Best Intention, Bad Idea

[idontneedluck]

Light running footsteps echo in the solemn stone hallways of the temple, though the inhabitents seem well used to such things. A whip of a man, lean and light and full of a boundless energy that is the bane of the martial arts masters is on the hunt.

When he catches up with his quarry, he is in a fantastically good mood, making his gestures expansive and his smiles luminescent.

"Baze! Baze, come, we are going out." It doesn't even seem to cross his mind that Baze might balk at this directive.

Comments

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut reaches up with a quick hand to tug on Baze's hair.

"Of course I'm sure, if I wasn't, I wouldn't be trying to shift your lazy bones!"

[iprotectyou]

Baze heaves a sigh, his shoulders sagging. "As the Force wills," he says. "Or, rather, as you will. Let's go."

The trip to the Galaar's Head is a long one, as Baze has to stop a random passerby to ask for directions. He and Chirrut meander down the freezing cold streets of NiJedha, and the farther Baze gets from the temple, the more uncomfortable he is with this idea.

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut is utterly unfazed by the distance, and if some of the residents of NiJedha spare them more unfriendly glances...

Well.

He doesn't see them, that's for sure.

Chirrut is in an expansive mood tonight, talking about training and the breakfast he discovered being made in the kitchens and his last trip to the kyber caves and...

"Oh look, we're here!" He chirps, happily.

[iprotectyou]

"How on Jedha did you know that?" Baze says, chuckling. Maybe tonight won't be a complete disaster. He ducks to pass through the doorway--doors are never tall enough for him--and guides Chirrut to a stool.

The Galaar's Head is warm, much to Baze's surprise and gratitude. There's a Bith playing a Doremian Beshniquel, and another accompanying him on a Kloo Horn. Baze gets the bartender's attention. "What sorts of drinks did you want, Chirrut? Something sweet, or sour?"

[idontneedluck]

"I heard them mention something about a Tarkenian Nightflower?" Chirrut hazards, and the bartender grunts in recognition. Various bottles are pulled down, and the process of cocktail-making begins. Chirrut sits at attention, fascinated by the flow of sound.

[iprotectyou]

The colors are also fascinating; Baze watches with interest as the bartender layers red upon yellow upon green. He relays this information to Chirrut, and then the beverages are placed before them.

"Well," Baze says, picking up his drink. "Bottom's up." He downs the alcohol in one gulp, and grimaces. The burn is just on this side of unpleasant, and the drink itself is spicy, but sweet--not something he was expecting.

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut drinks more cautiously, but with enjoyment - the drink is somehow warming without being hot, unexpectedly complex in flavor - almost like tea is, but this is more sweet.

"They were right, this is good." Chirrut beams, gleeful that his plan, born in a moment of wild inspiration, has turned out so well. "I almost expected it to be more harsh." After all, most of the stories he heard about alcohol as a child involved horrible consequences, not supposedly beautiful drinks with interesting flavors.

[iprotectyou]

"I think we lucked out with this one," Baze says, eyeing his empty shot glass. He smiles, glad to see his Chirrut so happy. "We should try a harsh one next."

The bartender, a four-eyed non-human who looks vaguely like a spider, grunts and pours two new shots for Baze and Chirrut, this time with a clear liquid. Baze downs his and gasps.

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut, emboldened by his initial experiment, tries to match Baze's speed.

And proceeds to choke, wheezing.

"Is it fire ?" He demands, setting the glass down with a thump.

[iprotectyou]

Baze laughs, patting Chirrut on the back. "I told you we lucked out," he says, setting his empty shot glass down. "Did you want to go back to the Nightflower?"

[idontneedluck]

The burning subsides, and Chirrut shakes his head, emphatically.

"No, what would be the point to come all this way, and not experience new things?" He asks, undaunted now that he's discovered the flash of fire doesn't actually burn. "Are there others?"

