A blue smoke hung perpetually in the air of the cantina, high enough to not bother most patrons but not enough to keep the towering Chiss from looking like some glowy eyed ghoul. He had little trouble moving through the crowd back to the table of his master; Stres’trong’armis was a known quantity at Mick’s. Some had learned to keep from crossing his path due to offending him, others from nursing sore backs and ringing ears from his booming laughter and comradely ‘pats’ on the back. The big man edged between a set of seats, oblivious to their occupants pushing themselves against their tables as much as they physically could to allow him to pass, and set the pair of mugs down with a satisfying clink.
”I have acquired the ale, Master Bleu! Let us celebrate!”
His companion and lord, the Ryn and Consul, Kordath Bleu stared up at him with a look of resignation.
“Ya know, most people do nae celebrate a couple months of sobriety by goin’ out fer a pint, Strong. Or,” he looked at the mugs the bodyguard had brought back, “bleedin’ liters? Did Mick start gettin’ ‘Strong sized’ glasses?”
The larger of the two tossed his head back and laughed before settling into a seat. The plasteel construct creaked alarmingly under his bulk, but the son of Garmis had long since learned to not flop into chairs. Leaning against the table was his garish, yellow riot shield which he carried when escorting the Consul.
”I believe tonight to be a good opportunity to test your control, Master! Do not fret, I will be here to keep a watchful eye,” the Chiss spoke solemnly the last, nodding as he picked up his glass. He was as aware of the troubles his lord got into with the drink. But he also didn’t believe the Ryn should try and abstain completely, it would likely destroy the little man.
“Ahem.”
The pair looked up at the interruption to find another set of glowing red eyes upon them, rather, on Strong. This Chiss was slender and well dressed. No, not slender, lean. Compared to Strong all of them looked small, especially as the good-natured rose from his seat to greet the newcomer.
*”Tabriss! What a surprise! Does your presence perhaps mean your Mistress, the Lady Vasano, is on Selen?” *
It wasn’t often people could catch a shift in the jovial tone, but there was a touch of hope in the big man’s voice.
“That, is in fact, why I am here Mister Garmis,” spoke the servant in a stiff yet cultured manner.
For the Ryn still sitting down the whole thing looked and sounded bloody ludicrous. His gray eyes shifted from one Chiss to the other, absently cradling the oversized glass in his hands and sipping.
”Odd that she did not send me a comm, but perhaps she felt being requested in person was more appropriate for whatever it is she may have in mind. May I inquire as to the date of when she requests my presence? I am beholden to my Master this evening, you see, which I do doubt she forgot.” Strong bowed slightly and gestured at the Ryn, who struggled to lift his glass in salute.
“Do nae hang about on my account, big guy, go and see yer redhaired lass while she’s about, eh?”
Tabriss’s brow wrinkled in silent disgust, the look quickly clearing from his face. “This is your lord, Bleu, then? As expected for one who would keep the likes of you in service, Garmis.”
A heat rose in the large man’s chest as he registered these words. It sounded like a thinly veiled insult to the noble son. Conversation stopped at the nearest tables, the silence rippling out like a poorly thrown stone in a pond.
”Might you explain your words, Mister Tabriss? I have always known you to be a man of culture and social grace, perhaps the ale plays tricks upon my ears.”
“Uh, mate, ya’ve not had anythin’ ta drink yet,” mumbled his lord from the table, still sipping away at his oversized mug.
The well-dressed servant stepped in closer to Strong, his voice steady yet not rising. A hand rose and jabbed a finger into the larger Chiss’s chest.
“You are, for all your talk of culture and upbringing, an uncouth and troublesome child. Every visitation you place upon my Lady’s apartments ends with myself having to clean up broken furniture, torn apart clothing and sheets that have been ruined. You are more beast than Chiss. Do you not understand the purpose of the buttons on your shirts?” he asked, glaring up at the taller man. “You are a blight upon Mistress Vasano’s household. Not only are you driving expenses up with your brash dalliances, but you bring her social standing down with your garish behavior!”
“Noble son of ‘House Garmis’,” spoke the butler with the barest hint of disdain. “I question the legitimacy of your upbringing, no Lords of Csilla would ever be so uncultured and wild. So it is little surprise that you find yourself in the employ of an ill-behaved, lecherous scum.”
“Oi!”
”Mister Tabriss, I would ask that you restrict your insults to my own personage if you have an issue with my behavior, and not to infringe on my master’s honor.” Strong glowered at the leaner man, his shoulders rolling under his shirt as he processed the chastisements. He shot a glare at the nearest table when he heard laughter at the comment about his lord, and saw an Arconan soldier start choking on his beer as he tried to stop himself. ”Pardon.”
Strong reached over and lifted the struggling trooper from his seat, giving the man a resounding thump on the back to clear his airways in a spray of ale. The man clutched weakly to the bodyguard, coughing as he was set back in his seat to collapse over the table. The Chiss turned back to his paramour's butler. What he found was Tabriss staring down at his suit coat and vest, cheeks turning purple with barely contained rage. Damp patches covered the fine material, and the servant reeked of booze.
”Ah, apologies, Tabriss, I wasn’t aware you were in the line of fire as it wer—” he was cut off as the butler reached up and slapped him across the face with the back of his hand. Tabriss was glaring up at him through his hair, which was itself dripping beer now that Strong got a better look.
“You never think, that is why I came to request you cease your dalliances with my Lady,” hissed the butler, his anger finally starting to overcome his control. “Always in the moment, tearing off your blasted shirts, ripping my Lady’s dresses; she does not get the cheaply made rags that you wear, Garmis. You are a blight on the Vasano household and if you will not see reason, I will force an agreement from you.”
Stres’trong’armis felt the sting on his cheek from the anger-driven blow and some from the servant’s words.
”An agreement? Such as what?” rumbled the larger man, his temper rising.
Tabriss’s left leg slid back across the cantina floor, lowering his center of gravity while his arms went up, bent at the elbows and hands open.
“I teach you some proper etiquette here and now, or you cease your shameful rendezvouses with my Mistress,” stated the man in a matter of fact tone, though the blush of anger had not faded from his face.
”I see no purpose in this fight,” growled Strong, turning away from Tabriss to reach for his drink. It was with some surprise that he grunted when a shot rang out behind him and glass shattering could be heard. Before him sat his charge, the man he was meant to protect, covered in a sprinkling of broken glass and a lot of beer as he held the handle of what remained of his mug. The bodyguard turned with deceptive calm to face the butler, who held a dark slugthrower in hand.
“Now do you feel the need to do battle, ‘Son of Garmis’?” spat out Tabriss, backing away from the larger Chiss.
Strong reached back towards the table, eyes never leaving the gun the other man held, but resolute not to move so as to expose his master. His hand closed on what he sought, and he swung the riot shield into place before him, roaring loudly as he charged forward towards the smaller man. Bar patrons scurried to get towards the walls, away from what was coming.
