"Alright, let's give it a shot."

Breach:  there are more wretched hives of scum and villainy on the Last Refuge, but few of them are as heavily populated by the highly trained, loudly boisterous, and fully expendable boarding troops of the Living.  Most of them, like Grunt, are Dragon-Blooded.  A key feature of Breach is the complete lack of care that goes into the place.  Brawls are common and it's rare that a glass remains unbroken.  But just like any bar, it has its areas of surliness and dark corners for people of Grunt's temperament.

They enter the bar to find it sparsely inhabited, which is common for this time of day.  Though in theory there's Dragon-Blooded active around the clock, at certain times there are natural peaks and lows.  The three bartenders are still finding themselves worked hard by the heavy-drink crowd, one of whom he recognizes immediately.

Farrah is a Fire Aspect, leader of a very specialized zero-grav squad that specializes in high-speed maneuvers with cables and airjets.  She's one of the older combat-capable Dragon-Blooded on the Last Refuge, pushing her late 30s and with a hundred engagements.  She's one of the few confirmed Dragon-Blooded Exodites, and played a strong role in protecting the skin of the Last Refuge during the final escape from Earth.

"Well well well, if it isn't Grunt,"  She says as she leans against the bar, a drink in hand.  Judging by the slight slur she's had three bottles already.  "Finally joining us for a drink, huh?"

Juno stays quiet.

"Farrah, I'm shocked. You're having fun? In gravity?" Gabriel said archly, "And don't give me that crap. The last two times I drank here ended up costing me five drinks that were never more than sipped."

The problem with veterans is that they get a little crazy about adding more notches, he thought to himself.

"Look, day I've had, if you want to fornicate or fight? Get on with it but skip the prelude."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:32, Tue 25 Sept 2018.

"Can't have a proper climax without the buildup." Farrah sighs, "Not cutting to the chase Grunt, not until I get a few words out of your hallpounding ass."  She points at him, "Word has it you're moving in exalted circles.  That's what.  Two missions now with the big boomers?  What makes you so fucking special?"

She holds up a glass of something terrible.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:46, Thu 27 Sept 2018.

"Read my callsign and then ask why I get sent to the biggest piles of shit," Grunt told Farrah, "You don't send special assets on suicide missions as a rule."

He moved to the bar, far enough away that if she did want to start anything it'd take openly instigating it.

"Don't care about the flavor," he told the barkeeper.

"They don't send Solars on suicide missions either." Farrah shoots back, rocking back and forth on the barstool, "I haven't even met any of them, you know that?  Rubbing elbows with the big boys, you think you're too good for us now?"

The barkeeper pours out a big cup and puts it in front of Grunt.  Interesting.  This stuff smells like a rotten still but that's better than the usual well beverage.  The barkeep winks at him and taps three times.  Aha, three bottles, just like he thought; Farrah's in belligerent mode, edging away from screw-mode and towards blackout.

"Does it look like I'm drinking at the Callsign and hanging out in the upper decks?" Grunt asked with a sigh at the bartender's message, "You want to feel inferior because you don't burn yellow, go take it up with them. The self-pity should be beneath you."

"They told Peregrine here to retire and get to training,"  Another Dragon-Blooded interrupts just as Farrah starts turning red and gets ready to throw a bottle.  He grabs it out of her hand.  "Hey, Grunt."

Colm "Scimitar" Vanderbilt is a water-aspect, as calm and collected as expected for someone of his pedigree.  A scion of the old rich famous family, he'd taken the Breath aboard the Last Refuge and specialized in manning turrets.  He's not a particularly big name in the community but the two had been part of the same training squadron, and he's slowly developed a rep for being the peacemaker type.

"Scimitar," Grunt said neutrally with a nod, "So someone's thinking we're going to last long enough to need another crop of troops?"

In two senses. One, in that a new cohort would need to be trained. And, because Peregine was a female Blooded. Celestials weren't a very renewable resource but the Dragons could be.

"That someone is a pisshead!"  Farrah shouts and tries to motion the bartender over.

"Yeah, that's right." Scimitar nods soberly, "They think we're in this for the long haul.  I'm hearing some bad stuff about the b/d ratios too.  I personally think if we're not out before our current cohort ages out, we're screwed anyway." He hands the bottle over to him, "The mortals just aren't going to cut it but maybe they'll be useful enough to delay for a bit longer.  But you know how it is.  Expecting this one-" He nods towards Peregrine, "- to teach a bunch of malnourished teenagers from the Lowerdecks how to snap-maneuver in zero G?  Regardless. Peregrine here has just been promoted to a desk job.  No more combat for her.  She is an Important Asset."