[iprotectyou]

"Are there others," the bartender grumbles, pouring them each a pint of Quanya.

Baze sniffs his, and takes a cautious sip. It tastes like molasses-sweetened brown bread: a bit yeasty and malty, and very bitter. "Huh. Almost creamy."

[idontneedluck]

The shift in glass size slows him as he works out the balance, but the reward is worth it - it tastes like heavy architecture, like the library when the winds off of the desert have died down and all is silence and the weight of ages pressing in from all sides.

He rather likes it.

"It is more substantial than the other two, somehow." He can't imagine slugging this back, no matter how hard he tried.

[iprotectyou]

"It's certainly more filling," Baze agrees, taking a gulp of his own dark beer. Upon finishing his drink, he notices that he's warmer--a lot warmer. His face and hands are a bit numb, and the music sounds better. "Hey, Chirrut. I hate to admit it, but this was a good idea. Real good. An excellent idea, in fact."

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut, who has been doing his level best to keep pace, is still sitting stock upright on his stool, though he seems enormously pleased that Baze has come around to his way of thinking.

"I thought it would do us good to see the world a little, and a little time away from the temple. Training has been intense lately."

When he puts down his empty glass the barkeep whisks it away, replacing it with a new full glass when Chirrut asks for 'something different'.

[iprotectyou]

Baze takes a sniff of the newest drink, a Kowakian rum, according to the bartender. It smells like an overripe persimmon, or possibly a mango. The taste is cloyingly sweet, with vanilla, caramel, and breakfast spices like cinnamon and nutmeg.

"Oh, I like this one," Baze gushes, taking another sip. "And what's the matter with our training? Worried that you can't keep up?"

[idontneedluck]

"It is good, like... like spiced cider, except the heat isn't from warmth." Chirrut decides. If his answer is a little louder than normal, it's only because the band is loud.

"And of course I can keep up, don't be ridiculous. I think Master Sheotar has decided to run me into the ground, but she hasn't won yet."

[iprotectyou]

Baze nurses his drink, sucking it down a little faster than is proper. "Soon she'll realize you're more stubborn than she is," he says, snickering. While nudging Chirrut's shoulder, Baze wobbles a little. "Until then, I will watch, and laugh at you."

[idontneedluck]

"Hah, just wait until it is your turn." Chirrut grumbles, having to steady himself with a hand on the bar when Baze rocks into him. "She will show no mercy."

[iprotectyou]

"I don't expect her to," Baze says, polishing off his rum. He smacks his lips. The bartender sets a shot of ne'tra gal in front of him, one which Baze stares at for a while.

"Strange," Baze says, picking up the glass. "This next drink is as black as ink."

[idontneedluck]

"Odd - is it ink?" Chirrut asks curiously, leaning closer to get a better smell of the glass's contents.

[iprotectyou]

"The bartender's shaking his head, so no, I don't think so," Baze says, chuckling. "There's only one way to find out."

He takes a sip. It has an incredibly chewy mouthfeel, with maltiness balanced with the hops. "It's sweet and creamy, almost like milk."

[idontneedluck]

The bartender has figured out their pattern now, so when Chirrut sets down his empty glass, it is replaced in short order.

Chirrut feels wonderful. The world is a warm buoyant place, the warmth going straight through him - a rarity on Jedha. He picks up the next glass with loose, lazy movements - a far cry from his usual fine control.

"We should do this again. Often. There should be a bar in the temple." Chirrut opines, as if stating great truths.

[iprotectyou]

Baze laughs, and laughs hard. That's the funniest thing he's ever heard, and he shows his appreciation by clapping Chirrut on the back with a meaty hand. "If there were, we wouldn't get any work done!"

Their current drink is a hay-blonde liquid which tastes of butterscotch. Baze makes an approving noise as he gulps it down.

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut beams, pleased that Baze is so happy. He leans against Baze's bulk, everything more fluid and loose and lazy.

