveals itself, and Y'darin reforms into his normal gelatinous state and oozes off the bar top onto the floor, still chuckling. "Gotta admit, I had you going there for a bit." he says, forming a hand that reaches out to Sterling. "Name's Y'darin."
"Yoridini," says Micky before he takes a drink. "Maybe he is friends with Y'ond. Can teach him how to change colors and stuff. Yoridini ain't too bad. Don't mess with your head no more than mere mortals do. Just kinda, you know, friendly blobs of goo." He pauses a moment, "Yeah, well, pretty sure I ain't all there in the head myself, but the story went down like I said it did."
"Fuck me," Sterling mutters as the viewer makes its metamorphosis. He glances aside at Micky. "More aliens," he says. He stares at the extended hand for a long moment, then, hesitantly, reaches out his own to grasp it. "Sterling," he says. "This how you usually introduce yerself t'folks?"
"Eh, sometimes. I like a good laugh." Y'darin says.
"Not even a kidnappin' or an ambush," notes Micky as he refills his cup from the bottle. "Got a sense of humor that don't involve screwin' too much with folk. What a wonder."
"Eh, a prankster," Sterling says with a frown. "S'pose it coulda been worse." He orders himself some kind of hard liquor and puffs at his cigarette while he waits for it.
Y'darin oozes up onto one of the seats and orders himself a bowl of quartz chips. "So who've you been dealin' with who's got robotic apes and multi-tailed fuzzy things?" he inquires while he waits for his goodies.
Sterling shrugs as Micky's eyes glaze over. He glances to Y'darin, still a bit uneasy in the presence of the shapeshifter. "Micky's not always ... completely there, y'know?" He takes his cigarette out of his mouth and collects his drink when it arrives, taking a quick swig.
Y'darin takes up his bowl of quartz as it arrives, and unceremoniously dumps the entire bowl into a mouth that forms on him, the quartz visible as it floats inside him. "Ahhhh. Well, time to be goin'. Got some deliveries to make. Stay clear as crystal!" he says happily as he oozes off the stool and rolls towards the door.
Having to duck to get under entrances is not an entirely unknown thing to Eylie, however not usually necessary upon Comorro where the air of multiculturalism means these things are accomodating to taller races. However today he is also carrying, sat upon his shoulder, a certain french strumpet.
Said French strumpet is clearly enjoying the ride, also ducking as they arrive, wrapping her arms around his forehead. "Wheee!" says Joca. "Where are we going? Ooooh, Tavern, excellent! Onward, to drink and victorie!"
Eylohta
Taller than the average Timonae, Eylohta stands a eight foot, one inch. Rogueish good looks are complimented by opulescent, pupiless emerald eyes and a head of silver-white hair, long enough to reach mid-back, and kept in a single plait braid. The jagged scar running along his jawline only seems to add to this dashing makeup, if in a rough and tumble manner. Ragged scars run up his shoulder and neck, the work of some creature with a wicked set of claws.
Brown leather pants that have seen better days, a black t-shirt and a rough looking greatcoat make up most of the Timonae's wardrobe, aside from the small things such as that lovely little belt (also leather) that he wears, and the myriad of knives attached to it.
Sterling takes a drag from his cigarette as the tall fellow comes in. He turns around, unable to keep a smile off his face at the sight of Jocaira perched on the man's shoulders. "Y'sure know how t'make an entrance, Jocaira," he says.
"An' food." Eylie adds, his voice a bit rough, gravelly, the man in constant need of nourishment it seems, "Lots of food." Despite the sound of his voice, his expression is a counterpoint of puppyish joy, opulescent eyes sparkling over a wide, silly grin. He spins himself, and Jocaira around with the grace of a dancer once they've cleared the entrance, and heads towards Sterling since he's called out to the woman perched upon him.
