Space Bar

6-7th November 2014

"People always romanticise birth." Cadet 1090 remarked, swirling the Linoclian Liquor (which tasted disappointingly unalike to alcohol and had a strange metallic hue) around in her cup.

"Huh?" Cadet 1120 grunted.

Either he was way more inebriated than she thought, or- more likely- he was deafened by the Geebees having a raucous sing-along outside the toilets directly behind him. Each way, 1090 was forced to repeat herself "People always romanticise birth." 1120 looked comically skeptical, dark eyebrows pulled together and lips thrust to the side. 1090 rolled her brownish eyes and elaborated "They say it's all flowers and light and stuff. But really it's just someone expelling themselves from a dilated, blood filled vagina."

Cadet 1120 slumped down on the ripped love-seat provided for the pub (bar, tavern, drinking hole, strangely shaped floaty thing)'s more humanoid customers. Morosely, his head rolled towards 1090 "We're never having kids, are we?" he asked, although it was more an acknowledgement of fact.

1090 took a swig of the liquor, dribbling some down the vest exposed by her open boiler suit. People were very in to boiler suits as uniforms, for some strange reason. 1090 didn't like them; they were hard to go to the toilet in, especially if it was your shift and the repelling magnets were activated. "Nah."
"Married?"
1090 considered it. Two seconds later she decided that marriage was an overrated and arcane constitution obsolete in the innovative times of the Exploration Era. Also, she just really couldn't be bothered. "Nah."

1120 shifted back around to face the pub. Metallic blue light shone up from the floors, infiltrating the hazy gloom and glinting off the skin of a cocktail of races, all sullying their senses with various concoctions and all intent on their shared goal of forgetting the monotony of Earth's outer space. A large green creature with no discernible limbs caught 1120's eye.
"Unless you're a...a...Hjy..Highny...." 1090 watched her friend struggle to name the bulbous creature for a few more seconds before he gave up "A whatever that is."

1090 blinked "What?"

1120 gestured at the whatever-it-was "They don't have vaginas, or any other genitals you can think of. They give birth by ripping out a piece of their flesh and pissing on it."
1090 laughed quietly "Sounds like the Cadet's Christmas party."
"Yeah." 1120 agreed, briefly amused.
*********
About half an hour passed in which neither of the two Cadets in the corner spoke, which was mostly due to the fact that their mouths were quite occupied either kissing each other or drinking: 1090 was on her second pint and 1120'd just downed a shot before promptly throwing up over the back of the sofa. 1090 doubted anyone would notice until the cleaners arrived in the morning. If they did. They were, after all, very inattentive, although it didn't matter much because the bar floor had seen enough variety of bodily fluids to get a degree in toxicology and the patrons were well accustomed to it. 1090 brushed a hand through her chin-length hair, subsequently discovering a large gob of....something. It was thick and sticky, stark white.
"That looks disgusting." 1120 commented.
"That's rich coming from the guy who threw up over the sofa ten seconds ago." 1090 retorted as she catapulted the gob in to the tuneless Geebee's drink. Four semi-detached heads swung around towards her, challenge in their eyes. She smirked and shot her projectile Taser at a point somewhere near his toe. Something cheered. Nobody much liked Geebees- they thought they were the best at everything, which would be a fair assumption if they were at least competent at some things. 1090'd give 'em a sticker for trying, she supposed.
********
"1090?"
"Yeah?" she grunted, arm held tightly around the crackling pain in her midriff. Apparently the Geebee's boyfriend hadn't been too pleased with her play fighting.
1120 handed her some tablets, which hopefully wouldn't react with the alcohol in her system "What's ya' name?"
1090 winced as she grappled with her gag reflex "Derek. What d' ya think it is?"
1120 looped an arm around her shoulders "No, no, no, no, no your real name."
1090 bit her lip, gazing very hard at the combat boot that she was now resting on the table (with her foot inside it, she wasn't that far gone yet). No laws existed to prohibit cadets from sharing their names, but it was frowned upon. Mind you, so was singing show tunes from the 1960s while on a training exercise on a frozen ice planet, so..."Bolade."
"Bolade?"
"Yeeees...Bow-la-deh." she rolled her eyes and finished her drink. Unusually, she decided that a nice Bagmisgatlut Concentrate would be a good thing to chase it down with, even though she didn't usually do the strong stuff.
The lights flickered. A couple of maroon people with and excess of mammary glands started to row about the price of something that vaguely resembled a pot.