The bartender rolls his many eyes and doesn't refill Chirrut's glass.

"Baze, do you know what? You are going to be the best guardian. Of all of us. Best."

[iprotectyou]

Baze wraps an arm around his friend, warm and content. "You bet I am," Baze says, a deep rumble in his chest. He perks up when he hears the music again. "Oh, I love this song! Dance with me, Chirrut!"

And then he's toppling off his stool, staggering as he regains his balance. Baze throws his hands in the air and shakes his hips, nearly running into the bar.

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut cracks up, holding onto the bar with one hand... both hands as the room spins.

"That sounds very graceful, Baze." He giggles, but a stern cough interrupts any further artistic criticisms he might have.

"Baze Malbus. Chirrut Imwe. What are you doing?"

[iprotectyou]

There stands Elder Koroban, hands on his hips and a frown on his face. Baze stares at him for a few moments before erupting in a high-pitched giggle. "I'm dancing," he says, twirling. "What are yooou doing?"

This does not please the master. "Picking up two wayward acolytes," he growls. He turns to Chirrut. "I suppose this was all your idea?"

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut... is not at all better, snickering at Baze's antics and completely failing to sober up in the face of certain doom.

Or at least certain pot-scrubbing for the foreseeable forever.

"Of course! All of my ideas are wonderful ideas." Chirrut is smug, which is impressive considering he's using the bar to prop himself up. "Baze, don't I have the best ideas?"

Elder Koroban looks as if he's nursing a migrane. Since both of his wayward charges seem completely unable to comprehend the amount of trouble they are in, he settles their tab instead. Chirrut is deeply disapproving of this plan, and starts in on a campaign to convince the bartender to let them stay a little while longer.

[iprotectyou]

The bartender just looks glad to be paid, and doesn't take sides in this fight. Baze slaps Chirrut on the back. "You have the very best ideas, my friend. The very, very best."

Elder Koroban catches Baze by the arm. "You two will have kitchen duties for the next month. Come on. Let's go."

Baze takes Chirrut by the elbow, propping him up as much as leaning against him. "Ready when you are."

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut makes for a wobbly handful to get home, drink making him as clingy and distracted, but thankfully less able to wander off of his own accord.

The next morning, the call to rise goes out throughout the temple.

And Chirrut emphatically wishes for death.

[iprotectyou]

Baze turns over in bed, groaning. He stuffs his head under his pillow. "Chirrut," Baze moans, clutching his head. He feels a lothcat defecated in his mouth. He regrets speaking, but he has more to say. "Why did we do that? Why?"

[idontneedluck]

There's muffled whimpering from Chirrut's bed.

Muffled because he's trying to smother himself with a pillow, and it's not being terribly effective.

Thus, he is denied his currently fondest wish to become one with the Force.

"Baze. Baze, I need you to cut off my head, it hurts." He has moved on to plan B, being a practical sort of person.

"Well, I see you two are awake and brimming with verve and vigor." Elder Koroban's voice is as dry as dust as he surveys the room.

[iprotectyou]

"Elder Koroban!" Baze says, lurching out of bed. The movement nearly makes him puke. "We're very sorry, sir. Thank you for coming to get us."

The Elder folds his arms in his sleeves. "Your kitchen duties start today. Maybe next time you'll think before doing something so foolish."

Baze's shoulders sag. "Yes, sir."

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut, standing haphazardly at Baze's shoulder and generally looking worse for wear, bows his head.

"Yes, sir."

"And Chirrut?" Elder Koroban's voice is deceptively soft - there's amusement under there that Chirrut doesn't trust at all.

"Yes sir?"

"Master Sheotar is waiting for you in the courtyard." That brings his head up in a hurry, which he regrets immediately afterwards.

"But sir...!" The protest dies there, and his shoulders slump. He can already tell there will be no staying this particular torture.

"Baze, think fondly of me when I'm gone." He says mournfully as he scoops up his staff.