An Internal Matter

Posted on Sat Mar 28th, 2020 @ 9:17pm by Senior Chief Petty Officer Sharona Deluna & The Narrator

Mission: S0E0: What Came Before
Location: Station Civil Security Embassy of Bar'soon'fo'da'gree'nars, Third of his Title, holder of the lightning throne, guardian of the sacred skulls of Antiok and ruler of the world of Shishimi and all its celestial companions

"Nothin' gets yer boots quakin' like hearin' that Station Civil Security is comin', I tell ya," a three eyed alien laughed as he quaffed a steaming tankard of something intoxicating.

His drinking partner, a four armed, three legged alien guffawed and sounded like a cat choking up a hairball very loudly and slapped one of his hands on the table, causing his tankard to jump and slosh about. "Jag!. Nuzzink makes my gingerhammers shiver than hearing about zem," he managed before he fell into another raucous round of hacking up a hairball.

Daihnaa watched from the shadows as she toyed with the safety on her archaic semi-automatic machine gun that she had been issued. As of yet, they hadn't found the ammo for it and suggested she just use it as a bludgeon if she had to.

With a grunt, the Orion woman slung it over her shoulders and pulled a bowel disruptor grenade, which was thankfully modern, if highly unethical and immoral to use on most species, but was still a great gag at parties, from a pouch on her left side. "Fear this, boys," she said as she threw it under the table of the two aliens making fun of her job.

It had an immediate and horrific effect as Tombobu and Disamp grimaced in unison as their offal organs exploded in a horrific display of alien fecal matter into their clothing of choice and down their legs. In the case of Tombobu, it chose two of his legs, sparing the third, but came shooting out of lower left arm sleeve and splattered Disamp's face.

What happened next was hard to tell; some thought it was heaven and some thought it was hell. For Daihnaa, it was funny as hell and she laughed hard as she exited the bar on the Medina and headed to where the Station Civil Security was shown on the maps.

"It's probably not done either," she groused. "I should have stayed a slave girl, but noooo." She continued to bitch under her breath as she made her way past open and half opened and never-going-to-be-opened partially assembled, disassembled or firebombed containers which may or may not have been used for any number of unknown purposes - or no purpose at all.

"Excuse me!"

The voice was chipper, polite, the sort of thing that came with a smile measured in mega lumens and candle power rather than by how many teeth were on display. And on display they were, along with bright eyes and the smooth blemish-free skin that only the wealthy or utterly naive could afford. He wasn't a Milky Way native, though given the scope of the galaxy who knew what was out there. But the paper jumpsuit, the sort of thing the replicator fabricated on its Basic Necessity Settings.

"Yes! You! With the impressively girthy gun and the excrement grenades!" the male alien was bouncing up and down on his bare feet...bare...bleeding feet, as shards of glass from the broken glassware in the bar had followed him out when he came after her. "Are you by chance...a murderer? A fiend? Some sort of sociopath for whom the very meaning of morality is an interesting bedtime story without any sort of conceptional anchor?"

Daihnaa turned her attention to the overly chipper voice and stopped when she saw the alien in the paper jumpsuit, then listened to what he was rambling - did he know she was former Syndicate? She eyed the worthless antique in her hands, then the aliens bleeding feet. "No, no, and no," she lied on at least one of the queries. "Why? Who are you...?" Then she noticed that the alien seemed to be standing where the civil security building was.

He stood up a little taller, presenting the sort of bearing and stature only royalty of the most inbred sort could achieve.

"I am Bar'soon'fo'da'gree'nars, Third of my Title, holder of the lightning throne, guardian of the sacred skulls of Antiok and ruler of the world of Shishimi and all its celestial companions," he said, somehow making the nTh retelling of it sound fresh and snappy. "I was deposed by my four hundred villainous siblings from my rightful throne, and I seek those who would desire to see me put back in my rightful place."

He made a gesture.

"I am not rightfully meant to be here. My place is in splendour, among riches, and adoration...so much adoration and in so many flexible positions that one might die of old age before they were experienced one and all," Bar'soon shivered with a memory. "Huum...no, no they already said no to a flesh pit of the right depth and volume for my needs. A pity."