"Yay, food!" Joca replies, uttering another boisterous "Whee!" as the giant Timonae spins. Her general level of perk heads up several more notches on the meter as she notices James. "Mooonsieur Sterling," she calls, putting some extra rrroll on the rrrs. "Sis is wanderful Eylie, blacksmith for Red Eclipse Mercenaire and one of my darrlings. 'e is Timonese." After a giddy grin, she adds, sotto voce, "I -love- se Timonae." After another 'whee,' she gestures to the table with a jangle of bangles. "Come, come, I get you foood. You eat yet, James? I get you food too?"
The smile stays in place as Sterling takes a closer look at the big fellow. The man's happiness is contagious, it would seem. He chuckles. "G'day," he calls up to the Timonae. "Sure, I c'n snack on somethin', 'specially if yer buyin'."
"'Allo." Eylie greets with a widening of his grin, dipping his chin at Sterling in addition. A chair is kicked out, thankfully made to support someone as heavy as he happens to be, and with another floursing spin, her reaches up to lift Joca up off his shoulders, sweeping her into his lap instead as he sits, "You gonna read t'menu fer me?" He asks of the courtesan, having grown less bashful about his illiteracy over time.
"But of course I will," Joca replies, grinning up at Eylie indulgently and flashing the same to James. After wriggling herself into a comfortable position, she leans over to activate the menu and starts reading it aloud, in a slow, deliberate fashion that speaks more to her own literacy level than perhaps Eylie's. "Grain and... what is sis. Chick pea... paaah, okay... shrimps on stick, cold shrimps wis red spicy sauce, errm... cube mix meat on stick, vegetable wis dips. Fried tuber wis cheese melt and... panch... pan... -bacon-... Bird meat soup. Bird meat fry on rice... What you want, James?"
Sterling chuckles as Jocaira reads the menu. He snaps his fingers suddenly. "Y'know what I miss? Pizza. I ain't found pizza here in th'future yet." He levels a mock serious look on Jocaira. "Surely th'/future/'d 'ave somethin' as important as /pizza/, wouldn't ya think?"
"Folk prolly ain' made a nice 'nough approximation 'er somethin', though I dunno why more folk don't go t' Al t'jus' grow 'em stuff ye can't find here." Eylie offers, clearly not understanding the hesitation some people may have for food grown in a tube, being from the same era as the Geneticist. He slumps a bit, "I want pizza now too. Ten pizzas. Wut.. uh," A bit of sheepishness, "Wut're chickpeas?" Despite a voracious appetite and the long life span of Timonae, especially one who's friends with Alastair Hall, he apparantly has never seen a chickpea in his life - or at least didn't realize that's what he was eating. Everyone's at the table, Jocaira on Eylie's lap.
Jocaira makes a face, and pokes at the picture. "...Iiii, don't know what se chick pea is. It does no look like chicken or pea. Let us not eat it," she says, and then cants her head at James. "Errrrm... Pizza... pizza... flat dough wis squash tomato and cheese and meat? I do not find much, not on Comorro, no, but you can call and ordair, or get se pizzas at se Nu Auberge in Pyracan and se One Tree on Baile? Depends on 'ow many 'umans 'ave settled somewhere, I find, to see 'ow much 'uman food you find sere, ne?" She shrugs. "I don't know! I go to se doctair for many sings. Some people get fussy about it." She, Eylie, and James are sitting at a table; she is in Eylie's lap. Apparently she is reading aloud from the menu, and not for entertainment purposes. "Well if we get bread, and meats, and cheese, we can put it all on top. Like sandwich. I like a sandwich."
Sterling plunks his drink glass down on the table and his behind in a chair at the table with Joca and Eylie. "Y'mean there /is/ pizza in th'future?" His eyes light up at the prospect. "At the tree place?" He frowns slightly. "That place kinda creeps me out." He glances around the bar he's sitting in. "Though livin' on th'inside of a giant creature's also very creepy." He shrugs, peering at the menu. "Get sandwich stuff, then," he advises. "An' th'cheese fries. Those're good. Assumin' they're made with somethin' that resembles potato."