"Then she can do it badly enough to be moved," Grunt replied, "Unless this is a lead up to asking me to talk to the big shots I've been stuck with lately."

"Do it too badly and I'm on birthing duty," Farrah slurs.

"I'm thinking she wants to ask that, yes, but she's a bit pissed drunk at the moment, aren't you." Farrah starts to say something and Scimitar pushes her shoulder gently, and she flops against the side of the bar.  "I'd say you shouldn't, though.  The Celestials would bleed for everyone but it's our blood that needs spilling, one way or another."

"It matters who decides. We can't afford fatalism," Grunt told Scimitar, "She let you get her home or we need to call someone?"

He blinked after a moment.

"And her protest has been noted. All I can promise."

"But we bank on realism."  He looks at Farrah, "No, I think I have her.  I might need to sock her in the face if she acts but it'll be best." He gives Grunt a nod, "Appreciate it.  Question for you.  You free anytime next week?"

"Nothing planned. Most I can say for sure these days," Grunt answered with a nod as he sipped his drink. His sip immediately led to him gesturing for another. "Somewhere I need to be?"

The bartender starts to work on the next.

"Yeah.  We're going to discuss a few new weaponry options and some were from the Asset.  There's some interest in you from some younger Blooded and we want to give them a look at a true professional."  Scimitar tells him, "Food and drinks after.  Good stuff, not bar stuff."

"Someone trying to get me put on posters?" Grunt asked skeptically before shaking his head, "No, I'll find out soon enough. Get our little booze bird friend somewhere her hungover anima won't destroy. I'll send a message tomorrow for the details."

"Nah, nothing that bad, but we want them to focus more on their duties and less on their hormones."  He gives him a little wave as Farrah continues to deep throat a bottle, "Alright, Peregrine, let's get you home.  Pleasure as always Grunt."

The bartender puts another bottle by Grunt's hand.

Grunt nodded to Scimitar as he led the Fire Aspect out. Well, less led and more hauled but still. He took a small swig of the new drink and moved towards one of the many cluttered, somewhat obscured, corners. After a moment's thought he wiped a bit of debris off the seat opposite him.

"For the record, I consider my agreement with them fulfilled," he told Juno.

"Yes, it's quite fulfilled."  Juno takes a seat across from him.  He almost forgot she was there- almost.  But not quite. Something kept the thought in his mind that Juno was there.

"Very unusual you're recalling I'm here." She says as she slides the seat forward, "I'm no Night caste, but I'm very good at being noticed.  Anyhow.  What do you think about Farrah's predicament?"

"I didn't, for a minute, until I thought I should clean her seat off and tried to remember which 'her' it was," Grunt admitted, he took another sip of his drink and was quiet for nearly a full minute before he answered, "I think something in her recent behavior threw a red flag. Command seems unlikely to be planning very far ahead at this point."

"Unfortunately you're incorrect.  That's all about what we can do nowadays.  We're not in a good position, Grunt, and at this point we're having to balance long term and short term.  It wouldn't surprise me if Serenity actually did have the order passed down.  Farrah is quite strong and we could use a continuation of the bloodline." She sips her drink.  "Of course, that's a problem too.  Inability to plan for the short term..."

"That seems rather backwards for a breeding program," Grunt replied, placing his drink on the table, "Given that even an ideal rate of production would be lower with Farrah than, say, Scimitar."

"What is your poison?"

Juno holds up a glass of something pale green, a spoon atop it, a sugar cube atop the spoon.

She doesn't respond.  But she does raise an eyebrow as she starts to drip water across the cube.

The silence says volumes.

Namely, that they've already taken the first steps to head down that road.

"Setting up a breeding program for the Blooded is like about as hard as getting," Grunt trailed off, "Well, about as hard as getting a drunk to drink I suppose."

He took another sip.

"Alright, I'm lubricated enough. You want to pilot the oral report or should I?"

"Yes, but the right kind of drunk."  Juno says, "The creative drunk, or the angry drunk, or the happy one.  There's a rhyme or reason to all of it.  And all of you are expected to do your part.  Scimitar will do his soon enough as well."

She swirls her spoon in the absinthe.

"Go ahead with the oral report."