"Mind if I call you Bar?" the Orion asked as she looked at him and wondered how much he'd pay for a flesh pit. "How many credits do you have for a flesh pit?" She asked him. "I might just know a woman for you."

"You may call me Bar'soon. Or 'Your liege'. Though in the spring court they called me The Black Herald Of The Burning Harvest, which when being sung in three-part harmony is such a delight," Bar'soon said with a grin. "And whats a 'credit'? I was told your society and station runs on a post-scarcity system where anyone but me can live like a king!"

"Bar'soon it is," Daihnaa said. "I only accept payment. Orion, dontcha know?" She indicated her green skin and red hair. "Gold pressed latinum, lavish gifts, a Captain's Yacht. That sort of thing before I call anyone a liege."

"Huum...Well, which yacht would you want? The captains of my guard had one each, gold hulls, ruby anchors. They were modest low rent affairs if I'm honest, but given they all as a one turned on me when my sister offered them their weight in precious metals each...well. I know where they are all sunk!" Bar'soon growled. He reached down and plucked one of the glass shards from his feet, and then tossed it into his mouth like a snack. "I did mention I was the king of an entire plant. A planet of riches. We Shishimi have made an art of art, drink making, dancing, the carnal arts, and pottery. There are vases on my homeworld that have turned holy men of lesser worlds into nymphomaniacs. The Seventh Candencence's Pillar Of Touch is under lock and key for that very reason."

Now Daihnaa was very interested and fascinated when Bar'soon ate the bloody shard of glass. "Really?" She asked as she stepped closer. "And what would you give to return to your planet and reclaim your throne, Bar'soon?"

"Oh anything! You do not understand how terrible it is to be here, without any of the comforts of home! No wine! No song! No-" he ate another piece of glass "-adoring public chanting my name as they try to put the fires out from the phosphorous grenades I tossed off the balcony."

"That...could be arranged," she said thoughtfully before she looked him over again. "Provided you can pay up front. I'm not cheap and neither is anything I'm capable of doing, which is quite a lot."

"How much...money?" Bar'soon said, eyes narrowing. "And how do I make that money?"

"That depends on what you want done, and how depraved it is," Daihnaa replied. "As for how you make it, that's on you. I don't care if you have to sell your body to the Science department or suck off the Captain."

"That sounds like rather menial labour...I'd want a job where I could be me, ruling over a domain of debauchery and riches with few rules...OH! OH I KNOW! I could run a bar! I've mixed drinks before when I had to murder the wait staff on a dare. It wasn't that hard," Bar'soon stood back, spread his hands out over his hand as though looking at a sigh. "My Em-Bar-See! Oh! Oh yes yes!"

"Murdering the staff or mixing the drinks?" She asked, wondering which was harder. Most wait staff expected to be murdered and the rest of them were just waiting to murder someone else. At least where she had came from. "What..is an Em-Bar-See?"

"You know, I'm not entirely sure," Bar'soon said thoughtfully. "And my EmBarSee would be a place where I could make money, to help fund the coming return of my great self to my wretched planet being mismanaged by many a member of my family. You could be my associate manager! You look like you know how to give orders and take heads! Or many Vice Duchess Of The Aired Forces? Either way stick with me, and you will know fortune and gory!"

"Gory or glory?" Daihnaa asked as she began a plan to dupe the alien for everything he had. Which didn't seem like much at the moment, but he'd have even less when she got done. "Then we can do...whatever to them."

"Yes!" Bar'soon said in answer, and pointed to a maintenance access door next to the sealed of Civil Security Office. "They have forced me to vacate a prime location, but I have found a better one that is even in my name! It shall be the wonder of the sector, the talk of Messier 4, the envy of the Myriad and it has wall space enough for every head of my family who turned on me."

The Orion woman gave a wicked laugh and looked at the Civil Security Office, then at the useless weapon on her hands, then at Bar'soon. She tossed the weapon down and gave him a devious smile. "Then everyone shall know your name!"