"Whoa, man," announces Micky as he comes out of the toilet area. He's got a slightly crumpled cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and he waves a hand in front of his face. He's got a half empty bottle in the hand he's not fanning himself with. "Do yourselves a favor, folks, and let that one settle down before you're all rushin' in there to drop trou."
"Lots of it." Eylie asserts in confirmation, though Joca doesn't need to be reminded that the Timonae can eat an incredible amount, "We still had pizza in t'4000's. Dunno why we wouldn't. Lotsa human folk errywhere, "An' a coupla pitchurs ah Rigor Strand Deathwhistle!" He adds enthusastically, still grinning like a fool. He snicker giggles in a somewhat unmanly fashion at Micky's warning.
"But of course, baby," Joca says, once again looking up to beam at the big Timmie. She taps away at the menu before waving a server over and gesturing at the appropriate plates. "Emm... beeg plate. Like..." she holds her hands about three feet apart. "Beeg. Yes? Many foods. And se fries. And start pitchers of Deathwhistle, and I'll 'ave a rum. Dark." Micky's arrival gets the same pokerface that it's been getting recently. "Ahn, and sere's Mickee. Monsieur Eylie, sis is Mickee, 'e also work for Red Eclipse. Mostly guns. Mickee, sis is Eylie, our bladesmith." James gets a laugh. "But yes, sis is se future, sere are -many- sings. Sings you canno imagine."
Sterling gives Micky a smirking glance as he appears. He nods to Eylie. "If it's just here it's rare, that's fine," he says. "I'll travel. What's this Deathwhistle like, then? he asks, finishing off the glass he was drinking from. "I ain't had a chance t'try out much o'th'booze they got around here. He peers at the empty glass. "Not even sure what this was, what with the crazy holovid thing from before." He shrugs.
"Most of 'em bad," notes Micky as he stubs out his cigarette and claims himself a seat. Everyone is at a table where Jocaira has opted to use Eylie's lap instead of a chair. A waitress is trying to write down their overly complicated order. Anyway, Micky uses his cheap bottle of liquor to indicate Sterling while telling the big Timonae, "That fellow probably needs him some guns an' jazz."
"Deathwhistles will knock yer out flat, ah reckon, but Al says I got a high me-met..." Eylie trails off for a moment, trying to remember the word that was used, but alas poor Eylohta is not a very smart boy. Not smart at all. He frowns, gently poking Jocaira in the side in hopes that she'll remember and pipe up in his place. He looks to Micky with a bit of a nod, "Jazz is real fun t'dance to. I ain't so good with guns, can't really say much 'bout 'em. Raised in an pit fightin' arena, me."
Jocaira gives it her best. "Met... metables? Metallic? Steel stomach?" she offers, before shaking her head to Micky. "-Blade-smith," she corrects, and then wiggles thoughtfully in ponderance of James' question. "We-ell, I drink a lot of rum, but sey can make many sings wis it, like a Mai Tai or sings, and also I 'ave tequilas, and many many diffairent kinds of ale, and well sere's se Brain Bendair but what is se best to use -sem- for, you should no do in public, and Mickee just killed se bathroom."
Sterling laughs at Eylie's response to Micky. "Guns, yeah. I'm mostly with the guns. But if yer good at makin' knives, I use those too. An' as long as it ain't t'morrow mornin' that I gotta do my combat test," he flashes a look at Jocaira, "I'll be willin' t'try and put away some o'this Deathwhistle stuff." Her comment about the Brain Bender gets her a raised eyebrow. "Probably better I shouldn't know," he mutters.
Stretching a bit as he goes, a youngish architect comes wandering into the tavern, seemingly lost in conversation with a small calico kitteny-ferrety thing on his shoulder. "Yes, I'm sure they have berries. Why wouldn't they?" At his side waddles along a cheerful penguin, while just for contrast, a cranky guard brings up the rear.
"Thought it was some kinda euphemism," offers up Micky with a what can you do sort of shrug. He starts to pat down various pockets, mumbling, "Where'd I...no, crap." He finally gives up and resumes his drinking. "Whatever, easy come, easy go."
"Champeen knife fighter fer sixy years." Eylie adds as an afterthough, puppyish happiness gaining a moment of pride. He squeezes Jocaira back against his chest briefly, giving a nod towards James, "Aye, been makin' 'em near as long as I been fightin'." A hand raises, thumb jammed back towards the swords criss-crossing his back(which makes leaning fully against the back of the chair a bit awkward!), "Made 'ese if ye wanna look. An uh... Fish? Was 'at the one I made fer most recently?" He looks down to Jocaira for confirmation.
Jocaira loses her train of thought momentarily when squeezed. "Ehn? Wha? Oh, emm, yes, for Madame Fishair. She still uses se knives. Very nice..." Trailing off briefly at Kethren's arrival, she manages to raise a hand in a jingly wave. James just gets a look. "...whaaa? Ehn, I do no sink so, -I- am no going to be up in se morning." Snigger. She bares her teeth in a great big glinting grin. "Brain Bendair is from B'ira. You get... two minutes maybe of -absolute bliss-, feels like... I do no know, two 'ours, yes? So I get sis trick from friend Aukami, you go and wait for absolutely right moment, and sen drink all of se drink, fast fast. Sen? You get just se waves of pleasure, all over... and it feels like it last for-e-vair." With another titter, she fans herself. "I love se future."
Sterling inclines his head in greeting to Kethren and his animal entourage. "G'day," he drawls. He looks over to Eylohta's swords. "Y'know, I really didn't expect t'find so many blades in th'future," he says. "Figgered it'd be all shiny spaceships an' laser guns." He turns to Jocaira. "Good." He grins toothily. "An' I was wrong about not wantin' t'know," he adds in a low tone. "Sounds fantastic."
Kethren looks up at the jingly greeting and detours his group in that direction. "Evening!"
Head shaking and bemused looking, Micky's eyes suddenly widen a bit, and he reaches for a back pocket to produce a flask. He adds a spritz of a little somethin' somethin' as he spikes his liquor. Glug, glug, glug, he drinks some more liquor that was probably made in a tub. A dirty one. In a prison. On an asteroid. Let's not even get into the stuff from the flask.
"Joca, my smokes still down yer top?" Eylie asks, getting the hankering for a puff while he waits on food to stuff his gob with. he chuckles at Sterling, "It's great!" He offers enthusiastically, an' if 'at don't suit yer fancy Al 'kin give ye some sort ah drug 'at will." Grinning happily at the further promotion of his super best friend Alastair(there's even a little plushy of the doctor, head sticking out of his pocket), he is soon thereafter distracted by Micky's mixology, head canting towards the fellow, "What's yer poison 'ere, mate?"
"Pisswatair wis some paint thinner and battery acid," Joca replies to the question about what Micky is drinking, making a very immature face in the old vet's direction. "Well, the light's down sere," she drawls, teasingly, to Eylie, raising her arm and flicking the unmarket paper packet of cigarillos out of her sleeve. "Allo, Monsieur Kethren."
Sterling just shakes his head at Micky as the old soldier spikes his booze with stronger booze. "Joca's smokes're pretty nice," he agrees. As the server arrives with their pitcher, he pours Deathwhistle for those who want any, then for himself. He sits back and sniffs at the stuff, shrugs, and takes a sip.
Kethren yawns slightly, scratching the calico as he does "Mind if I have a seat?" Wark!
Giving the bottle a shake, Micky shrugs by way of an answer before tacking on, "I dunno. It's the cheapest they got. Pretty bad, so I gotta add my own to it. The still is over in the barracks if you wanna try a snort. Ain't nobody but me an' a robot been drinkin' it. Takes balls of steel, I guess."
"Oh I don' wanna smoke yers, y'know 'ell be gone in about two seconds flat. M'bigger 'uns." And to be fair, there is a big set of lungs on the Timonae. Eylie slumps a bit, "ah din' ferget 'em, did I?" His attention is stolen by Micky, the Timonae brightening a bit, "Oh aye. I'll give 'er a whirl. Try practically anythin', I will."
"Psh don't worry about it, baby, se doctair will make us some more," Joca soothes. "You probably leave sem at se barracks. Is okay. You can do a couple of mine, ne?" Micky's drink gets a look. "Well you drink somesing diffairent afterwards, I am not kissing anysing wis -sat- on its breath. Is cheap. We are successful enough sat we do not 'ave to cheap. But of course you can sit, Monsieur Kethren, we are all crew 'ere. Come on, 'ave some of se food." She gestures to the big trays of assorted meats, cheeses, and breads as they arrive, true rough-cut tavern food.
Sterling inhales sharply, swallowing a few times before clearing his throat and setting his glass down on the table. "Not bad," he declares. He reaches out to claim a chunk of bread and a couple varieties of meat and cheese.
Kethren nods as he flops down into a handy seat, securing a modest sampling of the foodstuffs as he does. A fair chunk of witch the kittenferret greedily starts munching through. "I miss anything important?"
Micky takes a long pull from the bottle before wiping an imaginary tear away on his cheek. After a moment, though, he advises Eylie, "It tastes as strong as it is, so if you screw up and die, I don't want the boss blamin' my booze an' gettin' it banned or nothin'. So, fair warnin'."
"Dyin'? Oh no no, I ain't gotta worry none 'bout dyin' from a strong ass drink. Don't you worry none. Worry more 'bout trippin' over me son an' breakin' m'neck." Of course that 'son' is a robot, but that's a whole other story. Eylie grins, patting his chest with a fist, "Gonna drink most of 'em pitchurs m'self." As approved, the Timonae steals a few of the cigarellos from Joca's pack, extras tucked behind his ears, and the remaining between his lips, "Light." He mumbles, leaning forward over Joca to let her do the honours, and also so he can start piling up a plate with meat, cheese, bread and cheesy potatos, "'Sides, if i die Al c'n just fix it. Ain't nothin' but a thing."
Sterling chews thoughtfully, watching Eylie pile up food on his plate. He quickly realises that if he wants more than a few scraps of food, he'd best get it whilst there's something to get. He makes sure to get a sample of the cheese fries and drops a few of the meats he's decided he likes best on top of them.
Jocaira pauses in the middle of rooting through her Cleavage of Holding to snap a look upwards at Micky. "...if anyone gets sick or dies off of your swill, Mickee, se only sing sat's going to get banned is -you-." Whether that means from REM, or perhaps on a broader spectrum, is left unqualified in words but delivered rather sharply in tone. After a hissing exhale, she relaxes against Eylie's broad chest and takes a few more breaths before lighting the Timonae's smoke and then leaning forward for her own pile of foodstuffs. This she attacks with relish, teeth shearing chunks of meat neatly away for hungry, snapping bites.
Kethren shrugs a bit and starts in on the foodstuffs that he's managed to keep the calico out of.
"Huh," grunts Micky. He looks left and then right before down at himself. After all that, he does a little more looking when he looks at Jocaira to ask simply, "What'd I do?"
"Guess I /was/ hungry," Sterling admits through a mouthful of cheese and bread. "An' I'd avoid Micky's homemade booze," he advises, "even big as y'are." He glances to the old soldier. "Man's got a liver like a fallout shelter, I'd wager."
Eylie has already, while holding his plate in one hand, reached out for a pitcher of deathwhistle for the other. Glass? Nah, the pitcher is his glass, and he's in mid-chug when Sterling warns him off from Micky's booze, cigarello dangling from the corner of his mouth - evidently he's had practice with this. It's a good thing he asked for a few pitchers, a wuarter of it gone by the time he sets the pitcher back down so as to respond to anyone, and also start building some sort of giant sandwhich, cheesy fries included in the mix, "Hnn?" He offers to Sterling, inhaling and then exhaling through his nostrils, "Wossat? Ye think 'e got a stronger liver'n even me?" This may have given him a slight sense of wonder, tinged with doubt, "Ye really think so? 'Ere's only one way t'find out, though!"
Jocaira finishes chewing the bite of food into oblivion and taking a healthy slug of her rum before giving Micky's blank look another laser-gaze of irritation. "I -just- said what was making me mad, Mickee, stop acting like ditz." She shakes her head, tapping one manicured but short-nailed forefinger on the table. "Eat, eat, eat good, drink good, is -no- reason to no 'ave quality food and drink. You want to eat lousy food and drink piss, you can. Is your life. But sere is no reason any of -my- boys need to be eating pauper food out of cans and drinking nasty sewer brew. Eylie, Mickee won't go to se Doctair, 'is liver is no way stronger sen yours."
Grimacing a bit, the architect's eyes slip out of focus for a moment, after which he sighs. "Hate to eat and run, but some clients are being... troublesome. Might have to arrange some blackmail. Again."
Sterling takes another swig of the Deathwhistle, swallows, clears his throat, and gets to his feet. For the moment, he's not wobbling. He grins lopsidedly at Eylohta. "I dunno," he drawls. "Mebbe so." He reaches over and plucks a few stuck-together cheese fries from the rapidly-emptying plate. "You kids 'ave fun. I'm headin' t'bed." He glances to Jocaira. "If yer gonna be up late, I c'n get up early an' have a bit o'time on Eiru 'fore I gotta be about fer any REM stuff. Nice t'meetcha, Eylie." He grins at the table at large, pops the cheese fries into his mouth, and heads for the door.
"Oh, been tryin' to be more in tune of other people's emotional states and thought you was mad at me before that," shrugs Micky as he drinks some more of his tubbed brewed booze. He's a classy guy, really. He saves the toilet water for the Zangali parties. "Thinnin' the herd. Be doin' everybody a favor. And, I warned 'em. Not my fault if they got crap to prove an' drink it like a kid instead of..." A pause for a burp. To his credit, he does aim the burp into the crook of his elbow. Classy. "In moderation."
Eylie is a bit too busy stuffing his mouth, first smoke already done for, to properly reply to anyone, "Mrrph hmmph mrrf." He tries, but it all comes out sounding like that. He may, just may have also gotten drippy cheese on Joca's cleavage.
Jocaira continues daintily savaging her food, frowning as Kethren gets whatever message he's getting. "Nnh, you let me know if you need some backup, ehn? Nobody should be giving you any shit." Further disappointment crosses her features at James' impending exit. "Aahn... well, hokay, yes, probably going to stay up late, I will send text when I am ready for you, ne?" She makes a kissyface in his direction. "Goodniight..." Micky just gets a snort as she, without missing a beat, swipes the cheese from her cleavage and claims it for herself. "Psh, you been watching too much day time 'olos, Mickee."
Kethren chuckles as he scoops up Floriana and stands "Thanks, but it probably won't come to much. These clients are always a pain, trying to get us to sacrifice loads of hamsters before they'll pay up. We'll just remind them once again that we know rather a lot about some of their less kosher dealings and the office parties that any tabloid would love to hear about." Wark!
Sterling turns back toward the table as he nears the door, grinning at Jocaira. "Sure thing," he replies, waving a hand. He backs out the door, calling, "'Night!"
"All the choices, though," says a wistful sounding Micky before he stops dead in his talking tracks. He pushes up from the table and rushes out, leaving his empty bottle on the table. He belatedly - half way across the room - explains, "Missin' my knittin' program! It's gonna be all about the edgin'!"